Condemned

34 | Jael

I should feel better about everything. . .

We are making good progress. Sam is alternately on my back or jogging barefoot. I admire her resilience. With her wounds, I'm amazed she can support her weight at all.

It's something our pursuers won't likely take into account—her athleticism and will to survive through conditions that would discourage a Navy Seal.

The intermittent drizzle has become a steady rain. For tracking, it's a blessing. For everything else, it's treacherous, but it doesn't seem to be slowing Sam down or sending her into another tirade. You're an asshole. Leave me alone...

Even so, we're undoubtedly being hunted from every angle. By now, their map probably has a bunch of x's. They know where we aren't. And they may have found Bryony's remains. It'll add fuel to their fire and update their starting point. And with basic cell-phone technology, they can report their findings and minimize any redundancy.

I should at least appreciate the long-overdue conversation that Sam and I began. If we get caught now, we did clear some of the air. But it's still toxic enough to choke on, and I certainly fell victim to it. I basically said I love you, and it went unnoticed. Or it was purposely ignored. I'm not sure which is worse. It became about Ishmael instead. And Prue. I shouldn't forget that. But it's all connected. And painful for her. Understandably, of course, but it's hard to pinpoint an exact source, or the reason my admission fell so flat.

I can do better. I will do better. When the time is right. And assuming we have the chance.

"Can we take a break?" Sam's voice is competing with a gust of wind and the rush of water. The river is just a stone's throw away and it's bursting with new volume.

I skid to stop in a patch of mud, eager to oblige.

The horizon has a dull glow. Maybe in about a half an hour, I can safely say, we survived the night.

With Sam on my back, I veer into the woods. Beside a copse of evergreens, I drop to my chest, panting like crazy.

Sam steps off me and continues walking, stretching her legs, and working out the kinks. There are quite a few—neck, back, knees, ankles.

With no energy to follow her lead, I watch her move about from my stomach, with a tilt to my head.

"We need to work on our communication like this," she informs me after her turnaround, wagging a finger between me and herself. "And I have a few suggestions. Right paw, yes, left paw, no..."

She expects an answer and her pacing stops. I put her words to memory and tap my right paw for her.

"Good," she replies, resuming her walk forward. "I can work with that for now. Do you have a place where we can lie low for a while?"

That's an easy one. Yes, I tell her with my right paw.

Our first spot is planned. We have to be extremely careful during daylight hours anyway and may as well make the most of this place until nightfall. Our clothing and supplies are already there. After that, we'll have to play it by ear, but we'll have what we need to wing it just about anywhere . . . within reason. We're not prepared for a deep freeze or constant rain, major injuries or any catastrophes, and the food won't last more than a few days, but we should have enough to get our journey off to a good start.

"Are we almost there?" she inquires next.

I don't know if she considers about an hour a yes or a no, so I hesitate and then give her both.

"Okay, I'll consider that a sort of."

Yes, I tap.

Sam has had her arms crossed most of the time, to keep her robe closed. The tie is still wrapped around her scraped elbow. One arm remains at her waist, but at her neck, she tugs at her soggy collar. "Can I assume you have something else for us to wear?"