MissTaken: Ch6

   If you haven't read the previous chapters, I recommend you go to this page which has links to all the chapters as I post them. 

Chapter 6

Jess heard the surprised yell from Marcos, and the sound of scrambling boots on loose rock. Her eyes went wide. “Oh crap!”

Thinking quickly, she released the emergency brake and moved the gearshift to neutral. The van began to roll backwards, and she turned so she could watch out the rear window as the vehicle picked up speed.

“This should be interesting,” she murmured. “What were you thinking Jess?”

The van was gaining speed. She glanced forward as Marcos clamored back onto the road. He was fifty yards or so away. He raced forward, brandishing his pistol. He fired wildly at the van but didn’t connect once.  The van rounded a corner in reverse, and she could no longer see Marcos.

Jessica tapped the brakes to keep the speed manageable on the narrow, winding road. But not so much that Marcos was likely to catch up. It was difficult to maneuver the van in reverse. The high, narrow rear window obstructed her field of vision, making it difficult to time the turns properly. She did her best to hug the uphill side of the road—better to bump it than to go careening over the edge.

She was navigating a sharp inside bend, when she realized there was an abrupt outside bend and a steep drop-off, she hit the brakes hard to shed speed, then released them as she jerked the wheel to make the bend, The left side front wheel, was nearly over the edge, breaking off loose dirt and rocks and sending them tumbling below. The body of the van tilted precariously outward, the right-side wheels almost lifting off.

Jess heaved a sigh of relief as the vehicle moved away from the edge. She continued down the winding road in a backwards descent for another ten or fifteen minutes, but the effort of managing the vehicle in reverse was fatiguing her. She was also becoming concerned about their ex-captors. How much longer before Juan returned with a vehicle? It wouldn’t take long to catch a VW bus, coasting in reverse.

Also, sooner or later they would run out of mountain. Probably sooner than later. The road was mostly following the river, and they were getting very close to the same elevation as the river now. There had been a few brief stretches of level and uphill on the road, but Jess had managed to build up enough speed to coast through them to the next downhill run. However, there was one uphill section that had her worried. Steeper and longer than the rest, it loomed before her in the back window.

The van began its way up the incline, tilting Jess forward in the driver’s seat enough she had to push back against the steering-wheel to keep her back against the backrest. Sky appeared out of the rear window as they neared the top of the hill. They were getting closer, but their speed lessened with every second. They had slowed to maybe five miles an hour as they reached the top and cleared the hump.

Jess exhaled, her shoulders sagging as the van started picking up speed again.

Ahead the road curved with an outside bend to follow the mountainside away from the river. Then an inside bend, then another outside bend. As she rounded the first bend, she looked out the side window at the second upcoming outside bend. The slope of the hill was relatively gradual. Roughly twenty yards down, a grove of oak trees started, and the river was another twenty or so yards beyond that.

She bit her bottom lip. Would rolling over the side work? What if she hit a tree or rolled and crushed them all?  She couldn’t continue to coast forever, hoping for a better opportunity. She maneuvered through the inside turn, applying the brakes lightly to shed speed. Out the back window the next outside bend was approaching. Now was the time to do it if she was going to.

“Hang on ladies!” She shouted. “The ride’s about to get bumpy!”

Jess turned the wheel to the right to follow the bend, then twenty feet into the turn, she spun the wheel hard left. The rear wheels were almost perpendicular to the road when they went off the edge. The bottom of the van scraped ground, then the front wheels reached the edge of the road, Jess straightened the wheels and tapped the breaks. Trying to control the rate of descent down the slope, which seemed considerably steeper now she was on it. She was worried if she gave it too much brake, the bus might just end-over and cartwheel down the hill.

The ground was also bumpier than it had seemed from a distance. The van bounced, tilted and careened its way down the slope as Jess fought the wheel, trying to maintain at least the illusion of control over the bucking vehicle. Her half-conscious cargo, thrown about like store mannequins, were heaped in an awkward pile of arms and legs at the very back of the van.

The trees were coming up fast. Jessica gritted her teeth and applied more brake, fighting the wheel to guide the van between two large trees, now looming on either side. As she passed those, she pulled hard right to thread between another cluster of large trees. She caught a smaller tree nearly dead center, snapping it off and sending splinters of wood flying. Jessica yelped but fought the instinct to close her eyes as she jerked the wheel to the left, panting under the exertion.  They traveled deeper into the woods, a few lower branches slapping the sides.

There was nowhere left to go. A large tree loomed directly behind; Jess slammed on the brakes. Moments later the back of the van hit the tree, and the van came to an abrupt halt. There were cries, more of surprise than pain, from the tangle of girls. Jessica felt the breath forced out of her, and she was driven into the backrest by the force of the sudden stop.

Jessica lay still for a moment, catching her breath and letting her arms stop shaking from the exertion of fighting the unruly van.

“Is everybody okay?” Jess asked. “Is anything broken?”

The number of distinct groans she heard reassured her that everyone was still alive and conscious. Looking at the pile of arms and legs, nothing seemed particularly out of place, and no blood was visible, so it didn’t appear there were any serious injuries.

She slipped out of the van on trembling legs and braced a hand against the side of the vehicle to steady herself as she looked around. They were fairly deep in the trees, but better not to take chances.

Removing the hatchet from her sack, she hurried to lop off a number of smaller branches and arrange them over the hood and sides of the van, in an effort to camouflage it. Looking up the hill, she could see several small but discernable indicators of their path down the hill. She couldn’t do anything about the dislodged rocks, broken branches and exposed tracks in the softer earth leading to them except pray her captors didn’t notice.

Jessica was arranging the last branch when she heard an engine.

She slipped behind a large tree trunk for cover and peered around. A car came into view around the first outside bend, moving fast and kicking up a large dust cloud behind it. She followed its progress, shifting to keep the tree trunk between her and the vehicle as it advanced, then passed the point where she had left the road. The car continued out of site around the next bend.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Jessica returned to the van to check on her companions again. She climbed back into the driver’s seat and peered over the backrest. They all seemed okay—relatively speaking. They were too out of it to be especially coherent, but they had managed to disentangle themselves from each other, so everyone was at least semi-conscious, and arms and legs appeared to be functioning. She’d have to wait for them to sober up to be certain. She twisted in the seat and stuck her head out the driver side window, looking at the sky speculatively. They were probably going to be spending the night here. Oh well. The van was shelter at least.

Jessica began an inspection of the van interior, looking for items that would be of use. She found a couple of empty beer bottles, a half-eaten sandwich, and a pack of cigarettes on the floor of the passenger side. In the glove compartment she found some loose papers, a handgun, two spare magazines, several loose rounds, and a few shotgun shells.

She removed and examined the pistol. It was a dull gunmetal gray with brown, plastic grips. The word “Colt” was engraved on the side, followed by “Super 38 Automatic” in smaller print. To the right of the text was an engraving of a rearing horse. Her daddy had a similar Colt 1911 38 Super, only his was shiny silver, with pearl handles. His was well cared for, whereas this one looked neglected.

She checked the safety, removed the magazine and cleared the chamber, then inspected the gun. The slide seemed to run smoothly enough; The trigger had more play than it should have. She dry-fired the gun. The hammer snapped forward powerfully. There was no holster to be found, so she stuffed the gun, spare magazines and loose shells into her sack.

