The Last Sabre

By James Paddock

Three weeks after her mother’s death, Rebecca (Reba) Price cannot stand the oppressiveness filling her Texas home. Her sister and aunt, maybe even her father, blame her. She cannot disagree. Hacking into her father’s accounts she takes what she sees as her rightful inheritance and escapes to Montana State University in Bozeman, Montana. She tries hard to convince herself that it’s not to be near where her mother died nor near the sabre-toothed cats, who, for reasons she does not understand, have chosen her as their leader, their goddess, but because she wants to study paleontology. However, as her freshman year ends, the big cats come looking for her. One of their own is dying and they need her. And so she is drawn back into the Montana wilderness only to discover that the plot, which drove her mother to sacrifice herself for her family, is alive and well. As the body count rises–human and sabre-toothed feline–Reba must call upon all her inner power to find a way to bring it to a final end.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Paddock
• Release date: Aug 31, 2011
• ISBN: 9781452432779

James Paddock

James Paddock, Indie Author and avid reader, was born and raised in the Big Sky Country of Montana. The forty-plus years following high school include a Bachelor of Science degree from the University of Idaho, service with the U.S. Navy, owner/operator of a small business in South Carolina, a career as a Graphic Designer and a marriage that produced 3 fine children, who then have provided bragging rights for many very fine grandchildren. James began writing short stories in 1993, graduating to novels at the turn of the century. Since then he has produced numerous full-length novels, an inspirational novella and an anthology of 13 of his best short stories, all of which can be found at JamesPaddockNovels.com. He is now living in Florida with his wife, Penny, enjoying the sun and working on his next novel.

Book preview

Chapter 1

August 2, 2008 – Saturday

Fort Worth, Texas

They were stupid boys, Christi blurts and drops onto the sofa. She finds the remote, points and clicks.

Christi is my fourteen-year-old little sister. I give Dad the, What happened? look. He shrugs and lifts his eyebrows. What does that mean? Did you have a good time at the aquarium? I ask. Dad and Christi had gone to the Dallas World Aquarium to get away from the oppressiveness of the house. It was my suggestion, but at the last second I backed out. No reason.

We watched the otters, Christi says and then turns the volume up.

Dad gives me a weak thumbs up as he carries the plastic bag of what appears to be the entire lunch I packed for the outing, into the kitchen. I follow and watch him stuff it into the refrigerator. You didn’t eat?

Not hungry. Drank the sodas. Watched the otters. A couple of boys were being boys, making fun of the otters.

That’s it?

He shrugs again. That’s what she liked; she almost smiled. He closes the refrigerator. We’ve got supper.

I follow him back into the living room. Christi has MTV on; the volume is low.

I’m going to go lie down for a bit, Dad says and starts up the stairs.

I want to go there.

We both look at Christi. Where? I say. I have no idea what my little sister is talking about.

Montana. I want to go to where Mom . . .

I wait for her to finish her sentence. She doesn’t. She hasn’t accepted that Mom is gone, won’t say it. Why? I say. I’m not sure I want to go back there; at least not yet; not for a few years. There’s nothing to see.

Dad says, We can talk about it later.

The couch potato gives Dad a look, but says nothing. He goes upstairs. They’ve already talked about it, but he’s not ready to face me with it. He and I haven’t talked about much of anything since the two of us scoured the house for listening devices; the exchange in the kitchen being downright gabby. Generally, he’s been avoiding me, spending his energy in placating Christi, massaging her, bringing her back into the world after the death of our mother not even a month ago. Well, what about me? I’m the one who should be massaged. I’m the one who was right in the middle of it. I’m the one who watched her blow herself to pieces. I should probably be talking to a head doctor.

I drop into a chair and stare at the music video playing, some group I know nothing about. Sure, it might be good for Christi to go see where Mom died, but she’ll ask more questions and we aren’t ready to give the answers, or at least I’m not. And there are a lot more questions than there are answers.

