Page 14 of Redwood Blaze
I’m so sick and tired of being afraid of Gideon. I’m so tired of him being the one deciding who, where, when, and what. I’ve never been scared of him. I’ve always pitied him. He had no idea who he was and what he was feeling, so he took it out on me.
I open the messages.
Millie: I’m not afraid of you. You aren’t supposed to contact me. I’m reporting you to the authorities.
I change the contact card.
Gideon: You can report, but it won’t do any good. I’m right outside of this shitty little cabin, baby.
I whimper but cover my mouth to stop any sobs.
Gideon: And don’t think that you can run again. Your truck won’t go anywhere from this point forward, I promise you.
Millie: Abort! My crazy ex is up here. He’s disabled my truck. Meet me at crossroads Canyon and Shadow.
Rusty: There’s a cabin about a mile from you, head due west toward Cole’s cabin and I’ll meet you there. Please stay safe.
I fill a small ruck with the essentials. Twenty-pounds max, which for some people would be a lot, but I’d usually carry eighty, so with this weight I can sprint, not just run. I find a window on the back of the cabin and throw open the sash until the pane breaks like I’m trying to sneak out of the back of the cabin. Soon the shuffling of footsteps starts around the building. I take off on an all-out run out the front door and into the woods.
If I thought it was dark in there, it’s pitch black out here.
And yet, something is with me…
The smoke is thicker.
I slip a handkerchief over my face and quickly make my way into the woods.
West. I’m heading west.
SEVEN
RUSTY
I hit sendto Cole’s number.
“Hey, Rusty, you make it to the Himbaugh’s?—”
“No, change of plans, we’re going to your cabin. I need to make sure she’s alright.”
“Oh, okay, not a problem. Do you know why she had to leave their place?”
“I think she has a crazy ex on her tail.”
“Oh, shit… that’s why…”
“Why what?”
But my phone signal drops. It happens out here. It’s hitandmiss, notor. When it comes to finding more than one bar.
I swear to God, he touches one hair on her pretty blonde head and I’ll rip his arm out of the socket.
The road to Cole’s cabin is a winding one and there’s one bridge that sometimes isn’t quite so much a bridge as a floating island when the run off is at its height in the spring. But when I get there, it’s pretty solid. I inch over and when I’m on the other side, I park behind his house.
I bring out my compass and hold it up with my phone as a light.
That way.
I start out toward the Himbaugh’s shack. It’s not a cabin and it’s not a house. It’s not even a shanty. It’s a shack. I wouldn’t let my worst enemy live there. Mr. Himbaugh doesn’t use it for sleeping, only for a place to park his Jeep when he’s heading to Pine Creek to fish for rainbow trout. Mrs. Himbaugh won’t even come out to the “Possum Palace,” as she calls it, anymore.