Jessica crawled between the front seats into the back of the van to continue her exploration. Behind the passenger seat she struck gold. A weathered rucksack lay on the floor. She opened it up and emptied out the contents for inspection: a piece of camo netting, a pair of binoculars, a small first aid kit, a roll of electrical tape, flashlight, Swedish fire steel, and a metal canteen. The canteen was empty but smelled of something alcoholic.

She returned the items to the rucksack and transferred the gun and shells she had just deposited into her bag as well. She slipped the handle of the hatchet into a loop on the back of the rucksack, designed for that purpose. She tucked the arrows into an open side pocket, and the now empty bag into the main compartment of the rucksack.

Jessica peered out the window. The light was fading fast. She crawled back to the front seats and rolled up the two side windows. Back at her camp she would be huddled next to a campfire now, hopefully with something to eat. Since they had the van for shelter, and nothing to cook, a fire was pointless; they were close to the road, and she didn’t want to risk being seen.

A glance over her shoulder confirmed the girls were asleep. She sat in the passenger seat and thought over the details of the dream the previous night.

“I think you should try North instead. I think you will find the hunting more productive,” Her grandma-great had said. Lucky coincidence? Jess wasn’t much of a believer in luck. She adjusted the backrest as far down as it would, settled in as comfortably as she could, and closed her eyes.

“Grandma Dalton,” Jess mumbled, sleep taking hold of her, “If you can hear me, thanks. For rescuing my friends.”

Jess was awakened at some point in the night by a panicked whisper.

“Jess,” Came the hiss from Merideth again. Her words still slurred, but the tone of panic suggested soberness was returning.

Jess snapped to attention at the rustling sounds outside.

“I hear it Mer” She whispered back keeping her voice low. Jess reached into the rucksack and withdrew the pistol. Using it would be a last resort. The report of a fired handgun would give away their position, and her rescued companions were still in no shape to run for it.

The sounds drew closer, the sounds of something rustling through the leaves and grass on the ground. She heard no whispers or footfalls. Slowly, Jessica raised her head in order to peer out of the window. She couldn’t see anything from the passenger side of the van. The sound seemed to be coming from the driver’s side of the vehicle.

The sounds stopped. Jessica tightened her grip on the gun as she flicked her gaze about in the darkness searching for some clue to what was out there.

Jessica lowered her head and slithered from the passenger seat to the driver’s seat. She worked her way up so she could peer out. Still nothing. The small sliver of moonlight passing through the dense foliage provided little help in separating shadow from darkness.

Then she caught a faint movement of blackness against blackness, close to the ground. She looked to the side of the movement, to use her peripheral vision. It helped a little, but not enough to identify anything. Too close to the ground to be a person—unless they were crawling. However, the movement wasn’t right for that. It wasn’t going anywhere. The motion was in place. It reminded her of something she had seen before. A memory of the ranch flashed in her mind. A late evening, with heavy shadows on the northeast facing slope. She was riding a horse, next to her father, looking for a missing calf. He father stopped abruptly and pointed up the slope. In the deepening shadows she could make out the carcass of the calf, being dragged up the mountainside by a cougar. The movement and sounds outside were similar enough to ease her worry. She relaxed her grip on the gun.

“It’s just a big cat, Mer.” Jessica whispered, returning the gun to the rucksack. “Go back to sleep.”

“Okay,” Meredith rolled over to sleep, and Jess did likewise.

Grandma Dalton was in her rocker again. It seemed strange, since they were sitting by a campfire, next to an olive green, square, canvas tent. The stars above her were unfamiliar. Beside her, a coal-black cat was curled up, purring softly with an unusually large mouse carcass between her front paws. She examined Jessica with cool, uninterested eyes.

“This is a pretty spot.” Grandma said.

Jessica looked around. It was dark, but she could still make out tall, inviting trees and hear the soft babble of a nearby stream. The grass under her was cool and soft. The air smelled of lilacs and roses. Jessica breathed deeply and sighed.

“Can’t stay though,” Grandma said, her tone stern. “Storm’s a comin’. Need to get moving at first light if we’re to stay ahead of it.”

The cat stretched, yawned, then casually swatted at its prize a few times.

MissTaken: Ch5

  If you haven't read the previous chapters, I recommend you go to this page which has links to all the chapters as I post them. 

Chapter 5

Jessica spent the next few days making rope baskets from the cordage. She coiled and shaped thicker cordage while she used thinner cordage to bind the coils together. She narrowed the openings and added rope handles to a couple of the smaller baskets, so she would be able to use like canteens. She gathered some lumps of pitch and dropped them into the rope jugs with hot rocks from the fire, shaking them about until the rocks cooled. After doing this a few times, she filled them with water and checked for leaks. She repeated the process until she was satisfied the smaller two containers were watertight. The larger container leaked a little bit, but as she intended to use it only to carry dirty water from the river to the cistern, minor leaking wasn’t a serious concern.

Jessica also made a couple baskets by weaving together thin, flexible branches, to be used for storing extra meat or other sundries. She used the last bit of cordage and some sticks to build a basket fish trap. She placed this in the river, hoping to add a little variety to her sparse diet of mostly tiny, somewhat crushed rodents caught in the deadfall traps.

Jessica also spent time working on the bow, adjusting the limbs, and shaping the arrow rest until she was able to hit a two-inch target consistently at twenty yards.

As the sun went down, she decided to try her hand at catching birds.  Many birds would sleep, or at least rest in the trees at night. Maybe she could sneak up on one in the darkness and catch it.

She made her way back to the cluster of trees and discovered the first flaw in her plan. Even with the moonlight, the treetops were shrouded in darkness, making it difficult to pick out the shapes of roosting fowl.

She did manage to locate a few birds, but no matter how slowly or carefully she moved, they always seemed to sense her approach and took flight before she was close enough to make a grab at them.

After a dozen disappointing attempts, she abandoned the effort and returned to camp. She lay down and drifted off to sleep.

“What plans tomorrow?” Grandma Dalton asked. She was in her home again, sitting on the couch, while Grandma Dalton knitted in her rocking chair as in the previous dream.

“I think I’ll head down the draw tomorrow.” Jessica said, “I saw deer sign when I was down there a few days ago, checking the fences.”

Grandma stopped knitting, looked skyward, then turned her gaze to Jess. “You know, dear,” she said, “I think you should try north instead. I think you will find the hunting more productive.”

 “Grandma-great?” Jess was puzzled by this suggestion. “North is higher up into the mountains and high desert. I don’t think I am more likely to find deer there, and with less cover, it will be much harder to get a good shot.”

The old woman returned to her knitting. “You do as you like. But I really do think you should go north tomorrow.”

Jessica woke early the next morning, and in spite of the late night, she felt well rested. “A full belly, enough water and a soft place to sleep,” she reasoned.

She hurried through the morning routine of checking the traps, refilling and sterilizing the cistern, and making breakfast. The traps were empty this morning, but for one rodent a bit bigger than a mouse or a rat. It wasn’t especially tasty, but it was food, and she wasn’t in a place where she could be picky. She needed to start working out some vegetation that would be safe to eat. An all meat diet would get old after a while. The only non-protein nutrition she had taken in over the past few days had been some pine needle tea she brewed, just for a break from drinking boiled water.

Her dream from the night before kept slipping to the front of her mind. She had definitely been in her home, talking to her ancestor. However, the geography of the conversation didn’t fit with anything at home. It did fit with her current geography and plan of action, though. She intended to go south to hunt deer, so the description of “north” in the dream fit here.

