Page 51 of Fat Sold Mate
Chapter 18 - James
The logging camp appears through the trees like an answer to a prayer we didn't know to make. After two days of trekking through increasingly hostile terrain, the sight of vehicles—actual, functioning vehicles—sends a surge of hope through me so intense it momentarily drowns out the constant awareness of Ruby at my side.
“Is that what I think it is?” she asks, pausing at the ridge overlooking the deserted camp.
“Transportation,” I confirm, already scanning the area for signs of human presence. The place appears abandoned, likely cleared out for the weekend. A half-dozen pickup trucks sit in neat rows beside the prefab office building, keys probably hanging on hooks inside. “Wait here. I'll check for security.”
Ruby snorts. “Because I'm so helpless?”
“Because one of us needs to keep watch,” I counter, refusing to be baited into another argument. We've had enough of those to last a lifetime.
I make my way down the slope, ears tuned for any sound that doesn't belong. The camp is eerily silent; even the usual forest noises are muted, as if the wildlife knows to avoid human places. The office door isn't even locked—rural trusting nature or simple oversight, I'm not sure which. Inside, keys hang on a board exactly as I'd predicted, labeled with truck numbers in faded marker.
Five minutes later, I'm behind the wheel of a dusty blue Ford with Ruby riding shotgun, her grimoire and the journal clutched to her chest like talismans.
“Isn't this stealing?” she jokes weakly as I navigate the rutted access road, heading south toward the interstate.
“Borrowing,” I correct, feeling the engine's rumble like freedom beneath my hands. “We'll leave it somewhere it can be found when we're done.”
Ruby says nothing, but I feel her skepticism through our bond—a connection that's grown steadily stronger since the night in the cave, despite our mutual attempts to ignore it. Or maybe because of them. Resistance creates its own kind of pressure.
“We should take the long way around,” I say, deliberately focusing on practicalities. “Stick to back roads, avoid main highways where the Cheslem pack might have scouts.”
“That'll add hours to the trip,” Ruby points out.
“Better than not arriving at all.”
She can't argue with that logic, so she doesn't try, just turns to watch the landscape blur past the window. The silence between us pulses with all the things we refuse to say—about Sera, about the journal, about the night we shared. About what happens after, if there is an after.
We drive until sunset, then switch places when my eyes grow heavy. Ruby handles the truck with surprising confidence, navigating the winding mountain roads as if she's been driving them her whole life.
“Where'd you learn to drive like this?” I ask, genuinely curious.
She shrugs, eyes never leaving the road. “Library delivery routes. I volunteered sometimes, when the old head librarian's arthritis was acting up.”
The casual reminder of her life in Silvercreek—of the small kindnesses and connections that defined her existence despite her outcast status—creates a strange tightness in my chest. There's so much I don't know about Ruby Mulligan, so much I never bothered to learn until circumstances forced us together.
Exhaustion eventually claims me, the steady hum of tires on pavement lulling me into sleep despite my best efforts to stay alert. Dreams come swiftly, picking up where memory left off in the cave.
In the dream, Ruby's skin is like silk beneath my hands, her body curving into mine as if made for it. The bond between us pulses with shared pleasure, amplifying every sensation until it's nearly unbearable. Her lips form my name, a prayer or a curse, as her fingers dig into my shoulders, urging me closer, deeper—
I jerk awake with a gasp, heart pounding, body aching with need so intense it's almost painful. Beside me, Ruby glances over, her expression unreadable in the dashboard's dim glow.
“Bad dream?” she asks, her voice carefully neutral.
“Something like that,” I manage, shifting uncomfortably in the seat. The bond between us thrums with awareness, and I wonder if she felt my dream, if some echo of it reached her across our connection. The thought is both horrifying and darkly thrilling.
She returns her attention to the road, but the air in the truck cab feels charged now, thick with tension neither of us will acknowledge. I turn to stare out the window, willing my body under control, focusing on the nameless small towns passing in the night.
Dawn finds us pulling into a gas station just across the state line, both exhausted and in desperate need of caffeine. While Ruby uses the restroom, I fill the tank, overhearing a conversation between two shifter men loading supplies into a battered Jeep nearby.
“...fourth attack this week,” one says, shaking his head. “Wildlife Services is saying it's a rogue bear, but I've hunted these mountains for thirty years. Bears don't do that kind of damage.”
“Heard they found pieces of the last victim scattered over half an acre,” the other replies, voice lowered as if sharing a secret. “Jennings said it looked like something was playing with the body parts.”
My blood turns to ice. “Excuse me,” I interrupt, unable to stop myself. “These attacks—where exactly?”
The men eye me suspiciously, taking in my disheveled appearance with visible wariness.
