Broken

I thought it was strange that one of the tents looked like it had gotten into a fight with something and inside, I found clothing and other belongings that looked to belong to a woman.

As soon as I opened the bag, a strangely familiar scent hit me. I scoffed at it and closed the bag.

Slinging it over my shoulder, I searched the abandoned campsite for anything else that might be of use to me.

In the other tent, which still looked to be intact, but equally abandoned, I found another bag. It wasn’t a hiking pack. It looked more like a medical bag that one might carry in a hiking pack.

The rest of the pack was gone, so I cautiously, approached the bag. Picking it up, I heard glass clanking against something that I couldn’t quite pick out. I narrowed my eyes as I tried to decide whether I really wanted to know what was in the bag.

By now, I had pieced together who had abandoned the camp, so the chance that I was going to find something in the bag was going to make me angry was high.

However, I knew I was curious and that I probably wouldn’t stop thinking about it until I figured out what was inside.

So, I unzipped the bag and peered inside. Immediately, my eyes searched for the glass and found a medical bottle, with over three quarters of Diazepam. Apparently, this was the tranquilizer he used.

I ground my teeth, but continued my search, trying to think about this far more objectively than I how I was feeling.

The next thing I pulled out was the reason the bottle made the clanging sound; an unsheathed chef’s knife was also positioned carefully in the bag.

There was also a spool of rope, duct tape and a garbage bag.

The horrifying implications of what the guide planned to do with this bag were almost too hard to readily comprehend.

I drew in a deep breath, replaced the contents in the bag and left it where it was.

I sure as hell didn’t want to be caught with this murderous bag of shit.

When I walked out of the tent, I pressed forw

ard, away from the cabin.

I made it about a hundred yards away from the tents when I realized that I was tracking the man. Without even being fully aware of my rash decision, I had continued following the man’s trail, seriously contemplating ending the bastard for good.

However, when I became conscious of what I was doing, I stopped myself, since I didn’t want to complicate anything.

After all, Carrie was safe, so there was no need to find the man. I huffed with rage, glowering into the woods, looking for some sign of the man, to give me a reason to hunt him down.

Although, I was sure he was already gone.

I hoped, for my sanity and for the guy’s lifespan that I never saw him or had a reason to find him again. For now, I was far more concerned with ensuring Carrie wasn’t alone for too long, especially after everything I had found. With or without Jake, I didn’t completely trust that danger wouldn’t find them both if I was out for too long.

Why is that? I thought, slightly distracted by the idea. I had no real reason for feeling such intense emotion when it came to Carrie.

Sure, I didn’t want her to get killed by the psycho guide, but the feelings I had acquired, in such a short span of time were far deeper than simply the preservation of human life.

After all, I didn’t care much about humans to begin with and yet, I cared about this woman.

Between getting so angry at her decision to go into the mountains alone with the guide and the urge I had to make the man pay for what he did to Carrie, I was getting far too involved. I knew that there was a difference between saving her and doing what was necessary to get her home and falling into the trap of making her situation personal.

On more than one occasion, I had not only thought about, but also acted upon the presumption that this was personal; that I had something to protect in Carrie.

I knew I shouldn’t have said anything to her, but that wouldn’t have changed how I felt. I would’ve still had unsubstantiated anger against the situation and if I hadn’t at least told her how I felt, I might have done something I regretted.

Yet, I still wanted a purpose for feeling anything toward this woman. I didn’t owe her anything and she certainly didn’t owe me anything. What was the connection, that I apparently deemed important?

I wasn’t sure and if I couldn’t figure out a good enough reason, I knew that I was going to have to lose these thoughts and urges as soon as possible, or I was doomed.

This was another reason, an active defiance against my feelings.