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I was wrong. Apparently it was time right now. In the split second that I had nodded my understanding and begun to push myself away from the table to stand up, Scar had already seized my hand and was yanking me up and to the door. I came out of my daze in an instant, my thoughts flowing furiously. I couldn't just leave like this. I needed every advantage I could get if I was to rejoin the hunters and survive their uniquely perilouscompany. The last time Scar had whisked me away, it had been against my will, drugged to the gills, with only the lucky happenstance of being dressed in my outdoor gear. I had to prepare myself.
I also wanted to leave some kind of explanation for my friends---to explain why I had suddenly dropped off the face of the earth. I knew that there was a good chance I would not be returning soon-- if at all, and my friends were the only family I had left since my mother had passed away a few years before.
And my house, I thought swiftly. I had to make arrangements for its care or disposal-- I didn't know which yet. I couldn't say that my time there had been entirely happy, but I had developed a genuine affection for it. It had served as my hideaway and sanctuary from the world when I hadn't been ready to face anyone or anything again. I kicked myself for not having had the foresight to do all this already, but I hadn't had much warning, and certainly this hadn't been at the forefront of my mind last night. Scar might be ready to leave now, but I certainly wasn't.
"I need to pack," I said to Scar, digging my heels into the carpet to slow our progress, while trying to free my hand from his grip. As I had suspected he would, he didn't stop.
"Hold up!" I said, hissing in frustration now. When he continued to pull me behind him my frustration mounted into full-blown panic.
"Wait!" I yelled angrily, and punched his arm with my free fist. He halted abruptly and my chin connected unpleasantly with the back of his arm. He looked down at me in—was that surprise?---as I rubbed my poor chin.
I struggled to speak calmly. "I need to pack," I repeated. "Just wait a few minutes." Carefully, I tried to tug my hand from his. Scar tilted his head and after a moment, let me. I backed away, relieved.
I moved quickly to my bedroom and threw open the closet where I kept my backpack and climbing gear. My mind swirled with myriad thoughts. What to take, what to leave? Everything? Just a few things? Weapons? Okay, dumb question. If I had learned anything so far-- weapons above everything else. My gear usually stayed with my backpack, ready for my next job, but I turned it upside down now and tumbled its contents onto my bed to take a quick inventory and double check that everything was in working order.
The shotgun that had seen me through several scraps was long gone, tossed by Tank into the dark tunnels below Bouvetoya, and I had replaced it with a semi-automatic pistol after moving to my new, remote home. Adele had turned out to be so right after all---better to have a gun and not need it, then need it and not have one....
I moved in a whirlwind. My outdoor experience served me well; I knew how to pack a tight load, and to do it with little time wasted. I had no way of knowing where we were going, what we would be doing, and what distance I might have to carry my gear. My gut told me it would be a mistake to bring too much. The hunters didn't seem to travel with much beyond their weapons and medical kits. At the very least, I didn't want to attract their scorn.
My spear was stored in the bottom of a drawer in my dresser, and I retrieved it, thinking grimly that the odds were stupendously high that I would soon be using it again. I repacked, throwing in the spear, pistol, several clips for it, a hunting knife that had belonged to my father, a flare gun and my medical kit. I added some of the trail food and energy bars I usually took with me on jobs, and water purifying tablets. I grabbed my canteen, refilled it in the master bathroom, and added that too, along with a couple changes of warm clothing.
Behind me, Scar growled making me jump. I'd forgotten all about him, and hadn't noticed when he had followed me into the bedroom. I ignored him now, assuming that the growl was in complaint about the time that I was taking, but he moved past me and reaching into my backpack took out the clothes I had just put in and tossed them back onto the bed. I stared at him, uncomprehending. Slowly I picked the clothes up again, and was about to return them to my backpack when he snarled, and pulled them from my grasp. Growling, he held one of the shirts up between his fingers, and after making sure that I was looking, ripped the sleeves off, one after the other, with a deliberate manner. He looked at me meaningfully.
Annoyed, I shook my head. "I don't understand," I said. He grabbed a sweater, one of my favorites, but before he could shred it in the same way, I suddenly understood what he was trying to tell me.
Wherever we were going, I wouldn't need warm clothing.
