Taking a deep breath, she swam toward the mossy riverbank, cutting through the lazy ripples with smooth, graceful movements.
Reaching the water’s edge, she heaved her battered body out of the icy water to stretch out on the squishy bank. Breathing deeply, she gazed up at infinite treetops. Twilight was hovering among the storm-darkened clouds. She listened carefully for the sound of booted footsteps, but thankfully all she could hear was the dripping of rain against the foliage and the odd birdcalls as creatures began to settle in for the night.
Harper felt dizzy, as if the world were spinning beneath her. She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her hands hard against her hammering skull, trying to relieve the sickening pressure. Hoping against hope the events of the last hour were all just a horrible dream.
She slowly opened her eyes. She still saw the suffocating woods. Still saw the terrifying flash of fresh memories.
A harsh rustling caught her attention as two squirrels chased each other up a rough tree trunk. The scratching of their tiny claws sounded curiously loud in the settling forest. She rose to a sitting position and scooted over to lean her back against the coarse base of the tree. Above her, the squirrels chittered in annoyance. It reminded her of how she and Bobby would bicker as kids.
Bobby.
He was dead. His body consumed by the fire. She had nothing left of her brother.
Grief pummeled her body. It was too much. Harper had no idea how much time had passed when she finally felt as though she’d cried herself out. For now. She gazed into the pitch-dark woods, shivering and spent, not even wanting to look at her watch.
Rubbing her stiff hands along her upper arms, she was immediately aware of the icy clamminess of her clothes. Knowing her body’s high threshold for cold, she left most of her wet clothes on, but decided to remove her T-shirt.
The rain had stopped and the stormy clouds had twisted away. She draped her T-shirt over a low branch and huddled back into her North Face coat. Having left her backpack near the burning truck, she realized all she had were these clothes and her wallet with her driver’s license, debit card, and insurance card. She stuffed her hand into her coat pocket, pulling out a wrinkly five-dollar bill.
Letting out a deep sigh, she settled under a veil of trees and the surrounding undergrowth-which sheltered her from the fall weather-and rested her hands on her thighs. She was bone-deep cold. She ran her hands along the hard muscles of her legs in an attempt to get her chilled blood circulating. Her shaking hand brushed over a tiny lump in her hip pocket. Bobby’s key.
She fished it out, closed her hand around it, and raised her fist to her heart. This meant something to Bobby. So it meant everything to her.
Her brother wanted her to have this. What had he said? The Barracks? It was their favorite childhood hangout, where they’d played all day and talked about everything and nothing. Though he was seven years older, they were as close as twins. They were best friends. Were. And now he was gone.
What could he have left there for her? What did that key go to? What was so important? Important enough to use up some of his last breaths? Whatever it was, she had promised. Promised him that she’d do anything for him. So she’d find whatever was there. He’d said she’d know what to do. And whatever it was, she’d do it. He’d been her world and now she’d be his.
Adrenaline pulsed through her blood, warming her from the inside. The cold seeped away, replaced by a fierce determination that stirred and slowly burned within her, flowing through every nerve, simmering in her blood. The pain disappeared, replaced by a feral hunger. And rage.
Harper gazed at the key one last time.
She was used to competition. Used to the battle. Used to winning.
Whoever had ripped Bobby away from her would regret it.
Harper walked through waist-high ferns, paralleling the set of old train tracks zigzagging through the mossdraped trees. Having grown up in the area and having visited Bobby fairly regularly, she was familiar with the forests. There were some trails, but mostly she made her way from memory. Using the digital compass on her watch, she had been able to orient herself. She’d been hiking since dawn and as she looked up to the sky, she realized dusk was approaching through the lazy fall sunshine. Though on the move all day, she had no desire to stop.
Sleep had somehow come to her last night. In fact, Harper was surprised to find she had slept for almost twelve hours in deep exhaustion. Hazy rays had wakened her from a heavy slumber. At first she’d been startled to wake in the woods. Had it all been just a really bad dream?
No, it hadn’t. Stinging scratches and damp bloodstained clothes were an ugly reminder of the hell her life had become. And the sole purpose she now had.
Now the waning sun cast shadows on the uneven ground. The air held a chill, but the sun added the illusion of warmth, which had tempted her to tie her coat around her waist.
The familiar hike was as beautiful as she remembered, but it was impossible to enjoy. A sad smile crossed her face as she recalled the last time she’d wandered down this trail. She’d been so excited. The Olympic trials. She was one meet from making the team. She and Bobby had raced each other up here to the Barracks to celebrate. Just the two of them. It had been their exclusive place to share everything. Bobby’s getting into graduate school. Their parents’ deaths. Earning her swimming scholarship to Stanford. And countless times in between.
Now, for the first time, it was a solitary trip. And it would be forever.
She reached the clearing. Abandoned train cars dotted the rows of corroded railroad tracks. Stowed up here for decades, the cars hadn’t been in use for more than the twenty-four years she’d been alive. She and Bobby had found the place on one of their hikes and claimed it as their own, dubbing it “the Barracks.” They knew every inch and crevice of the old railroad junkyard.
Raking her fingers through her blonde hair, she weaved in between the old trains, balancing on weeddraped rails. Reaching the center of the deserted lot, she searched for car number 61. Bobby’s lucky number.
Harper spotted it two tracks down and walked to the side door, rusted open for eternity. Grabbing the corroded handle, she easily hauled herself up. She paced around inside, her steps echoing starkly in the dim compartment.
She ran her fingers along the simple drawings and crazy phrases she and Bobby had carved into the crusty metal over the years, smiling at the memories they stirred. Then she retreated to the rear of the car, moving in and out of the sunlight lancing through the slits in the decaying walls. In the back was a small concealed compartment built into the floor. A smugglers’ hold. As kids, they had pretended to be relic hunters, hiding their treasures like those generations before them had in the secret hidey-hole.
This had to be where Bobby would have stashed the “something” he’d left for her.
Harper bent down on one knee and patted the filthy flooring. Finding the recessed latch, she brushed away the freshly disturbed dirt and pulled upward. The brittle hatch resisted, but gave way after a few more tugs. Reaching in the darkness, her fingers grazed a small metal box. She fit her hand around the container and pulled it out. The box was the size of a recipe-card holder, but heavy like a chunk of pure lead. She saw no markings or decorations.
She ran her index finger over the smooth surface, searching for a way to open it. It took several passes, but she finally found an obscured keyhole flush with the solid exterior.
Reaching into her front pocket, Harper pulled out Bobby’s key and stuck it in the hole. With a clockwise turn, the top of the box snicked open. It was hard to see in the shadows of the train car, so she moved closer to the door.