Chapter Seven: Wanderlust
Penetrating the water's surface and letting the momentum carry him below, Greg closed his eyes and imagined momentarily he was back on the west coast surfing the waves of the Pacific Ocean. It would have been years ago when he was younger, stronger, and much, much more naïve. He was relieved the lake wasn't as cold as the Pacific because honestly, he hadn't known what to expect. The decision to jump had been rather spur-of-the-moment, even for him. Still submerged, he scanned briefly for Sara so that he could swim to her when he surfaced.
A flash of movement caught his eye, but not from the direction he expected. He saw it again: a hand waving desperately and dark hair streaming below. Sara! Something was pulling her toward the bottom of the lake.
Without hesitation he dived after her. Greg was no Olympian but he'd spent a lot of time in the ocean and was a strong swimmer. He kicked as fast and reached as far as he could, knowing he should be catching up but only watching her drift further and further away.
None of this was logical. They were alone in the body of water. The largest creature occupying it besides them should have been small fish. There were no crocodiles, giant catfish, or other predators strong enough to pull a human being.
She was looking up at him, mouth agape in a silent scream. She was drowning—dying—and he had to save her. After all, he'd pretty much forced her into this situation. He fought on but quickly began to fatigue; his shoulder and calf muscles burned dully. He realized how deep he was, as well as the fact that he needed some air. Not only had it been quite some time since he'd swam, his lungs were also not as strong as they once were.
Something clamped onto his shoulder, and he whirled around as fast as the water allowed. Sara was there. Her hand traveled down his arm and locked onto his hand, tugging on it. Her eyes were full of worry, but Greg actually fought her, pried his hand away and turned back to…the other Sara? But she was gone, replaced by the rocky bottom of the lake which a moment ago had been too deep to discern.
She grasped him again, this time tightly enough to cause discomfort and keep his attention. She mouthed something and pulled at him persistently. One more glance assured Greg that the other Sara, the one in trouble, was no longer there. Limbs numb, he let himself be pulled upwards in a state of confusion. When they reached the surface and both of their heads rose out of the water, Sara flung her arms around him while kicking her legs to stay afloat.
"What the fuck, Greg?!" she gasped, squeezing him tightly.
Remembering he was still holding his breath, he inhaled deeply. His arms shakily and belatedly wrapped around her.
"I-I saw…" he stammered.
Tucking her head into his shoulder, Sara closed her eyes. "What?"
"I saw…" Greg struggled to find adequate words to alleviate her concerns. Words that were plausible; words that didn't make him sound crazy. "I-I thought I saw…"
"What, Greg?" Sara nearly screamed. He better have seen a mermaid, for how much he scared her.
He sensed she was close to tears and feared pushing her over the edge. He plastered on his best bashful grin. "A shell."
She pulled back, aghast. "A shell. Like, a seashell?"
"Y-yeah. A pretty one." His grin downsized into a small, apologetic smile.
"Oh, okay. And were you just going to stare at it until it floated up and into your hand?"
"No, of course not! I was swimming to pick it up."
"You weren't. You were frozen, midwater, staring at the bottom."
"I-I guess I must have paused to reorient myself…"
Sara narrowed her eyes, clearly skeptical. She let go and turned to swim to the shore. "Let's head back."
"No!" He grabbed her arm. "Don't let me being an idiot ruin our night."
"That was a little freaky, Greg."
"I know, I'm sorry. Let's just enjoy ourselves. Please."
She spun around and her eyes conveyed distrust.
He tugged her arm gently, pulling her close. "Forget about all of that. I'm begging you. It's still beautiful out here. Sara, we're in our undies in a lake in the middle of a picturesque forest. We don't have to be anywhere, anytime soon," Greg worked one hand in easing circles on her back, the other out to the side treading water, "and we literally have nothing to stress about."
'Except for your questionable sanity,' a voice whispered in his head. He shrugged away the thought and was quickly distracted when Sara splashed him. He brushed the water from his eyes and was happy to see that although she still looked slightly irked, she was starting to smile.
The next day was spent hiking and sightseeing. There were several scenic outlooks within walking range. To Sara's delight, they saw a ton of wildlife, and none of it wanted to eat them. A mother elk with her calf, drinking at a nearby creek. A small group of young roe deer foraging through the brush and nervously keeping an eye on their surroundings. Several squirrels and weasels, as well as different types of lizards. The flora and terrain was just as diverse. Their deep-treaded hiking boots saved them several times from slipping on damp rocks and crumbling gravel.
