Pippa
“It’s gorgeous.”
No exaggeration either.
The lake is small, more like a sizable pond, but has a small waterfall coming down the rock face on the opposite side where the creek comes down the mountain. The rest of the basin is fairly densely surrounded by trees, with the exception of the small section where we’ve parked the rig.
I wasn’t sure we’d make it here; the trail was only half a mile or so but extremely rough. Rocks, ruts, encroaching vegetation, and low-hanging branches, but Sully navigated us through. If I’m being honest, had I been by myself I probably would’ve backed right out again, which would’ve been a shame. I would’ve missed all this beauty.
“Want more?”
Sully lifts the camping kettle, which he repurposed as a teapot, from the grill over the campfire. That’s what I woke up to twenty minutes ago, a campfire, a pot of tea, bacon sizzling in a cast-iron pan on the fire, and this phenomenal view.
“Please.” I smile at him as he takes my mug from me. “You’re spoiling me.”
“Don’t start praising me yet,” he says with a grin. “It’s breakfast, which happens to be the only thing I can cook. Guess who’s cooking dinner again tonight?”
I don’t mind. Camp cooking is fun. Days out here tend to be centered around the main meal of the day. I did most of the prep work at home yesterday and all the veggies are precut in containers in the fridge. I love making foil packets; they’re easy to prep, easy to cook, are healthy, and create minimal waste or dishes.
I take a sip of the hot tea, sink back in my padded, oversized camping chair, and look at the view. Even though we can’t be more than maybe ten miles from Libby as the crow flies, the only sounds out here are sounds of nature featuring the falling water prominently.
Cold falling water, as I discovered last night when it seemed like a good idea to wash off what had been a hot day with a fresh dip under the gorgeous night sky. We’d arrived midafternoon, set up, and took a nice hike up to the top of the waterfall, from there we could see my rig parked on the other side of the lake. When we got back, we built a fire, had dinner, and when the logs had almost burned up, I suggested a swim. I’d been prepared for a bit of a chill in the cool mountain lake, but I’ve never experienced a full-body pucker like I did when I hit that water.
Luckily, it didn’t last since Sully was right behind me and quickly saw to it I didn’t stay cold long. We made our way over to the falls and made love against the rocks behind the curtain of water. I swear when we finally emerged, steam was rising from our bodies. We never bothered to dry off or get dressed and simply crawled into bed, wrapped up in each other.
“Here you go.”
Sully hands me a plate with bacon and eggs, and two slices of toast he grilled over the fire. As is always the case, food cooked outside—especially over a wood fire—tastes a million times better. We eat breakfast in companionable silence, enjoying the view and each other’s company.
“Are you up to a hike once I get these washed up?” Sully asks, taking the empty plate from my hands.
“Go,” I urge him. “You cooked; I’ll clean. Besides, I’m still recovering from yesterday’s activities,” I admit.
“Oh yeah?” he probes, wearing a smirk. He leans down, bracing his hands on my armrests, effectively boxing me in.
“Hmmm,” I hum teasingly. “That hike really sapped my energy.”
His response is a hard kiss on my mouth.
“You sure you don’t wanna come?”
“Positive. Go. I’m gonna relax for a bit and I’ll never grow tired of this view.”
He brushes another kiss on my lips, this one sweet and gentle, before he straightens up and starts walking toward the trail. I’m all about this view too, his ass flexing underneath the worn jeans with every stride of his long legs.
I’m starting to love all these sides of him. The inside and the outside views. Turns out, maybe I wasn’t so wrong taking a chance on him last New Year’s Eve. Hell, I’d been falling for him even before that night. He’s a good man and it shines through. Probably why I was so confused with his strong rejection and subsequent ghosting, and why—despite a little early apprehension—it wasn’t too hard to trust him again.
Love.
Such a small word for a life-altering emotion. Once you open yourself up to the possibility your perception changes: your heart feels lighter, the air fresher, the sky brighter.
I let breakfast digest and sit for a few minutes, enjoying the quiet before finally hoisting myself out of the chair. I fetch the dishpan and soap from the motorhome and when back outside, drop the dishes in a plastic tub, squirt a little soap in it, and grab the now empty kettle to fill with lake water. Then I throw another log on the fire, put the water on to boil, and start carrying in the perishables to stick back in the fridge.
