"Before you give me your answer, there's something you should probably know." Jared's hand gives mine a little squeeze and then lets go. "You could say I live a pretty...unconventional lifestyle." He sighs. "Something we have in common, I guess, but what I mean is, I'm...well, I'm an actor and a musician. Been in a lot of movies, my band's toured the world. I'm pretty well-known. That's why I asked you if you know who I am."
I'm not sure what to say to this. If I tell him now that I've known who he is since the moment I laid eyes on him, how will he react? For sure, he'll believe I've been deceptive, even though I never said anything outright one way or another. I should've told him, but now it's too late. He's convinced I'm unaware of his celebrity status; in fact he seems to cling to that belief like it's some kind of a lifeline.
I mumble, "Oh. Well, I guess it's true what they say about famous people."
"Oh yeah? What do they say?"
"That on some level they're all insane." I rub my eyes. "Jared, the fact that you're a movie and a rock star makes this all the more ridiculous. Don't you have...well, people? What'll they say if you come back to L.A. dragging me and Shelby along with you?"
"People? You mean assistants, managers, publicists, lawyers? Those people?"
"To name a few, yeah. Those people. Don't they have to vet everyone who comes within like a hundred yards of you and your home?"
A low laugh. "A slight exaggeration, but yeah. Typically. Unless I do my own vetting. I still do, you know. And when it comes to my friends, and there are precious few who I can truly call my friends, my people have no input. So don't worry about what they say. I couldn't care less."
I gesture helplessly. "Okay, but what do you really know about me? Besides that I can treat a venomous snake bite, I can stitch a cut and set a broken leg and serve up a mean trout my kid caught and baked on a rock?"
Jared cocks an eyebrow. "Should I ask questions, and if I do, will you answer them?"
I'm really not used to answering questions about myself, and in fact, I do my best to avoid situations in which I have to, but I nod anyway.
He continues, "Well, what did you do for a living before all this happened? Something in the medical field, right? Where did you and your kid learn all the wilderness survival stuff?"
That's an easy one. "I did work in the medical field, yes. I'm certified as an EMT with a special emphasis on Wilderness EMT training."
"And that's where all the survivalism stuff comes from too?"
"Not exactly. My dad ran a large wilderness camp and a fishing and hunting retreat, and I partnered with him after high school. McCarty Camp was my dad's legacy, and the only home I've ever known. The only home Shelby's ever known." My voice trails off. "And then Todd destroyed it."
"What do you mean he destroyed it?" Jared asks.
"Something happened between Todd and my dad, some kind of falling out, but I don't know what it was about. Dad never told me, and Todd never would tell me." I pick up a stick and stab it into the ground. "I have my suspicions it was about Todd's little drug operation he started running from the property. I think my dad found out about it and confronted Todd."
Jared's silent for a moment. Then he ventures, "I hate to ask this, Lanie, but...do you think your ex-husband had anything to do with your dad's death?"
I shake my head. "No. They caught the guy who shot him. Billy Heinrickson. He was a neighbor who claimed he'd been hunting gophers and crows. With a 30-30 rifle?" I laugh bitterly. "He was poaching deer...it wasn't firearm season yet, and he tracked a buck onto our land. My dad was bow-hunting, just sitting at the base of a clump of birch trees by the lake when this stupid asshole fired off a shot. Hit my dad in the neck and killed him instantly.
"So, no. Todd's a lot of things, but he didn't kill my father. He and my dad were really close, in fact, like Todd was the son he never had. They were friends before I even dated Todd. They were both what you'd call Preppers. You know, Doomsday Preppers."
Jared nods. "I've heard of them. Many have some...unusual theories about things."
"Yeah. Only my dad was more of the pragmatic type, believing we all should be ready for surviving any eventuality, whether natural or man-made. Todd is the paranoid type, absolutely convinced that there's a big secret plot at work to establish a one-world government, put dissenters in camps, etc. etc. etc. That's why he got involved in militia groups, to organize and fight against the takeover of the country." I sigh. "Financed in huge part by manufacturing meth, operating directly out of McCarty Camp. After my dad died, suddenly the people coming to stay at camp weren't hunters, fishermen, or nature lovers wanting to learn how to detach from the modern societal machine. Oh, these guys all showed up towing their boats, wearing camo, loaded down with fishing and hunting gear, but they weren't outdoors sports enthusiasts. They were drug runners from all over the country."
