Never Tell Them, N.L. Hinkens [unputdownable books txt] 📗

was the one who had cut off all contact. Even if his mother had wanted to tell him, she had no way of getting in touch with him—he’d made sure of that. He’d kept tabs on her through the years from a distance, but he’d never suspected that all this time Tom was alive. His heart shuddered when he pictured his brother’s small, pale face, taut with fear, as they’d huddled together in their bedroom listening to the sound of their father going on another rampage, dreading the moment they would hear his footsteps thumping up the stairs.

He couldn’t put it off any longer. If Tom was alive, he had to know. He opened up the map he’d bought of the Blue Ridge mountains and jotted down the coordinates in the margin, then marked an approximate course with a yellow highlighter. After stashing a change of clothes in his backpack, he grabbed his GPS, some snacks and water, and headed out to his truck, already second-guessing his decision. He couldn’t be sure what he would find when he arrived. Maybe it was wishful thinking on his part believing Tom was alive. What if the GPS led him to a mound of rocks and a makeshift cross? Perhaps their mother had spread Tom’s ashes in the mountains and recorded the coordinates so she could visit his grave.

An hour later, he turned off the main highway, and traversed along a dirt road for a mile or so up into the mountains, before parking his truck in the Deep Creek Campground. There was no official trail to the coordinates, which would make for slow going navigating his way through the shadowy, hulking forest. Despite all his talk of living like a prepper in the back country, he had ended up working in the city all his life. Without Tom, the off-grid dream had lost its appeal. Even with the GPS, he would have to be careful not to lose his bearings—he wasn’t good at directions. As best he could estimate, it would take him at least an hour to reach the coordinates, possibly longer. After adjusting his pack, he set off, a cautious swirl of excitement building inside him as he pictured reuniting with Tom after all these years.

He was making good progress until he attempted to cross a stream and lost his footing on a moss-covered rock. As he fought a losing battle to keep his balance, the GPS slipped from his grasp and fell into the water with a sickening crack. He scrambled out onto the opposite bank, frantically trying to dry it off, willing the dead screen back to life. Despite his valiant efforts, it was apparent the device was shot. He had no choice now but to rely on his map to make it the rest of the way. He tried to stay calm and approach the setback in a logical manner, although his brain was screaming at him that he was an idiot for allowing this to happen. He wasn’t cut out for the backcountry. He hadn’t even brought a gun with him—just some snacks and enough water for a short hike. He’d been counting on making it to Tom’s cabin and spending the night, if things went well. Or making it back down the mountain before dark if it turned out to be a wild goose chase. The last thing he wanted to do was spend a night alone and lost with the risk of hypothermia or a deadly encounter with a wild animal.

After consulting the map, he set off once more in what he hoped was a northwesterly direction. It wasn’t long before he came upon another stream and realized something wasn’t right. According to the map, he shouldn’t have to cross any more water to reach the coordinates. Was this the same stream he’d crossed earlier? He glanced at his watch. Only a little after noon. No need to panic, yet. He still had plenty of time to make it safely to Tom’s cabin, or back down the mountain, before nightfall.

Pulling out his map, he sat down at the base of a tree and munched on a granola bar while he got his bearings. After re-orienting himself, he adjusted his route and set off once more. Unused to the physical exertion, his joints were already protesting the steep incline. The hush of the forest had become unbearable, almost as if it were holding its breath and watching him—waiting for him to make a mistake. He only hoped he was hiking in the right direction this time. Without his GPS, he could be going in circles. The wisest course of action would probably be to turn around and try and find his way back to the campground.

The sound of pinecones crunching underfoot startled him. Spinning around, he found himself face-to-face with a bearded man dressed head-to-toe in a mixture of camo and fur, a gun slung over his shoulder, and a menacing knife glinting at his waist. Ray swallowed down his apprehension at the imposing figure, only partially relieved to find himself no longer alone. He gave a tentative nod by way of greeting. ”Glad I ran into you. I think I’m lost.”

The man cocked his head to one side, sizing him up, his eyes resting briefly on his canvas backpack. ”You’re a long way past the last campsite. Where are you headed?”

“My brother has a cabin up here. Our mother passed away and I’m trying to get in contact with him.”

The man drew his shaggy brows together in a skeptical manner. ”What’s his name?”

“Tom Jenkins.” Ray gave a self-conscious shrug. ”Although, to be honest, I don’t know if he’s going by that name anymore. I’m Ray, by the way.”

A flicker of shock, mingled with some other emotion Ray couldn’t pinpoint, crossed the man’s face. ”Tom Jenkins is your brother?”

Ray gave a hesitant smile. ”Yes, my younger brother.”

The man moved his jaw side-to-side, weighing Ray up with heightened interest. “I’m Buck. Didn’t mean to sneak up