Chapter 10

chapter

ten

"This is everything we have," Grant said, dumping the last of the backpacks onto the table.

Lucy catalogued the meager pile of supplies.

Food: trail mix, jerky, granola bars, and the six packages of ready-to-eat meals she'd packed for the weekend.

Multiple First Aid kits of various sizes.

Four flashlights.

Climbing gear from Grant.

Three canisters of bear spray—one from her, one from Sawyer, and one from Ethan.

Three boxes of electrolyte drink mix from her, Sawyer, and Grant.

She sighed. Her hikers definitely hadn't followed her packing list for the trip, or they'd have a lot more.

A single, sad-looking compass with a cracked face sat in the middle of it all. She picked it up, turning it over in her hand as if hoping to find some hidden source of strength or direction. Its needle spun aimlessly, pointing nowhere.

After a moment, she set the compass back down on the table and straightened, shrugging the weariness from her shoulders. There wasn't time for self-doubt, not now.

Sawyer's pack also contained dog food and treats, and she separated that out for Zelda.

"Take the electrolyte drink." Sawyer reached out until he found the stack of slightly crushed boxes. He pushed them toward her. "We have water here."

"Take the jerky, too, for protein. We'll be okay without it." Ethan tilted his head toward the kitchenette. "I have a freezer full of meat that has to be eaten before the generator runs out of fuel."

"How much fuel do you have?" Grant asked.

Ethan grunted. "Not enough. Maybe another day's worth, tops. I was due to go into town for supplies."

"Enough for the ATV I saw outside?"

"Wait," Sawyer said. "There's an ATV? Why the hell haven't we already sent someone down on it?"

Ethan scowled. "Because the damn thing doesn't work."

Grant stared at him. "So how do you get off the mountain for supplies?"

"Same way you got up the mountain. Walk."

Lucy cut a hand through the air between them. She'd had enough of their dick swinging. "Enough. Even if it worked, I wouldn't take it. It can't navigate over downed trees."

"You're leaving?" Joel spoke up from his seat and she turned to look at the kid. He was pale and shaking, his face wet with sweat, his eyes glassy. She moved across the room to him and crouched beside his chair, testing his forehead with her hand. He was burning up, which only solidified why she had to go in her mind.

"Yeah, Joel, I'm going to get us some help, okay? You need to hang on until I get back."

"I don't want you to go."

She squeezed his hand, finding it cold and clammy. "I'll be back in no time with a rescue team."

Chuck, sitting on Joel's other side, met her gaze. There was doubt in his eyes, but also torment as he looked back down at his son. He said nothing, which was probably for the best.

She straightened and turned back to the table, grabbing her pack from the floor.

She organized her supplies— electrolyte drink mix, jerky, first aid kit, flashlight, bear spray, and the poor excuse for a compass—stuffing them into various compartments. She attached the rope and carabiners from Grant's climbing gear to the outside of her pack. She was about to zip the bag closed when Sawyer's hand appeared on hers.

"Is anyone watching?" he murmured.

She glanced around the room. Ethan had gone back to the radio. Grant was talking softly to Bea and Theodore. Chuck was staring worriedly at his son. "No. Nobody's paying attention."

"Then I have something you should take." He slid a gun from under his shirt and pressed it into her palm, his big hand covering hers.

She stared at him. "Where did you get this?"

"I always have it with me. Blind man hiking alone in the woods? Seemed like a good idea. Still does." His hand tightened over hers. "Take it, Lucy."

She looked at the other members of their group again. One of them was most likely a killer, and Sawyer wanted her to take his only weapon?

But she couldn't deny it felt good in her hand, weighty and solid. She'd carried a gun everywhere since The Shadow Stalker took her, but she'd lost hers in the landslide and had been feeling vulnerable without it.

"Sawyer…" she began, but he cut her off.

"If I have it, and I don't have you here to watch my back, more likely than not, it will be used against me."

He was right, as much as she wished he wasn't. She nodded, tucking the weapon into her bag. "Keep Zelda close. She'll keep you safe."

