One Step Too Far (Frankie Elkin #2)(17)

I’m already skeptical. “I can last longer than three hours without shelter.”

“Assumes adverse conditions—say, a blizzard or torrential downpour or absurdly hot temps. Hyperthermia is a bigger killer than you might think.”

Now I get it. “The rule of threes is about prioritizing. My first job is to get air. Then shelter, then water. Don’t worry so much about food.”

“Exactly. This one-dollar lighter”—she holds up the Bic—“represents fire. Which will assist with shelter—keeping you warm at night—and boiling drinkable water. This magnificent if slightly terrifying survival knife can assist with building a shelter as well as creating kindling to start a fire. These two items alone can go a long way toward keeping you alive.”

“Hence I should carry them on my person.”

“See, you’re a natural. Now, the emergency whistle.”

“I have a whistle!” I’m genuinely excited. “I carry it around tough neighborhoods all the time.”

“Your idea of self-defense in an urban environment is a whistle? Are you trying to die?”

I do not answer that question.

“Whistles are too bulky for pants pockets. I recommend this instead.” Luciana throws a thickly corded bracelet in my direction. I catch it in midair, finger the camo-colored weave.

“I’ve seen these. Some kind of nylon rope, braided into fashion gear.” I unclip the plastic buckle and discover a stainless steel tongue of surprising strength.

“Notice the slightly serrated edge?” Luciana points at the metal tongue. “That can serve as a small blade. Now blow in the other half of the buckle.”

I give her a look but obediently purse my lips for a short puff. A faint whistle emerges from the hollow plastic. I try again, with more force, and am rewarded by a sharper sound. “It’s a whistle!”

“A whistle you can wear on your wrist that also provides a small razor and utility ropes.” Luciana beams proudly.

I don’t blame her. I’m slightly in love with the bracelet. Reminds me of my five-dollar utility hair clips that include serrated edges on one side and tool options in the middle. I wouldn’t go so far as to say they’ll save me in the wild, but they have come in handy for some basic breaking and entering.

“So butane lighter in one pocket. Knife at your waist. Paracord bracelet on your wrist,” Luciana summarizes. “Final item, that small pencil flashlight, which you can tuck into one of the pant-leg pockets. You don’t want to be wandering around the woods in the dark, and not just because you’ll most likely kill yourself, but because other creatures will regard you as food and do the honors for you.”

“Do you really think a grizzly bear cares about a bobbing flashlight?”

“I’m hoping to never find out.”

“Do you carry a gun?” I ask curiously.

“No. I don’t like them and I’m not sure I could bring myself to shoot another life form, even a charging bear.”

“What if the bear went after Daisy?”

“Then I’d kill the grizzly with my bare hands and the gun would be redundant.”

I don’t doubt her for a second.

“Nemeth has a rifle,” she adds now. “It’s part of his responsibility as the guide. I have bear repellent in my kit. The size of our party will be our most useful weapon, however. Wildlife is shy. They don’t want to take on eight people and a dog. Just don’t wander too far from the campfire at night. Pick the closest bush, squat, pee, and get back.”

“There’s no toilet paper in my pack.”

Luciana rolls her eyes. “Seriously, woman, by the end of this week, you’re not going to recognize yourself.”

I pick up one of the few items scattered on the carpet that she hasn’t mentioned yet. “Why does a guy have a maxi pad in his wilderness kit?”

“Field first aid. Perfect for stopping heavy bleeding. Press against the wound, secure in place with bandages. Tampons work, too.”

I rub the relatively new scar on my shoulder absently, then start picking up each item and reloading them into my pack.

On the other side of the room, Luciana does the same. I notice she rolls each item of clothing, allowing her to cram more in. I follow her example and this time manage to zip the pack closed when I’m done.

I heft it up. The weight is real, but better than Josh’s original load.

I can do this, I tell myself. Butane lighters, wicking fabrics, rule of threes. Nothing here I can’t handle.

Then I bolt into the bathroom so Luciana can’t see the panic on my face.



* * *



—

Ten thirty. Lights out. Luciana and Daisy already sound asleep in one bed. Myself, totally awake in the other.

Daisy snores. A slight woofing exhale. It’s rhythmic and soothing. I try to focus on that. Mostly, I wonder what would happen if I called Lotham right now. Two-hour time difference, making it after midnight in Boston.

He’s probably asleep. Or working a major case. Either way, would he take my call? The number of times I’ve flipped open my cheap Tracfone, finger hovering over the buttons. Then closed the phone. Put it away.

The number of times I have thought of him, and forced myself to move on.

Now I order myself to let go. Be in this moment. Honor Timothy O’Day and the task I have undertaken. Sleep. Tomorrow will be hard enough.