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Memphis moves through the woods like a panther. He’s sure footed and quick, never stumbling over roots and rocks. I might be the tallest one of us with the longest legs, but I still find myself trailing behind him. When he’s tracking, the man transforms. It’s like his essential nature is lying dormant until he’s hunting something. Then, his true self is released. He’s a predator, as much a force of nature as any other animal in Olympic.
It’s one thing to know someone’s talented. It’s another to actually see it with your own eyes. I’m totally blown away by Memphis’s skills, and if we weren’t trying to beat the storm, I’d probably fanboy about it to his face.
But every clap of thunder reminds us that time’s working against us. The storm’s approaching fast, and when it hits, it’ll wash away every trace of Brooklyn’s scent. Even Memphis will have a tough time finding footprints and markers once the rain falls.
Seems like Denver’s mind is moving on the same track as mine. “Rain’s gonna start any minute. Which means we’re fucked.”
Memphis shakes his head. “No. We need the rain, and fast. The region’s been dryer than usual this summer.”
I huff out a laugh. The almost-daily rain showers sure haven’t felt dry to me. Memphis ignores me and keeps talking.
“The lightning’s not letting up,” he says. “Could mean wildfires.”
“Then we better keep the pace,” Denver says simply. I swear, nothing rattles this guy. “I don’t want a fire getting between us and Brooklyn.”
“She’s done a good enough job turning us around as it is,” I note. “She doubled back twice already. She must really want to make sure that we get our steps in.”
Denver laughs, but Memphis doesn’t acknowledge my joke. It’s fine. I’ll figure out how to make him crack by the time our mission’s over. I’m good at drawing people out, and I welcome the challenge of Mr. Strong and Silent.
“Can you still track her with the rain?” I ask.
“Yes,” he answers. He doesn’t elaborate.
“It’ll be harder, though, right?”
“Yes.”
“But I’m guessing you’ve tracked animals in the rain plenty of times.”
“Yup.”
Well, at least he’s shaking up his answers, even if they’re still monosyllables.
Memphis spots something and crouches, carefully examining the dirt underfoot. He nods to himself, then keeps going. I stop to look at the dirt myself. All I see is dirt. Go figure.
We keep moving, and I keep my eye out on the scenery around us. I’d love to see the look on Memphis’s face if I find a clue that he missed. Unfortunately, the landscape looks the same to me.
I frown when I spot the thick green vine on the forest floor. Normally, those grow up the sides of trees, not across the ground. And we’re surrounded by fir trees, not the thick trunks where you’d usually see it.
It’s not until Memphis’s boot makes contact with it that I put the pieces together. On instinct, I launch myself at him, knocking him to the ground. We land in a pile of sharp elbows and limbs.
Thwack!
It’s almost a relief when I look up to see the sharp spear sticking out of the trunk behind us. Otherwise, the guys would think I was a total idiot for tackling Memphis out of nowhere.
“Fuck,” Memphis growls in surprise.
“Thank you, Camden,” I say jokingly, imitating his rough cadence as I prop myself up on my elbows. “Thanks for saving me from getting gutted by a trigger snare. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”
All I get is an eye roll, but when he gets to his feet, he extends a hand to help me up.
Denver’s examining the spear. “So she knows how to create booby traps,” he muses. His matter-of-fact tone belies his admiring expression. I get the feeling that not much impresses him, but Brooklyn’s human snare has done the job.
“I’m starting to get the suspicion that she doesn’t want us to find her,” I say. “Cutting up my tent, doubling back to hide her tracks, and now, straight up murder attempts.”
“Don’t take it personally,” Denver says. “She probably set this trap up long before she met us.”
Memphis stops to examine the branch of a nearby bush, then starts walking again. He must have found some clue in it because he shifts his direction slightly to the left. Denver and I exchange glances then follow him. This time, I don’t bother making conversation. It’s probably better for me to focus on looking for plants in places where they shouldn’t be. There’s no way this is the only trap Brooklyn’s set out here.
