Page 1 of Taste of Forever
Prologue
Heather
Four months earlier
“Oh, thank God.” Relief urged my aching feet into the forest clearing, where two people in wide-brimmed hats tended to neat rows of plants.
Right then, I didn’t care if people were farming in a protected wilderness area known for hiking, camping, and bike trails. I had run out of water hours ago and my throat felt like sandpaper. My dry tongue dragged over cracked lips while my feet screamed in pain as I hobbled out of the tree line.
Yes, it was a dumbass move to go off-trail on my hike this morning. With an uncharged, now-dead cell phone, no less. But at least I’d found a fellow human before running into a bear or a pack of wolves.
“Hello!” I waved my arms as I approached the two figures. “Hi! I’m so sorry to bother you, but I need help.”
The two people stopped working to watch me, squinting under the brims of their hats. It was late afternoon and the harsh sun cast their faces in shadow.
I had left home in an angry huff after yetanotherfight with Justin, and I hadn’t thought to grab a hat myself. It wasn’t like Iexpected to get lost hiking in an area I knew like the back of my hand.
“Would it be possible to get a ride to the nearest ranger station?” I shielded my eyes against the sun. “I got lost on a hike and haven’t been able to find my way back.”
The two people, a man and woman with deep, weathered lines in their faces, glanced at each other before staring at me again. Neither said a word, and I got the first prickle of warning that something was not right.
Their shirts looked hand-sewn from fabric that had been worn thin long before it became clothing. The pickup truck at the far edge of their planted field was some rusted out 1980s model. Even their jeans, boots, and hats looked handmade, and not from the current decade.
But farm laborers weren’t exactly expected to wear the latest fashion. More importantly, I was exhausted, dehydrated, and sunburned. I would have offered a kidney for a cup of water.
“I’m so sorry. I really hate to be a bother.” My attempt at a smile felt more like a grimace. “I’d just like to get back home.”
“Where are you from?” the woman asked.
“Eureka. I’m a local,” I said.
She stared blankly, not a glimmer of recognition at the word. Unease prickled my scalp. I couldn’t have wanderedthatfar from home, could I?
“Are we still in the Mckay Community Forest?” I asked tentatively.
The man leaned close to the woman, muttering something I couldn’t hear. I thought I caught something like “human world,” but must have misheard. She answered with rapid whispers that were lost on the breeze.
“Look, I don’t want any trouble.” It hurt to speak and my voice cracked with a dry ache. God, I would kill for some waterand the chance to get off my feet. “I won’t alert anyone that you’re here. I just want to go home.”
It was becoming clear to me, through their nervous glances and hushed arguing, that these people weren’t supposed to be here. And they certainly hadn’t expected to be found.
The rows of plants in the neatly tilled soil looked unassuming enough, but maybe they were growing coca or kratom or some other illegal operation. I didn’t know and I didn’t care.
My feet were on the verge of giving out on me, butt already on its way to the ground, when the woman turned toward me.
“We’ll help you out, miss. Are you thirsty?”
She had an accent I couldn’t place, but that was the last thing that mattered.
“Oh God, thank you so much. Yes, please.” My battered body somehow remained upright as I followed the couple to their truck. Maybe I should have been more vigilant, but I was desperate and they were angels who were answering the prayers of an atheist woman.
The man lowered the tailgate and handed me an old-fashioned canteen. It was the kind I had seen in Western movies—a circular, metal container with a small screw-top, encased in leather with a shoulder strap.
I muttered a string of fast “thank you”s before tipping back the canteen and messily gulping down the liquid inside. The water was warm, but it was some of the freshest and cleanest I’d ever tasted.
I drank until my belly was near bursting and the canteen was empty. The man only looked amused when I set down the container with an apologetic expression.
“S’alright. Go ahead and have a seat.” He patted the tailgate with a rough, weathered hand. “We’ll get you where you need to go.”
