Neil is trying to lift his feet. The cool wind has pulled him back to consciousness, helping him muster his reserves. With Nemeth and Luciana serving as walking sticks, he starts hobbling forward. Daisy remains glued to Luciana’s side, head down, tail tucked between her legs. I wouldn’t think a SAR dog would be put off by weather. Or is it something else? Because Luciana’s expression remains shuttered, which isn’t like her at all.
I’m still trying to sort through what Neil told me. Or sort of told me. Lies. Which means secrets. One of which most likely stole our food and bashed Neil over the head.
Scott had been missing when the food bags were sabotaged, and present when Neil was struck. Meaning I’ll be starting my next round of questions with him. In front of others. Whatever happens next, I want witnesses.
A fat raindrop lands.
Then a crack of lightning forks across the bruised sky, followed almost immediately by a concussive boom of thunder, so close it causes me to jump. Dark roiling clouds sweep over us, casting the entire canyon into immediate shadow. No more time for admiring the wild beauty. We gotta hustle.
“Just need to get to the trailhead,” Nemeth says, encouraging. “We can hunker down in the trees, let the storm pass. Few more feet. You got this.”
He’s totally lying. The trailhead is at least thirty yards, if not more. But Neil picks up his feet again.
People, straight ahead. I make out Martin and the others. They’re shouting and waving their arms to get our attention. They’ve already made it to the woods. Bob, however, clearly recognizes our predicament and immediately bolts from cover to help. Within minutes, he’s taken over for Luciana, and together he and Nemeth half carry Neil the rest of the distance.
We make it to the woods just as a fresh bolt of lightning electrifies the sky. Then, with a second massive boom, the thunderstorm explodes into the canyon. Rain falls in sheets, soaking our hair, sluicing the dust from our skin.
Nemeth and Bob get Neil situated under a small cluster of pines. The spindly branches aren’t thick enough to block out the downpour, but Neil doesn’t seem to mind. He lifts his face to the sky, the dried blood on his head turning fresh crimson, then running off him in gory rivulets.
Washing away his injury. Cleansing him of sin. If only.
He looks at me then, with the bone-deep exhaustion of a person who’s been carrying a heavy load for far too long. I want to tell him I understand. I want to promise him it’ll be all right. But I don’t want to add to the lies.
He smiles wanly, as if he can read my mind. Then he closes his eyes and surrenders to the rain.
* * *
—
The storm disappears as quickly as it struck. The clouds roll past us, taking their light show with them. Soon the thunder is a distant boom and the air no longer tingles with electricity.
Bob shakes out his hair and beard, then brushes the beaded raindrops from his pack. Just like that, the Bigfoot hunter is ready to go. The rest of us follow suit much more slowly. No one is talking. I go from face to face, searching for any hint of what’s going on. I stare the longest at Scott. His face flushes. With guilt? Remorse?
I turn my attention to Miggy next, who quickly becomes equally flustered.
When we get to base camp, there’s going to be one helluva discussion.
“We need to fashion a travois to get Neil back to camp.” Nemeth steps into the middle of the trail, already pulling a blue emergency blanket from his pack. “You two,” he snaps at Miggy and Scott. They jump to attention. “I need two sturdy branches of roughly the same diameter and approximately three feet longer than your friend here. Move it.”
They hustle away, clearly motivated by Nemeth’s urgency.
“You.” He pins me with his gaze. I’m tempted to twist around to see if there’s anyone standing behind me, but I already know better.
“Time to learn how to use that knife.”
Dear God.
He tosses me a coil of thin nylon rope. “Cut this into segments eight feet long. Next, I need you to make holes along the edge of the tarp Martin’s going to hand you. A simple X will suffice, big enough for the rope to pass through.”
Nemeth turns to Luciana, delivering additional orders. Martin throws me a folded-up tarp, and I have no choice but to unclip the monster blade from my waist and eye it warily. The textured handle feels comfortable enough. And I appreciate the broad guard protecting my hand from slipping down the blade. But the thing is still a beast, razor-sharp on one side, wickedly serrated on the other.
My hands are shaking. I have to take several deep breaths. Then I head out of the tree line, back to the now glistening gray rocks. I unfold the tarp on a large boulder, uncoil the rope, and get to work. It takes me a few moments of trial and error to find my courage and put some muscle behind the blade. In the end, the serrated edge seems to work best for slicing through the nylon. Just to be fair, I use the straight edge on the tarp.