Maybe he didn’t have access to that hotel room and everything that would come with it just yet, but there were tents back at the camp, and a lot more comfort than out here on the mountainside. He hated to backtrack, but he wasn’t sure how long he was going to have to wait before he could travel at a decent pace. There was food, shelter, and dry clothes at the camp. Yeah, the remains of Davis’s carcass were there, too, but he figured the bear had eaten all it wanted and moved on. Didn’t other animals move in really fast? Probably there was nothing left of Davis by now.
He shuddered. If he thought too much about what he’d seen he wouldn’t be able to move forward or back, he’d be frozen in terror and then he’d literally die here, whether it was from the damn cold, or Angie, or some other complication just waiting to trip him up.
No, staying here wasn’t an option. He hadn’t come this far just to give up, no matter what the reason.
Reluctantly, he led the horse back the way they’d come, not willing to risk injuring his ride off this mountain on the uncertain terrain by getting back in the saddle for the trip up the river of mud he found himself in. He cursed under his breath, angry at being forced to turn back, but he didn’t see that he had any other real choice. One thing about it, though: He was very much looking forward to getting out of this damned rain.
He was stuck until the weather cleared, and he might as well accept that. But so was Angie, so she wasn’t gaining any more on him than she had the night before, when she was probably able to cover some ground because the flood conditions hadn’t gotten quite as bad. She was on foot, though, so once he was able to start again, he’d quickly make up for his lost time.
No matter. His ultimate goal remained unchanged; it was just going to take longer to get there than he’d planned. A good strategist was flexible.
So he’d reversed his path down the mountain, and to his dismay found that already he had to make detours from the way he’d traveled just hours ago, because of the unending sea of water pouring from the heavens and rushing down the mountain. Anxiously he noticed the light begin to fade, so he said to hell with leading the horse and got back into the saddle, hoping to speed up his pace a little.
Finally, on the last gasp of daylight, he made it to the campsite.
He put the horse into the corral, resenting every minute he had to spend taking care of it before he could take care of himself, but he’d be in deep shit without the animal, so he forced himself to take the time. He even fed the bastard. Then he stumbled into his tent, turned on the lantern and the small camp heater, and began stripping off his wet clothes. Fuck, he was cold!
He’d never before thought of dry, clean clothes as a luxury, but as he quickly dried himself with a hand towel, Chad knew he’d never again take the simple things, like food, water, and shelter, for granted. This life wasn’t for him, that was for certain.
He wanted to take the basics for granted. He wanted to forget what it felt like to be wet and cold, he wanted to put all of this behind him and never look back. He wanted to expect around-the-clock comfort again—and oh, what comforts he could afford with the money he’d stashed away! All he had to do was get out of here, which wasn’t going to be today, tonight, and maybe not tomorrow.
He got dressed: dry underwear, jeans, a camo sweatshirt that felt like heaven on his chilled body, thick socks. Unfortunately, he didn’t have an extra pair of boots, so he left his wet boots sitting to the side, close to the camp heater. Maybe they’d dry out before he had to put them back on.
Once he felt fairly decent again, with warm, dry clothing on, he heaved a deep sigh and just sat for a minute, listening to the rain fall hard on the tent. Then he ate another protein bar and drank a bottle of water. He really, really wanted something hot to eat, but that wasn’t possible just yet. So he drank the water and tried not to think about coffee. He chewed on the bar and tried not to notice how shitty it tasted, how the texture was more like sticky sawdust than real food. Still, with every second that passed, his body eased, welcoming the warmth and dryness.
He’d never felt so alone. Except for the horse in the corral, he hadn’t seen anyone or anything out in this mess, not even a bird. Everyone—man, woman, and beast—was holed up in some kind of shelter, waiting out the big rain.
But animals still had to eat, didn’t they, whether it rained or not? Maybe that meant they’d come out at night. He thought of bears and cougars prowling around outside his tent and nervously he got his rifle and put it within easy reach. God, he was so tired. He couldn’t stay awake another miserable night. He had to get some sleep tonight, or he’d be unable to function tomorrow even if the sun came out and the land miraculously dried up.
But he was afraid to sleep, afraid he’d conk out so completely that a bear would be in the tent chewing on him before he woke. He sat on the mattress, and kind of zoned out, thoughts flitting through his brain but not really stopping for him to examine them.
He wondered if the three horses he’d left tied up under the overhang had managed to shake free or if they were still there, waiting for him to return.
He wondered if the bear had come back to finish eating what was left of Mitchell Davis while he’d been trying, and failing, to make his escape.
He wondered if it was possible that Angie had succeeded where he’d failed, if she’d made it off the mountain today, or at least covered some significant ground. She might’ve found the horses, though that was a long shot.
Maybe she knew a shortcut; maybe she was tougher than he’d thought. She might be at Lattimore’s. Unlikely, but he needed to have a plan for every contingency …