I looked at him doubtfully. My run-ins with Scar and his companions had all been under the most wintery of circumstances. In fact they had seemed to pay so little heed to the freezing cold that I had guessed it was their preference, perhaps even their natural climate. As deeply into winter as Blue River had been for so long, warm weather was nothing but a distant memory to me. Even now, through the window behind him, I could see the upper boughs of the pine and spruce trees which dotted my back woods bending as a cold wind passed through. Admittedly, the weather had begun to warm up a bit recently, but—still....
"Are you sure?" I asked for no real reason; I wasn't expecting an answer, and I didn't get one. Sighing, I moved to my closet, standing on tiptoe to pull down the storage boxes that held my summer clothes. From one I pulled out a short-sleeved top and held it up to him, frowning. He nodded.
Still dubious, I threw in the top, some hiking pants, and a pair of lightweight hiking boots. I was already wearing jeans and a tank top because the house was warm. I slipped out of my sandals, replaced them on my feet with a pair of running shoes and zipped my backpack closed. I grabbed my compass watch from the dresser and as I did so, I remembered the length of wire from which aliens' teeth and Scar's metal band still dangled. I dug it out from the back of the drawer to which I had banished it with a grieving heart, and crammed it hastily into my pocket.
Scar had wandered into the den again, and I followed. It was time to sit down to the letters for which I knew words would be so difficult to find.
I wasn't surprised by the lump that grew in my throat as I sat at my desk and began to write, but I hadn't expected the hot tears that rose in my eyes and threatened to spill over onto the pages. With some difficulty, I finished the letters and skimmed over them, five in all.
Three were to old college friends and colleagues and were virtually identical; forced, chirpy notes telling them not to worry.
The fourth was a longer letter to my dearest friend, Renee, telling her that I had just needed to get away to somewhere warm for a while. Two of the few female guides in our circle, Renee and I had bonded quickly when we met at the beginning of my first season several years before. She called me regularly, at least every week. From past experience I knew that if I didn't pick up the phone she would simply drive up to the house to make sure I was okay, although I had dropped strong hints that I wanted to be alone. When she found my letter she would assume that I had gone off on another job and not be worried---only a little miffed that I hadn't let her in on my plans. I also enclosed a power of attorney to her, 'just in case!' I wrote cheerfully, which was actually not that out of the ordinary. In our line of work accidents sometimes happened.
The final letter was to Ana. I reread it and hated what I had written because it sounded so impersonal. Ana had been a friendly face, soothing voice and compassionate ear when I had needed it most, but I had to choose my words carefully to both avoid alarming her and alerting her that my letter had anything to do with the strange circumstances under which we had met. Of all the people I held dear Ana knew the most about what had happened on Bouvetoya Island---which was not much at all. I had simply avoided talking about what happened with anyone. Not even Renee knew the truth.
At the bottom of my letter to Ana I wrote a brief line saying hello to Cora, in large print so that she could read it herself. After a second's thought, I drew a monster next to it for her. A large, fuzzy monster with a big smile.
I had to give Scar credit, he was being remarkably patient for him. While I was writing, he hovered at the mantelpiece, again examining the photographs that lined it.
"Those are photos of my parents," I said, clearing my throat. He turned to look at me, his gaze inscrutable, then turned his attention back to them.
I sat there and continued to look at him, my heart sinking, and wondered if he could ever know how much this decision was costing me, how much I was giving up for him---for us. I wondered if it was even possible that the thought had occurred to him. Since he continued to study the photographs without comment, it seemed the answer was no. Sighing, I turned back to what I had been doing.
The letters completed, I folded them neatly and wrote the recipient's name on the front of each. Placing them on the desk, I left the den and walked into the hallway to turn the central heat off to the house. I made quick rounds of the basement and the two floors to make sure that I had not left the water or any appliances on, and that the damper on the fireplace was open. I was almost certain I would not be back to claim my house, but that didn't mean I wanted it flooded or burnt down.
As I turned to leave for the last time, my eyes fell on the framed photographs that had so captured Scar's interest. I picked up one and studied it; my parents and I on a hike in New South Wales when I was eleven. I separated the glass pane from the frame's backing, pulled the picture out and stuck it in my backpack. As an afterthought, I grabbed my cell phone from the side table as well. After all, it was what I would have done if I intended to come back....
I retrieved a coat from the hallway and slipped it on. Scar, who had seemed to realize my preparations were at an end and was already waiting by the back door, poked at my coat with a rough finger and snarled disapprovingly.
"Look, I understand I won't need it where we're going," I said peevishly. "But I need it right now."
I didn't bother to lock the door behind us. Renee would need a way to get in.