The TV goes off and Christi goes up to her room. She doesn’t like to be around me for very long. In three weeks she has hardly said a word to me. Between her and Dad, I’ve been living in a vacuum. They blame me. Not surprising. I’m fully to blame. No wonder I didn’t go to the aquarium with them.

I pick up my computer and go upstairs.

Becky.

I barely hear Dad call me as I pass his bedroom. I consider ignoring him because he seems to refuse to recognize that I want to be called Reba. Instead, I look in. He’s not lying on the bed. He’s sitting in Mom’s rocking chair. I’m jealous. I’ve been wanting that chair in my room, had thought about just taking it; may still.

I step in and wait for him to continue. After a few seconds I sit on the bed. It’s high enough that my feet dangle. What?

You realize that you’re the woman of the house now?

I start to roll my eyes, catch myself and look directly at him. Yes.

I need you to start playing the part.

Playing the part? What do you think I’ve been doing? I cook meals, pick up after you and Christi; I’ve even cleaned the toilets. You all don’t even notice me.

Christi needs . . .

Needs what, Dad? I can’t be her mother. I’m her sister.

Spend time with her, he says after a long, empty-look silence.

She won’t spend time with me. She doesn’t want to be in the same room with me. She blames me.

She . . .

Don’t say she doesn’t. Face it, Dad; you both do. I blame me, too. But there’s no way to go back and undo it.

I’ve never blamed you.

Then why haven’t you been talking to me?

You’ve been hiding.

No I haven’t.

The silence ticks on until I think I’m going to go crazy. Finally he says, What have you been writing? More silence, this time on my part. You’ve lived with that computer for three weeks now; you take it with you everywhere. What are you doing?

I’m trying to sort out everything that has happened since the graduation trip to Cancun. I’m trying to understand, get everything in perspective.

There is no perspective.

Maybe not, but it’s what I have to do. It’s what you used to do when things went crazy. You’d write and turn it into a story; your way of journalizing.

Your mother’s death isn’t something to be turned into a story. It’s not a movie-of-the-week.

It’s not meant to be. It’s my therapy.

Therapy. He looks toward the window as though daydreaming. I guess I can understand that. But I have never blamed you.

I blow out a lungful. No. I guess you haven’t, but I feel it anyway, especially from Christi.

She’ll get over it with time.

But will she ever forgive me?

It’s not your . . .

We can go over and over it. You and Mom would not have run after me if I hadn’t run away. That’s basically it. Sure, I can try to blame Vandermill, or Sam, or Mom for that matter, but none of it would have happened if it wasn’t for my actions. Mom is dead. Sam is dead. Matt’s dad is dead. Shit all to hell I’m gonna cry. I don’t want to cry. I tense my muscles and push it down. I’ll have to live with all of that the rest of my life. You certainly don’t want me to be Christi’s mother cause if I was I wouldn’t let her do anything, afraid she’d make the same stupid mistakes I made. I’d chain her to the house.

He doesn’t argue with my logic. What’s there to argue? We sit for a while. I stare at the wall. He stares at the window. My computer sits heavy in my lap. I look down at it and run my hand across its smooth top. The reason why I write, Dad, is because if I don’t, I’ll self-destruct. I can’t sit around and brood like the two of you.

He’s retreated into silence. He has already said more words than all those combined over the last three weeks. After a time I stand and sigh. I’ll try to talk to Christi. I go to my room.

I sit on the bed and open my computer. I’m to the part where the explosion happens, where Mom places a bag with thirteen sticks of dynamite onto a pit of slowly burning logs. Thirteen dangling and tangled fuses compete for the flame as she waits, ignoring my screams; her answer to saving her family; the ultimate sacrifice. Victor Vandermill, the bad guy, sits nearby, unaware of what she has done.

I can see it; I can feel it; I can’t write it. I’m against a wall of horrible, horrible memory that explodes and wraps me up in a black, sooty cloud. As soon as I start thinking about it, to write it down, I fall right into it and start living it again. It is at this place of death in my journal, one month ago, where I’ve been stuck for three days.

