Desolation Point Read online

  “You okay?”

  She nodded without looking up. It was not the first time that Jack had asked.

  “Wanna talk about it?”

  “Not really.” That was the last thing she wanted to do. It was much safer all tucked up inside her, tormenting her with aches in her gut, cold sweats, and sleepless nights. If she talked, that would be it. Jack would know everything; but then she remembered the look he had given her in the store and she realized he probably had a damn good idea anyway. “I’m fine,” she said, the lie well rehearsed but still completely unconvincing.

  “Alex…”

  “I’m fine.” The coffee splashed onto her fingers as her hand shook. It suddenly felt as if there was no air in the car, and she clicked the button to lower the window, her finger blanching from the pressure.

  “Slow your breathing down.”

  She shook her head. How could she slow it down when there was something crushing her chest?

  “Alex, slow it down.”

  Lights danced across her vision as she took huge gulps of air, but some distant, rational part of her brain told her that that was only making things worse. With a massive effort, she closed her mouth and forced herself to breathe through her nose.

  “Shit.” The lights faded, and Jack’s worried face gradually came into focus.

  “Better?”

  She nodded, her legs trembling as adrenaline flooded her body.

  “That cramping in your hands should ease off soon.” At some point, he had taken the cup of coffee from her clawed-up fingers.

  “Thanks.” She wiped her face as best she could.

  “They happen a lot?”

  “No.” Her answer was automatic, but she was too strung out to keep up the pretense, and she looked across at him. “All the time,” she whispered, pushing aside the instincts that were warning her to say nothing, to give nothing away. “They happen all the time.” Her eyes slid shut; she couldn’t look at him and still make this admission. In the dark it was so much easier, and she felt the tightness in her chest begin to loosen its grip. “Jack, I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

  Chapter Three

  The rhythmic rush and retreat of the waves across the sand had lulled Sarah to sleep, and it was the first thing she heard as she awoke the next morning. Stretching her arms above her head, she kept her eyes closed for a moment, breathing in the tang of salt and seaweed and the lingering smoky scent of the small fire on which she had cooked her supper. The sun had already been low in the sky by the time she had found the right turn-off for the campsite and walked down to the deserted beach. Although it was late October, the weather throughout her journey up the West Coast had remained unseasonably warm, and as she peeked out from her tent, another cloudless morning promised that that would hold true for at least one more day. She blinked against the glare of the sun, shielding her eyes with her hand as she tried to decide whether she was hungry enough to leave the comfort of her sleeping bag.

  As it often did around this time in the morning, the buzz of an incoming text message cut short her procrastinations. She smiled and shook her head as she scrambled in her bag for her phone. Across the Atlantic and eight hours ahead of the West Coast of America, Ash or Tess would be attempting to convince their demanding son that sleep really would be in his best interests. Much to the amusement of Sarah and the despair of her two closest friends, he was seldom easily persuaded.

  Morning, gorgeous. Where you at today? Oh, Jamie just puked in your honour, how sweet. Tess says hi. Well, she would if she was awake. Let us know what you’re up to. It’s raining here. Again. A x

  Sarah opened the image attached to the message and her smile broadened. Jamie had just turned two months old and seemed to have inherited the hair color of one mother and the grin of the other. The message had taken over an hour to make its way to her, but she sent a reply regardless.

  Morning from just south of Seattle. Slept on the beach again, so yes, Ash, I do have sand in all my unmentionables, before you ask! Planning to go hiking in the mountains next. Tell Tess not to look so worried (because she will as soon as she finds out). I’ve got the hang of this camping lark. I’ll be fine. Love you all. Big kiss to the boy. Sarah x

  She attached her own photograph of the postcard-perfect little cove and then sent the message. Wide-awake now and sticky with dust and sweat from the previous day’s drive, she eyed the water longingly. A quick glance around confirmed that no one had joined her during the night, which made her decision that much simpler.

  At the shoreline, she peeled off the tank top and thin sweatpants she had slept in and dumped them next to her towel. The water was cool as it lapped at her toes, and then colder by degrees as she waded farther in. She had swum countless times as she had traveled across Europe, gradually regaining the stamina and musculature that weeks in the hospital had stolen from her. Unwilling to expose herself to the curiosity of tourists and the pitying expressions or questions that would inevitably follow, she had made a habit of hiking out to beaches far off the beaten track or plunging into Alpine lakes in the dimness of the pre-dawn. Here, as on those occasions, there was no one to stare at the twelve-inch scar that bisected her right thigh or the ugly mess left behind by the surgeons as they fought to stem the internal bleeding in her abdomen. Her only audience was a gull that squawked indignantly at her before quickly losing interest. She jumped the first few waves that hurtled toward her. Then she dove into a large breaker and swam strongly into the deeper, calmer water. The pull and burn of her muscles felt good after being cramped in her Jeep for far too long. Loath to leave the water even when she finally ran out of energy, she flipped over onto her back while she caught her breath. The sky was cobalt blue, small wisps of cloud just starting to form. Closing her eyes contentedly, Sarah lifted her face to the sun.

