27. Roni

Diego disappeared out of sight into the woods as I stood at the top of the cliff and watched. He'd already crossed the river, and he waved right before he disappeared.

This was it; I was really by myself for two whole days. Diego promised that he'd run a good bit of time to speed things up. He packed a light bag for that exact reason. I took a step back from the cliff and turned around and went back into the cabin. I took the gun Diego left with me out of my waistband and laid with my back on my sleeping bag. I stared up at the ceiling and took a deep breath. I needed to get myself in the right mindset to make it through today and tomorrow.

It had only been twenty minutes without Diego, and I already missed him. I had no idea how Chuck spent so much time alone in Cast Away.

I must have spent hours tracing the ceiling boards with my eyes as I tried to keep myself calm and centered. I had enough firewood and food to last me until Diego made it back, but I didn't want to burn through my supplies out of boredom—nor did I want to adventure down to the river for fear of running into the bears again.

As I traced the ceiling boards, I noticed one looked slightly out of place, like it had been removed and replaced in a hurry. What the hell? I had nothing better to do than check it out. Worst I could do was come across a whole bunch of dust and maybe an animal skeleton.

I grabbed the large knife Diego left me and placed it on the table as I dragged it across the floor under the spot in question.

"Don't fucking fall."

I stepped onto a chair and then the table. I took one last deep breath before I'd stir up years of dust and dirt. "Here goes nothing."

I placed the blade in the space between the boards and applied steady pressure. The wood groaned under the force before it finally gave way. The end of the board fell from the framing. I caught it with my hand before it could catch me in the head. Then I removed the other end. I tossed the wood to the floor, narrowly avoiding my sleeping bag.

I stuck my head up in the space.

"What the hell?"

The space was filled with odds and ends. I wondered how the previous owner's family removed the man's belongings after his death. The truth was simple: they didn't. They shoved it all up here and covered the evidence.

Suitcases and boxes were piled around the space. Suddenly, the next two days didn't seem as miserable as I thought they might. I grabbed the chair from the floor and brought it onto the table with me. I stood on the seat and was able to pull myself up into the attic space.

I brushed my dusty hands against my pants as I surveyed the room.

Clothes. Wooden trinkets. Pots, pans, and knives.Lots of essentials. I grabbed the knives and placed them near the attic entrance.

Why board all of this stuff up here as opposed to taking it back to town and selling it or donating it? Why leave this all to rot?

I continued to scan the dusty items, and when I made it to the far corner, I felt excitement consume me. Several sets of archery equipment were stacked.

Archery enthusiast much?

Five bows and a large number of arrows were piled. Like everything else up here, they were covered in dust, but they looked usable.

I grabbed it all and brought it down into the living space with me. I took a baby wipe and cleaned the bows the best I could. I didn't want to chance damaging the equipment with dish soap as the wood looked unfinished on two of the bows. They were intricately carved and etched with Alaskan animals. Bears, wolves, salmon, and birds.

The bows were beautiful.

As I held the intricate carving in my hand, I had a gut-deep feeling. It was as if the wood was talking to me personally.

Use me.

I'm not crazy, and I would never tell anyone that a bow spoke to me, but it happened regardless, and I couldn't resist its call. Archery was probably a useful skill here in the wilderness. A quiet death as opposed to the loud one of a gun. It was stealth in a place where that was much needed.

I needed a target. I pulled the bow over my shoulder so it rested on my back and grabbed one of the quivers of arrows. Out front, I placed an empty bottle of water on top of the stump I'd loaded with bullets yesterday.

I backed up a reasonable distance and held the bow with my left hand, nocked an arrow, and took a deep breath. With the subtle movement of my index finger, I released the string and sent the arrow flying. It went right past the bottle, but the thrill of releasing the arrow was hard to ignore.

Again.

I nocked another and sent it flying. Closer this time.

Again.

Another went flying, striking the cap of the bottle. The plastic splintered, and the arrow knocked the bottle over. I let out a giddy squeal as I celebrated success.

I reset the bottle, took another step back, and tried again. Then again, and again. I used the whole quiver before I stopped to retrieve arrows and go again.

If I felt like a dangerous woman holding the gun, I felt lethal with the cold steel against my lower back and the bow in my hand. I hit the bottle three times in a row at a much further distance than I started.

I'd never been big for sports, but holding the bow, I felt at home in a place that was very much not my home.

Something just shifted into place, as if I were a soldier picking up a gun after watching a brother die. Determination settled deep into my bones and found a hollowed-out spot without a purpose. I had something to look forward to, undisturbed time to turn myself into a weapon. When Diego came back, he wouldn't recognize me; I was sure of it.

I felt a new confidence as I walked the edge of the forest in front of the cabin with both weapons in my possession, steel and wood. They were opposites, but they felt like a set of armor as I carried them.

I was determined to know these woods inside and out. If this was going to be the site of our last stand with the Geneva Project, I wanted to know every nook and cranny I could hide in or every perch I could use to my advantage.

Not too far from the cabin, I spotted a beautiful birch tree nestled between two spruce trees. The birch tree had branches placed just so for easy climbing.

I tested the waters as I reached above me and grabbed two branches and pulled myself up into the tree, and I kept climbing. I made it twenty feet in the air before I stopped to look down. I wasn't a big fan of heights, and fear began to bubble in my gut.

No. Roni, you're stronger than this. Look at all you've survived. You won't let heights conquer you.

No, I wouldn't. I breathed through the unease and climbed another five feet before I got myself comfortable in a branch union. From here, I had a nice view of the cabin and the stump I'd been using as target practice.

I could still see the water bottle standing from the last time I reset it. I pulled an arrow from the sheath on my back and nocked it. I took a deep breath, focused my aim, and then released the arrow. It soared through the air and missed the bottle by mere inches.

Now I had a new challenge, and I was going to make it my bitch.

When the Geneva Project came hunting, they'd have no idea there was another predator in these woods besides the animals and Diego. I'd be the sniper in the woods, and I'd make sure I never missed.