I close the computer, set it aside and look at the two envelopes still sitting on my desk, or at least I look at the corner of one of them. Several unread magazines to which I have subscriptions sit on top. I stretch and pull the envelopes out. One is my acceptance letter to the University of Texas. It came in the mail just before I left for Montana, what seems like a lifetime ago. The second must have come while we were being pursued through the mountains, or while I was busy getting my mother killed. It is also an acceptance letter, but from a school I hadn’t told Mom and Dad about. Not sure why, maybe because I knew they’d balk. It just happens that this school has a department of earth science with an option in paleontology. Certainly it’s not why I applied there. I applied because the school was in the state where my dad saw saber-toothed cats eight years ago. I had no idea when I applied that I’d be interested in paleontology. Now it’s like it was meant to be, and even though there are probably better colleges with paleontology, there are none other than this one that I would apply to, even if there was time, even if money was no object, which in this case it isn’t. Mom had a huge death benefit which her will split between Christi and me, to be used for college. Another policy paid off the house. Financially, we’re okay. Emotionally, we’re overdrawn and broke.

Since coming home I’d almost thrown away both acceptance letters at least a dozen times, but here they still are. Maybe it’s what I need. Get away. Bury myself in academics. Dad thinks I should be around for Christi? Could he stop me? I’m only seventeen. Maybe he could. Would he?

I stand up and drop the University of Texas letter in the trash, hold on to the other and return to the computer to check on the university’s schedule.

I don’t want to be the woman of the house. I’m not old enough.

Hellooooo! Anybody home?

It’s Aunt Suzie. She’s taken over as Christi’s mother, as it probably should be. I put the computer aside, tired of looking through the university’s Website. Classes start in three weeks, and I’ve already missed registration. I can still get in though. I walk out into the hall and look down at my aunt.

Hi, she says up to me. Your dad and sister here?

Sleeping I think.

Hours until dark. It’s dinner time. I brought pizza. Straight out of Mama’s Pizza oven. Mama’s famous cinnamon rolls, too.

I turn and call toward the bedrooms, Pizza! I walk down the stairs. I’m not hungry but the smell of pizza wakes up my stomach. Thanks.

Her eyes go back up the stairs. Hi, Sweetie. How’re you doing?

I don’t have to look to see who she's talking to. She certainly doesn’t call Dad sweetie. Christi’s the only innocent one in the house; Aunt Suzie’s favorite. I take the pizza and the rolls from her and carry them into the dining room. How was the aquarium? she asks Christi as they hug. I fetch plates and forks.

Dad and I silently work on our pizza. I’m surprised that I have an appetite. He nibbles on the crust of his only piece. Aunt Suzie pries aquarium information out of Christi, not once asking how Dad and I are doing. I’m surprised she didn’t come to take only Christi out to eat instead of bringing the food so that we’d all be forced to sit together. I’d use my psychic talent to figure out what she’s thinking, but I swore it off. I shoved it into a dark closet in a corner of my mind, and tried to forget that I have it. I’ve had no feelings of pending doom, no visions of strangers being subjected to bloody, painful deaths. That’s been part of the reason why I haven’t left the house. I can turn off the mind reading stuff, but the forecasting of tragedy I have absolutely no control over. All I can do is avoid being near it when it happens, part of the reason I’ve nearly dumped the entire college idea.

I grab a third piece. It doesn’t look like Dad is going to want it.

I’d like Christi to come stay with me for a while, Aunt Suzie suddenly says.

Bingo!

She looks at Christi. What do you think?

Two weeks ago I would have said absolutely not. Sounds like a good idea, I say.

I don’t think so. We all look at Dad. This is her home.

What would your mother have wanted? she asks Christi. Christi looks between Dad and me. I’m not talking permanent, Aunt Suzie adds. Just a few weeks, until school starts.

