I've been walking for nearly an hour before finally seeing those tall pines I nearly got lost in yesterday.

I purposely walked south quite a ways and then east to avoid a run-in and brought the little map with me as a guide. As long as I know where the creek is, it gives me an idea of where to walk.

I can only assume if the person or persons were already here, they would travel to the creek for water and fish like I do. So, the chances that they would be this far south in the woods is unlikely. I'm hoping anyway.

It added time to the journey but made me feel safer. I also found a few crab apple trees and shoved my bag full, so at least today's trip isn't fruitless, pun fully intended.

It's chilly and windy, and I hope it doesn't start raining on me. The sky looks clear, though, so that's a good sign.

When I left, I wore my winter coat over my sweatshirt and jeans, but I shed it as I start getting warm from walking. I tie it around my waist; it'll help keep my jeans up. They are already getting loose on me; all my clothes are. Only a few weeks, and I'm probably already down five pounds,  maybe more.

That's not really something to celebrate, though, not out here. Any extra weight would be good come winter, but this nut and fruit diet I'm on is melting it all away and fast. I need more fat and meat in my diet. I've been dreaming about chicken, steak, and burgers. Figuring out how to hunt out here needs to become a priority, and then how to keep my meat is next.

I'm supposed to be doing this today, but I'm on a long, energy-wasting hike instead. A necessary one, though. I can't sit in my cabin and stress myself out to death, not knowing.

What happens if I find a makeshift camp that was clearly just set up? It'll mean those men are here, and I'm wrong. What do I do then?

I'll have to hide as far away as possible, but they'll find me eventually. These woods are huge, but with nowhere else to go, my luck would eventually run out. I could try and leave the way I came, but chances are they'd have more men waiting there.

"Maybe there's another way to a road or something across the creek," I ponder.

If so that, don't cross; warning is all the more nerve-wracking. Still if I find any evidence that tells me these are the men I'm running from. I'll need to cross the creek and hope for the best.

It can't be them, though I have to be right. These deep woods are so far from the way I came, and so far from the creek, it wouldn't make sense to be them.

I'm noticing mushrooms again at the bottom of the tall pines, and lots of them. I wish I had a way to know if they're safe to eat; there are so many.

Oh well, my bag is full anyway...

Focus on the mission.

I'm pretty far east now, so I start moving north towards the creek.

I spot a tree leaning at a weird angle but not fully down. It's a thick trunk with quite a few big knots and grooves in it. I could easily climb it. It'll get me a little higher up for a better vantage point, but it's risky.

Everything is, but wandering around for hours looking for I don't know what is too. I slowly and carefully climb up the trunk, gripping it like my life depends on it when I reach the top.

I can see much more up here, but I am not finding anything resembling a chimney. Until something blue catches my eye. It's too far to see more than a glimpse. I'll need to get closer, but blue is not natural; it has to be a tarp.

Which could mean it's a makeshift shelter.

A shudder runs through me, and every part of me wants to run in the other direction, but I need to know.

Even if today is the day I die, at least I don't die a sitting duck, right?

I climb slowly and carefully, my feet crunching loudly on the fallen pine needles below me.

***

I hold my gun out in front of me, locked and loaded, and I very carefully step that way. I swear every step sounds louder than the last, and my heartbeat is nearly as loud as my feet.

I slow down when I come to a trail; this isn't a game trail. I don't see animal tracks, but it's definitely a trail made by walking, most likely. As I get on the trail. I finally see the tarp sitting on top of a shelter that looks sort of like the three-walled one I saw when I first arrived. Three walls are built from logs, with a big blue tarp draped over the roof and covering the entrance.

The shelter and tarp look weathered, but I'm still nervous.

"Anyone in there? I come in peace."

I come in peace? Did I really just say that?

No one answers, and it's dead silent. With my gun tucked under my armpit, I slowly, with a shaky hand, pull the tarp from the open wall.

"Oh wow," I whisper as I step in. "What is this?"

Two huge plastic drums are in the center of the room, like what you'd use for your outside garage. A white plastic pipe is coming in from the roof, and it is sectioned off into two and positioned to drain into the two bins.

