Firestorm - Ellie Masters Page 0,5

my hand on the top of my bear spray. “Are you camping for the night?” My tone remains bubbly, cheerful, and light. My gaze darts around, looking for something which might tell me more about this stranger.

There’s not much to the campsite. It’s a bare patch of ground cleared of vegetation and most large rocks. There’s a fire ring in the center with the remains of ash and a blackened piece of wood that failed to burn.

I catch a bag sitting off in the bushes, something I’d expect from someone in the military. Maybe he’s a homeless veteran?

A bunch of rags spill from the opening, along with the tip of a white plastic container.

He’s tall and fit. Broad in the shoulders, with a thick waist, thicker legs, and biceps which are stacked with muscle. If he wants to overpower me, there’s not much other than a can of bear spray, the taser, my knife, and the gun in my pouch, to stop him.

Fortunately, I know how to use them all.

I take my hand off the bear spray and move it over the pouch where I keep my revolver. The knife on my shin remains hidden. It’s my weapon of last resort.

“What are you doing out here?” He finally speaks.

“Hiking. Backpacking. Camping. You know, loving the outdoors.”

I decide to ditch this campsite and make it clear I’m not hanging around.

There’s another primitive site three miles up the trail. It’ll be past dark, but this guy is throwing wicked-bad vibes.

“Well, enjoy the rest of your day.” I skirt around the cleared area, keeping as much distance between him and myself as possible, without looking like I’m keeping my distance.

A pile of rags tucked under a bush catches my eye. Not so strange in and of itself, except the rags are damp, as if soaked in water. Seeing how it hasn’t rained all week, that raises a red flag. His eyes are on me as I move around the campsite. My attention should be glued to the trail, but I can’t help but look around. Sure enough, under another bush, a pile of rags wraps around the gnarled trunk. They are also damp.

I stop and turn toward the stranger.

He stares at me and I bite my lower lip as a feeling of unease comes over me.

“You’re alone?” He cocks his head.

“Yeah.” I rock back on my heels.

I see Prescott's point. I slide my hand into my fanny pack and place my palm over the pistol grip of my revolver; six shots, no racking the slide, it packs a punch.

Point, aim, and shoot. It’s fast, lethal, and I’m an expert shot.

I edge away. We’re on a narrow ridge with steep slopes to other side and deep ravines at the bottom. I’m headed up. He moves to intercept me.

“Well, no one is truly alone,” I say.

I’m hedging here and hold up my phone. Giving it a little shake, I snap a selfie, making sure he’s in the frame of the photo. If they find my dead body, they’ll know who the bastard was who killed me. It’s the best I can do and I’m really hoping the picture is a deterrent to whatever is going on in this guy’s head.

“I post all about my hikes on social media. I’ve got thousands of followers.”

I’m not on social media. I have zero followers.

He keeps one arm tucked behind his back and rolls his lips inward. It makes the hair on his chin stick out. Not a good look.

“Reception sucks up here.” He gives a little nibble of his lower lip which makes the hairs of his beard wiggle.

My gaze casts down to the bush he just squatted next to. Another pile of dirty rags; also wet. When I look back at him, a can of lighter fluid is in his hand.

I step back and stumble over a rock. It’s all the distraction he needs. As I fall back, he launches forward. Rather than keeping my hand my revolver, it falls out of my grip when I try to break my fall. The breath is knocked from me as I land on my back.

I don’t see the rock, but I feel it crash into the side of my skull.

3

Asher

If I can get all three of us to mom’s for breakfast, I’ll be her favorite son. That means extra butter and syrup, not to mention I’ll be able to lord that over my brothers for days.

I head to the barn, leaving Brody to get ready. As expected, noises come