Chapter One

Day Three

 

Thunder rumbled and echoed behind her. Kimberley halted on the trail and turned to look back. The sky was growing dark, clouds piling up. She took off her old cowboy hat and wiped her forearm across her brow. There...she saw a distant flash of lightning. She began counting off the seconds until the sound of thunder reached her. She quickly did the math.

Five, maybe six miles away. The storm looked as if it was heading towards her. She put her hat back on, tugging the brim down to shade her eyes. If the map she had was right, there was a shelter of some sort about three miles further down the trail. On flat ground she was sure she could beat the storm there, but this damned trail meandered like a demented snake. Off to her left was the long, green bulk of the mountain. Small spur ridges ran off of it, sloping down towards a lake miles away. The trail went up and down these, sometimes taking odd little detours. Between the spurs were occasional small, rocky streams. While the trail itself seemed to have been kept cleared, it was rough going at best, and she'd have to push herself to beat the rain. Shrugging her backpack into a more comfortable position, she set off again, downslope.

From his upslope vantage point about a quarter mile away he'd gotten a good look at her when she paused and turned around. He'd even had time get his field glasses out. He'd been trailing her since late yesterday, and this was the first chance he'd had to see her close up.

From the backpack and the bulky flannel shirt she wore he couldn't tell how she was built topside, but those were very nice legs coming out of those tan walking shorts. He zeroed in on her face. It was a good face: High cheekbones, aristocratic little nose, full lower lip, upper lip a bit thin, nice big blue eyes. Those eyes were narrowed as she looked at something far off, a small crease appearing just over the bridge of her nose. He could see her lips moving slightly as she kept watching. The face matched the picture he had, except for one thing. In the photo, she'd had long, really long, honey-blonde hair. The hair was the same warm color, but it had been cut so short that now it was more like a curly cap for her head. What he found most interesting was that with her hair that short, now he could see her ears. They were pretty enough ears, to be sure, but they seemed to tilt back a bit more than usual, were a bit narrow, which made them seem longer than they were. They had no discernible earlobes and they came to rounded points at the tips. The whole effect made him think of drawings he'd seen of elves.

The roll of thunder reached him, and a moment later she'd turned back down the trail and disappeared down the slope. Trying to beat the storm, he guessed. There was a rickety old shelter a couple of miles further along. She must be trying for that. He took out his small radio. Time to contact Kurt.

As she trudged along, Kimberley kept hearing occasional growls of thunder...getting closer, it sounded. She was tempted to quicken her pace, but on this trail it would be risky. There were too many loose rocks, too many slopes. The approaching storm came as no surprise to her. The past three days had been hot, dry and dusty, and it was about time for the weather to change. The timing was inconvenient, though. She topped another of those innumerable spur ridges and started down the other side.

She had the odd feeling that she was being watched. It had started yesterday. She hadn't seen or heard anybody since, but the feeling wouldn't go away. Well, these woods were thick enough to hide any number of people. Maybe it was just her isolation getting to her. Maybe...but she didn't think so.

It was time for one of her regular five-minute rest halts, but that storm kept sounding closer and closer. She kept walking. She was almost halfway there, now.

He could hear the thunder too, getting nearer. He was traveling on an upper trail that wasn't shown on her map. The going up here was a bit easier, except for the small branches that kept trying to slap his face. He pushed on. He could get to the old shack before she did, and be under cover before she arrived. Kurt was somewhere up ahead, on the same trail as she was. Lloyd was out of range of his radio, but Kurt was in touch with him and could relay messages.

It was ominously dark by the time she reached the shelter. It was a weatherbeaten old two-room shack set at one side of a clearing. It leaned drunkenly to one side, the windows were long gone, and what she could see of the roof was unpromising. But there was a narrow porch on the lee side of the building. The roof extended over it, and looked sound enough. She shrugged off her backpack and leaned it against the grayed wooden wall, then sat down alongside it. The air had grown very still. Even the birds she'd been hearing for days were quiet. There was a faint grumbling of thunder from far off, and then a cool breath of air stirred the leaves. A moment later, the rain hit. It felt as if someone had emptied a lake overhead, a driving curtain of rain that blocked her view of anything more than a few feet away. Then lightning struck somewhere VERY close by, leaving her blinking and unable to see much anyway. When the afterimages faded, she looked up at the roof overhead. A few small drips here and there were getting through, but not over her or her gear. The old building shook and groaned as the wind hit it, but it stayed up. She relaxed a little, and wondered how long the storm would last. She still had some ground to cover today.

