Chapter Three

Kelly

Jogging is my second favorite activity after hiking. Today I'm jogging with my best friend. Belinda has always been critical of my family dynamics. I know she means well but sometimes she just won't let up, even when I have a bit of good news to share.

She glances over, giving me an exasperated look. "I don't know, Kelly. It seems too good to be true. They've had you babysitting your younger brother for years and now he's suddenly old enough to watch himself and you're free as a bird."

"He is sixteen and responsible for his age," I reply calmly. "They've been talking about him staying home by himself for the last six months or so if he could prove he's responsible enough. He was a handful a few years ago, but now he's a good kid. Ever since he started attending the new school, he's settled down."

"But your parents had you cooking, cleaning, and babysitting all the hours under the sun for the better part of your life. There's a word for that, Kelly and it's considered abuse."

I know exactly what she's referring to. She talked about how she believes my parents had taken advantage of me since I was twelve by asking me to help out so much with my little brother and the housework. Sometimes it was tiring, but I couldn't really say no. I wouldn't call it abuse though, but that's Belinda, always one for drama.

I come to an abrupt stop and jog in place to keep my heart rate up. "My parents had to work two jobs to keep a roof over our heads, and there was no money left for childcare. It costs a lot to raise a family, Belinda."

She stops jogging altogether. "I know," she shoots back. "They chose to have kids though. It's not fair to make you into a third parent. You couldn't even take college classes unless they were while your brother was in school. That's why you ended up graduating a year late."

"I'm still a social worker, so what difference does it make?" That's why I wouldn't call it abuse, in my job I've seen real abuse. My brother and I were fed and clothed, and our parents tried their best.

"It's not fair," she shoots back.

"If there's one thing I've learned in this world, it's that life isn't fair." Glancing down at my watch, I say "I should get going."

"Where are you in a rush too," my friend asks.

"I'm just going to go for a long drive and clear my head."

"For now, your time's all your own. Enjoy it while you can."

I flash her a forced smile and head for my car. Honestly, I'm more interested in getting away from Belinda than going for a ride, but now that I've said it, a nice long drive actually sounds great.

***

I get on the freeway and drive out to my favorite part of Salinas County. There's a fifty-mile loop with half a dozen scenic lookout points and a lovely park beside the river. Finally getting the freedom to do what I want with my life feels like a reward for doing the right thing for so many years.

I make a couple of stops along the way and the view is so breathtaking that I take some pictures with my phone. It's around three-thirty by the time I arrive at the park. When I pass one of the picnic areas where people cook out, I see a man setting up a tent under one of the shelters. Technically that's against the rules, but people do it all the time, so I guess it's no big deal. When I drive by, he turns to look at me, he's got dark hair and a beard, and his arms are heavily tattooed. Our eyes meet for a brief second and he jerks his chin at me in acknowledgement. We're just two strangers barely greeting each other in passing.

After driving along the mountain track and enjoying the scenery for a couple of hours, I'm on my way back when my tire blows out. This is the last thing in the world I need when I'm trying to enjoy my first decent taste of freedom in years. I ease my car over to the side of the road and get out to have a look at the tire. It's clear what the problem is, my tire is threadbare, and this is what led to the blowout. A quick glance at my phone tells me it's almost six.

I open my trunk only to discover that my donut isn't holding air either. My stomach sinks for a brief moment as I try to figure out what to do. My father's voice rises in my mind, if you ever breakdown call AAA. I remember him giving me a card and me tucking it into my wallet. I climb back into the car where I can enjoy a moment of air conditioning while I rummage through my purse for my cell phone and wallet. With card in hand, I pick up my cell phone and start keying in the numbers. But when I hit send, I realize I'm not getting enough bars for the call to go through.

Tossing my phone onto the passenger side seat, I grip my steering wheel harder. After carefully thinking over my situation for a few moments I realize that I only have one real option. Grabbing my cell phone, I put it back in my purse and sling it over my head. I'll have to walk down to the park office. If I'm quick about it, they might still be open—if not, maybe I'll get better cell phone reception there. It's still hot outside so I snag the one-liter bottle of water out of my drink holder and take it with me.

When I step out of the car, a wave of heat washes over me. Living in California, I'm used to it, so I just put one foot in front of the other and start walking. Mindful of the time I slowly pick up my pace until I'm running briskly. I'm making good time, but about forty minutes into my run I almost step on something that rattles. Being a veteran hiker, I know what it is, and I jump back to keep from getting bitten by the rattlesnake that's writhing around on the ground in front of me.

The rattlesnake slithers away quickly but I land the wrong way on my right foot, and it twists inwards. Pain shoots up my leg and I take a minute to lift my leg and move my foot around. When I do there's a throbbing pain in my ankle. I know this feeling. I've twisted my ankle and boy does it hurt. I know that I can't afford to stop because there's a chance no one will drive by to help me today. It's getting late, and any visitors would probably be headed home. I have to keep walking and somehow make it to the park office before nightfall. Whenever I put my right foot down my ankle screams. For lack of better options, I limp along, grateful that the road is on a downward slope, and comforting myself that a twisted ankle is better than a snake bite.

