Cost of Survival

  ***

  I rubbed my nose, blinking into the blacker night – blacker? How was that even possible? But my breath rebounded into my face. The balaclava had slipped up over my face, covering my eyes as well.

  A small tug pulled the hood back into position. The night had deepened. Stars blinked brighter like I could reach up and push them around. What had wakened me?

  Thud. Angry male voices carried on the muted night air.

  A person cried out. Like a woman. Like —

  I reached out behind me, sitting up, grasping for Mom in the tousled pile of sleeping bag and needles.

  My hand only crinkled the empty blanket. Turning fully around, I slapped the blanket in case she had fallen asleep and I hadn’t woken her up. The blanket sank beneath my hits and I encountered nothing but sleeping bag.

  Unable to fully comprehend what was happening, I gripped the edges of her bag and shoved it fully into the top of her pack. Once I loaded it all the way, I zipped the pocket closed and did the same with my bag and pack.

  Seconds. I didn’t have more than seconds. In all the practices Mom had me run through, she hammered the importance of time into my head.

  I didn’t dare speak or make a sound. She had taught me on our camping trips that in survival situations, more times than not, men sought a way to hurt women and women would find a way to survive – even if that meant stealing or killing.

  Her knowledge had never seemed more real than in that dark moment on the ground. Mom had purchased bags we could strap onto each other in case either of us needed to carry more than one bag. Connecting them, I reached into the hidden pocket on the back of Mom’s bag and pulled out her .9 mm Glock. The gun’s commanding size weighed down my wrists.

  Firing the thing had become second nature to both my mom and me. Multiple weekends camping and shooting in the woods would do that to a girl and her mom. Especially after Dad and Braden hadn’t returned from their trip.

  I drew the double-pack on my back, tucking my chin at the excess weight.

  Hide. I had to hide.

  Large bushes lined the west part of the clearing Mom had brought us to. I bear-crawled to the low hanging branches and tucked in underneath. Bugs and spiders and all kinds of creepy things most likely called that place home, but I bit my inner cheek and stared out into the night.

  Gripping the handle of the gun, I held the weapon on the ground by my face. Cold metal reminded me I couldn’t cry or make a sound. I had a dang gun beside my cheek!

  The only thing keeping me from chasing after Mom was her orders to not look for her, if anything happened. But oh, my gosh, I couldn’t… what if? Too many variables – too many to contemplate and NOT chase after her. Find her. But she’d ordered me to never chase after her because it could be endangering to both of us.

  I didn’t want her in more danger.

  Mom had to make it back. What was happening to her? For the first time in a long while, I closed my eyes and whispered to anyone who might be listening. “Please, bring her back. Please.”