Sara did not mention the swimming mishap from the previous night, but she seemed slightly reserved throughout their adventures. Greg made it a point to basically worship her all day, coaxing as many smiles from her as possible. He made physical contact often, from a light touch on the forearm when she was especially entranced by the scenery to a gentle rub between her shoulder blades as they hiked. He complimented her and kept his eyes on her whenever he could because the sight of her always comforted him.
Both knew that his special attention to her was primarily triggered by guilt, but this fact did not nullify or render his actions disingenuous. They were not unique to this day, only exaggerated.
The activity exhausted them, and the sun was already setting when they returned to their camp. They devoured a large dinner and watched the fire die down, then fell asleep almost instantly after retiring to the tent.
"I think we're ready for more fun. What do you say?"
The distant whisper pulled Greg from his light slumber. He was on his side, blanket up to his ear and Sara's warm body nestled against his back. The inflatable mattress had obviously sprung a leak at some point during the night, and since he was the heavier of the two it was his shoulder and hip that dug awkwardly into the hard ground beneath their tent. Then, there was the nagging need to empty his bladder.
He sat up, groaning quietly as his muscles protested his less-than-comfortable sleeping accommodations. He leaned his head from side to side and rubbed his shoulders before rising and pulling on jeans and shoes. He would be right back, so even though it was slightly chilly he didn't bother with a shirt or jacket. Quietly so as to not disturb Sara, he unzipped the tent's door and stepped out. Greg looked back at her once more and smiled. When he stood, she sunk to the ground. She had already shifted into the warm spot he vacated and again appeared to be resting peacefully despite the lack of cushion. When he returned, he would wake her to repair and re-inflate the mattress. Perhaps they could enjoy some morning 'cuddles' before deciding what to do with their day.
He grinned slyly at the thoughts running through his head before zipping the tent back up, taking a look around, and stretching. Dawn had yet to break but it was foreshadowed by a gray halo in the east, barely visible through the heavy tree cover. The stars shone brightly in the rest of the sky, and he was again stunned by what he missed by living in a city that basked in bright lights both day and night. Back in Vegas at dawn, few of these stars would be visible.
The air outside was cooler than in and he immediately developed goosebumps. A small part of his mind argued for a shirt, but he was already out of the tent so he rubbed his arms and hastily walked away from the clearing. When he finished relieving himself, there came a whisper, right by his ear and recognizable.
"If you sit still this will be less painful."
It was William Harris. He hadn't heard that voice in over a year. Greg spun around, rezipping his jeans. His eyes darted from tree to tree but the forest was motionless.
"Who's there?" he called, not expecting an answer.
He flashed back to the last time he saw Harris; to climbing from the trunk to the backseat of a vehicle, preparing to fight for his life. He could almost feel the knife in his hand as he held it up to the man's neck. Greg never had any intention of killing Harris, only to attempt to bribe his way out of a captive situation. He never let himself consider what actually killed him, between Greg's own hand and the devastating car wreck that occurred seconds later.
Until now he dismissed the whisper in the tent that had assisted in waking him as a figment leftover from a dream. It had been Whitney, and presently he felt the heat from her breath on the base of his neck; smelled it even. He gasped and shuddered, swiping at his neck to rid himself of the vile sensation.
Sensing a change in his surroundings, he spun again, slowly. The calls of nocturnal birds, insects, and other wildlife had completely ceased. Even the cool breeze, which had picked up a few hours ago and whooshed through the treetops, died down. The world was a vacuum of sound and motion and down here, beneath the ancient towering trees and endless canvas of stars, Greg felt as insignificant as a piece of dirt.
Pressing a hand to his chest over his hammering heart, he headed back toward the tent. Flat mattress or not, he didn't care, he only wanted to be next to Sara again. He stumbled through brush that seemed much thicker than it was moments ago. Thorns and burs caught on his jeans and his skin, leaving red, irritated trails like tiny knives.
Something isn't right.
He'd been walking for too long. He should have reached the tent by now.
He tried calling out. The shout came out hoarse—Greg could barely fill his lungs enough to project much noise at all—and the forest muffled then devoured the sound. He froze again. The silence roared in his ears. Wheezing, holding his chest, he leaned over slightly.
"Okay," he said aloud, trying to reason with the illogical. "Pull yourself together and look at this sensibly. This is another one of your…episodes. It's not real, and you're making a fool out of yourself. You're ruining the only vacation you and Sara are going to get for a long, long time."