Nevertheless, just as in the dream, she couldn’t figure the sense of going north instead of south to hunt and gather more cambium for rope making.

But Grandma Dalton seemed quite insistent that she should go north.

Why? She couldn’t shake the feeling it was more than just a random, meaningless dream.

What if the feeling was her gut trying to tell her something? Was it worth the risk of following the pull north? She really needed to establish a better food supply. It was the next key step in thriving: First shelter and fire, then water, then food, then conveniences.

Without shelter, you could die in a matter of hours. Without water you died in a matter of days, and without food you died in a matter of weeks. Once you were solid on those, the sky was the limit.

She had constructed a primitive “cooler” to store surplus meat in—she had piled rocks at a secluded point on the river to create a circular fence where she could sink any meat in her woven baskets. Water flowed through it to keep it cool and extend its life for a few days, yet fish and other scavengers wouldn’t be able to get in. Not as effective as the ice-cold mountain streams where she spent her summers, but still better than open exposure. Now she just needed a surplus of meat to put in her “cooler”. A haunch of venison would definitely supply that, and it would be considerably more enjoyable than her present rat or squirrel diet.

Using a small piece of rope, she tied the loops of one of her water bottles to her belt. She stuffed her arrows and the hatchet into her sack, gathered it and her bow, and slipped out of the cave. She stood, looking north, then south. She heaved a deep sigh of resignation, shook her head, and turned north to start following the river upstream.

She had traveled no more than an hour when she came to a shallow gravel-bottomed area that was an ideal crossing. The water was clear, and the stones in the stream bed were worn smooth by centuries—or perhaps millennia—of water flowing over them, grinding and polishing them. She took off her boots and socks. While she had the second, pilfered pair of socks, she only had the one pair of boots. The resulting blisters wet boots would likely create were something she preferred to avoid if possible.

She made her way across, gingerly placing each footfall after a tentative exploration with her toes to make certain the rocks she was stepping on were as smooth as they appeared, and that they were solidly in place and wouldn’t slip, revealing unpleasant surprises underneath.

Jessica made a mental note to make a pair of moccasins from some of the animal pelts or cordage, just so she would at least have a backup pair of shoes if hers got wet.

She made it across without incident, dried her feet against her jeans, then replaced her socks and boots. She moved away from the river a bit and continued to parallel it as it wandered in a north-northwest direction. The ground began to steepen and climb in front of her as she moved forward over the rocky terrain, dotted with the occasional squat bush which had somehow managed to send roots into the barren soil and find enough nutrients to survive.

Above her, Jessica saw a high point with a stand of evergreen trees. She could scout the area from higher ground if she made the climb.

It was slow going, the ground mainly slide rock, which shifted treacherously underfoot.

As she neared a crest, she thought she could hear voices in the distance. She stopped walking and listened. The ragged sound of her own panting filled the air around her, muffling any other sounds. She held her breath, and cocked her head, straining to hear. She could pick out two male voices now. They sounded like they were yelling.

Jessica expelled her breath as an icy tingle shot down her spine. Should she turn back? It would mean losing all her progress and needing to start afresh the next morning. A waste of time if the voices didn’t belong to her captors. She needed to at least check the situation out before retreating.

Jess slowed her pace, and moved more carefully over the loose rock, to limit noise as much as possible. She came over the crest onto a dirt road cut into the side of the mountain.

The voices were coming from farther up the road to the north, around a bend.

Jessica crossed the road, hurrying into the stand of evergreens on the other side. Crouching, she slunk toward the sound of the voices. She scanned the trees for any sign of movement, anything that looked out of place, while monitoring the terrain to avoid dry branches or other debris likely to make noise under her footfall.

She plotted her course forward, favoring areas with darker shadow and thicker cover. She was getting close enough to make out words. The two distinct male voices were angry. They were trying to get their car running and were arguing about what they should do next.

“Angel’s gonna be pissed if we don’t have these four to the mine by tomorrow night. He was already threatening to feed us to his dogs for losing the other one, we can’t afford another slip up.”

“Hey, don’t blame me, man!”

Jessica froze. She knew those voices. The first was Juan, the second belonged to the one Juan had threated to kill for groping her. Jess fought to control the wave of panic threatening to overwhelm her. She dug her nails into her sweaty palms and inhaled, counting slowly to five in her head. She held her breath for five counts, then slowly exhaled for ten. She couldn’t afford to crumble now. The hadn’t found her yet. And they weren’t going to. Maybe she could use this to her advantage, by gathering information to stay one step ahead of them.

She willed herself to take another step forward, crouching lower.

“Look, we can’t be more than six or seven miles from Ixlayotla,” Juan said. “I’ll walk to the village and get a car. If we hurry, we can still catch our ride tonight. You stay here and watch the girls.”

“What, you want me to just sit here for hours?”

“Yes, I do. Keep your eyes on the girls, and keep your hands off them. They end up hurt or missing, it’s your head Marcos.”

Jess peered through the branches of the shrub she was using for cover. She saw Juan walking away up the road. Marcos stood, pointing his handgun at Juan’s retreating back.

“Point that pistola at me again, and I’ll cut your hands off,” Juan shouted without looking back. Marcos lowered the gun and kicked at the road, sending up a small dust cloud.

Jess remained motionless, staring at the beat-up van. Were her roommates in there? The image of Meredith from her dream returned. She looked from the van to Marcos who was pacing randomly, kicking at the dirt, and muttering expletives under his breath. He stabbed his pistol at the air occasionally to punctuate a particularly acid phrase. She noted that while he spoke Spanish, he seemed to favor English expletives.

She shifted her gaze from Marcos to the gun in his hand, then back to the van. What was she going to do? What could she do? She looked at Marcos and the gun again.

Jessica considered the bow in her hand. She had taken a four-point buck two years ago. She had located it in a meadow in the early evening when she was getting ready to return to camp. She spent an hour carefully slinking around the edge of the meadow to the downwind side, slipping quietly from bush to bush. She had moved to within twenty yards of the deer when she posted up, drew, and released. The slap of the bow startled the buck, but the arrow had already found its mark. It went cleanly through the buck’s side, hitting the lungs and heart. The animal jumped once in surprise then dropped, lifeless, to the ground.

She was no more than twenty yards away from Marcos. The thought of firing an arrow at a human being, even one as disgusting as Marcos, caused her stomach to twist and her throat to tighten. She could feel the adrenaline shakes in her hands and arms. She had felt that with the deer as well, but then it was with a sense of anticipation. Now it was pure dread.

Marcos kicked at the ground again, muttering more expletives. He stomped across the road, looking down toward the river. He paused mid-curse, staring at something out of Jessica’s view. He glanced around, as if to make sure nobody was watching him, then began to work his way down the slope and disappeared out of site.

 Don’t just sit there, Jess, move, a voice hissed in her mind.

Jessica scrambled forward, uncertain what she should, or could do. The hood was up, and the driver’s side door was open. She peeked at the engine—she couldn’t see anything obvious, but she really didn’t expect to. She had done a little work on tractor engines back home, but she was no mechanic. She had felt pushed by an otherworldly power to move, would divine providence smile on her again? Would the engine start for her, when it hadn’t for them?

