Leaving her there, I make my way to the other members of my team to catch up on what they know so far.
One thing for sure though-- Zona never said "Bigfoot."
Arizona
Talon headstoward a man standing at the back of a jacked-up Jeep that looks ready to run the Rubicon.
A couple of men who'd been deep in conversation with the uniformed forest rangers notice Talon and join him and the other man by the Jeep.
It's hard to miss the one man's missing leg; there's no attempt to hide the prosthetic that runs from below the man's knee joint to the boot below it. It's also damn hard not to be impressed with his lack of a limp as he strides purposefully across the open lot toward the Jeep, talking seriously with the man beside him.
The man with the missing leg is massive and the leg isn't the only sign of a violent past; a deep scar peeks out from under the short sleeve of his Army green t-shirt, wrapping around a bicep the size of my head. What look like burn scars mar thick forearms on both sides.
But he's in good shape; broad chest and flat stomach aren't hidden by the fitted shirt, and the tactical cargo pants similar to Talon's, can't hide the tree-trunk thick thighs.
When he turns his head to give me a glance, however, I involuntarily step back. His expression has a darkness to it, like he's pissed off and looking for a fight anywhere he can find one.
The hard glare from his dark features gives me the willies. If that guy is on your side, you're golden-- but if he's not? You're toast.
The man walking beside him isn't much less scary, to be honest. He's nearly as tall, just as ripped, but built with a slimmer overall physique. Long, dirty-blonde hair is tied back from a face that's rugged and as hardened as his companion's, under a beard a shade darker than his hair.
The blonde man grins at me and raises a hand in half a wave before turning back to his conversation with the darker man with the prosthetic leg.
Another forestry service vehicle pulls up beside the one already at the trailhead, and the ranger who gave me a ride to the police station this morning gets out and joins his colleagues.
The gate across the fire road hangs open about a foot. It was locked when Astrid and I got to this trailhead parking lot a few days ago.
My car sits on the far side of all this commotion, quietly collecting dust.
I pat my pockets, wondering if I even have the keys with me, but no. They're still tucked away in the tiny stash pocket in my backpack where I abandoned it when I ran to find help.
I heard what was said on the radio before we left the police station-- bodies. Plural. But no details.
Falling back against Talon's SUV, I watch everything going on around me like it's a movie; something happening externally and nothing that I'm actually part of.
It's fine that they're ignoring me. Whatever happened-- I don't want to know yet.
This morning, I woke up to the sunrise and birds singing and making plans with a friend for a day hike to summit one of the nearby peaks.
I don't think I'm ready to hear that one of the bodies they found was hers.
"Zona!" Talon's rich voice rises above the sounds of diesel engines idling, muffled conversations, and whatever wildlife hasn't gone quiet from so much human presence. "Come on over."
It takes more effort than you'd think just to push my body away from the side of the vehicle, but once I'm standing between Talon and the man to his left, I'm glad to be here.
Talon's strong body makes me feel safe-- among other things that I don't have time to think about right now.
"Austin." Talon points at the man on the other side of me, the one with the clean shaven jaw and the sandy-auburn hair that's cut short like Talon's and only slightly longer at the top.
Austin smiles warmly and extends a hand for me to shake.
He's close to Talon's height, just as jacked but not as broad. He feels safe, but not in the way that Talon does.
"Leo. Sagan."
Talon indicates each of the other men as he says their names.
Up close, I see attractive features hidden under Leo's long hair and rough whiskers.