  *

  Standing on the cabin’s rickety front porch, Alex straightened her back and massaged the base of her spine with both hands in an attempt to work the kinks out of it. She ached all over, but it was a good ache, an ache that came from working outside in the fresh air all day, and, she reflected with a wry grin, air didn’t get much fresher than this.

  A small figure ambled into view, shadowed as ever by a black and tan dog. Alex hurried down to meet them and at least attempt to relieve the man of the tools he was carrying.

  “Hey, Walt. Hey, Kip.”

  The dog licked her hand in greeting, his demeanor as stoical as that of his owner. Five foot four and sixty-eight years old, Walt was a man of few words, but he possessed an energy that constantly astounded Alex. Nodding his thanks, he handed over the lighter part of his burden without breaking his stride, and they walked back to the cabins together.

  “Coffee’s about ready,” she said.

  Walt grinned, two rows of perfect white teeth standing out brightly against his weather-beaten face. “I knew you were a good gal the day I hired ya.”

  “Yeah? No regrets?” Although she kept her tone light, there was a trace of genuine concern underlying her question; she was aware how big a leap of faith it had been for Walt to take a chance on her in the first place.

  The advertisement she had answered had been vague: Help wanted to run small farm. No experience required, accommodation incl. The salary had been a pittance, the hours unspecified, and when she tried to find the address on a map, she searched for over an hour before having to admit defeat. Despite Jack’s incredulity and against his well-intentioned advice, she had posted an application off that night, never daring to anticipate the letter and hand-scrawled map that would arrive three days later.

  Walt’s “small farm” was a vast tract of woodland bordering the North Cascades. Stepping from her car that first time, Alex had gazed upward to see towering Ponderosa pine and jagged, snow-capped mountains. The only sound to break the stillness had been birdsong, and the air had seemed to rush into her lungs after so long breathing in the thick smog of the city. It was only when the view had misted over that she had realized
she was crying. Walt had made her coffee, sat her on the porch, and offered her the job. She had spent the last three months working herself to the bone in an attempt to justify his faith in her, but still sometimes she worried.

  “You got good instincts, Alex.” Walt picked up the mugs she had just filled, and she followed him back out and sat beside him on the top step of the porch. Kip settled at their feet, worrying at a well-gnawed bone. “You’re doing fine.”

  “Oh.” She took a sip of her drink to try to hide her relief.

  “Plus, you make a damn good cup of coffee.” He nudged her with his shoulder and succeeded in coaxing a smile out of her.

  “You sure know how to charm a girl.”

  He laughed and she leaned into him briefly. Lapsing into an easy silence, they cradled their mugs as the air turned cooler and the shadows across the clearing began to lengthen.

  *

  The steam from the hot water made Alex shiver in anticipation as she lowered herself inch by inch into the battered metal tub. Finally accustomed to the heat, she ducked her head beneath the water to rinse the accumulated sweat, dirt, and wood smoke from her hair. She added shampoo to the mix and ran her fingers low down her neck, searching by habit for the hair that had been cut away in a no-frills salon just outside Snoqualmie that doubled as a taxidermist when business was slow. Her mother would almost certainly disapprove, but Alex had always liked her hair short, and the new style was nothing if not practical.

  A bath was her once-a-week luxury, and—like most of what passed as amenities in her new life—she had had to work hard for it. All the water for her tiny cabin had to be hand-pumped from the outside well and heated pot by pot on her wood-burning stove. It was something else that would appall her mother. Alex had spent pretty much every week of every childhood vacation camping or bivouacking with her two elder brothers, however, and it had been surprisingly easy for her to slip back into a lifestyle that was short on modern conveniences.

  Before she left Los Angeles, Jack had taken her to dinner, and over steak and one too many beers he had let fly, telling her that she was making a massive mistake, that running away and hiding was only a temporary fix, something she would regret within weeks. He hadn’t been able to change her mind, but their heated conversation replayed itself as she lay back in the tub, and in spite of several resolutions she had made and easily kept thus far, she found herself thinking about Los Angeles. Day by day, the contact she had with friends back in the city was fading as letters became less frequent and a patchy signal on her cell phone dissuaded them from sending messages and e-mails. She was surprised by how little that troubled her. She had thought that the camaraderie of the force would be the one thing she would miss, but in the weeks she had been back at work after the assault, something had changed fundamentally. Friends and colleagues had treated her differently, unwilling to engage her in conversation for fear of saying the wrong thing and more inclined to give her a wide berth in order to make their own lives easier. She had found herself pushed to the periphery, set to one side as damaged goods, and had rapidly grown tired of the sympathetic glances, given that she suspected her mental state and reliability under fire were probably the hot topics of locker room gossip.

  She closed her eyes as the warm water began to ease the aches from her limbs. Outside, an owl hooted softly, its call gradually becoming more distant and then fading completely to leave nothing but silence and a pitch-blackness unbroken by the sodium glow of streetlights. There was no constant rumble of traffic or wail of sirens, no voices raised in dissent, no television blaring in the background or intermittent buzz of messages on her cell phone. It had only taken a month for the nightmares to stop and for her appetite to return. She had regained the weight she had lost, and working with Walt, she had found muscles she had never even known were there. Drowsing in the steadily cooling water, she carefully weighed both sides of the argument that Jack had raised so vehemently and came to her own conclusion: if this was running away, she really didn’t have a problem with it.