Listening, she could still hear Marcos descending. He wasn’t particularly agile, given all the slipping, stumbling and stomping sounds she heard. He wasn’t moving very quickly, yet he was moving farther away. She listened for a minute more to his retreating sounds, then slipped into the driver’s seat. Looking in the back, she could see four girls on the floor, hands tied.

One looked like a native. She had dark skin and dark hair. Her features reminded her a little of native Americans. The second was a tall, striking, athletic-looking blonde with exotic features and full lips.

Her throat caught as she examined the other two. They were her roommates.

“Sarah? Mer?” she whispered. Meredith opened her eyes slowly; she moaned and tried to focus on Jessica.

“Jess?”

“Yeah Mer,” Jess said, “It’s me.”

Meredith tried to rub her face, but her movements were slow and uncoordinated, “Why are you here?” The words came out slurred, a bit like she was drunk, but not quite the same.

“I’m gonna get you outta here.” Jessica said with quiet conviction. She twisted around to face forward. She slipped out of the van, and carefully lowered the hood without latching it, that would have to wait until after they were away.

Jessica slid back into the driver’s seat and checked the radio to make sure it was off. She turned the ignition key one click, lights came on. The battery was probably good, then. She took a deep confident breath, set her jaw, pressed the clutch to the floor and turned the ignition. The starter emitted an unpleasant screech. The engine didn't turn over.

MissTaken: Ch4

 If you haven't read the previous chapters, I recommend you go to this page which has links to all the chapters as I post them. 

Chapter 4

Jessica woke in the morning chilled, stiff and sore. She moved to the firehole, threw some fresh fuel in, and gently blew the embers back to life. Huddling over the fire, she let it warm and loosen up cramped muscles.

A memory came unbidden to her mind, of camping with her family. Of waking in the morning and warming herself by the campfire her father had built—he was always the first one up. She could hear the sizzling of bacon and eggs on the cast-iron griddle and smell the aroma of the bacon mixed with wood smoke. Her mouth watered, and her stomach growled.

Jessica shook her head, clearing away the memory.  The pleasant aroma faded, but the pinch of hunger in her stomach remained. She stretched, took a few deep breaths of the morning air, then took a moment to orient herself.

She was at the bottom of a ravine which wound its way down through the mountainous terrain from northeast to southwest. She could see smoke to the northwest, maybe ten or so miles away, beyond the edges of the valley that she could see. Possibly a village on or above the river.  Or maybe a valley or two over. Difficult to tell what the terrain might do between here and there. No road close to where she was though. Nothing could be seen to the south that looked like people. Her exploration did find a better place to use as base camp. Up one of the draws just north of where she had camped was a steep hill, almost a cliff. At one point the cliff turned sharply, and in that corner was a small pocket. It was difficult to see, difficult to reach, and provided good cover, shade, and shelter. It seemed a good spot to lay low for a while.

How long would be long enough? How long before they tired of hunting her? For now, she needed to focus on thriving.

She made several trips back and forth from a wooded area near the water to her new hideout, hauling pine branches and dry wood.

Jessica used some of the branches to fashion a roof in the one exposed opening. This would prevent anyone seeing a fire from above, and it would let any rain run off the edge, rather than pooling in the sheltered area. She used more branches to create a soft bed.

Satisfied with her creations, Jess stepped out of her small pocket in the rockface. She squinted against the burning light. She shielded her eyes form the sun and pursed her lips. In all the excitement over the finding and setting up the new location, she’d neglected to make water her priority. Now she would have to handle that in the midday heat.

Reckless, Jess. How could you forget something so vital?

Unable to wait for cooler temperatures, she made her way down to the river again, bottle in hand. The water was clear, which was good. She filled the empty bottle, then collected one more load of dry wood and returned to the new base camp.

As Jess got a fire going and dropped the bottle in, she realized she needed to come up with a different solution for sanitizing the water, the bottle wasn’t likely to take much more of this treatment.

She peered out of the opening, scanning the area near the river. Dirt, rocks, brush, and trees. What could she do with any of those? She recalled a show she had watched on making clay. Could she do that? She would need to find dirt with good clay in it. Then extract the clay, shape it, dry it. Were there other steps she didn’t recall? How long would it take to find a clay deposit? Would she even be able to identify it on her own?

C’mon Jess, Keep it simple. What else would work? She sifted through other survival tricks she had learned or read about. She remembered a book she’d read explaining how native Americans made dugout canoes, by using fire to hollow out a log to make the sitting area. If it could keep water out, it could also keep water in, right? Fill a small canoe with water and it is a cistern.

Down to the river she went once more, searching for a log. It wasn’t long before she spied a recently felled evergreen tree. It appeared to have taken root on an unstable hillside, which had sloughed off. There were still green needles, but it was beginning to dry out. The base of the tree was roughly ten inches in diameter.

She set to work with the hatchet, clearing away branches, then chopping a section out at the base, she hefted the two-foot log in her arms and made her way back.

The log was too heavy and awkward to carry while climbing to the new hideout. She removed the rope from her waist and tied a loop around the log. Looping the remaining end around her waist, she tied it off. She then began the climb, allowing the rope to drag the log up behind her. She winced as the rope dug into her hips but continued upward. Once she cleared the ledge, she pulled the rope hand over hand to drag the log the remaining distance. Exhausted from the exertion, she lay on her back, breathing heavily.

“C’mon Jess.” she murmured encouragingly after a few moments rest, “You got this.” She needed water. She needed calories.

Using the hatchet Jessica cut away wood from the log to flatten one side, to keep it from rolling. Once she had a stable base, she began chopping at the top, roughly carving out a trough. The going was slow, and the inside was very rough.

She piled the shavings in the trough, and using a hot coal from the fire, she set the shavings ablaze. The fire was hot, she backed away a couple steps and shielded her face with her hands. As the burn progressed, the fire crept up toward the top of the trough. Jessica quickly grabbed a long stick and beat at the flames, keeping the fire back from the edges.

After the fire had burned out, she used the blade of the hatchet to scrape out the burnt wood. The inside of the trough was now deeper, and considerably smoother. She made one more trip to the water to collect a large handful of mud, which she applied to the edges of the trough, to keep them from burning. Then she filled the trough with more shavings and lit them.

She repeated the process again and again, forming a smooth, deep trough. She continued to work into the evening. As the sun set, she opened the bottle she had removed from the fire a few hours earlier and drank deeply. Then she settled down on her pine bed and slept.

Next morning Jessica continued burning, cleaning, and deepening the trough in the log. By late morning, she estimated the trough was large enough to hold a little over a gallon of water. Now it was time to try out another trick her father had told her about on one of their family camping trips.

Jess made several trips back and forth, collecting water in the bottle and pouring it into her wooden cistern. She collected handfuls of smooth, clean, roughly golf ball sized rocks on each trip also, which she piled in the fire. Once the rocks were well heated, she used a couple of sticks to fish a few at a time out of the fire and into the cistern. After a few minutes she removed those rocks from the cistern and replaced them with a few more fresh rocks from the fire. In time, the water in the wooden cistern began to boil. Jessica grinned. It was working. She continued swapping rocks, keeping the water boiling for ten minutes.

Jessica smiled contentedly, giving herself a mental pat on the back. She had a process for producing a gallon of clean water—enough to keep her hydrated for a day. Next, she needed to work out a better way than the little bottle to transport the water. She would waste a lot of time and energy making so many trips to the river every day.

