Fatal Recall. Carol J. Post
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bank, spots of yellow stood out against patches of green.
She moved that direction, picking up speed as she got closer. She’d been right. A patch of dandelions grew alongside the water.
“Kat?” Tanner’s footsteps sounded behind her.
She stepped onto a rock in the middle of the creek. A second step put her on the opposite bank. “Breakfast.”
“What?”
She indicated the plants with a wave of her arm. “It’s not bacon and scrambled eggs, but it should help to curb the hunger.”
After plucking several blooms and a handful of leaves, she tried one of each. The slight crunch and sweetness of the flower blended with the earthy, bitter taste of the greens.
Tanner watched her with his eyebrows drawn together, his lips in a straight line. “Are you sure that’s safe?”
“Positive. Ever heard of dandelion tea?”
“Yeah, but parts of some plants are poisonous.”
“Not dandelion.” She wasn’t sure how she knew that, but she did. “Come and get some.”
Tanner continued to watch her, doubt radiating from him. She understood. She couldn’t expect him to trust his life to her ability to identify edible wild plants when she couldn’t remember her own name. She couldn’t explain it herself. Some knowledge was still accessible, but her experiences were exiled to a remote island in her brain, the bridge to access it blown to smithereens.
Finally, Tanner crossed the creek to pick some dandelions for himself. He chewed and swallowed his first bite. “Hmm, like salad for breakfast.”
When they’d had their fill, Tanner knelt for another drink, then straightened. “I think the bad guy’s way ahead of us, but we’ll keep our eyes and ears open.”
She stuffed her hands into her jacket pockets, still slightly damp from yesterday’s swim. Her right hand found the box, and she pulled it out. It didn’t stir her memory any better than it had before.
“Other than the clothes I’m wearing, this is the only thing connecting me to my past, as shaky as that connection is.” The box probably didn’t even belong to her.
Tanner nodded. “It’s good you’re keeping it. It might help trigger your memory.”
“I agree.” She slid the box back into her pocket and looked beyond Tanner, where the sun worked its way upward in a hazy sky.
“We’re north of Highway 19. If we head south, we should reach it eventually.”
She set out walking beside him. “What about your kayak?”
“It’s actually my friend’s. The shooter might be waiting for us, so I’ll get it later with a police escort.”
“That’s a good—” Her sentence ended in a squeak as her ankle twisted with a sharp crack. Pain shot halfway up her leg.
Tanner’s quick reflexes kept her from falling. “Are you okay?”
She tested her weight. It was painful, but nothing she couldn’t handle.
Tanner led her to a downed tree. “Sit here while I look for a walking stick.”
“That’ll delay us. I’ll be fine.”
“Since the guy with the gun is somewhere ahead of us, this’ll put more distance between us and him.”
She lowered herself to the rough bark and watched Tanner circle the area, picking up and discarding sticks. Finally, he found one that suited his purposes.
He pulled something from his pocket, too thick to be a pocketknife. Instead, the metal case held an array of gadgets. He selected a blade and spent several minutes slicing off small limbs and whittling a smooth grip area. Finally, he stood and tested it.
“Here you go.”
She pulled herself to her feet. “This is awesome. Thank you.”
“It was a piece of cake with my handy little multi-tool.” He raised the mentioned item, blade still extended.
As she stared at the object, a memory stirred. A man flew backward, cracking his head on the concrete sidewalk. His assailant leaped on top of him, one hand splayed on his chest, the other holding a switchblade at his throat. Blood beaded along the razor-sharp edge, and the man’s eyes held the terror of someone looking death in the face.
“Kat? Are you okay?” Tanner’s voice sounded far away.
She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the image to disappear.
“Tell me what you see.”
She swallowed the bile pushing its way up her throat. “A knife. Someone being attacked.”
“Do you know who?”
She tried to focus. The man was thin and wiry, clad in a tank-style undershirt, tattoos marking his arms, neck and chest. If he was someone she knew, memories of him were buried with the rest of her past.
“All I saw was a brief flash—the man, the knife.” And the hand holding it.
“Is it possible you witnessed a murder and that’s why someone is after you?”
She gave a jerky nod. “Maybe.”
What Tanner said was possible. Even logical.
But that wasn’t what happened. She was sure of it.
Because the hand holding the knife had been her own.
* * *
Tanner put the multi-tool away and slipped a palm under her left elbow. Her face had lost three shades of color.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
The quick bob of her head wasn’t convincing. The fact that she was already recovering her memory was good. The shock it gave her wasn’t.
She set out walking, favoring her right ankle, and he fell into step beside her.
“If you need to stop, let me know.”
“Thanks, but the stick helps. I’m anxious to get out of these woods.” Her eyes held hesitation. “Where will you be taking me?”
“Bryson City. The police department, then the hospital.” He’d studied a map of the area, and it was the nearest town. In fact, the Nantahala Outdoor Center had a Bryson City address.
Her jaw tightened, and her brows drew together. Did she have a fear of hospitals? Or was it going to the police that worried her?
“We need to file a report.” The moment someone shot at them, he’d scratched his plans for putting her in an ambulance and letting the EMTs haul her away. “There’s a chance the police can help us figure out who you are, especially if your prints are in the system.”
“You think I might be a criminal?” She smiled, but there was tension behind it.
He shrugged. “Lots of people get fingerprinted for their jobs. It doesn’t mean they’re criminals.”
She stared straight ahead, apparently not convinced. He understood her reservations. It was a scary proposition. She could learn she’s a fugitive and be led away in handcuffs. With all she’d been through, he hoped that wasn’t the case.
She heaved a sigh. “However it turns out, it’ll be a relief to find out who I am.”
“Someone’s probably reported you missing by now.”
“Maybe.” She held out her left hand, palm down. “Looks like I wore a ring long enough to tan around it. I don’t know if it was a wedding or an engagement ring. Or why I no longer have it on.”
As they walked, the sun climbed higher, burning off the haze and warming the air. Finally, she shrugged out of