When dawn broke on the horizon, Corbin awoke to someone shaking him. He flinched, slapping the hands away, his mind catching up with where he was. Green pine quilted the snow-tipped mountains on either side of the road, with winks of sunlight casting rays through the branches. The desert was long behind him, and hopefully, The Hounds too.

"It's your stop, Sleeping Beauty," chuckled the raspy voice of the truck driver.

"Right." Corbin straightened, rubbing his eyes and he reached for his bag. "Thank you so much for giving me a ride."

"It's no big deal." The man shrugged. "You looked to be in a bad way, running across the desert in your PJs like the devil was on your heels."

"Maybe he was," Corbin replied, recalling the tall, muscular man that he dodged back in Sage Brush and at the ranch.

If the truck driver never saw him running and stopped to offer a ride, Corbin was confident The Hounds would've caught him.

"Can I give you some advice?"

"Sure," Corbin replied.

"If you're running from the law or something, I suggest you head into a bigger city where there are lots of people you can get lost in. Those small towns in the desert, well, you're bound to stick out in one of them when everybody knows everybody, except for you."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Alright, well, if you continue on this highway, you'll run right into Lake Tahoe by tomorrow. The place is swarming with people because of the big blue lake."

"Thank you."

"Take care."

The crisp air enveloped him as soon as Corbin hopped out of the truck and inhaled a deep breath. It filled his lungs with pine and when he exhaled, the bricks on his shoulders disintegrated. Thanks to the trucker, he made it out of California in one piece, and if the man was right, then he was halfway to Idaho. That hope alone helped him place one foot in front of the other and begin the twenty-one-hour journey up highway fifty to Lake Tahoe.

It was barely a few hours into his trek when Corbin sensed someone following him.

Except every time he looked over his shoulder, no one was there. The goosebumps that remained on his skin like permanent freckles did nothing to ease the growing paranoia he felt either. Even though hitching a ride with the trucker created enough distance between himself and The Hounds, he still felt like hunted prey. In the desert, with its open terrain, it made it easier to spot someone, but in the mountains thick with trees, if someone wanted to harm him, they could attack from anywhere.

By late afternoon, he rested for a bit, but as he pulled a canteen from his bag and pressed it to his lips, he found it empty.

"Of course!" he huffed.

Despite the chilly mountain air, his forehead dripped with sweat from walking several miles. Panting, he scanned the vast expanse of trees cutting through the wilderness. There had to be a creek somewhere! He got to his feet and slid between the trees. Doing what his grandfather taught him, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the sounds around him. Birds chirped with the distant knock of a woodpecker, but there wasn't a single sound of water trickling. So he moved deeper into the trees.

He walked carefully over fallen branches, watching for sleeping snakes, and when he got to a spot he liked, he closed his eyes again, but this time held his arms out while wiggling his fingers.

"Come on... Come on..." he said to himself, his tongue as dry as the earth beneath him. Right when he was about to give up, he felt the faintest tug on the tips of his fingers. "That's better."

Squeezing his eyes tighter, he spread his arms out slowly and stopped when he felt a tug towards the left. He shifted with his arms in front of him and began walking. The farther he got, the stronger the pull on his fingers became and it started reverberating down to his toes. The water source had to be close if he could feel it in his feet!

And then he finally heard the faint trickle, prompting his legs to move like a lion tackling its prey.

"Thank you, sweet Jesus, thank you!" Corbin cheered when he spotted the shimmer of water in the clearing of trees.

As soon as he reached it, he dropped to his knees, not caring that the twigs and rocks by the shallow creek scraped his shins. He dipped his trembling hands in the water and brought the cold refreshment to his mouth like a bowl. Except, Corbin's grandfather taught him better than that.

"I know, old man, I know. Gotta purify it first!" He wiped his mouth, but the hairs on his neck stood at full attention as a chill rushed up his spine.

Someone was behind him.

He carefully reached into his bag and removed the farmer's pistol. Whoever it was, they didn't have to know the gun was out of ammo. Wanting the advantage of surprise, he sprang to his feet while spinning around and pointed the pistol at his unwelcome guest.

"Don't shoot me!" A woman shrunk back with hands raised.

Corbin's studied her, and she seemed to be around his age but worse off with tattered clothing, bare feet, and dirty skin.

"What do you want?" he demanded.

"Just hungry."

"Ok, well, I can't help you, so get moving!"

"No, wait," the woman pleaded, her hands still up with tears gathering in her eyes. "I just need water and food. I promise I won't get in the way."

"You're right, and you won't because you're going to turn around and keep walking." He motioned with the pistol.

"Please? Look at me..." She glanced at her clothing and turned the pockets out. "I have nothing."

"Not my problem."

"But, I don't mean you any harm."

"Get moving!"