Another wooden cistern or bowl would be easy to make, but it would be heavy and awkward to carry. Jess chewed on her bottom lip as she considered clay pots again. She'd only seen how to do it, and it seemed like a lot of work, and they would probably be fragile.

She recalled seeing a jug made from rope, in a museum once. The placard had explained how they used pitch to make it watertight. She didn’t have enough rope to make a jug with, but she knew how to make rope from trees. She had done that with one of the old ranch hands once. He had stripped the cambium layer just under the bark from a tree and laid it out to dry. A few days later, he separated it into little strands, and then twisted the strands together to make cordage.

Of course, she needed to work out food also. That would probably need to come before more efficient water transport. Then again, perhaps she would be killing two birds with one stone by trekking back down to the oak trees she had gone through on her way to this spot.

A nice straight oak branch could be fashioned into a longbow, and a bowstring could be crafted from some of the cordage made from the cambium layer. She had watched her father and brother do that one summer.

Jessica’s brow furrowed as she chewed on her lower lip. It would take most of a day to get to the oaks. Finding a good piece of wood for a bow stave and collecting cambium would likely consume a day. Three days of walking, with no food, and very little water. She frowned, scanning the horizon.

There were clusters of evergreen trees here and there, just a few minutes’ walk from where she stood. She could collect cambium for cordage from them, which would work as well as oak, maybe better. And she was certain to find pitch on them as well. It would likely be harder to find a good, straight, knot-free piece of would for a bow stave, and the softer wood was almost certain to produce an inferior bow, but perhaps good enough.

She grimaced, frustrated by the indecisiveness she felt. In survival situations, the margin for error was often slim. She didn’t want to make the wrong choice.

She wasn’t even sure what there was available to hunt in Mexico. Probably deer. There were deer practically everywhere in the world, Some form of big cat no doubt, and some type of canine—wolf or coyote of some sort. Deer would be preferable. She wrinkled her nose at the thought of eating dog or cat. She wasn’t in a position to be picky just now, however.

There were probably plenty of smaller critters around as well – rabbits or squirrels or something. Maybe that was the place to start.

She spent the rest of the day building a few primitive figure-four deadfall traps using larger logs or big rocks for the deadfall, and smaller twigs and sticks for the trigger system. It was quick work notching them, and they were fairly easy to set up on worn areas near and leading to the river. She found herself increasingly grateful for her childhood on the ranch, and her father’s broad knowledge of bushcraft.

That night, once it was dark, she threw a handful of green material on the fire to produce smoke. Holding her breath and closing her eyes, she stepped into the billowing cloud to take a smoke bath. The smoke would kill the bacteria that had been colonizing all over her body for the past few shower-less days; not as nice as a hot shower and clean clothes from the dryer, but better than stewing in her own sweaty stench for who knows how much longer. It would also mask her human odors from animals.

* * *

Early next morning, Jessica checked the traps. She found a half-eaten rabbit in one trap, and nearby tracks that looked like coyote. She collected what meat she could and took it back to roast over the fire.

A quick, unsatisfying meal, a big drink of clean water, and she made her way to the nearest cluster of evergreens.

Jess set to work peeling away bark and stripping out large sections of cambium. She was careful to take only one vertical strip from each tree, leaving the bark mostly intact and running the full length of the tree. She didn’t want to kill the trees. 

Jessica was also pleasantly surprised to discover a few oak trees among the conifers. She found a stout, unblemished branch about five feet in length, and roughly as thick as her wrist—an acceptable piece to fashion a bow from.

Jess shouldered the strips of cambium along with the branch, and made a hasty return trip, arriving at her camp just before dark. She stoked up the fire, drank most of the water remaining in the cistern, and spread the cambium out to dry before settling into to her bed, exhausted.

Over the next couple days, the traps provided a couple of unrecognizable, partially eaten rodents. Jess scowled, as she collected the scraps.

“Stupid, lazy, good-for-nothing welfare coyote,” she grumbled as she stomped back to camp to cook the remnants. She ate the meager meal in two bites, and she wondered if she used more calories collecting and preparing it than she received from eating it. This coyote was making her life ten times harder than it needed to be with its opportunistic scavenging.

Jessica worked on shaping the branch into a bow, and on separating the cambium into long, thin strips, which she then twisted together to form cordage. She had to take frequent, short breaks to rest her weary eyes and sluggish fingers. Her mind was less focused with every hour that passed. She tried to keep her movements to a minimum to conserve calories as she worked, but her sparse diet was beginning to take its toll.

Selecting one of the best lengths of cordage, she fashioned a bowstring.  She had also found a few stray feathers in a nest while poking around in trees, and she had managed to locate a chunk of obsidian, from which she had broken off a couple decent, flat, triangle-shaped pieces. Using various shaped rocks, she experimented chipping and flaking off material to put a good edge on the triangles and to add notches at the bases to attach the newly made arrowheads to straight sticks. She used some of the finer cordage she had created to fix the arrowheads and the feathers firmly in place.

 She was able to manufacture a half-dozen satisfactory arrows with the materials she collected. She had a few more arrowheads and there was more obsidian left. Sticks were readily available—straight sticks somewhat less so, but enough time looking would turn them up. Feathers were a trickier problem. She saw birds occasionally, but she didn’t have a good way to catch them. The bow was not the ideal weapon for bird hunting.

Perhaps she could make a sling? She grimaced, remembering the time she had tried using a sling her brother had made a few years ago. Hitting the broad side of a barn required luck—for her at least. She would have to give the feather idea more thought.

For now, she took the bow and arrows out to the open space by the river and made several practice shots at a cluster of bushes, getting a feel for where to aim at various distances. She broke one of her arrows in the process but managed to recover the fletching and arrowhead for re-use.

After an hour or so of practice, she picked a good observation spot near one of her frequently pilfered traps and kept watch as night fell. There was good moonlight, so she had excellent visibility of the trail.

It must have been close to midnight when a rabbit came up the trail, triggered the trap, and let out an abbreviated squeal as the large boulder dropped, crushing the head. The body protruding from the rock convulsed briefly, then went still. Jess remained watchful from her post. Not more than an hour later, a coyote came into view. It made its way boldly over to the rabbit and began picking at it.

Jess nocked an arrow, drew, and fired. The arrow left with a twang, and she made a mental note to do something to dampen the string. An instant later the coyote yelped as the arrow struck. The coyote turned and made to flee; the arrow had struck its hindquarter in a glancing blow, tearing flesh, but not sticking. The coyote stumbled, trying to get its legs, then took off. Jess scowled.

“Oh well,” she muttered, and she walked down to the trap. “At least he’s not likely to mess with my traps again soon.” She collected and field dressed the rabbit, found the arrow, and returned to camp.

She slept well that night after a good, filling meal and dreamt of her home. She was sitting on the couch. Nobody else was there, save an old woman, sitting in an old rocking chair, knitting. She didn’t recognize the chair, but she’d seen the woman in a family history book. It was her three times great grandmother. Or was it four greats? Maybe five? She couldn’t remember. Her father’s-mother’s-something-something.

At any rate, she was definitely great. A frontiersman’s wife, she had lived on the ragged edge of civilization. Her husband had been a scrapper, family lore said he would have his horse walk on his back to loosen up tense muscles. Grandma Dalton was by all counts his equal in sheer strength of will, though not so rowdy, nor short tempered.

