Things are going well. But then moonlight gives way to predawn gray. I don’t like that. My gut tells me he’ll go back to the cabin once morning hits. For food, if nothing else.
I don’t want to be at that cabin at the same time he’s there. Then I smile and think, The understatement of the year.
This goal of stealing the truck has been good for me. A little bit of my personality is surfacing. It’s strange when I see it, like an old friend I’d completely forgotten.
I keep working the problem. Searching for landmarks, looking for signs.
In the background I recite my goals, with my new, fourth goal: Steal his truck and ride to victory. Between reciting goals, I think of the other girls, and of my family and friends, and I ask them for their prayers, their energy, their good intentions. These thoughts help.
The sun comes up in earnest, but I won’t let worry and frustration take over.
I don’t know where I am, but I feel like I should be there by now. The sun has been up for a while. A long while. Wolfman will want to eat breakfast. Or is it lunch? When did he head back to the cabin? Is he already there?
There hasn’t been a landmark in a long time.
Pretty soon it’ll be time to give up.
The thought scares me, but in the end, what’s the difference between lost in a westerly direction and lost in an easterly direction? Either way, the important thing is to find help. Find a hunting cabin or a road.
Even though I tell myself this, it feels like defeat. With the disappointment my energy ebbs. The quest for the truck kept me going. It gave me a goal. Without that goal, I have nothing.
Get it together, Ruthie.
Maybe I won’t get to steal his truck. So what? The idea had a lot of appeal, but in truth how much of that was just me wanting to show off? Besides, is the risk really worth the reward? Probably not. Getting the keys, getting to the truck, getting out of there—all of that is extremely high risk. What if the keys aren’t on the nail? What if he grabs me before I get to the truck? What if the truck won’t start and then he grabs me?
Not finding the cabin, not finding the truck, this is all a blessing. I need to accept it as such and move on with a new plan.
Just then I turn my head to the left, and there it is.
The truck.
Parked out front of the cabin.
Somehow I circled around the cabin, got in front of it, and damn near wandered to the front door.
Dear God, I’m an idiot. An idiot, an idiot, an idiot.
I find a hole to hide in. Some time ago a big, old oak fell over, and its pulled-up roots left a nice, me-size hole in the earth. I -clamber into it, feeling a little safer as I get my wits together. I had no clue how close I was to the cabin. No clue. The thought leaves me shaky.
Time to steady my breathing, steady my hands. Think. Time to think.
The good news is, I don’t see or hear anything. If I’m lucky, he’s far out west, hunting for me. But that’s no certainty, and my blundering path through the woods has shaken my confidence.
Does it make such a difference, though, whether I approach the cabin from the back or the front? Isn’t the important thing that I’m here now, twenty yards from the truck?
On the other hand, I’d made some good arguments. Going to get the keys, that’s just crazy. Out in the forest it sounded like a great idea. To me, squatting here in this hole in the ground, naked except for mud and blood, it sounds insane. Why would I go back into that cabin?
My mind pings back and forth, fear telling me to run and abandon my plan, courage telling me to stick it out. In the end, what decides it is the sight of my own body, the soles of my feet. I’m in terrible shape. I need out of this godforsaken wilderness.
The reward outweighs the risk.
No longer motivated by the idea of his shock and fear, no longer motivated by anything other than the desire to get this over with, I advance toward the house.
It’s a hum. Everything is a hum. Sights, sounds, sensation, it all melds into a hum around me. I want to keep sharp, but I’m dulled by fear. I’m stuffed full of it.
There are only a few trees between me and the front door now.
It’s now or never.
Before I’m really ready, I run.
Please, please, don’t be home, don’t be home.
Reaching the front door, I sling open the barricade, throw open the door, and find the keys on the nail. Like they were waiting for me.
I grab them.
Time does funny things, and now I’m in the truck without any memory of how I got there. I turn the key, and the old engine cranks.
“Oh, good truck, good truck,” I say.
I floor it.
This old truck has power. More power than I’m used to.
And now I know why he was so slow, so careful on this path that doesn’t even count for a road. The curves and bumps send me to two wheels.
I’m going to crash before I’ve even gone a quarter of a mile.
I release the gas, and the truck returns to all fours, but it’s jouncing up and down like I’m in an inflatable bouncy castle. No seat belt on, I can’t quite get a good grip on the wheel. There’s a bend in the road; I manage to crank right and follow the clearing.
And there he is.