“Sorry, did you say hogs?” I finally ask when it becomes clear he’s not going to explain himself.
“Feral hogs.”
“You’re sayinghogs,” I press on, because I’m not one hundred percent sure I’m hearing him correctly. “Hogs like pigs?”
“Yep. But feral,” he says, and pulls out the GPS to glance at it. “Big, mean, hungry, and not much fear of humans.”
“Mountain lions, bears, and wild murder pigs,” I say. “Oh my.”
“Feral.”
I roll my eyes while he’s looking away.
“Feralmurder pigs,” I say. “Sorry, I was focused on themurder pigpart.”
“Generally speaking, wild animals will stay away from humans,” he says, and points up ahead. “There’s the hollow where the truck is, up ahead. Formerly captive animals who’ve been released and reverted to nature don’t have that same fear. Which is why you’re much more likely to see a feral hog than a mountain lion.”
“Exactly how likely ismuch more likely?” I ask, because I’m starting to regret this line of questioning. I’ll be out of here tomorrow for sure andmaybethis afternoon if I’m lucky, how much do I really need to know about wild murder pigs? I’m more likely to accidentally strangle myself on a tie-down strap.
“Well, you’re extremely unlikely to see a mountain lion,” he says. “I’ve only seen one once, with binoculars. Here, be careful.”
We’re on the slope leading down to where the truck is stuck, and it’s not nearly as steep as the other one, but he braces himself and holds out a gloved hand. I take it, even though I don’t really need to, and as we descend Gideon holds my hand a little tighter than necessary. At the bottom he lets go without looking at me.
“All right,” he says, surveying the truck. “Can you drive a stick?”
CHAPTERSEVEN
GIDEON
“More gas!”I call, the truck lurching in the snow. “You gotta ease off the clutch a little and then really stomp on—”
The truck shudders as the engine cuts out, jolting as Andi slams on the brake. I can hear her swearing through the open driver’s side window, so I walk over.
“It needs a little more gas when you let off the clutch,” I say, motioning with my hands to demonstrate how one drives a stick shift vehicle. “What’s happening is—”
“I know how to drive a stick shift,” she says, her jaw tight.
“You said you’d forgotten.”
“Isaidit had been a few years and I might be out of practice,” she says, giving me a sharp look. “And I also said I’ve never driven a truck this size, in the snow, when the wheels keep slipping and you won’t quit standing behind the damn thing and I’m afraid I’m going to hit you.”
“I’m beside it.”
“It’sveryslippery, and if I run you over, we’re probably fucked.”
I rub my face with my bare hands, my gloves in the pockets of my coat, currently hanging over a tree branch because I’m sweating like a feral hog trying to get this truck out of here.
“If you run me over, you’ve got the satellite phone and both the GPS units, so you can radio for help and get to safety,” I say. “Dale will talk you through it, he’s very professional.”
Andi blinks at me, her pale blue eyes a contrast to the bright pink hat she’s wearing. Her nose and cheeks are red and she’s got strands of hair sticking out below her hat, and in the bright snowy daylight she has the lightest freckles, and she frowns at me and—shit, I’m staring,again, and that tangled, detached feeling is back.
“If I run you over, I’m probably going to freak out too much to think clearly,” she says. “Given that you would be—you know. Pretty bad off.”
“You’re not going to hit me,” I say, very calmly, even though I’m not even sure why we’re discussing this. “And if you do, and I’m incapacitated, then you should use the satellite phone to call dispatch, and they’ll tell you what to do and send help. You’d be fine.”
The look she gives me is indecipherable.
“What about when they bring me in for murder?” she asks, taking a hard left straight into Irrational Land.