“Nice evening.” Grandma Dalton observed, not looking up from her knitting.

“Yes, mam.” Jessica responded. For some reason, she felt the ‘mam’ was important. This gentle, yet solid matriarch deserved respect, though she did not command it. “The stars are beautiful tonight.”

“How are you feeling?”

“A little tired.” Jess replied, “It’s a lot of hard work—lots to do around the farm.”

“Yes, dear, it is” Grandma Dalton looked her over critically. “Hard work keeping a house in order. You should get some rest child.”

“Yes, mam.”

“Off to bed with you, and don’t forget to say your prayers. Don’t let yourself get so busy running about that you forget to talk to God.”

“Yes, mam.”

As soon as Jessica woke the next morning, she got on her knees. “Dear God, I’m sorry I haven’t been taking time to pray lately. I guess I wasn’t thinking straight. I promise I will do better. Anyway, thanks for all your help. Thanks for that snake when I needed food, and for that perfect branch I made my bow from.”

Jess paused, “Please bless my family and let them know I am okay,” she paused again, “and please keep my roommates safe,” she whispered. She tried to find the right words to ask for a way for them to escape, her mind turning over a dozen implausibly miraculous scenarios, she finally settled for, “Please help them, Amen.”

MissTaken: Ch3

If you haven't read the previous chapters, I recommend you go to this page which has links to all the chapters as I post them. 

Chapter 3

The Sobbing was over as quickly as it started. Jessica hardened her eyes and set her jaw as she roughly swiped the tears from her face.

“C’mon Jess,” she chided herself, “This is neither the time nor the place. Pull it together.”

Jessica took a few deep breaths, then rose to her feet. The sun was just peeking over the horizon, bringing with it the long shadows and muted colors of early dawn. She dismantled the campsite, reclaiming the bits of rope.

The fire was reduced to a few glowing embers. Jessica retrieved the bottle of water from the fire hole—a bit misshapen in places, but intact. The bottle was warm to the touch, but not unbearably so. She opened the bottle and took a sip. The water was flat and tasteless, as boiled water generally is, and the warm temperature left it even more dissatisfying to the palate. Which was probably a good thing, as it tempered the urge to drink it in great gulps. She recapped the bottle and set it to one side.

  Jessica filled the holes in and scattered loose debris over the disturbed earth. In a matter of minutes, the clearing looked as if she had never been there.

She surveyed the area once more to make sure nothing had been missed. Satisfied with her work, she collected the sack and the bottle. Stowing the bottle back in the sack, she continued upward to the summit. She was still tired, but less so than yesterday. Her head no longer ached, and her mind was clearer.

The muscles in her legs were slightly stiff from yesterday’s exertion. Fortunately, she had competed in cross-country, and in track as a distance runner in high school since her freshman year. She had continued a relatively consistent training regimen since graduating. In only a few minutes, she was loosened up and striding comfortably up the steep slope. She reached the summit in no more than an hour—maybe two.

The foliage was as dense on top of the mountain as it was elsewhere, frustrating her efforts to get a good view of the region. Craning her head back, she gazed at the treetops. If she could get to the top, she might be able to see everything she needed to.

Jessica continued to walk, studying the bases of trees as she went. She needed to find a tree tall enough to look over the forest, with branches low enough to reach, and with branches up high that would be strong enough to support her weight. Twenty yards away she spied two massive trees growing side by side, contending for dominance on a raised knoll. Both went straight up, with sparse, sturdy branches angling up and away from the trunk. Neither was particularly climbable, but there were enough intersections of branches that between the two of them she was confident she could get to a high perch.

She placed the sack at the base of one trunk. Looking upward, she took a deep breath, then exhaled, her eyes darting from branch to branch, plotting a route. She shook her arms, hands, and fingers, loosening them up. Coiling like a spring, she leaped with a grunt, stretching her arms upward to grasp the first branch. She paused a moment to adjust her grip, then with a quick jerk she pulled herself upward, swinging one leg up and over the branch. She wriggled onto the branch and stood up, leaning against the trunk for balance. The branch was angled more steeply than she thought. Leaning forward and gripping either side firmly, she monkey-walked up the steep incline, struggling to keep her balance as her shoes shifted and slipped on the bark.

Ten feet out from the trunk, she stood up quickly, grabbing a branch crossing above her head from the other tree. She pulled on it gently, testing its strength, it was thinner than the branch she was standing on, and a bit springy, but would hold her weight. She pulled her feet up and wrapped her legs around the branch. It bobbed up and down, but not dangerously so.

Jessica waited for the branch to settle, then she shimmied to the trunk of the second tree. Once she had footing against the trunk, she wormed her way onto the branch. A couple closely spaced branches here gave her purchase to scramble several feet directly upward, then out along another branch to reach a crossing branch from the first tree. Back over to the first tree, pull up to another branch.

Back and forth and up she went. She had to retrace her steps once when the branch she selected began to crack as she moved out onto it. It took several minutes, and a few breaks to shake out the tightness in her arms and fingers, but she finally found herself above the canopy, with an excellent view in all directions.

North, South and West of her looked much the same, lush and mountainous. To the Northeast was a rugged, more barren region, lots of scrub brush, and open spaces. Interrupted on occasion by large, rocky formations. That would be more familiar territory for her—more like the high deserts of Utah where she grew up, but familiar didn’t necessarily mean better. She knew just how challenging it would be to survive. She felt drawn to it, nonetheless. Was that just a trick of her mind? A desire for something familiar? Or was she being guided? She flicked her gaze between the lush, alien tropic and the familiar but treacherous desert.

Then Jessica noticed a line, meandering snake-like through the desert region. It appeared to be a gully, and it was dotted with greener, more dense clusters of foliage. That had to be a stream or a river cutting through the baren area. That settled it. She climbed back down out of the trees and started down the northeast side of the mountain. It was likely to be a long trek, maybe two days to get there. She really needed water sooner, her lips were dry and beginning to crack. Opening the bottle, she took a gulp. She resisted the urge to drink more. Until she had a way to replenish it, she would need to ration it.

It was still morning when Jessica came to a large, open spot in the trees on a flat area near the base of the mountain. It was completely covered with small, red, white, and mauve flowers on tall stems—about waist height. She froze. Nature wasn’t big on homogeneity. This had to be cultivated.

She crept to the left, staying in the trees, but near the field, watching and listening for any activity. She was nearly to the northeast corner when the rumble of a vehicle approached from the north. Jessica crouched lower, her heart rate quickening.

A break in the trees lay about 50 yards ahead. A small shack, camouflaged with branches and netting stood near the break. It blended well with the surrounding trees and shrubs.

She moved to heavier cover as a jeep came in sight through the break in the trees.

The jeep stopped near the shack and two men got out. They were talking, but they were too far away for her to make anything out. They strolled casually into the open field. Both men had pistols strapped to their hip. They examined a few of the flowers as they walked through the field. The men were talking, occasionally laughing. Jess strained to hear but couldn’t pick anything out.

After several minutes the men returned to the jeep and started the motor. They turned the vehicle around and disappeared into the trees the same way they’d come.

Jess hesitantly moved through the denser vegetation toward the shack, pausing every few steps to listen. She peered intently at the shack, watching for any movement.