"How can you be so cruel?" The tears rolled down her cheeks, revealing clean streaks of skin on her dirty face.

"Because it's a cruel world."

"But I'm just hungry!" She wiped away the moisture as her face contorted in anger. Sighing, Corbin reached into his bag, withdrew a can of corned beef, and rolled it to her. She plucked it from the ground with dirty knuckles and examined it. "How am I supposed to open this?"

"You said you're hungry. I gave you food, and now the rest is for you to figure out!" he barked.

"You're a horrible man."

"I don't care. Now leave." He pointed with the pistol.

The woman's face hardened, making the streaks on her face resemble war paint as her throat made a gurgling noise. Mucous gathered in her mouth and she launched a giant glob of spit at his feet. Corbin jumped back, the yellow goop barely missing his boots and when he glanced up, the woman's body disappeared into the trees. Deciding it would be better to move on, he pulled his bag over his shoulder and searched for a new spot.

After a few more hours of walking, his leg muscles protested with giant knots forming on them, so he set up camp for the evening. Judging by the mile marker on the highway and his map, he was halfway to Lake Tahoe. Once he got a small fire going, he removed the jug of water he gathered from the creek and poured it into a saucepan. Meanwhile, he chewed on deer jerky for dinner and wished he had Romie's guitar to keep him company. The glittered sky would do, but even with the distant hoot of an owl, and insects chirping, the evening was too quiet.

When the water was ready, he took a metal funnel from his bag and wrapped the end in cheesecloth before placing it inside the jug's opening. As he poured the water through, a sensation of being watched crawled up his spine again.

He set the saucepan and jug aside to concentrate, and sure enough, he heard a succession of twigs snapping under the pressure of footsteps. He spun and faced the dark silhouette amongst the trees.

"Please, Sir..."

"You need to stop following me!"

"If you could just help me open this can." She pulled it out of her bag, motioning it to him. "And let me have some water?"

"I told you. That's your problem to figure out. I can't hold your hand!"

She stepped into the firelight, and the shadows absorbed into the crevices of her sweat misted collar bones. "Please? I just need some help, and I can repay you. I bet it's been a long time since you've had a woman."

When she began lifting her shirt, Corbin waved frantically. "Stop!"

"But it's all I have to repay you."

"Listen, lady!" He shot to his feet, causing her to flinch back. "I'm not doing any favors for anyone anymore, and I definitely don't need what you're offering. It's survival of the fittest out here, and if you can't figure out how to open that can, well, that's your problem!"

"You really are a miserable human being. I could die out there, and you don't care!"

Corbin turned away from her and continued filtering the water. After what happened the day before, he would help no one anymore.

"Karma will pay you tenfold for this!" she growled and left.

At first, relief filled his lungs when he looked over his shoulder and saw she was gone, but as the evening wore on, guilt embedded his chest. All she needed was help with opening the can, but he allowed selfishness to hold his generosity hostage. And what was she doing out in the wilderness, alone—barefoot? As question after question filled his head, he started feeling worse. The way he yelled at her wasn't the way his grandfather raised him.

Wanting to suffocate the voice in his head, he attempted drifting to sleep, and for the first few hours, exhaustion won, but in the middle of the night, he woke up shivering. Was it because of the freezing mountain temperature, or was it shame? How would his grandfather feel about him sending the woman away? But, the old man was gone. He knew nothing about what the world had become in his absence.

And what good did it do helping others? So far, it only invited trouble.

The farmer died helping him, and when he tried paying it forward by helping Ingrid, her husband alerted The Hounds. Helping people was a thing of the past, he concluded. Yet, as he tossed and turned, sleep refused to consume him, so before dawn, he packed up his camp and headed back to the highway.

Judging by the map in Corbin's hands, there were a few more hours to go, so he pressed himself against the harsh wind and began walking. Despite being tired from guilt eating away at him all night, he felt good as the warmth from the sun hugged his back and the clean, pine scent in the air filled his lungs with hope. With arms outstretched, he let his head fall back while sucking in a deep breath, his eyes closed.

Being far from wherever The Hounds were, was bliss.

As he continued walking uphill, he spotted crows feasting on roadkill in the distance. At first, he made nothing of it, but as he got closer, he recognized the tattered clothing fluttering in the wind, and that's when he knew.

It was the beggar woman.

He rushed forward, waving his arms about while shouting at the crows, and they flew away with frantic flaps of their wings. Taking in her mutilated body, he slapped a hand to his mouth. Holes peppered her chest as if someone shot her several times, and her bag was missing.

Corbin sank heavily to his bottom as guilt submerged him with a sob that exploded from deep within his chest.

It was his fault. All she wanted was some help, and he chased her away.

***
Thanks so much for continuing to read! Corbin certainly learned a harsh lesson in this chapter. Let's see if things start to look up for him in the next chap! ❤