When I head back outside, I notice steam is coming from the kettle. Using a towel so I don’t burn my hand on the handle, I take it off the fire, and bend over to pour the hot water in the tub I set on the ground.
Right then I hear a dull crack, like the snap of a branch, and I straighten up to look behind me. Another crack sounds at the same time I hear a metal ping off the side of my rig. I immediately drop down to the ground.
I can’t fucking believe someone is shooting at me…again.
Beside me dirt spits up simultaneously to yet another crack, and I know I’m not safe where I am. On hands and knees, I scramble underneath the rig. I’m probably safe from bullets here but I don’t like the idea of making myself a sitting duck. How long before whoever the fuck is shooting comes looking for me?
I’m not sure where the shots are coming from, but they can’t be that far.
Would Sully have heard or is he out of earshot? Sound has a weird way of traveling through these mountains. He could be a few hundred feet away in a gully and not have heard it. I can’t count on him to get me out of this.
Sully pulled the rig tight to the tree line on the driver’s side in the shade, which means if I scoot through to the other side, I’ll have the motorhome between me and whoever the hell is shooting.
Marcie? I can’t wrap my head around that possibility. Why? What have I done to her? Or is it someone else?
I’m not going to get the answers hanging out under here. I have to assume the shooter will come looking for me and I’m wasting time. My guess is they’ll count on me hiding instead of moving, so I’m going to try and get under the cover of the trees, and make my way to the other side of the lake.
What scares me to death is Sully coming back and walking in on someone brandishing a weapon. He left on the same trail we took yesterday, so I’m hoping if I can get to the top of the waterfall, I’ll be able to intercept him there. If anything, I’ll be on high ground and should be able to keep an eye on the campsite and maybe warn him.
Those thoughts propel me out from under the motorhome, where I scramble to my feet and dart into the cover of the trees. I stop, sheltering behind a tree while I listen for any movement, but the only thing I hear is my own rasping breath and pounding heart. I haven’t heard a shot after the third one, which may mean the shooter is on the move.
I need to keep going. I’m afraid if I don’t, fear may paralyze me.
Temperatures are already creeping up and it doesn’t take long for me to break out in a sweat. It’s tough going over the uneven surface and through the occasional thick underbrush, while trying to be as quiet as I can. Don’t want to make a racket announcing my location to the shooter.
Not quite a year ago I was in a similar situation, but back then I was running for my life. This time I’m not only running for my own, but my baby’s and Sully’s as well.
I stop abruptly when I hear a faint rustle like something is moving. I tilt my head slightly, waiting to see if I can hear it again. If I run into a mountain lion or a bear—or God forbid, a cub—out here, I’m in big trouble. Normally I carry a can of bear spray when I venture out, but it’s in the motorhome, along with anything I might’ve used for a weapon.
When it stays quiet, I start walking again. A little more cautiously though, with my awareness heightened. Which is how I catch a hint of movement from the corner of my eye.
Before I can turn toward it, I’m jerked back with a large hand clamped over my mouth, and my heart stops.
Sully
When I hear the second crack, I know what I am hearing and my eyes are scanning the landscape. By the third shot I have an approximate location.
There, on the east side of the lake, the shots are fired from that outcropping of rocks. My eyes immediately dart to the campsite where I just see Pippa crawl under the motorhome. Good girl.
I’m at the top of the waterfall on high ground, where I was hoping to get cell reception, so I could check in with my niece. Instead, I’m dialing Jonas as I’m on the move.
“Shots fired. We’re at Flower Lake, came in on the trail we—”
“I know where. Status?”
I can tell from his breathing he’s running.
“Both alive but separated. Got a bead on the shooter, going after him. Suspect he left his vehicle farther back on the trail and walked in.”
“…want you…until…half an hour…not engage…”
I’m losing signal and only pick up a few of Jonas’s words, but I get the gist of his message as I tuck away my phone.
My heart is beating in my throat and everything in me wants to go after the threat. An automatic response honed by years of training and fieldwork. I’m armed, I always am, but instead of hightailing it after him, I retrace my steps to the path I came up on the opposite side of the lake. The one leading back to Pippa.