The break in the trees was the head of a primitive road. Two worn tracks where wheels kept the vegetation from growing wound through the trees and out of site. The shack was on the same side of the road as her, so she slipped up to the side. There were no windows, but the construction was rather shoddy. She was able to peer in through one of the many gaps in the boards.

Inside were a few worn and rusty cultivating tools. Among the tools was a hatchet. That would be handy to have.

She paused, considering. She was not inclined to steal. On the other hand, she needed to survive, that meant gathering resources to make herself reasonably comfortable.

“Comfortable,” she chuckled softly. “Good choice of words Jess.” However, it really was her aim.

Her family used to watch survivor reality shows on TV together.  Her dad who was an avid outdoorsman often sighed and shook his head as they watched. “They make the same mistake right at the start” He would always say. “They act as though they are going to be rescued. That whole optimism thing, I guess. But it’s wrong.

“You have to assume you aren’t going to be rescued. When you assume help is around the corner, you end up doing just enough to get by until the cavalry comes to save the day. Then, if something goes wrong, which it inevitably will, you aren’t prepared to handle it, and you fall apart. When you know the cavalry isn’t coming, you do what it takes to thrive.”

Jessica checked the door, there was no lock, she inched the door open and reached in to grab the hatchet. Closing the door again, she slipped back into the trees. She paused, crouching, and listening again for any sound of pursuit. All remained quiet.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she slid the hatchet handle into the rope belt. And started off again.  She adjusted her direction of travel slightly to the north, running parallel to the road for a while, to see where it led. After two miles, she could make out a small village on a rise in the distance.

Those must be the people farming the flowers, she thought. The jeep with the two men was parked there, and the men were talking to a small group of women.

Jess wiped the back of her hand over her sticky, sweat covered face and squinted skyward. The sun was directly overhead.

She swung the sack from her shoulder and sat in the shade of a large oak tree. Where she could watch the village. She opened the sack and retrieved the bottle. After taking another gulp of water, she tore off another chunk of bread. Except for the two men in the jeep, all the villagers were women and children.

To her left, she heard a vehicle driving toward the village from the southeast. Another jeep came into view with three men in it.

As it approached the village, the group of women scattered, racing for homes, and the two men ran to their jeep. She watched as they pulled rifles from their vehicle and aimed at the approaching jeep. The new arrivals stopped abruptly and jumped from their vehicle, their own weapons at the ready.

Jess could hear them shouting, though she couldn’t make out what they were shouting. She scuttled around behind the thick oak tree, for cover.

Peering around the trunk, she saw one of the three newcomers collapse before she heard the first staccato bursts of gunfire. The remaining four men scrambled for cover. The newcomers boarded their jeep while firing wildly into the village. They turned the vehicle around and retreated the way they came.

The other two men gave chase in their own vehicle, kicking up a cloud of dust in their wake. Jessica stayed low, hugging the base of the big oak until the sounds of motors and gunfire were gone. She looked back to the village. She could hear screaming. A woman was crouched over a small form.

“Oh Jess, this is a bad idea!” she mumbled to herself.

Staying low she raced toward the village. As Jessica approached, she could see the small form was a young girl, no older than nine. Blood stained her dress.

Jess dropped down next to the little girl. The growing spot of blood was near the base of the girl’s neck, just above her heart.

Jessica grabbed the fabric and pulled hard, enlarging the small hole made by the entering bullet. She could see the hole in the girl’s shoulder. Dark blood was oozing out. A lot of dark blood was oozing out!

Jessica pressed her hand firmly against the hole to stop the flow of blood.

But then what? Two memories flooded her mind simultaneously, each competing for her attention. She closed her eyes, inhaled sharply, and exhaled slowly, fighting the panic welling up in her.

The first memory was from a first-aid class she had attended with a group of her friends as a church activity in her teens.

“Arteries pump. Veins dump.” The instructor repeated the rhyme several times, trying to fix it in the youths’ minds. The girl’s wound was oozing, not spurting. The bullet must have hit a vein.

Jessica fought to steady her trembling hands as she shifted her focus to the second memory. She was with her father and her older brother. They were deer hunting. Her brother had just shot a deer, and her father was examining the wound.

“Bullet entered here,” he said, examining the small whole high in the creature’s neck, close to the head. He rolled the deer over, exposing a much larger hole on the opposite side. The bullet deformed and expanded as it travelled through the deer.

Jessica briefly removed her hand from the wound to examine it, then applied pressure again. There were tears in the flesh around the wound. That meant this was probably where the bullet came out. The hole wasn’t very large though, and exit wounds are bigger than entry wounds. She’d been on enough successful deer hunts with her family to know that.

Jessica slipped her free hand behind the girl’s back. More blood, then her finger found another small hole. Jessica breathed a hopeful sigh. That suggested the bullet had passed right through the tiny body, without even expanding. Other than nicking a vein, this wound might not be so bad. She pressed her hand against the second hole.

“I need clean rags and water! Trapos limpios y agua!” Jessica said, mostly to give the panicked women something to do for a few minutes, other than screaming and waving their arms.

Her confidence cut through their fear, and they set about searching for water and rags. It took a few minutes for the requested items to be gathered, which gave Jessica a moment of quiet to think.

“Direct pressure for a vein,” Jessica rehearsed to herself reviewing again the instructor’s direction from the first aid course, “It shouldn’t take more than about five minutes to get it stopped.” Of course, holding pressure for five minutes was not an easy task.

When the women returned with the rags and water, Jessica quickly pressed a clean rag against the wound and instructed one of the women to hold it tightly in place. She did the same for the wound on the girl’s back. She used some of the water to clean the blood from her hands, then using another rag, she worked to clean away the blood from the little girl.

The girl regained consciousness as she was finishing up. She cried, complaining of pain in her shoulder, but otherwise, she seemed okay.

Under Jessica’s direction, the women slowly removed the rags. Blood was seeping, but no longer oozing from the wound. Jessica’s shoulders sagged and she breathed a sigh of relief. She instructed the women to continue pressure with clean rags.

“Is there a doctor?” Jessica queried. There was a quick discussion, and one older woman raced off to bring her car, to take the girl to a nearby town where a doctor could be found. The remaining women continued to fuss over the little girl.

Jess quietly took a few steps backward. She was uncertain what to do now. She ran both hands through her hair, pulling it up off her neck, then letting it drop. She could feel the slight trembling in her fingers. She continued to take slow, deep breaths as she turned about, looking this way and that.

“The men who were just here,” a voice startled her. Jessica whirled about, facing back toward the group of women. One younger woman had followed Jessica away from the group and was studying her closely.

“They were looking for a girl. A gringa with dark hair. They offered a reward.”

Jess fought to keep her face passive. Her fists clenched tightly and the muscles in her legs tensed. She glanced to the group of women around the little girl, then back to the young woman.

“I don’t think they will turn you in. Not after what you just did.” The woman held Jess’s gaze. “But it won’t be safe for you to stay here. They will be back, soon.”

“What just happened?” Jess asked.

The woman shrugged, “Rival Cartels. Los Zetas and Los Caballeros Templarios. Sometimes they fight.”

“Where are the men?” Jess looked around and then back to the woman inquisitively.

The woman glanced away. “Some are dead, some join the cartels. The rest try to get to America.” She looked northward, wistfully, “They send money when they can, and they will send for us if they can find a way to get us there safely.”

She paused for a moment, then turned back to Jessica, “You must go, it isn’t safe here. They will be back.”

