Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 90769 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90769 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
I caught Cal’s eye and for a second, before he turned away and moved on, I glimpsed the same peace there that I felt. He might be big and intimidating, but he’d loved that just as much as I had.
As he walked on, I stayed still for a moment, looking around at the woods with new eyes. Maybe they weren’t so scary—
A long, low howl split the air, then another one answered it. I went stock still for a second, one of those caveman responses you just can’t shake. Then I relaxed, the way I would in the city. Don’t be stupid. It’s just dogs.
Then I remembered I wasn’t in the city, anymore. “Wait. Wait, was that—”
Cal turned and looked back at me.
I felt my eyes go big. “Was that wolves? Actual wolves?”
“They won’t bother people,” he said. “Not unless you’re injured, and on your own.” He said it like it was meant to be reassuring. We moved on, with me keeping closer to him.
In the early afternoon, we came to a clearing and Cal said it was a good place to rest and eat. He set his backpack down, told Rufus to wait with me, and then walked off into the trees, unslinging his rifle as he went. It took a few seconds for me to get it: he didn’t carry food with him, beyond jerky. That’s how he traveled so far with just a small backpack. When he wanted to eat, he hunted. My life back in Seattle, when I could grab a bagel or a pizza slice on any street corner, suddenly seemed ridiculously easy.
I didn’t want to just sit there while he did all the work: he’d done so much for me already. He’d need a fire to cook whatever he brought home, right? I didn’t know how to build one but I could sure as hell collect wood. I made my way around the clearing, grabbing any loose sticks I could find, only slightly delayed by Rufus thinking it was a game and grabbing the sticks in his teeth and refusing to let go until I threw one for him to fetch.
A shot rang out, echoing through the trees. So fast?! It had only been a couple of minutes. Then another shot. I moved faster, gathering armfuls of wood, and when Cal re-entered the clearing a few moments later, I had an impressive pile. He looked surprised, but nodded his thanks and showed me the two birds he’d shot.
I got him to show me how to build a fire, clearing away scrub so that we didn’t burn down the whole forest, making a teepee with kindling underneath and then building a layer of thicker wood on top. He prepared the birds and we strung them on a makeshift spit so they could roast over the fire. It was lengthy and laborious and fascinating.
A gentle breeze tousled our hair and sent the smoke twisting and dancing. The sun had warmed the grass and it was luxuriantly soft to lounge on as we took turns turning the spit. The flames crackled and hissed as juices dripped and the air filled with the smell of roasting meat. I was still on the run...but right at that moment, I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else in the world.
We ate with Rufus lying flat on his belly and making big, mournful eyes at us, then springing up to catch chunks of meat in mid-air when one of us took pity on him. He probably got more of our birds than we did. Bellies full, we put out the fire and moved on.
We walked all day, descending into a valley and then up a long hill. The sun sank in the sky, outlining every tree in orange-gold fire and the forest grew thicker and thicker, until I couldn’t see more than fifty yards ahead. By the time the sun turned red and eased below the horizon, I was exhausted: this was the furthest I’d walked in my life. I stumbled along with my eyes on the ground, focused on not tripping over a fallen branch in the dim light. So when Cal stopped, I almost walked into his back. “What is it?” I asked. “What’s up?”
He stepped out of the way and pointed through the trees. “We’re home.”
20
Bethany
RUFUS RAN FORWARD, barking excitedly and sniffing everything in sight. But I just stood at the edge of the clearing and stared.
It was a cabin, no bigger than thirty feet on a side. The walls were made of thick, dark logs, crisscrossing at the corners, like something out of the Old West. More logs made up a sloping roof. The windows had heavy wooden shutters and I noticed the door was sized for Cal—probably one of the few he wouldn’t have to stoop to get through.