"To collect rainwater," I answer my question as I get closer and look inside. One bin is full, and the other is about half full. There's an empty five-gallon bucket next to it.

On the other side of the room, I'm confused as there's an old rowboat sitting a little ways away from the wall. It's sitting on top of two logs so it's raised from the ground, and underneath it is a little hole dug out with rocks and logs to make a fire. There is also a small stack of logs in the corner.

Using the boat to boil the water, maybe? Does rainwater have to be boiled?

Why wouldn't they be using the boat to cross the creek? I step closer to examine it, and I see a lot of holes that look to be patched up with pieces of tarp. There's a rock fitted into a hole near the front of it.

"Wait... this is used for a bathtub, isn't it?"

Brilliant!

The temptation to strip down here and now get a fire going and take one is huge, and I mean huge. I'd even take a cold bath. It'd be warmer than the creek...

Sammy, don't be an idiot, I yell into my head. Imagine getting caught in their bathtub.

"I wonder what they do in the winter?" I ponder aloud. Maybe they allow the bin to fill with snow? But it seems like a lot of work to melt all that.

I've been considering this myself. I hope I don't have to melt snow for water all winter. There's that rapid spot in the creek, so there's a decent chance it doesn't freeze over totally.  Fingers crossed, but if it does freeze, I can use my axe to break a hole in the ice to fish and get water.

I look longingly at that five-gallon bucket. My two-gallon jugs need to be filled nearly every day. Even though the creek is only a quick walk, it would be nice not to have to collect water every single day. This one is clearly used to fill the bathtub here, so I leave it where it is. It belongs to someone.

Where are the other shacks? Some of them might have stuff like buckets or even tools I can find and call my own. I did find nails in mine.

Again, that thought of crossing the creek comes to mind, but so does that warning written in the mud. 

I back out of the hut and examine it a little. Obviously, this has been set up for a while. I see now it's similar to the one I was in when I got here but different. This is put together very crudely; many logs don't even match up right, but I suppose that doesn't matter. Since it's only to collect water and bathe.

Whoever made this made it a long time ago. It's not the men my dad sent me here to hide from, and that is a huge relief. All that tension and nervous energy slipping away becomes a nearly euphoric feeling.

My face breaks out into a smile, and  I feel ... almost drunk in it. I savor it for a moment.

I'm so curious about the shelter whoever built this lives in. Did they build it like this? Or is it just like mine?

I can see the foot-made path continuing around a large willow tree, and I continue in my happy haze. I step into a clearing surrounded by tall pines and a few oaks. I blink as there's a lot to see here.

In the center of the clearing is a little fire pit, just like mine. Next to it sits an old faded lawn chair and a stump that's clearly used as a table.

One chair. So, only one person?

There's a huge stack of wood by the fire, covered with a ratty tarp. Seeing that much wood makes me realize how much I need to collect yet.

I examine the fire and see it's down to coals, and they're no longer warm. That must mean they left this morning. There aren't any nuts or anything scattered around here either, like mine.

"What's that?"

I walk up to a big teepee built from branches and bark and stuff. It's sitting close to the fire, leaning against a tree nearby it. There is a big log sitting in front of an opening as a makeshift door. My nose smells the meat inside, and my mouth starts to water.

This must be a smoker. My grandpa had one at his old cabin, but his was built like a big, tall box with a bunch of holes in it to let the smoke escape. If I'm smelling meat in here but no smoke, it probably just got done today. 

So this is how I preserve meat here. I study it for a moment to get an idea of what to do. Should I look inside the smoker? See how the inside is set up?

No, a voice in my head says firmly.

If I open this thing, the temptation to take some of what smells so good inside will be too strong. I've never wanted anything as bad as what's in this thing. My mouth is watering, and my stomach is growling painfully. But I am not a thief and never have been.

My mom is always with me; I know she is. My dad may have misstepped after she died, but I can't, I won't; one of us has to honor her, and it has to be me. The one piece of advice I hold with me about her comes from someone I don't know.

After the funeral, I couldn't find my dad, so I sat outside and started yelling at the sky, asking how I was supposed to go on.