A smile flickered over his mouth. "My girl always does."

She slung the bag over her shoulders and took a deep breath. "All right," she said to the room. "Wish me luck."

"Here." Grant shoved a roll of duct tape at her. "Always handy to have."

She took it without a word and stuffed it into one of the outer pockets of her backpack. She glanced around the room one last time at everyone who was now looking at her, some with hope, others with suspicion or stark fear. Sawyer was the only one not staring at her, his pale blue eyes fixed on the wall behind her.

She turned away, made it out the door and to the top of the tower's stairs before a hand grabbed hers and dragged her back into a hard body. Sawyer kissed her, hard, his mouth demanding and rough. It was a collision of lips and teeth, a crash of emotions that sent her heart reeling. His hands were strong on her waist, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them.

"I still don't like this," he whispered fiercely against her lips when they finally broke apart. "You better fucking come back, Lucy Harper. I have plans for you."

She was scared. Sawyer could taste the nerves in her kiss, smell the salty tang of fear. But there was also determination. This woman was nothing if not tenacious, and it was that fiery will that had drawn him to her in the first place.

They clung to each other for a moment longer, their bodies pressed close, their breaths intermingling.

Finally, she pulled away, patting his chest lightly. "I'll be back with help," she promised. "Then I'd like to know more about that plan of yours."

"It doesn't include clothes."

She made a small sound that was part needy groan, part laugh. He liked it. He wanted to know what other sounds she'd make when he had her underneath him, his cock stretching her, her body surrendering to his. He'd spent too many lonely nights over the last year fantasizing about her, and now he was kicking himself for not acting on the desire sooner. He could've spent the last twelve months making her come every night instead of staying away and pining after her in some misguided attempt at chivalry.

He pulled her closer again. "It's a damn good plan. Trust me."

"Down, boy." Her fingers brushed against his roughened cheek before she stepped back. "I'll see you soon."

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak as he let her go. It felt like his heart was lodged somewhere around his Adam's apple. He listened as her footfalls echoed down the stairwell. Zelda nudged her nose against his hand, and he reached down automatically to stroke her furry head.

"You're going to have to keep everyone sane until she gets back, baby girl."

The dog gave an acknowledging whine and pushed her snout deeper into his palm.

The moments ticked by as he stood at the top of the stairs, listening to the fading echo of Lucy's footfalls. Soon, all was quiet, save for the hushed whispers of the people inside the tower.

A knot formed in his stomach as he navigated his way back inside and heard Ethan's frustrated voice.

"This fucking piece of junk! Why won't it work?"

The radio again.

Sawyer sighed. Lucy was gone, and the responsibility to keep everyone safe had fallen squarely on his shoulders. He moved toward Ethan.

"Let me have a look at it," he said, extending his hand.

Ethan grumbled but gave up his seat and guided Sawyer's hand to it.

Sawyer sank into the chair and ran his hands over the old radio as Zelda settled under the table, her head resting protectively on his foot. Years of working with components like this during his time in the military came flooding back. He used to fix machinery when it was pitch black— for this one thing, blindness had never been an obstacle for him. He frowned at the odd combination of wires that seemed out of place in the radio's guts. His fingers worked on instinct, mapping the layout of the circuitry. He could picture it all in his head—the diodes and capacitors, the intricate mesh of resistors, each individual solder point—all requiring careful inspection and adjustment.

As he worked, he felt the tension radiating from Ethan and the others. The room was heavy with fear and suspicion. He could almost taste it in the air— a bitter tang on his tongue.

"Damn thing's been a piece of shit from the start," Ethan mumbled beside him, radiating impatience.

"Here's your problem." He held up a wire that was frayed at the end. "This needs to be replaced. Do you have any spare parts or an old radio I can pull apart?"

Ethan was silent for a moment. "I might have an old walkie-talkie somewhere," he finally said. "Will that do?"

"It's worth a shot," Sawyer replied, keeping his tone neutral. He didn't want to give Ethan too much hope— there was always the chance that the parts wouldn't be compatible.

