Page 110 of Trapper Road

Connor: I thought you were avoiding her.

Willa: She was crying. I can’t not be there for her.

Connor: But you said she’s dangerous. You want me to go with you?

Willa: I’ll be okay. I’ll text after. XO

I sit staring at the phone. I’d gone from the promise of an afternoon alone with Willa — maybe my last chance to see her ever — to spending it alone in this stupid motel room. I fall back on the bed, my argument with Vee still churning inside me.

I don’t want to think about having to leave tomorrow. I don’t want to think about going home and facing my old life. I just want to stay here and pretend I’m normal for a while.

34

GWEN

Time has not been kind to Trapper Road. In the distant past, it may have been an asphalt ribbon through the forest, but what’s left of it is cracked. Most of it now is little more than two dirt ruts choked with weeds.

It’s slow going, the shocks on my SUV protesting every time I hit a hole or skirt a pile of rocks. By the time I reach the spot marked on the map, the sun's already lost behind the tops of the towering pines.

I leave the car in the middle of the road, unconcerned with the thought of any other vehicles passing by. Given the level of weeds, it doesn’t look like anyone’s come this way in months. The air is chilly in the shadows of the trees, and I instantly regret not grabbing a jacket before coming out here.

Before taking a look around, I open the gun safe built into the car and pull out my Sig Sauer. I didn’t put on my shoulder holster before leaving, so I’m forced to use the belt clip. I’m more likely to face issues with wildlife rather than people, but either way, I feel safer with the weight of my firearm at the small of my back.

Now that I’m here, I’m not quite sure what I’m looking for or where to begin. I was hoping that simply driving out here might give me some sort of inspiration, but everything around me looks the same. Usually this is about the time my gut kicks in, giving me ideas, but so far it has remained silent.

I check my phone. Cell service is nonexistent. While not unexpected given my location, a small thread of anxiety begins to unspool inside me. I can’t check on my kids. I don’t like it when I can’t immediately reassure myself where they are. I almost consider backtracking down the road until I find a signal, but that seems a little extreme.

One of the things my experience at Salah Point hit home is that I won’t always be there to look over them and protect them. I need to give them space. I need to let them learn to rely on themselves.

Of course, reminding myself of that doesn’t make the itch of anxiety go away. There will never be a day — or even an hour — that I don’t worry about my kids. Maybe before that drunk driver plowed into our garage I could have had that luxury, but life has shown me too much of its cruel underbelly for me to believe in the goodness of others.

I can’t afford to be complacent.

I pick a direction at random and strike out into the woods. The towering trees have shaded out most of the underbrush, leaving the forest floor a carpet of old pine needles. It makes it easy to navigate and I walk as far as I can without losing sight of the road. Then I start looping around in a wide arc, my car the center of my search area.

To the south there’s a slight rise, and I wind my way up it. At the top is a clearing and a scattering of massive boulders. I press my hand against one, feeling the lingering heat of the sun. It’s a beautiful spot, one I can imagine an unexpected hiker stumbling on and pausing to rest.

The boulders are large enough to climb, and I pull myself up on top of one and carefully step onto the next. I’m acutely aware that if I slipped or if something happened to me, no one would know where to find me. Without cell service, even my phone is untraceable.

It sends a chill down my back and makes me rethink climbing around up here. I crouch, planning to scramble back to the ground when something catches my eye. There’s a gap between the rocks, leading to what looks like a natural void. Something within glints.

The gap is way too narrow for me to slip through, which means there must be another access point. I jump to the ground and scour the area. Not too far away, I come across a broken white bone that looks uncomfortably human.

My stomach drops, the taste of dread filling my mouth. I keep searching, finding several more bone fragments. I take a photo of everything, leaving it all where I found it. Best-case scenario is this was some animal who met an unfortunate end.

I don’t want to think about what the worst-case scenario is.

Closer to the boulders I find an entrance to what looks like a cave half hidden under a rock overhang. There’s not a ton of clearance, and I have to drop to my stomach, pulling myself forward arm over arm, the earth damp beneath me. It’s cramped in the narrow passageway, and my elbows scrape rock as I wriggle my way deeper.

I realize how vulnerable I am in this position. I’m effectively trapped under a bolder. The space is so tight I can’t push up on my hands and knees, and there’s no way in hell I could turn around. If someone came up behind me, I wouldn’t even be able to draw my gun.

They could drag me out by my heels, and the only thing I could do to fight back is kick. Unless they shot me in the kneecaps first or debilitated me in some other way. I close my eyes, focusing on my breathing and trying to force my heart to slow.

It’s times like this I hate being paranoid. I hate that my mind automatically veers toward the worst-case scenario in any situation. I try to reason with myself. I remind myself that I’m in the middle of the woods, off the beaten path. There’s no one else out here.

Unless someone followed me.

I can feel the panic starting to build. If I let it take hold of me, I’ll nearly kill myself trying to scramble back out of this little cave. But if I can just control it a little longer, I might be able to keep moving forward.

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