A woman I never met overheard me and came to comfort me. I think maybe she worked for the funeral home, but I don't know, and it doesn't really matter; all that does is what she said to me that day. 

"You just live, honey. One day at a time, one foot in front of the other. I know that feels impossible right now, but that's what she wants more than anything. I don't have to know your mama to know that. You get up every day and be the girl she raised you to be. Do your best, as that's all she'd ask of you. That is how you go on—how you honor her."

Those words will live in my heart for the rest of my life. My mom would not want me to take without asking, even out here.

With a heavy heart, I step away from the smoker, and a tear falls down my cheek when I do.  I feel like I could break down crying as an intense sadness washes over me hard and fast. 

"Not now, Sammy," I whisper as I blink back the tears.

What am I doing anyway? I need to get the hell out of here. They could come back at any moment. They can't be far if they have meat out like this.

I am so curious about their cabin, though. Maybe just one more minute, if I could get a look in the window... just to see.

I creep closer carefully. This cabin is built similarly to mine but looks a little bigger. It sits on top of a log platform, making it higher than mine, but it is still hidden in these tall trees. There is a little walkout outside the front door with enough room to nearly be called a porch. I notice a five-gallon bucket with water in it sitting outside the door. There's a makeshift ladder on the other side, right against the house.

To go up to the roof? I wonder what for, as a lookout, maybe for hunting? 

I'd see a lot from up there, maybe even spot other shelters out here in the deep woods, and once again, my curiosity is clouding my brain.

A metallic click from behind me stops my every thought at once.

"Drop your gun," A male voice causes my entire body to suddenly freeze and become covered in goosebumps all at once.

"I mean it, drop it now, and turn around with your hands up."

"How do I know you won't shoot me the second I do?" I force my voice to work, and it comes out as a trembling, whimpering thing.

Damn it, Sammy sound tougher than that. You are tough, I tell myself.

"How do I know you won't? You already tried to shoot at me once, and now here you are at my camp," he says.

So that was a person!

"I did not try to shoot you. I didn't know if someone was there or not, so I readied my gun in case it was a predator."

"You went chasing after what you thought was a predator with a loaded gun?" He sounds skeptical, and I get it. If he thought I was chasing after him with a gun, of course, he's guarded. 

"When it... you took off. I thought it was deer, I swear," I take a brave breath and slowly turn around.

I don't set down my gun, but I make sure to hold it away from me, and not point it toward him to show I didn't intend to use it. He doesn't do me the same courtesy a shotgun is pointed right at me, and I gulp at it first then take him in.

I'm surprised to find myself face to face with a guy who doesn't look much older than me, maybe a few years.

His long, ashy brown hair falls past his chin in choppy, shaggy layers that look like he hacked them with a knife. It shields a tanned, rugged-looking face with just a little scruff under his chin. He's got dark hooded eyes that are impossible to read, and his posture is coming off very guarded. My nerves are heightened as I tighten my grip on my own gun. 

"Let's set our guns down at the same time," I suggest holding mine even further away from me, hoping to guide him to do the same,

"This is my camp. You set your gun down," he says in a low tone.

I narrow my eyes at him, but he remains impassive, his lips set in a frown, his gun held steadily on me.

I guess he could shoot me either way, so I repent and set mine down. "There now, will you set yours down?" 

"Not until you tell me why you're here? How did you get here?" He demands answers and I don't know what to tell at this point, the less the better I think.

"I...I don't know. I ran away and ended up here."

"You randomly found these woods?" He arches an eyebrow.

My eyes flicker from his face to his gun, making me increasingly nervous.

"If you're not going to put that down, can you at least point it away from me?" I ask, unable to hide the tremble in my voice.

He stares at me hard for a long moment, and then, with a sigh, he lowers his arm.

"You're really a runway? No one sent you here?"

Should I mention Franky? I don't know...  even though he's young, he's likely a criminal hiding out there. I don't know how much to share, for all I know Franky is his enemy. 

"Why would someone send me here?" I deflect his question and study his expression, but he gives nothing away.

"How old are you?" He also deflects... interesting.