He lay flat in the thick brush at the edge of the clearing as the rain pounded on his waterproof poncho. He hoped it really was waterproof. It was a camouflage pattern, but right now that was unimportant. Visibility was almost nothing. Fat raindrops were splashing water and bits of loose dirt into his face. Nothing to do but wait it out.

The downpour seemed to go on and on, but after a while he thought he could see some signs of it letting up. A little bit later, he could make out the outlines of the shack, some sixty or seventy feet away. He kept his eyes fixed on it. When he could finally see her, she was sitting on the porch, knees drawn up, back against the shack. She looked perfectly at ease, smoking a crooked little black cigar.

Kimberley took another slow drag, exhaled the acrid smoke out into the rain. It was definitely letting up now, but there was no way to tell how much longer it would go on. The front seemed to be moving pretty quickly though.

Well, it would have to happen soon, she thought to herself. She had at best only two more days' rations, and she was down to her last change of clean clothes. If she had to, she could wash stuff out in one of those damned little creeks she had to keep crossing, but food was another matter. If she ran out, she might forage a little something from these woods, but not enough. The cigar was down to a stub. She flicked it out into the rain, and stood up, stretching. The past days had been hot and sweaty, and there'd been no chance to do more than a quick wash-up from a stream. Right out there was a perfectly good shower, and she wasn't going to let it go to waste. She fished the soap and a towel from her backpack and began to undress.

He watched, fascinated. The information he had on her only covered so much: Kimberley Anne Jacobsen, age 26, height five-four, degree in archaeology, blonde hair, surprisingly light blue eyes. But that, and the few pictures, only told you so much. He was getting more of an education now. Under the flannel shirt, she wore a snug green t-shirt. As she pulled it off over her head, he saw that under that she wore some sort of sports bra. It followed the t-shirt, and then she shucked off her shorts and panties. He must have missed her taking off her hiking shoes. She stretched once, slowly and luxuriously before stepping lightly off of the porch and into the rain. He heard her yelp as the chilly water hit her and grinned. He could have told her about that. She began soaping herself quickly.

He was reminded even more of elves. She was slenderly built: slim-hipped, with long, strong legs and cute little teats. He had categories for women's mammaries: Titties, teats, breasts, boobs and "Lower Back Pain." They corresponded roughly to A, B, C, D and E cups. She did a very thorough job of showering. Every so often, she'd give a tiny yelp as her bare feet stepped on something uncomfortable, and dance around a little. He wished he were close enough to see her better. She seemed to be a natural blonde, but he was interested in seeing the effect of the cool rain on those pink nipples. Well, time enough for such things later. Meantime, it was very hard to just lie here and watch her. He was tempted to jump up and rush her right now...but neither Kurt nor Lloyd would approve. This had to be done properly. He gave one silent sigh, and kept watching. She looked to be in great shape. Might even last out the whole thing..

Cold water was starting to seep in under his poncho. With her so close, though, he didn't dare move. He thought about getting his hands on that lovely young body later, and grinned.

When she was shivering continuously, Kimberley decided she was clean enough. She hopped back up onto the porch and picked up the towel. It was a good thing she'd had her hair cut short for this...hike, she thought. If it were the old length, thick as it was it would take forever to dry. Besides, she rather liked the pixie-ish look this style gave her. In the right light, she looked nineteen again. She rubbed herself down vigorously with the towel, going over her bare skin until it glowed pink. That done, she hung the towel on a protruding nail and broke out her last clean clothes from her backpack.

Watching her dress was nowhere near as interesting as watching her undress. He stayed still under cover and watched, though. Her new outfit looked much like her old one, except that the oversized flannel shirt was some shade of dark blue. Still barefoot, she sat down on the porch as she had before, and lit another one of those little cigars. Apparently she was going to wait out the rain. There was a cold puddle under him now, and he put it down to her account.