Untraceable (42 page)

I grip his bony hand. He gives me a weak squeeze. This is not the dad I lost three months ago. This is a man who’s struggled. A man who’s been betrayed by almost everyone he trusted. This man is no longer just my dad; he’s a survivor.

I bite my lip as I cry quietly, not wanting him to hear or see me break down. Suddenly, I’m scared. He’s been held captive for over three months, tortured, and starved. But this bullet wound is much more serious and needs urgent medical care.

Panic rips through me. I’m out here miles away from anything or anyone that can help him. I kiss his forehead and whisper, “I knew you were alive.”

He smiles up at me without opening his eyes. “Felt like I was dead, sometimes.” His voice is raspier than usual, as if a thousand pine needles have scraped along his vocal chords. He reaches up and touches my face, but not without wincing.

Emotions rise like a high ocean tide, but I force them to recede. Dad doesn’t need any more stress, especially from me. I stroke his clammy forehead and can tell he’s burning up. I pour some of my water onto my cloth and press it against his head.

He lifts his fingers and touches my face. “Thank you, Gracie.”

I shrug. “For what?”

He eyes me. “Gee, I wonder. For finding me. For not giving up after all this time. For putting yourself in danger.”

“Yeah. You owe me, big time.”

“How’s Mom?”

“Not good. She’ll be so happy to see you. But you should see your ‘to do’ list.”

His brief laugh becomes a fit of coughs. A drop of blood speckles the corner of his mouth.

I rub his forehead. “You sure do pour it on thick, huh?”

He closes his eyes for a moment before answering. “It’s okay, you know.”

“What is?”

“I may be hurt, but my brain still works. I know you.”

“Dad, what are you—”

He interrupts me. “I know you cared about Morris.” Hearing Mo’s name gets me right in the gut.

My eyes flood. “Don’t be silly. All I care about is you.”

He lifts his head up and forces out words. “He did what he did for his father. Will was a good man and a good friend. I don’t blame Morris—or Mo—and I don’t think you should either.” Dad lays his head back on my lap and stares at the ceiling. “It’s such a shame he got dragged into all this. He’s such a smart young man.”

I chomp down on the inside of my cheek to keep from choking up.

Dad studies my face. “I want you to know that when I was down in that pit, Mo was there for me. Even though it compromised his cover, he helped me whenever he could.”

“Then why didn’t he rescue you?” I press my lips together, creating a barrier to remaining sobs.

Dad stares at the ceiling, a distant look wipes over his face. “He wanted to, but I wouldn’t let him. What he was doing was more important than me. It was everything Will and I worked on for a year. Until they killed him. I wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for Mo. He convinced Fields to keep me alive in case they needed leverage. Mo even took that bullet for me.”

“I guess.”

“His heart was in the right place. I’m sure he cared about you. Knowing him, I’m pretty damn positive that was real.”

I press another strip of cloth to his stomach, hoping to stop the flow. “Shhhhh. Get some rest. We can talk later. We’re not out of the woods yet, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“No pun intended.” Dad touches my face. Tears appear in the corners of his eyes as he studies my face. “All I wanted was to see your sweet face again. To tell you how much I love you. I didn’t get to do that when I left.”

I sob into Dad’s shoulder. “I love you too, Dad. But you gotta stop talking like this. You’re going to make it. I promise.”

He shakes his head slightly. “We both know that’s not true.”

My heart aches as I sit helpless in the fading light, awaiting our fate, the adrenaline that once pumped through my veins now replaced by pure exhaustion.

Dad mumbles in the darkness. “Take care of your mother. Tell her how much I love her.”

I shake my head no and act strong no matter how I feel inside. “No! You tell her yourself. I’m not doing your dirty work for you.”

His face drops to one side, and his breathing quickens. Tears trickle out of his eyes, puddling in the dirt. “Tell her … I’m sorry for leaving her.”

I shake him. “Don’t you dare start saying goodbye. You’re going to be fine.” Horrible thoughts invade my mind. What if he dies right here in my arms? After all this time? After I just found him? That would mean everything I did, everyone that’s died, would all be for nothing.

I watch his chest rise and fall like an accordian, willing it to continue. Soon, his breath becomes short and erratic.

“Dad?” I pat his face a little to wake him up. Sobs take over my body. His head flops to one side, and his body goes limp.

Tears spring to my eyes as I cradle his face with my hands and shake him a little. “Dad, stay with me.” I press my ear to his chest. “No, please no.”

I lean over him and perform CPR. “Dad, don’t leave me!” While pumping his chest with my hands, I scream out the opening, not caring who hears me. As long as it gives Dad a chance. “Help me! Please!” I perform a few more rounds and check for his pulse again. This is not happening.

I clasp my hands together and slam down his chest several times. “Don’t you dare leave me! Do you hear me! I’ll never forgive you!”

Silence fills the cavernous space as I abruptly stop fighting. I hold my breath waiting for him to take another breath. Waiting to see his chest rise and feel his heart beat. Waiting for him to live.

But it’s too late, he’s gone.

I have no idea how long or why I sat there holding Dad. Maybe because I was hoping he was asleep and would wake up. That I’d made some bizarre mistake, and he was still alive. That everything I did had amounted to something. That Tommy’s death had a purpose and was not just a big fat waste.