"Oh, shit, Lanie," Jared murmurs. "This guy really doesn't fuck around, does he?" He grips my hand. "Couldn't you call someone? The cops, the FBI?"
I close my eyes. "Todd had ways of convincing me that if I turned him in, one of two things would happen. This had been going on awhile, and McCarty Camp is my property. So, I'd either end up in prison right along with him as a co-conspirator, an accessory, you know, or he'd make sure I'd never testify against him in court. He meant it, too."
I shiver as I remember when Todd held his Glock to my ear, murmuring that my death would solve every problem he had, and that he could easily make it look like an accident, or suicide. That Shelby would have to grow up with the knowledge that her worthless piece-of-shit junkie mother had deliberately checked out of her life.
"Junkie?" Jared stares at me. "Lanie, did you..."
"No!" The word bursts from me. "I swear. I never touched that shit."
"I believe you." His words are a soft caress over my entire being. "When did you split from this asshole?"
"Last year. Todd had made a deal with Billy Heinrickson to settle the wrongful death suit out of court. He ended up getting Billy's eighty acres adjacent to mine out of his portion, and he moved there, expanding his operation, and running training drills with his militia friends."
"Holy shit," Jared shakes his head. "Wow."
"I put a restraining order on him after he...well, we had a physical altercation which, I'm ashamed to say, I didn't come out from very well. He totally ignored the restraining order and kept on with the threats, kept at least one meth lab active on the property. God, how I wish I hadn't listened, hadn't let him use Shelby to intimidate and manipulate me. We probably wouldn't be here. Todd would be in prison and Shelby and I would be home. I'd have gotten McCarty Camp back to what my dad had, and we'd be getting on with our lives."
"But you are here," Jared says. "Don't take this the wrong way, but everything happens for a reason, and I for one am forever grateful that those terrible circumstances brought you here." He takes my hand, lifts it to his lips, and kisses it.
It's a light kiss, both his lips and his facial hair as soft and delicate as a butterfly's wings, but just the same I'm paralyzed by the shocking level of intimacy to it, by the way his eyes lock on mine. My God, no one has ever stirred anything like this in me from such an innocent, chaste, and sweet gesture. My heart hammering against my chest so loudly I'm sure he can hear it, I wait for him to break the eye contact, release my hand, and end the moment so I can gather myself together.
He doesn't. His eyes bore into my very soul, and he says, "Nothing you've told me has changed my mind, you know." His breath is warm against my hand, which he's still holding close to his face. "If anything, it only confirms what I knew all along."
"What?" I ask, my voice shaky and faint.
"You're an amazing woman, Lanie. Unlike any I've ever met. You're strong, you're courageous, you're beautiful, and you know how to survive."
Beautiful. For the third time. And what? Strong? Courageous? I'm trembling. I'm fucking trembling, and I don't know how to stop it.
Jared notices. He squeezes my hand a little. "Relax. Everything's going to be fine."
The electric zings are only growing more powerful, coupled with that imminent shredding of rational thought as he touches me. I close my eyes and swallow hard. How does he do this?
"How do you know everything's going to be fine?" I respond. "I'm just not— "
"I know what I need to know. My people don't do all of my thinking for me, and I'm usually a very good judge of character. I keep my circle small for that reason. There are a lot of really plastic, self-absorbed people in the world, especially in this business I'm in. Other than a very few, like my mom, and my bandmates—Tomo, and my brother, Shannon— at the end of the day everyone I deal with has their own self-serving agenda. They're people who hang around me because I'm a name, not because of me, if that makes sense." His hand leaves mine and strays to my hair. He plays with one of my half-grown-out dreadlocks and says, "Like I said, I've never known anyone quite like you. You're different, Lanie. You've got a mystery about you, yeah, but at the same time there's an honesty about you, and a perspective I haven't seen in such a long, long time. You're so...so real. And the last thing you are is self-serving."
I've never heard myself described this way before, and I have no idea how to react except stare at him. It's almost like he's describing a total stranger. Is this how Jared really sees me?