Speed is of the essence. I need to get back to the campsite before the shooter can. Was he watching? Lying in wait until I left? Maybe he doesn’t know I’m out here and is only expecting Pippa. Because it’s clear to me this isn’t an accident or a coincidence. Someone is after my wife. But why? And how did they find us?
I hear her before I have a visual. Should’ve known she wouldn’t hide under that rig for long. My wife has a take-charge personality, although what the hell she thinks she’s doing traipsing through the damn woods I don’t know. Grinding my teeth, I let her pass by my position. I don’t want to startle her and alert whoever is out there.
I manage to loop around and approach her from behind. To prevent her from crying out, I cover her mouth with my hand and lock an arm around her chest. But before I can whisper in her ear to let her know it’s me, she steals my breath in an entirely new way.
“Fuck…it’s me,” I manage in a strangled whisper as her bruising clasp tightens around my junk.
It’s almost worse when she lets go, the blood immediately surging back to the tender area. I turn my back, bending over and bracing my hands on my knees as I breathe through the pain.
“Sorry. I came looking for you, I was worried. Someone is shooting,” she mumbles behind me, instinctively keeping her voice low. Thank God.
Right. The shooter is still out there.
The fact she was out here in the open, putting herself at risk because she was worried about me—armed, trained, and ex special ops—says a lot about her character, and the size of her heart. As much as it warms me, it pisses me off and requires a serious talk, but now is not the time.
I reach for Pippa’s hand, taking a firm hold. “Stay behind me.”
My plan is to get back to the RV, where we have a few more options for shelter and methods of defense available to us. Problem is, the shooter may well have gotten there first, which means we have to approach carefully. Anyone other than Pippa, I would stash out here somewhere while I deal with the threat, but I’m convinced she won’t stay put. Bringing her with me is probably safer.
We stay off the trail and when we get close to the campsite, I turn my head and put my finger to my lips, reminding her to be quiet. There is no movement I can discern from here, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.
Our approach is slow, cautious, and every so often we stop to listen. When we reach the trees behind the motorhome, I’m half convinced whoever was here is already gone.
Crack.
A piece of bark hits my cheek when a bullet strikes the tree trunk six inches from my face. I drop down immediately, pulling Pippa down with me and behind the tree.
I have to let go of her hand to prop myself up and aim in the general direction I think the shot came from, firing off a few rounds. I guess I surprised the shooter because it takes him a moment to react and return fire. I have to squint against the splinters flying as he hits the tree trunk again, but I’m able to pinpoint his location.
He’s about seventy-five yards in front of us near where the trail hits the clearing. The motorhome is about ten feet to our left, I’ll feel a whole fucking lot better if I can get Pippa underneath. Then I have my hands free to deal with that sonofabitch taking potshots.
“Need to get you to cover. I’m going to distract him while you make your way under the rig,” I tell her in a low voice. “Stay as close to the ground as you can and don’t stop for anything. The team is ten minutes out.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll be right behind you,” I promise.
But the moment she starts moving toward the RV, I head in the opposite direction, firing off a couple of shots as I go and drawing return fire. Good, if it’s coming to me, it’s not going to her.
My Sig holds ten rounds and I’ve already wasted half of them on a target I know is too far for me to hit under the circumstances. I’d like to preserve as many as I can. A quick glance over my shoulder shows Pippa already halfway underneath the vehicle. I immediately go down on my belly and follow in her direction.
The adrenaline is pumping and I need both my hands to move so speed is my only weapon. I ignore the impact of a round only inches in front of me before I’m able to dive underneath the RV.
“Are you okay?”
Her eyes are wide in her pale face, but she seems calm and collected. Fuck, this woman knows how to roll with the punches.
“I’m fine. Shhh. I want to hear him coming.”
My vantage point under here is limited and I don’t know from what side he’ll be coming, so we take opposite ends where we wait and listen. There has been no movement until about ten or so minutes later when we hear engines approach.
Pippa crawls over to my side and both of us watch as Jonas’s truck pulls into the clearing, followed closely by the game warden’s SUV.
The cavalry has arrived.