"Seventeen, almost eighteen."

"You're just a teenager," he mutters with a slight shake of the head.

Uh yeah, and you can't be much older than me, I think, but don't say it. My nervous eyes are still trained on his gun.

His gaze follows mine, and to my extreme relief, he pockets it.

"How did you end up here, though I don't get it. These woods are miles off any known road." He looks perplexed by this, and I try and think fast.

"I don't know. I didn't have a direction, so I ducked off the road and ended up here," I say quickly. That is a total lie, not just one of omission, and I've never been good at that. The way he studies me makes me feel like he can see right through it, and I avert my eyes.

"You need to go, turn back around the way you came, and leave."

"I can't," I say.

"Yes, you can. Go home."

"You don't understand. I can't just go home," I hesitate with how much to reveal. "It's not safe for me there."

"...And you think it's safe here? It's a fight to live out here every day. You have no idea. You won't even make it half the winter!"

One thing I hate... more than anything, is being told I can't do something. I feel my cheeks warming as I find myself growing irritated. "If you figured out how to live out here, so can I!"

"Oh really?" He asks in a taunting voice.

"Yes, really," I say stubbornly. "I have wood, I'm right by the water, and I'm working on food. Or I was until you started spying on me, and I had to find out who you were!"

"Shows how much you know. I've been watching you since you got here twelve days ago."

"You've been creeping on me this whole time!?"

"Not creeping," he scoffs. "I kept an eye on you here and there, had to know why you were here.." he trails off.

Because he thought someone sent me here for him? Why?

"You need to leave these woods," he repeats.

"I told you. I can't go home."

"Then don't go home; go back the way you came, find a road, and hitchhike if need be. I don't care. I have a hard enough time keeping myself alive all winter. I'm not taking on some runaway, too."

"Did I ask for your help?" I snap irritably. "I'm just fine, thank you."

"You have enough wood for a week, if that, your food supply is laughable, and you almost crossed—"

"I'm just getting started!" I cut him off.

"Winter hits hard, and it hits fast. When it does, you won't be able to leave. You won't find a road when everything is snowed over."

"How many times do I have to tell you I can't go home?"

"I'm telling you you have to," he nearly grunts.

"Are you going to force me to leave? Walk me out at gunpoint? Shoot me if I won't go?"

"I... no," his cheeks have darkened, and I'm sure mine are beet red. I don't like confrontations, but I'm fighting for my life here. "But...if you're making the dumb choice to stay here, you're on your own. Don't come begging me for food or handouts."

"I won't need to," I say in an icy tone.

"Right," he scoffs.

"I won't!"

"You're signing your own death warrant staying out here. You realize that, right?" There's a smugness to his tone that further irks me, but also a tinge of a warning. I know I can't entirely ignore it; it is dangerous out here.

"I'm not some spoiled brat teen who ran away because I didn't like the rules. I've been here twelve days starving. Don't you think I'd have left if that was an option?" I counter, and that renders him silent.

Our eyes lock, and I hold my own against his intense gaze. 

"Stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of yours," he says in a hard tone. "Not a request, now leave."

"Fine by me," I agree.

I lean down to grab my gun and tuck it under my arm. His eyes stay on me as I walk past him, and I can feel them on my back as I reach the trail.

"Wait," his voice halts me in my tracks, and I turn to look at him. "When winter comes, you have to stay guarded. You're too close to the creek... don't leave your cabin after dark, and never without your gun."

I thought you weren't going to help me, is what I want to snap back,  but I don't. I stand there, kind of dumbly unsure what to say.

"I'd hurry if I were you. Rain is coming," he says as his gaze drifts up towards the sky. I follow it and see some dark clouds slowly drifting in.

"Thanks." My anger is softening. He is helping me... somewhat. Did we get off all wrong here? "I'm Sam—"

He cuts me off in the literal middle of my name by turning away abruptly. I gape open-mouthed as he stomps up to his cabin and lets himself in. The door slams shut behind him. As if to dismiss me.

With a sigh, I sling my bag back over my shoulder and head off on the trail, leaving the nameless stranger behind.