My sobs reverberate throughout the small space. I clutch onto my dad’s shirt and moan, shaking him slightly. “I’m so sorry. Please, please don’t leave me.” His face is peaceful and relaxed. I take out a cloth and wipe the dirt from his cheeks.

Suddenly, I’m overwhelmed by all the things I’ll never know about my dad. Things I never thought to ask. What was he like when he was young? How did he feel when he met Mom? And what did he think about the day I was born? What did he want me to be when I grew up? What made him the most happy?

Now, I’ll never get the chance.

I bring my head down to touch his forehead for my last goodbye. My mind explodes with total grief for everything I’m going to miss about him. All the moments we’ll never share. All the time I wasted taking things for granted. But mostly, that I couldn’t save him.

No matter how hard I tried, I failed.

Sadness is replaced by anger. Why did he have to die, now, right after I found him? How could he leave me after everything we’ve been through? I wish I could rewind the last few months. Go back to that spring morning when Dad left and pause life for just a second. Run after him and beg him not to go. To change the events by changing time. Keep him home. But I can’t. The only thing I can do now is get him back so he can have a proper burial.

So Mom gets her chance to finally say goodbye.

“Bye, Dad. I love you.” I start to cry again as I cross his arms over his chest, promising to come back for him.

Then trying to collect myself, I wipe my face and force myself to stand. I peek out the makeshift door, listening for gunfire.

All is quiet, as if the woods have completely forgotten the invasion. Oddly, everything out here has already gone back to normal.

Yet from now on, my normal will never be the same.

I push the vines back and climb out over the dead logs blocking the entrance. An owl hoots above me. The noise sends my heart into spasms. I strain to spot the large bird soaring through the trees before being swallowed by the leafy forest.

Native Americans believe owls guide spirits from this world to the next. I wipe my eyes and recall the poem Tommy said at Ama’s funeral.

I whisper one of the lines to the wind. “There is no death. Just a change of worlds.”

Cautiously, I walk back towards the camp, hoping I can spot Mo. My shoulder is now throbbing with pain, my arm coated with blood. As I stumble along the path, I feel like a big heavy wet blanket has been draped over me. My body is anchored to the earth, my feet feel sluggish, and my mind is foggy. Like it will take everything I have to make it back. At one point, I just want to collapse to the ground, cry, and let the woods swallow me so I don’t have to face what has happened.

But I push on. For my mom. She can’t lose two people. It will kill her.

As I backtrack along the trail, I do my best to tear small strips of material off my t-shirt and tie the small pieces of cloth to various branches, marking the path so we can locate Dad. I have no choice but to head back to camp. It’s the closest place that might have some food or supplies. Seems totally stupid but it’s all I can think of right now. I can’t help but wonder what I’ll find when I get there. Maybe I’ll find Mo.

I trip and stumble forward through the pain in my heart and arm, wishing Mom was here to tend my wounds and reassure me everything’s going to be okay. I wipe a tear from my face, wondering if I’ll see her again. Hoping we can repair what’s been broken for so long.

In the distance, pitch black smoke hovers along the forest floor, creating an eerie mist for me to follow. When I finally come to the top of the hill, I squat down and peer over the side. Everything in the camp is either on fire or already charred. A few red splatters blemish the dusty earth, marking the end of life.

I sigh a breath of relief when I spot some men from the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service swarming the space, dressed in green jackets. A couple of agents tend to the bears trapped in cages while another man drags a body down a side path. One agent sits in front of a tent with bloody bandages on his legs, arms, and torsos.

I make my way down to the center of the camp and come up behind one of the agents.

He spins around and points a gun directly in my face. “Don’t move!”

I freeze to the spot. My hands shoot up in the air as I stammer to explain myself. “I’m Grace ... Grace Wells. Joe and Mary’s daughter.”

The man smiles and lowers his weapon. He comes closer and pats my shoulder. “Miss Wells. Thank goodness you’re okay. Where have you been?”

I swallow not sure if I can find the right words. “My dad, Joe Wells, is in a cave about a mile up the path along that ridge. Can you please go get him? He … he’s … he’s dead.” Hearing the words come out of my mouth, in my own voice, makes my stomach churn. Something I’ve avoided saying out loud since dad went missing. And now, it simply rolls off my lips. I give the agent the coordinates of the location and explain how the trail is marked.

He takes off his baseball camp and looks distraught. “We’ll take good care of Joe. He was one of us. You wait here.” The man unclips the radio off his belt and walks away so I can’t hear what he’s saying. He mumbles and waits until a jumbled voice answers through the static.

Moments later, a group of men sprint up the hill with a stretcher.

Just as they disappear into the woods, someone shouts my name. The voices sends a surge of emotion into every nook and cranny. I spin around and search the trees.

Mom is runnning across the camp with her arms stretched out. “Grace! Grace!”

I sprint toward her. “Mom!”

As soon as we reach each other, she wraps her arms around me like a shawl and starts to cry. “Oh, thank God, you’re okay.” I finally allow my body to collapse, and she holds me until I can steady myself. She pushes me away and scans my body for wounds. That’s when I notice her face. Puffy and swollen with black streaks down her cheeks. She’s been crying. About me. “Oh God, you’re hurt.”

I look at my shoulder. Blood is still dripping along my arm. “I’m fine. Dad saved me.”