My disbelief must be apparent on my face, because Jared continues, "I'm serious. I mean, look what you've done for me, without even knowing me. You built this shelter. You built me a bed. You've taken care of me around the clock. You've put yourself at huge risk, staying here all this time when God knows where your ex or his militia friends could be. I bet you've barely slept at all since you found me."
"Not much," I admit.
Jared sighs. "You know, after I fell, I laid there on that ledge trying to suck the poison out of the bite. The pain was off the fucking charts. I knew my leg was broken and I'd never get out of there on my own. I could only pray that somehow, someone might find me. I used the only thing I had any strength left to use...my voice."
I cringe, remembering that pain-and-terror filled cry that sent me fleeing . "Jared—"
"I'd been laying there maybe an hour, maybe two. I was so scared, Lanie. I knew it would be getting dark soon, and I thought I heard someone nearby. I was sure I did, and I cried out for help as loud as I could, but no one came." He swipes a hand over his face. "There couldn't have been anyone there, though. I think either the pain or the venom made me hallucinate or it was an animal or something. I mean, if that was a person, they'd have come, right? They wouldn't leave someone to die, would they? Or has this world really gotten as fucked as that?"
Surges of self-loathing blanket me, suffocating me as again I try to speak. "Jared—"
"Then this little girl, this little angel, showed up out of the dark. I'd just about given up by that time, laying there on that ledge all night. I was waiting to die, Lanie, and hoping it would be soon. She showed up and said she'd try to help me. She gave me water, she took her socks and some sticks and she wrapped my arm and told me everything was going to be okay, that she was going to go get her mom." His hand on my hair becomes a caress. "And then you came. Another beautiful angel."
"No, Jared. I'm...not beautiful. I'm...no angel. It was..." I draw a quivering breath. It's on the tip of my tongue to tell him that he hadn't been hallucinating, that there was someone there, and I am the one who'd knowingly and without a second thought left him to die because I was focused on two lives right then, neither of which were his. I want to tell him I'm not the person he thinks I am. Not even close. I'm just as self-serving as the hangers-on in his Hollywood circle. Probably moreso. I'm ready to spill it all out, but something stops me.
That something is a sound my ears detect and it freezes my tongue. I go rigid, every sense alert as I hold my breath.
Jared picks up on my sudden tension immediately. His voice is very low, very tight as he asks, "Lanie? What is it?"
"Someone's coming," I breathe out, and hold up my hand. I feel his own tense in my hair. Slowly I pull my knife from its sheath at my hip and hold a finger over my lips. I creep silently toward the doorway of the hut, where my pack is resting. I reach in and grasp my .357 Max, a birthday gift from my dad the year before he died. The Max is by far the most accurate pistol I've ever fired, both long and short range. I pray I won't need to use it.
I cast a glance over my shoulder at Jared. His eyes are wide at the sight of the gun. I point to the candle and he nods, wetting his fingers and reaching over to pinch the flame out. I duck my head, leave the hut, and step out into the night.
Billions of stars light up the sky above. The chorus of insects surrounds me, but I no longer hear what drove me outside. But I know they're out there. Somewhere. Who? Who would be creeping around here this time of night? Only one person that I know of. With the gun in my right hand and knife in the left, I make my way behind the hut and fade into the shadows near the trees, while I listen again for the sound of approaching footsteps.
I turn and cup my ear, straining to hear anything beyond crickets and night birds calling one another. There's nothing now, but deep within I feel the urge to leave, and with every passing second it grows. It's time to get out of the clearing and under the cover of the forest. But I don't dare go far from the hut. Shelby's in there, and Jared. Neither can defend themselves.
Swiftly, I head into the thick undergrowth near the creek, heading north of our camp to a hillside near Shelby's fishing spot no more than about fifty yards or so upriver. I can see down into camp from here reasonably well, and if I hunker down, I'm completely concealed from anyone passing more than ten feet away in any direction.
Laying flat, I use my elbows to prop myself up, the Max in my grip. I squint down the sight and test targets from the clearing to the creek for a clear shot. There aren't many, but there are enough.
All around me are the sounds of insects, the whisper of desert breeze, and I struggle to pick up on anything else, anything not of the forest, anything human-sounding.