I take sips of my water to stay hydrated and just keep moving, trying to think of anything I can except the throbbing pain. It's not only the pain that's a problem, but also the fact that the more I walk on it the more messed up that ankle is going to get.

After almost two more hours of hobbling along, I stop to rest on a large boulder. Pulling off my boot and then my sock, I examine my swollen ankle. It looks like my right ankle has suddenly turned into a golf ball, I don't see any bruising and the area isn't hot to the touch. I suspect if I can just make it home and put some ice on my ankle, everything will be fine.

I'm so miserable that I feel like crying. I don't though. Instead, I suck it up and try to brainstorm a way out of my situation. I remember watching a survival documentary. The presenter who was a well-known survivalist pointed out that when your cell phone can't get a signal it just keeps automatically trying over and over again until the battery runs down. I snatched my phone out of my purse and look to see if I'm getting any bars and if my phone still has power. I'm getting a tiny bit of one bar which wasn't enough to make a call earlier. Unfortunately, the survivalist was right. The charge on my phone is down to thirteen percent.

The survivalist had recommended changing the greeting on my voicemail to alert others that I'm in need of assistance. That way if anyone called and got voicemail, they would hear my plea for help rather than my regular request to leave a message. I have two choices—hope I have a decent enough signal and charge to call AAA, or change the message. I go with the latter when I see my battery has dropped to ten percent. Excitement strums in my chest as I pull up record new greeting on my phone. My brain scrambles to figure out what to say.

I go with, "If anybody hears this greeting, please send help. I'm stranded along the side of the road at Mount Montoya at Hatters State Park. My car has a flat. My spare tire isn't holding air and I've twisted my ankle trying to walk to the park office. Please send help. It's getting dark and I don't want to be stranded in the wilderness all night." Pleased with myself, I hit save message and turn my phone off to conserve power. I'll need that last bit to call my folks when I make it to the park office.

I wonder if I should keep walking and decide I should, since there is no guarantee that anyone will even try to get a hold of me tonight. I just got my first apartment, and since I moved out my folks don't call me a lot. I just talked with Belinda, so she probably won't end up calling me tonight either. My chances aren't great that someone will get the message I left.

I begin putting my sock back on. But since taking off my boot, the swelling is creeping up and down from my ankle, making it impossible to pull it up, much less my boot. I'm kind of stuck and all out of bright ideas to get help. I pull out my water bottle and take another mouthful of the now warm water.

I look around. The area I'm in is isolated. A chill creeps up my spine when it hits me that I'm kind of a sitting duck. Another rattlesnake could happen upon me, or a bear or wolf. I'm vulnerable, particularly at night. I remember another soundbite by that survivalist—if you breakdown in the desert stay with your vehicle. You might not be found for days, but you've a better chance of survival than if you walk. Okay, I wasn't in the desert, but in hindsight I should have stayed in the damn car. Almost every wild animal in these parts can see better than me in the dark. That's not to mention human predators. A stranger could roll up on me and do pretty much anything to me.

I suddenly feel foolish for not taking better precautions. I should be carrying an extra battery pack to charge my phone. A smart person would check their spare tire every month or two to make sure it is still functional. I haven't given any thought to mine since I bought the car three years ago. I don't have an emergency kit, road flares or anything like that.

I lift the purse hanging at my side over my head and begin pawing through it to see if there is anything useful inside. I find an energy bar and a small bag of cashews. There is also a drink box. I sometimes sip on them after work if I don't get a chance to eat lunch. It keeps me from getting lightheaded. The only other item that might possibly be useful is the tiny spray bottle of mace attached to my keychain. It's not much but it might get me through the night, assuming it doesn't get too cold. Salinas County is hot during the day but can get pretty chilly in the evenings. I'm not looking forward to freezing my ass off all night.

Suddenly famished, I tear open the nut bar and eat it in four bites. Since I just drank water, I decide to save the drink box for later.

Now, there is nothing left to do but wait and pray someone gets my message. I sit on the boulder with my arms around my knees, turning this situation over in my mind. I wish my family would get the message I left and leave one for me, saying they're on their way. I pull out my cell phone, turn it on and check to see if I have any messages or bars. I don't have either, so I turn the phone back off. It's just me, the birds singing and my right ankle throbbing like it has a heartbeat of its own.

Movement from the far side of the road catches my notice, and my heart races. It's too dark now to see clearly and I can feel myself start to panic, in case it's a wild animal. There's a flash of light and I see the camper I saw earlier stalking across the road. He's wearing a headlamp, like the type climbers wear, and he's carrying a rucksack. I'm half grateful at seeing another human being and half worried about what on earth he's doing out here, as I'm still far from the park.

"You okay ma'am?" he asks politely as he reaches me.

