Page 3 of Saved By the Mountain Man

To defend Mom.

To defend me.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm the raging chaos inside. Reaching back for the photograph, I wipe my tears off the glass. It’s then that I see it.

Behind my parents is a wooden cabin, nestled in amongst a dense forest. It’s the cabin we visited every time Dad came home from duty. His best friend lived there, Jack Collins. He must have taken this photo, all those years ago when I was small enough to nestled in my father’s arms.

Jack was my father’s best friend, a Navy SEAL, too, and we shared some fun memories with him. He was a strong presence, a safe person who is as close as I’ll ever get to real family.

I wipe my tears and place the photo down on the seat next to me. Taking a deep breath, my shaky hands grip the steering wheel. A ping of hope ignites inside my chest as I start the engine and drive forward, the memory of how I felt on the mountain guiding me.

My parents would want me to find a safe place. To get out of this hellhole and get on with my life.

It’s a start. And with a fresh sense of hope, I don’t look back.

Chapter Two

Jack

I get out of my truck just as an icy wind blasts across the mountain.

“Fuck,” I grunt, pulling my jacket over my chest.

I thought the whiskey was supposed to warm me up? Guess I’m too cold and dark inside already.

Spending all night at the bar in Misty Peaks Mountain has become a welcome distraction for me. Once a month I head down, slam a few beers and play pool with some old military buddies. We swap stories, banter and booze, and then fuck off home again.

It’s not much. I still feel dead inside. But at least I feel dead with a glass of whiskey in my hand.

“Georgie!” I call out, whistling through my fingers for my dog. “Come on, girl!”

An excited shadow skirts around my cabin, bounding up the steps to rub against me. Georgie’s wet from the rain, so I pop the front door open, and she heads straight for the warmth of the fire. Within minutes, she’s curled in a brown and white ball, sleeping soundly with the flames flickering behind her.

I go to my fridge and grab a beer, my body creaking as I bend. I don’t move like I used to, back when I roamed the earth keeping the bad guys at bay. One night out and my bones are aching, my head throbbing like the hangover has hit already.

There’s got to be more to life than this.

I escaped to this remote spot decades ago. I needed the sanctuary of the wilderness. I needed a place to reset, to escape to after having bullets fired my way, grenades thrown at me, and knives lodged in my arm.

Yeah, being a Navy SEAL was tough, but at least it gave me purpose.

I reach for the scar on my left shoulder, the raised skin of my biggest wound reminding me of days gone. Do I miss it? Fuck yeah I do. The thrill of the hunt. The fighting and violence. The feeling of my unit having my back every step of the fucking way.

I miss feeling like I have a purpose. Feeling like I have something to fight for. Feeling as if I have something to protect.

I miss feeling… feeling something.

I swallow a long gulp of beer and lean on my kitchen bench, gazing out the window. It’s pitch-black outside. Darkness covers the land, leaving only the sound of the wind whistling past my tiny cabin to remind me that I’m alive.

I close my eyes and memories flood my brain. It’s always there, lurking in the darkness of my mind. I start to shake, and I curse at myself to stop.

I really shouldn’t drink hard liquor; it makes the visions worse.

But I can’t stop. I need something to numb the pain.

A few more minutes pass and I’m still standing there, sweaty and shaking.

Men are falling in front of my eyes, their heads blown off, limbs shredded to pieces. There are noises, a mix of screaming and frightened calls for help. I can’t reach them, but I run. Faster and faster. I’ll get there. I’ll get there. If I just reach the screams, maybe, maybe I can save them.

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