Jessica reached out and gently touched the woman on the shoulder. She nodded soberly, then turned northward.

“Be careful!” The woman called after her. “Don’t trust the police. Don’t trust anyone.”

Jessica slipped into the trees and out of site.

* * *

As the day progressed the trees began to thin. By late evening, Jessica could see only small clusters of trees and scrub brush ahead of her. She had used nearly all the water in the bottle, even with careful rationing. She might be able to push on and reach the river before morning.

No. Better to make camp here in one of the small clusters of oak trees. She selected a spot with good cover, constructed another Dakota fire hole, and got a fire going.

Propping herself against a tree, she tilted her head back to the night sky and stared at the stars. Were her family looking at the same sky? Did they even realize she was missing? It had been only three days after all. Even though she called them every night to check in, maybe they thought she was having such a good time she forgot.

With a weighted breath, she lowered her head and rummaged in the sack for the last scrap of bread. It was small—not enough to stave off the loud growls coming from her stomach—but it was enough to keep her going until she got to the river.

Biting down on the crust, her thoughts turned to the little girl. Had the women got her to the doctor in time? She hoped so. She’d done all she could for her under the circumstances anyway.

Not wanting to use the last of her water, she finished the bread and settled in for the night. Leaning back against the trunk, she wriggled to find a more comfortable spot and pulled the shawl over her as a makeshift blanket. Her eyes heavy, she gave up trying to fight them and let sleep take her.

She had the same dream that night, her baby sister morphing into Meredith, begging her not to leave.

She startled awake as before yet froze the second she heard the unmistakable buzz of a rattlesnake nearby.

Turning her head slowly, Jess could just make out the coiled shape in the pre-dawn light, not more than two feet away, near the fire hole. It must have come during the night, drawn by the warmth. It was difficult to judge the snake’s length, but it looked like a timber rattler. She had seen those as long as five feet back home. Best guess, this one was between three and four feet long, which meant sitting two feet away she was likely within striking distance.

Not taking her gaze off the snake, Jessica moved ever so slowly, ever so imperceptibly away from the snake. First one leg, a mere fraction of an inch, then the other. She pressed her palms against the ground just enough to allow her body to shift, then she slowly slid her hands. It seemed as though an hour had passed before she managed to widen the gap by a foot, her arms trembled from the exertion. She continued until she had placed five feet between her and the snake, ensuring she was out of striking range.

She stood, and looking around spied a fallen branch, roughly 5 feet long, with a sturdy, forked end. Keeping a close eye on the rattler, and using the hatchet, she quickly shortened the ends of the fork to just over an inch.

The snake ceased rattling and began to uncoil, preparing to move on. Jessica walked slowly toward the snake, stepping deliberately heel to toe to avoid making any sudden movements or sounds. When she was close enough, she lifted the stick up, and taking careful aim, brought the fork-end down just behind the snake’s head, pinning the head to the ground. In a swift motion she raised the hatchet and swung, striking the body hard directly behind the stick. The blow severed the head cleanly. The decapitated body coiled and uncoiled, dropping small spatters of blood as it flopped about aimlessly.

Jessica used the stick to push the head away from her campsite. Eagerly, she rekindled the remaining embers of the fire. Once the fire was refueled and burning well, she took the still writhing snake body, and placing her boot on the tail just above the still buzzing rattles, she stretched the body out. Using the SOG, she cut a slit down the belly of the snake from end to end. She spread the skin apart near the top of the neck and located the esophagus and gripping it, she began pulling the innards out of the body.

Once the entrails were free of the body, she peeled the skin off, leaving her holding a creepy, twitching, naked snake body.

Using the remaining water, she cleaned out the body cavity and rinsed her hands. The fire was a hot pile of embers now. She gathered a few green branches and fashioned a grill grate over the hole. She cut a green branch from the tree and skewered the snake body at several locations, to keep the still twitching body in check. She then placed the skewered snake on the makeshift grate.

While it cooked, she attended to the head, gouging a hole in the dirt with the SOG and burying it, to reduce the chances of someone or something unintentionally coming in contact with the still venomous fangs.

Jessica removed the snake from the fire, peeled open the crisped outside, and proceeded to pick out and eat the stringy meat.

Some people said snake was good and tasted like chicken.  Jessica didn’t agree. She thought it might be edible with enough barbeque sauce. But plain, it tasted to her the like result of an unholy pairing of a chicken and an oyster. Still, it was meat. There was probably close to a pound of good, lean protein, which would satisfy her hunger and give her a much-needed boost.

With her belly filled and her spirits lifted, Jess filled in the fire hole and as before, cleared all traces of her having been there. She spied a nice, long, straight stick which would serve well as a walking pole as she was preparing to move on. Things were definitely looking up.

She gathered her meager supplies and began the day’s trek hoping to reach the river before dark.

The ground had changed now, less grass and more gravel. There were fewer trees as well. She began to reconsider the wisdom of her decision, there were few places where she wasn’t exposed. Still there would be water ahead, and she needed water.

The sun was beating down now. Jessica used the bandana to cover as much of her face as she could to protect her skin. She wished she had a little water left, to mix with dirt and then rub the resulting mud on to serve as sunblock, as she had done the previous day. Much more of this exposure would likely leave her burned, peeling, and perhaps even blistering,

“Standing outside the fire,” Jess sang the words from the country Song by Garth Brooks softly to herself, “Life is not tried it is merely survived if you’re standing outside the fire”.

She took comfort from the words. It was a reminder that most things worth doing were hard. She felt energized as she continued to hum the music, her paced quickening to match the rhythm.

Ducking into the next shady spot she found, Jessica took a break for several minutes. She’d been limiting her exposure as much as she dared while still making progress across the barren landscape, and the pauses gave her a chance to assess the situation.

The sun was getting close to the horizon now. She held her hand up between the sun and horizon to count the number of fingers between the two. Six fingers. It was a primitive way to measure time, each finger representing about 15 minutes. She had roughly an hour and a half until sunset.

She had hoped to be at the river by now. Could she chance getting over one more hill? She wasn’t desperately dehydrated yet. She had a goal and didn’t want to miss it. Gripping her walking stick firmly, and setting her jaw, she plodded forward.

As she crested the rise, she flashed a celebratory smile. There was definitely running water down there. She could see the shimmer and sparkle, could hear the distant gurgle and splash of it against rocks. She could almost feel its coolness in her throat. Using the high ground, she began scouting out potential campsite locations. She looked for an open area, free of any tall grass, logs, large rocks or other debris that might attract critters. She spotted a location about halfway down the hill, still some seventy yards from the water.

She hurried down the hill as quickly as she dared, eager to reach the campsite and set up for the night. She covered the distance in just a few minutes.

Jessica set to work, using the stick she had fashioned into a trekking pole that morning to scratch out a small circle to serve as her campsite. She had needed to pee for several hours but had been holding it until the campsite was selected. Now she squatted at spots every couple of feet and released a small amount of urine, working her way around the circle to create a pee fence. Hopefully that would help discourage any snakes or other critters form snuggling up to her tonight. She had heard once that most critters avoid human urine scent. It was worth a try anyway.

She used the hatchet to cut a few branches from the trees down by the river and erected another marginal lean to. Grandpa Hansen would likely chastise her if he saw it. There really wasn’t time to do a good job though. With any luck it would be enough to keep her mostly dry, should it decide to rain that night.