I freeze in place for just a second, I'm alone and vulnerable and there's not another soul for miles around. I grasp the tiny spray bottle of mace in my hand and formulate a response in my mind.

"I'm hurt. I twisted my ankle."

He kneels down in front of me. "Can I have a look at it. I used to work on the Las Salinas volunteer rescue squad when I was younger, so I've had the training."

He looks so earnest that I decide to trust him. By this point, my ankle is throbbing with pain. I can't afford to be a choosy beggar. He gently lifts my injured limb up and examines the swelling.

"You may have ligament damage. The best thing to do would be to wrap it up and ice it down."

I pretend to feel around my torso. "I don't seem to have any ice on me at the moment. Do you?"

He grins at me, and I feel my heart do a little flutter. Up close he's really handsome. He places the rucksack he's carrying on the ground, and rummages through it. "You're lucky I was passing by."

"Got it," he exclaims after a few more moments of rummaging. He pulls out an elastic bandage and an ice pack. "This is much better than real ice."

I smile at him, in spite of myself. "Thank you for coming to my rescue."

"I'm happy to help. So, what are you doing out here? Is your car nearby?"

"I ended up with a flat tire. I couldn't get a signal, so I started walking."

"The trails around here can be treacherous, but I wouldn't have thought walking on the road would lead to an injury," he says as he begins to wrap my ankle with the bandage.

"I somehow managed to stumble onto a rattlesnake."

His eyebrows shoot up in disbelief. "Well ma'am, I can honestly say this has probably been one of your unluckier days."

"It could have been much worse if you hadn't happened by."

After he finishes wrapping my ankle, He activates the ice pack and places it along the most swollen portion of my ankle. The relief is almost instantaneous.

"Does that feel better?" He asks.

"Absolutely," I respond brightly. I've twisted my ankle before, and it felt just like this so I'm pretty sure nothing is broken."

He begins packing up his first aid kit. "You should let me drive you to the hospital."

"No, I'm okay. My plan is to make it down to the park office. I should be able to get a cell phone signal there. I want my dad to come and pick me up. He can bring my brother, change out my flat tire and take me home."

"That's your call," he says reluctantly. "If that ankle starts acting up tomorrow, get yourself to a doctor." He gestures to where the road bends, "I'm parked a hundred yards away, if you wait right here, I'll pull my truck over. I can drive you down to the park office and wait with you until your family arrives. It's gonna be fully dark soon. You probably don't wanna be out here, sitting by yourself with a busted-up ankle."

Under normal circumstances I wouldn't accept a lift from a stranger, but considering my predicament, and the fact that if he wanted to kill me and throw me to the wolves, he could do it any time he wanted, I accept his generous offer. He tries to make polite conversation on the way, but the trip only takes fifteen minutes or so and I don't want to get to know this man who may or not be homeless. I just want to get back home. My phone is flashing eight-forty.

At the office, I check to see if I have a signal and am delighted to find that I do. I quickly call my dad. He says he can be here in forty minutes. I go ahead and get out of the man's truck and sit on one of the benches right in front of the building. He sits on the bench right across the sidewalk from me.

We make awkward conversation about the park and our shared love of the outdoors until my father's SUV comes speeding through the parking lot about an hour later. He gets to his feet and excuses himself as my father and brother fling both of the front doors open and come climbing out of the vehicle. Right before he walks off, I dig a business card for the men's shelter out of my purse and press it into his hand with a twenty-dollar bill. He smiles like I've just slipped him my phone number and walks back to his truck.

My father frowns at his beat-up truck. "Who was that, pumpkin?"

"Just a good Samaritan," I respond, I realize I didn't ask my rescuer his name.

He asks, "Can you walk, or should I carry you?"

"I can definitely walk," I insist. I hobble over to the SUV and my brother holds the door open for me, "I'll show you where my car is. Did you bring a spare tire?"

"Of course not. I did bring fix-a-flat though. It's this stuff you spray into the tire that temporarily seals the hole so you can drive it."

"I don't know if that's going to work. I think I picked up a nail. It was pretty flat."

My father gets into the car and clicks his safety belt into place. "It's for your donut, not your regular tire. Trust me on this, the donuts are always easier to fix than your regular tire, it's probably flat because it developed a crack, so this stuff should patch it up. We just need to make it to the nearest garage."

"Alright, let's do this thing," I say gamely after my dad has finished making phone calls. And off we go, the throbbing in my ankle barely noticeable at this point.

It takes us almost two hours to get to my car, inflate the donut and for my dad and brother to switch out the tire. It's just gone eleven thirty by the time we pass my rescuer's campsite. He's just sitting there staring morosely into the fire, poking at it with a long stick. It must be depressing to be homeless, living in a tent by the river. He was clearly fishing for his dinner earlier and if he was out hunting rabbits when he found me, then he must be hungry. I hope he calls the men's shelter. Camping out should be fun, not something one does out of necessity I think grimly.