Cara honed the stick to a sharp point, small enough to fit into the tiny hole by the SIM card door.
Nothing happened on her first attempt.
Yes. You. Can.
She turned on the flashlight. While she obviously couldn’t aim it at the phone itself, the beam reflected off the tree trunk she was squatting next to. She angled the light toward the base of the tree until she had enough illumination on the phone to see the SIM card door. She guided the tip of the stick into the pinpoint-sized hole and pushed harder.
The spring load clicked.
The compartment opened.
Cara pulled out the SIM card, snapped it in half, and dropped it on the ground.
And then she was gone.
SIXTEEN
JORDAN
They watch. They listen. They track. We are all under surveillance. Always.
—@notparanoidatall
Jordan zipped his cell into a pocket and locked his vehicle. Then he walked along the tree line until he found a narrow game trail. The bushes lining the road were thick, but once he got through them, the woods opened up and the trail was easy enough to follow in the glow of his headlamp’s red light. The haze of smoke in the sky blocked almost all the starlight and moonlight.
He walked slowly, placing his feet carefully and listening for any unexpected sounds ahead. Blundering along at speed would have only made his own movements easier to hear. Ahead, eyes gleamed and then winked out as an animal, probably a fox, scurried away.
The trail led more or less in the direction he wanted to go. Half a mile in, the sawing of crickets started getting drowned out by the white noise of rushing water. He guessed it was China Creek. Even the smaller waterways were still swollen with springrunoff from the slowly melting snow in the higher parts of the Sierra. Banks were eroding, bridges had washed out, and at least one hundred-year-old cabin had been washed away. He began walking more quickly as the noise got louder: if he couldn’t hear her, she wouldn’t be able to hear him, either.
Jordan swiveled his head, searching for movement in the trees, but suspected he’d find her at the creek’s edge. She would be thirsty, and if she had half a brain, she’d know rushing water was safer than stagnant pools. The rushing stream was as good as a wall at her back. Jordan knew from experience that the icy water’s pull was so strong that it was difficult to stand even thigh-deep without being swept away.
Or maybe she hoped to follow China Creek to the Fresno River and down to the valley floor, where she could disappear in Fresno.And good luck with that, he thought. Although that route would skirt the fire, it would lead her right to downtown Oakhurst, where her orange jumpsuit would cause her problems. If she made it through, traveling the steep and thickly wooded banks of the winding river would be an extreme test of endurance.
Soon Jordan was close enough to see gaps in the trees that indicated the creek behind. He turned off his headlamp and let his eyes adjust to the darkness before creeping forward, trying to spot anything that could indicate the presence of the fugitive. The water’s steady rumble swallowed all other sounds.
He stopped in the tree line. Against the frothing whitewater, he was able to make out boulders, snagged tree trunks, and a deadfall at the creek’s edge.
Taking his phone out of his pocket, he hid its glowing screen inside his windbreaker as he checked the screenshot again. The Snap Map showed city streets in detail, but here it recorded only the obvious landmarks, the road and the river, showing the forest as a featureless blob of black. It was hard to tell how faroff course the game trail had carried him, but he guessed her last location had been within several hundred yards of where he stood.
Upstream? Or downstream?
His mental coin toss came up heads.
So he headed downstream.
SEVENTEEN
CARA
Aquaphobia, or fear of water, is common in people who have experienced a traumatic event, such as a near drowning or a boating accident. As a certified cognitive behavioral therapist with over eighteen years of experience, I can help. Results guaranteed!
—www.TedLoebPsyD.com
Cara couldn’t see very far in the darkness, but she could clearly hear the sound of water. Not the gentle trickle of a stream or the playful splash of beavers frolicking in a stagnant pond, but a full-on rushing and tumbling river. As she got closer, she felt the temperature drop. Soon, she came to a break in the trees.
It had been five years since the catamaran incident. The trip to Cabo, her first as a sponsored content creator, ended in the harrowing rescue video that established her as an influencer. It was a balmy, sunny afternoon with light southern winds, ideal for learning how to reach, tack, jib, and record the glamorous outing. Her instructor, José, was documenting the one-hour lesson via the GoPro on his safety helmet. Everything was goingas planned, even the staged moment when she leaned too far and nearly capsized their two-person craft. But then, while José was teaching her how to balance on the trapeze, a rogue wave—she’d never heard of such a thing—rose up like a frothing monster, slammed into the boat, and sent them flying in different directions. José was knocked out by the boom as the catamaran sailed on without them. She swam over, looped an arm around his neck and made sure his head remained above water while Karl, who had been watching from the dock, commandeered a jet ski and rushed out to help. The unconscious instructor’s video of their dramatic but ultimately happy ending topped out at nearly a million views.
Cara had assiduously avoided what she and Karl jokingly referred to as “watersports” ever since.