With a muttered curse, Ethan left to search for the walkie-talkie, leaving Sawyer alone with the damaged radio. He picked up the frayed wire again, running his fingers over its brittle plastic coating thoughtfully. It was always damage like this— small, yet devastatingly effective— that caused the most trouble. The analogy wasn't lost on him— in a group of people, it was often one person who could fray the sense of unity and trust, causing everything to fall apart.

How the hell was he supposed to keep this group together when they didn't trust him, and he didn't trust them?

He frowned as his fingers ran over the wire again. This wasn't from normal wear and tear. The insulation of the wire was cleanly cut as if by a knife.

A knot of suspicion hardened in his gut.

Ethan was the only one who had touched the radio since they arrived. But why would he sabotage it?

"Here," Ethan's gruff voice interrupted his thoughts, and something plastic was pushed into his hands.

"Thanks." He studied the walkie-talkie by touch, noting its size and weight. It was larger than most modern ones, which meant it held promise for what he needed. He set it down on the table and began to systematically dismantle it.

As he suspected, the walkie-talkie had similar components to the radio— old technology often shared common design elements. His fingers moved with practiced ease, locating the compatible wire and disconnecting it from the motherboard.

With a fine-tuned precision that left Ethan grumbling with what could only be begrudging admiration, Sawyer spliced the wire into the radio's circuit. As he worked, the anxious chatter in the room faded to a tense silence that prickled at the back of his neck.

"Just need to connect this here…" he muttered under his breath as he reattached the new wire. After a couple of failed attempts, a surge of triumph coursed through him as he finally managed to secure the connection.

"All right, let's see if she'll turn on now." He flicked the switch and held his breath.

A crackle of static filled the room.

Sawyer exhaled, adjusted a few dials, and pressed down on the talk button. "This is Blue Mountain Fire Tower calling for any available assistance. Does anyone copy?"

More static.

"Great," Chuck muttered. "He broke it."

Sawyer ignored the comment, adjusting the frequency dial before trying again. "This is Blue Mountain Fire Tower calling for any available assistance. Does anyone copy?"

The radio hissed and whined, but slowly, another sound emerged – a faint crackle and then a voice so low it was almost drowned out by the static.

"…Blue Mountain…"

The voice faded into static again.

"That was a reply!" Theodore said. "He got through!"

A ripple of excitement went through the group, and he felt them all crowding around him. It made the back of his neck prickle, but he tried to block them out and turned up the volume dial. "Bad copy. Repeat your last transmission."

Static popped and crackled.

He changed channels and tried again.

Still nothing.

Sawyer growled, frustration burning through him. He was so close. It was a delicate dance of tuning and adjusting, one he had performed countless times before in his military days. The radio was his lifeline, the only connection to the outside world they had. Failure wasn't an option.

As seconds ticked by into minutes, the excitement in the room slowly started to ebb away, replaced by a stifling dread. Ethan's pacing grew more frantic, Chuck's muttered curses louder, and a low whimper from Joel spiked tension even higher. Sawyer ignored them all, his attention solely on the radio in front of him.

"Fuck this," Ethan growled, pushing past Sawyer. "Let me?—"

"Back off," Sawyer snapped, his tone icy. "I've got this."

Ethan snarled something under his breath but backed off.

Another adjustment.

Another call for help into the void.

More static.

Until finally— faintly— a voice came over the airwaves.

"...-peat your las—...break up...Fire Tower...come in..."

Sawyer exhaled sharp and fast; that was Ash Rawlings' voice. He pressed the transmit button. "Ash, it's Sawyer. We have eight people stranded at Blue Mountain and need help."

No response.

"They heard us," Sawyer said aloud, more to himself than anyone else. He adjusted the dial minutely left, then right, as he waited for Ash's voice to cut through the static once more.

It didn't come.

"All right," Grant finally said. "Sawyer, keep at it. Everyone else, grab a shovel. We need to bury Maya."