It's very faint, but I soon hear it again. Turning my head this way and that, I try to pinpoint the direction it's coming from. It grows a little louder, but the echoing quality of the nearby cliff makes it impossible to be sure of where it's coming from. It's one person. That person is on foot, and from the sounds of it, they're not even trying to be quiet. The sharp snap of branches, the shuffle and clatter of feet kicking up small rocks. My heart begins to pound, thick pressure builds in my head, my ears, almost drowning out that of the unknown stranger's approach.
In a way, the seeming carelessness of their advance on our camp is reassuring. Todd's friends and associates wouldn't advertise their presence; most of them are well-versed in the tactic of silent movement on a target or evading the enemy, a skill learned mostly in the military and then practiced regularly with their civilian militia groups. They would know that we'd take off the instant we detected them. No, unless they're trying to flush us out, this isn't one of Todd's people.
But I'm not about to relax, put my gun down, and come walking out of the woods to meet them when they arrive. Not until I see a face, not until I get a good sense of who they are and where they're from.
They're very close now, and I now know they're coming from behind me. A sudden vision makes me almost laugh out loud...what if I'm so invisible that this person walks right on me? The ground seems to vibrate with the footsteps as they draw nearer with every passing second. They are directly behind me now, and it's too late to move without giving myself away right in front of them; though the shock of my sudden appearance might work to my advantage.
No. I have every intention of springing on this invader from behind.
I watch and listen in disbelief as a pair of brown distressed leather hiking boots pass by, no more than two feet on my right. I glance up quickly, past the blue jeans, the dark jacket, and the light-colored, possibly tan baseball cap. It's impossible to guess his height from where I lay at his feet, but in the quick glimpse of his face I make out a darker shadow of slight facial hair on his jaw, the jut of his nose and the set of his eyes. The rest is obscured by darkness.
Todd has a similar build. Todd has brown distressed leather hiking boots. Todd has a tan baseball cap he's particularly fond of wearing.
Oh, my God.
He's headed directly toward camp, where Shelby lays sleeping, and Jared lays awake, injured, and unable to defend himself. Silently I pull myself to my feet, watching his slowly retreating form walk closer and closer to our camp. Todd doesn't like loose ends, and Jared would certainly present one.
I should shoot him, really. Shoot him, and be done with it. Something he wouldn't hesitate to do if the roles were reversed. Drop him here and now and let the coyotes and mountain lions and vultures lay waste to him.
But...something stops me. Something is off, and slowly, it dawns on me that this is not Todd. He's shorter, he walks with a different stride, and he sure the hell isn't a professional, with the way he's getting himself tangled in the underbrush. But then, who is he? And why is he heading for our camp in the middle of the night?
My paralysis broken, I launch myself at him, catching him in four long strides. In an instant I have him in a semi-chokehold, my knife at his throat and my gun to his head. The man cries out in shock and collapses to the rocky ground. A rock jabs me in the crazy bone of my left arm as I hit the ground and I clench my teeth against the numbing pain of it.
"Who the hell are you?" I breathe into the man's ear.
He's rigid and trembling. I can feel he's strong. Much stronger than he looked at first. He's not very tall, but what I feel under me is solid muscle. "I—" he gasps and struggles. I press my knife deeper, and move my other hand so he can see the gun in my grip.
"Jesus Christ lady, don't kill me!" the man yelps.
"Give me one reason I shouldn't," I hiss.
"I'm just...looking...for...someone!" he grits out.
"Way wrong answer, my friend," I reply in his ear. I've never actually killed anyone before. I'm a healer, not a murderer, and I sure the hell don't want to start now. But when it comes to protecting my daughter and Jared, I'll kill if I have to.
God forgive me, I pray. I grip my knife and prepare to quickly sever the man's jugular and carotid arteries.
But the man's got upper body strength to spare, and despite my best effort at holding him immobile with his head back, his chin secured in the crook of my elbow, he squirms and turns his head to the side. The move knocks his cap off, and I can see him better now.
I gasp in stunned disbelief as his features become clear, and a wash of unreality, like vertigo, makes me lightheaded.
His hair's shorter than I remember—a lot shorter. But the flaring eyebrow, the set of his lips are unmistakable. And by the faint light of the stars, on the side of his neck, just below and behind his ear, I can clearly make out the triad tattoo.
I relax my hold, dropping both knife and pistol to the ground as I sit back and stare at him in complete shock, and in horror at what I've almost done.
"Shannon."