Page 64 of Chasing Creed

Sunshine. A cool and humid breeze. The scent of pine.

She dropped to her knees and sucked in fresh air. Then she turned and opened her arms for the big dog to bounce into her. Hank knocked her over. She laughed, and he licked her face, drool and exhaustion making him giddy.

She pulled the soft-shell canteen off her shoulder and detached the collapsible water bowl. Not quick enough for him. The big dog nudged her elbow, impatiently. He started licking at the falling water as she poured.

“You’re silly,” she told him, letting him drink and slobber before she helped herself.

It felt good to run. Without the threat of anyone thrashing after her, trying to grab and stop her. To not worry about that bone-crushing tackle from behind. The only one following was Hank. He ran alongside when the path widened. But when it was too narrow, she made him follow behind. She wanted to carve the path. Break through any vines or webs. Stomp away snakes and wildlife. Protect him. She liked being able to look out for him, just like he did for her.

She hated how those thorns had made her feel vulnerable. Piercing, snagging and pinning her down. They reminded her of what it was like to feel weak. Shackled. Helpless.

She’d worked hard to make her body stronger. Her mind was taking longer. She knew that PTSD could dismantle the fragile arsenal of mind games that had helped her survive sixteen years of captivity. But what would it take for her to feel confident? To know she’d be okay? To not be afraid? Would she ever get to a place where she didn’t need to worry about not being brave enough?

Hannah’s two little boys looked at her in amazement when she smashed spiders. To them, she was a superhero because she used the palm of her hand. Same with snakes. She knew how to grab and toss them before the snake had a chance to coil or strike. But none of that made her feel brave. It was just survival tactics she’d learned out of necessity.

And just when she dared to believe in herself, the Charlottes showed up. They were there in Mississippi even before she got tangled in the thorns. They were there, floating in the fog, peeking around the trees, fading in and out of the mist.

She had convinced Ryder to allow her and Hank to work alongside them. And then she fell into a thorn bush. She was supposed to be protecting her team, and she couldn’t even protect herself.

Hank nuzzled her hand.

“I’m okay,” she told him. She poured more water for him.

Sunshine streamed down through the longleaf pines. Birds flitted from tree to tree, and small creatures skittered through the deadfall. She could breathe here and clear her mind. There was something about the fresh air and wide-open spaces that made her feel free.

For years, while locked away in a basement, Brodie dreamed of a place just like this. Surrounded by the sounds of nature instead of the clank of the furnace and heavy footsteps above. A place with trees and meadows and an endless blue sky. It rejuvenated her to feel the warmth of sunshine and to smell the scent of earth and pine instead of cold concrete and damp mold.

She’d carved out a trail through the woods, pounding and wearing it down, going a little farther each time. She’d memorized where protruding roots pushed up out of the ground and where branches dipped too low. It had become her own private obstacle course in the middle of the woods. The day she and Hank had gone far enough to stumble out into this meadow had felt like a grand prize.

These woods were on the edge of Blackwater River State Forest. The forest was over 200,000 acres and backed up to Ryder’s facility. She tried to be careful not to cross the boundary that separated his private property from the state forest. In some places there was fencing and signs, but it was too large an area to mark off.

Isolated, it made her feel safe. Oh, she knew she had to watch out for bears and other wildlife. She didn’t leave the house without a bear spray canister on her belt. But the thicket and overgrowth prevented campers or hikers from wandering accidentally onto Ryder’s property.

Besides, she had Hank to alert her. She couldn’t have done any of this without Hank. He had become her guardian, her rescuer, her rock. All because she had read to him during his recovery. He’d been shot protecting his first companion, who had been murdered and his body left in Blackwater River State Forest.

Hannah said there was poetic justice to the way Brodie and Hank found each other. That perhaps they were meant to rescue each other.

And just then, Hank stopped lapping water. His head jerked up. His entire body jerked around toward the woods. His nose went to work, and his ears flattened. Brodie reached out to pet him, but her hand stopped in mid-air.

Twigs snapped. Leaves crunched.

She grabbed Hank’s collar as she scrambled to her feet.

Someone or something was on their path. And they were coming their way.

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Hank bared his teeth. A low growl started deep in his throat and sent Brodie’s eyes darting. She searched for a branch that might be club-worthy. Her mind scrambled, trying to remember Jason’s lessons. Weapons and foot stance didn’t matter if Hank had his way. She’d seen him level a man to the ground in seconds. But if their intruder had a gun, they were both in trouble.

“Hank, stay,” she whispered to him and crouched by his side.

She didn’t want to stop his warning. She just needed to establish some control. She’d never be able to physically restrain him, but he’d listen to her. No more leveling innocent strangers.

Her right hand twisted between his collar and his thick neck to remind him. Her left hand pulled the bear spray canister from its holster on her belt. She’d never had to use the potent spray, and now she worried how much the back draft might affect Hank.

The thrashing came loud and fast. Too fast for someone sneaking around or hoping to catch her off guard. She was watching for a human intruder, so when something smaller and at ground level bounded out of the forest, Brodie jerked backward, nearly losing her balance. But Hank’s growl stopped, and his tail began to wag.

“Gunner!” Brodie yelled with relief. She recognized the scruffy terrier. The dog didn’t slow down, racing even faster, now excited to see them. Then suddenly, she skidded to a stop and plopped down on her belly right in front of them. She panted with her tongue hanging out the side of her mouth.