  *

  Sarah moaned with relief as she lowered her bare feet into the cool water of the stream. With the chill rapidly numbing the pain of blisters long since burst, she leaned back on her hands, wiggling her toes in the water and laughing as tiny curious fish swam away, startled.

  “Sorry, little guys.”

  Her toes now motionless, the fish slowly approached her again. They nibbled gently at her feet before realizing that she wasn’t actually a food source and returning to bask in the sun-warmed pools at the edges of the current.

  As soon as she had sat down, an energy-sapping weariness had settled in. The sun was already beginning to cast a pink tinge across the glacial peaks that framed Ross Lake, and the prospect of pitching her tent loomed as large as a Herculean task. It had taken her a full day to hike out to the campsite from Milepost 138 where she had left her Jeep, but she could not deny her sense of achievement at having reached even this far.

  For over a week, she had followed State Route 20, driving through the heart of the North Cascades National Park. At regular intervals, she had stopped off to hike some of the countless miles of trails. She had encountered no problems, gotten accustomed to the rules and regulations governing the park, and finally felt capable of tackling one of the more challenging routes. Looking at her options on the map, she had wondered aloud at the dire names given to such magnificent surroundings. A coin toss had made the decision for her, turning her away from an exploration of the trails around Mount Fury and toward a hike up to the summit of Desolation Peak.

  At the Ranger Station, Marilyn, a long-serving stalwart with a lovely smile and boundless enthusiasm, had cemented Sarah’s choice of trails, recommending the Desolation Peak hike as a relatively safe and easily navigated route. She had explained how it had become something of a pilgrimage for fans of Jack Kerouac, who, she said, had worked as a lookout on the peak back in the fifties and subsequently used the experience as inspiration for one of his novels. The good weather of the weekend had seen a steady stream of hikers making the trip, but as Marilyn issued her backcountry permit, a quick perusal of the itineraries submitted had given Sarah a little thrill of excitement: only one other person would be hiking her route, and that person would be an entire day behind her.

  “Be mostly on your own up there,” Marilyn had said. She had cast an appraising eye over Sarah before nodding and handing over the permit. “You’ll be fine.”

  And Sarah had been fine. Although long, her first trail—the East Bank trail—had been clearly marked and obviously well traveled, making it a pleasant hike even with the burden of her camping gear. She had made good time, stopping on occasion to rest and to exchange pleasantries with hikers heading in the opposite direction. Those who had made it up to the summit of Desolation Peak described it as one of the most spectacular viewpoints in the entire park…

  It was only when Sarah’s head dropped to her chin that she realized she was on the verge of dozing off. She splashed her face with cold water and clambered reluctantly to her feet. Her tiny two-person tent took barely any time to pitch, but she couldn’t muster the strength to start a fire and settled instead for a dinner of beef jerky, granola bars, and chocolate. When she wandered down to the stream to collect water, she noticed a second small tent pitched close to the edge of the lake. A young man carrying a pan gave a cheery wave as he walked toward her.

  “Hi there.”

  “Oops, no you don’t. Daft little bugger…” Sarah stooped low to stop an overly adventurous fish from ending up in her water bottle, and then smiled at her companion. “Hello.”

  “Johnno.” His accent was broad Australian.

  “Sarah.”

  They shook dirt-streaked hands and then laughed self-consciously.

  “My better half spotted you. Got sharper eyes than me. Wondered if you and yours fancied a beer?”

  She gazed longingly over his shoulder at the fire burning brightly by the side of their tent.

&nbs
p; “Not sure about the beer, and there’s only me,” she said, licking her sun-chapped lips. “But I’d kill for a cuppa.”

  “Zach, get the kettle on, love. We have a guest.”

  She smiled as Johnno made a show of presenting her to his partner, who shook the hand she held out.

  “Sit down and ignore him. He’s always been an idiot,” Zach said, in an accent nowhere near as pronounced as Johnno’s.

  Johnno set the kettle on the fire and dropped a teabag into a mug he had taken pains to wipe clean. “If I’d known you were English, I’d have offered tea first. So you’re out here on your own?”

  “I am.”

  “Heading up or back down?”

  “Up, tomorrow. You?” She kept her question casual. Although it was nice to chat to someone after spending most of the day in solitude, she was hoping not to have to tag along as a third wheel.

  “Down. We’re taking the lazy option and getting the boat out. Zach got the whole Kerouac thing out of his system today and is now craving a feather bed, a bath filled with bubbles, and room service.”

  A bottle top hit Johnno’s head with a resounding thud, and Sarah tried hard to keep from laughing.

  “Ignore him, darling. I try to.” Zach handed her the mug of tea, and she leaned back against an old log with a grateful sigh.

  “Thank you.”

  “No worries.” They drank contentedly for a while before Zach broke the silence. “Hey, you got a radio?”

  Puzzled by the random nature of the question, she hesitated before answering. “No. I’ve got a mobile phone, but the service is really patchy out here.”