Glancing around, he attempted a few deep breaths and at last decided on the least overgrown direction. He continued walking and after a few minutes caught a glimpse of a small clearing ahead.
"See? Just got turned around." He sped up, end in sight.
As he stepped over a knee-height thicket of vegetation, his eyes were aimed ahead. He wasn't prepared when all that greeted his boot on the other side was air instead of ground. He was unable to catch himself and tumbled off the short but steep rock outcrop. There was no brush at the bottom to cushion his fall, just dirt and stone.
Sighing in exasperation, Sara gave up her attempts to sleep in a bit longer. The chill that crept into the tent overnight kept her burrowed beneath the blankets. 'Air mattress' was an ironic title for the sad flap beneath her, and the ground was so hard against her hip and shoulder that Sara was convinced she had bedsores.
She shivered and suddenly became curious why she could no longer feel Greg's warmth next to her, and why he hadn't already woken her to reinflate the bed. Slowly she opened her eyes and lowered the blankets from above her head. The soft morning light filtered through the walls of the tent and birds chirped a raucous chorus in the branches above. She smirked, pondering how back in Nevada, they would just be laying down to sleep after a long night of work.
A glance around revealed that Greg was indeed absent, and her smirk vanished. She didn't remember him leaving the tent. In fact, Sara couldn't remember the last time she felt him beside her.
After pulling on jeans and a hooded sweatshirt over her underwear and t-shirt—wait, Greg's t-shirt—Sara let herself out of the tent and looked around. Something wild and small scurried off into the bush, startled from whatever it had been foraging. She whispered an apology to it, then spoke louder to her surroundings: "Greg?"
No response. Did he go hiking alone? No. Even if that was something he would do, he would have told her or at the very least left a note.
Nick's words of caution chose this moment to repeat themselves in her memory: "Be careful, and keep an eye on him."
She swore and pulled on her boots as questions circled her mind. How long ago did he leave? What if he'd already been gone for hours?
She started with a quick loop around the perimeter of the clearing, clinging to the hope that he was close by, using nature's 'facilities.' When that yielded nothing, she returned to the tent to retrieve a backpack. She hastily tossed in a first-aid kit, a compass, some bottled water, her cellphone, and one of the walkie-talkies that Jerker lent them. After some contemplation, she attached the holster and pistol to her jeans. She spotted Greg's jacket in her periphery, and added that to the bag before zipping it closed and exiting the tent once more.
Sara shouted Greg's name every twenty seconds or so, gradually extending her search radius outwards. As the distance increased and the brush thickened, she worked harder to control her rising anxiety. Why would he wander so far?
Her imagination had begun to venture a guess when she noticed the terrain was looking very familiar. She halted only a split second before stepping over the same edge she had nearly fallen over two nights ago. Balancing herself against a tree trunk, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them again, something caught her attention. She gasped. Greg lay on the rocks below.
She called out to him, although if her recent shouts hadn't woken him, this one wouldn't either. Frozen, she studied him closely. He was breathing, wasn't he? He was absolutely motionless. His breaths should have been visible from this distance. She panicked and scrambled through the brush beside the drop to reach the bottom safely. Dropping to her knees, she reached forward but her hands hovered, reluctant to touch him. Her heart skipped a beat when she observed the small puddle of dark red liquid on the rocky surface beneath his head.
"Shit. Greg please, wake up," Sara begged, finally laying a trembling hand on his unclothed back.
His skin was cool, and he had gained new scratches and small cuts atop his old scars. She pressed her fingers to the side of his neck, and after what felt like a lifetime, she found a pulse. She ducked to listen at his mouth and heard the faintest of breaths. She let out a small sigh of relief and tried to get a better look at where he was bleeding from, but found it impossible without moving his head. If he had fallen, it was possible he could have a spinal injury. The blood appeared to be drying so she left it alone.
She dropped the backpack from her shoulders and opened it. The cellphone didn't have service and she swore again. She looked around and estimated they were maybe a ten-minute hike from camp. That was, if Greg felt up to hiking anytime soon. At least they had plenty of daylight left.
'To do what, exactly?' she wondered bleakly. Because Greg needed medical attention. Without a cellular signal, their best chance would be to head back to the rental car, which was at least another two-hour hike.
Thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance. Sara was having a hard time remembering why she ever agreed to go camping.
A/N: Sorry to leave you with a bit of a cliffhanger...again. I'll try to be fast(er) with the next update. Thank you to my loyal reviewers. Reviews inspire me and make me write more!