Page 94 of Trapped: Until The Darkest Of Night

“Bren?”

Lou sounds close. That means she’s not in the tree anymore! My eyes want to close, but I keep them open convulsively, searching for Lou in the dim light.

She stands at the edge of the forest next to a spruce, pale and translucent like a small ghost. My heart warms as I look at her. Suddenly, I remember the storm.

“You shouldn’t run away, too dangerous.” My words sound slurred. “Besides, I’d catch you anyway.” I feebly wipe my face as if it helps me think better, but my mind feels like it’s being boiled. I force myself to look at Lou, but her face flickers erratically. “It gets much too cold at night. You’d freeze to death.”

“But I have your lighter,” she whispers, sounding guilty.

I have to smile even though I don’t feel like it. “You’re going to burn down the forest and then I’ll know where you are anyway—if you survive.” I close my eyes, unable to fight the leaden weariness any longer. My head just drops. “Lou?”

“Yes?”

I hear branches cracking. She comes to me. Slowly. I can almost see her looking shyly down at me.

“Storm…tonight…stay… Don’t go, too dangerous.” I slip away. My upper body sinks toward the forest floor. Two gentle hands grab my shoulders but cannot hold me.

Half asleep, I notice Lou is bending my legs. More and more, I merge with the earth.

Suddenly, warm breath is on my face. Is that Lou hovering over me?

Why is Lou bending over me and not fleeing?

She brushes back a strand of my hair. The touch feels so loving that something tenses up inside me.

Suddenly, I can think of so many things I want to say to her because when she leaves, she must pay attention to a thousand things. But I’m so tired. Images pass me by like a movie. Lou’s oval face with the soft chin and sweet mouth—her profile picture on Facebook. Eyes like the Alaskan sky. Lou climbing out of the Toyota like the moment means nothing. Lou in the visitor center staring at me from the booth, clutching bear spray like a gun. “Lou…” I slur, tongue thick, eyes closed. Her hand jerks back. “If you go…the grizzlies…don’t stop singing…”

She takes a deep breath. She doesn’t say: okay or yes. She whispers: “Take care!” But it sounds a bit like tears.

I feel her rising and I’m instantly cold from the lack of her body heat. She mumbles something, but I no longer understand. Shortly thereafter, her steps rustle across the ground and all that remains is the whistling of the wind.

Chapter

Twenty-Four

Head pounding, I heave myself up onto the trunk behind me. Clustered rain clouds race across the blue-gray sky and sharp gusts of wind shake the treetops. I get dizzy for a moment and see bright flashing patterns and then, without warning, I throw up right at my feet.

Dazed, I stagger to the side, hold on to a spruce branch and wipe my mouth with my sleeve.

Lou escaped. Naturally. I already suspected that when I came to, even if it took a while to sort through the memories. I can’t estimate how long I lay on the forest floor after passing out.

Now there’s only one way I can find Lou: I have to get back to the RV and put Grey on her trail. She could be anywhere by now. On the gravel road, on the cliffs, in the middle of the forest.

Pain and fear pound in the back of my head. With shaky legs, I start walking and make a mental note of all the things I’ll need later: a tarp to stretch out as a rain shelter, milk for Grey, dishes, warm clothes…

I pause for a moment and take a deep breath. In a storm and rain, Lou will never get a fire going, even I’d have a hard time.

Panicking, I swallow the nausea as I fight my way up the mountain step by step. After a few minutes, I can walk again without holding on to the logs and switch to the deer trail. Still, I’m too slow. It seems to be hours before I get back to the RV. Grey’s howling has stopped, and for a brief moment, I’m hopeful that Lou might have listened to me and ran back. But when I open the door, Grey dashes toward me, leaping awkwardly on my legs. Lou isn’t here or Grey wouldn’t be freaking out like this

I immediately realize I have to feed him before I can leave. My head suddenly goes blank. I’m wasting too much time. As if in a dense fog, I go outside, turn on the gas, and put on the water for the milk. As I stand in front of the stove, I feel like everything is swaying around me. My skull feels like it’s about to explode. I could take a couple of aspirins, but I’m afraid they might be useless against the aftermath of the emergency drops.

While the water is boiling, I grab my hiking pack from the compartment and hastily stuff in a full carton of milk for Grey, a box of oatmeal, beef jerky, hard crackers, and a lighter.

What else do I need? How long will I be gone? I have absolutely no idea. I have knives and tools on my belt. I’m looking at a gallon of water, which would add too much weight. Instead, I grab two regular liter bottles that I plan to fill up as necessary along the way. I also need tablets to disinfect the water. I slam the flap, tripping over Grey who’s been following me and give him a talking-to.

I can’t afford to forget anything. Back in the RV, I randomly stuff breakfast bags, tin dishes, nuts, a sleeping bag, a tarp, and a blanket into the backpack along with a change of clothes for Lou and me, bandages, and pills for the water.

What else? My head is on strike.

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