Things are getting better, Dad says. We had a good day today. It’s just a time thing.

Suzie continues to ignore Dad and me. Her eyes remain on Christi as though she’s the only one who has a say. Christi? Would you like to do that? When school starts you can come back here. Maybe I’ll come and stay for a while, until your routine settles out.

I guess so, Christi says softly.

I really don’t think so, Dad says.

Suzie finally looks at him. Why?

She needs family.

What am I? Chopped liver?

No. It’s just that . . .

I vowed to my sister that if anything ever happened to her I’d make sure her daughters are taken care of.

I interject. What am I? Chopped liver? I wouldn’t go live with her if she begged me, but it seems important that I make the point.

She glares at me. You’re quite capable of taking care of yourself. She turns back to Dad. Christi is the innocent one and could use some time away to help sort things out, clear her head. It’s what Tanya would have wanted. She and Dad have a staring contest. Do what’s best for Christi, Zach.

Dad turns his head to Christi. What do you want? Your ‘I guess so’ didn’t sound very positive.

She looks between the two of them. I guess so . . . I mean, yes. But just until school starts.

Good! Aunt Suzie puts her napkin on the table. Let’s go upstairs and I’ll help you pack.

I’m going to register for school, I say.

Suzie settles back in her chair. That’s good, too. Actually, probably the best thing. You’ll have to live on campus, but at least you’d be close.

Not here.

What do you mean, not here? Dad and I face each other lengthwise across the table. University of Texas is where you got accepted. That was the only place you applied.

No, it wasn’t. Now they’re all looking at me. I’ve been accepted to MSU.

MSU? Aunt Suzie says. Missouri? Michigan?

Christi is the only one who knows where else I applied, but she says nothing. Her eyes ping-pong between me and Dad. Dad is perplexed, probably running all the M states through his mind, maybe praying I don’t say what I’m going to say.

Montana State.

He roars to his feet. No!

I jump a good six inches off my chair. Dad has never been one to fly off the handle, never one to explode. I settle my tensed muscles. I need to get away, too.

Not there! Anywhere else but there.

I didn’t apply anywhere else. Texas doesn’t offer Paleontology. Montana does.

Paleontology! Aunt Suzie says. Why do you want to study that? Isn’t that like old bones, or . . .

I give Aunt Suzie my ‘I’m smarter than you’ look, something I perfected for my parents about the time I turned sixteen. You’re probably trying to think of fossils, but that’s not correct. Paleontology is the study of past geologic periods, based on fossils. More precisely I want to study paleozoology, specifically vertebrates, specifically . . . I don’t say it. Suzie doesn’t know about saber-toothed cats beyond Dad’s adventure eight years ago, which she doesn’t believe one iota of. Other than Victor Vandermill chasing us through the mountains, what happened in the Montana wilderness, stays in the Montana wilderness. Dad, Matt and I agreed to that while we sat in the helicopter waiting for the EMS. After the explosion that killed Mom, Sam and Vandermill, we had escaped by flying out in Vandermill’s helicopter. Matt is the poor guy who got stuck in the middle of the mess, which also got his father killed and then nearly him. He lives in Montana, not far from the scene of the tragedy, and the den of what’s left of the big kitties.

Dad is turning red and white all at the same time. He puts his hands to his face and then runs them over his head, through his hair. He blows air and then looks at Aunt Suzie and Christi. Why don’t you two go up and pack. Rebecca and I need to talk. He usually calls me Becky, seldom remembering that I prefer Reba. When I’m in the doghouse, I’m Rebecca. At least he didn’t call me Rebecca Caroline.

Christi wastes no time getting to her feet. Suzie measures the tension slicing down the table and pushes her chair back. Without another word she follows Christi up the stairs.

I don’t want you going back there, Dad says, his anger under control again.

You and Christi are talking about going there, I remind him.

That’s different. That’s a visit so that she can get closure. We talked about putting up a plaque. We could hire a pilot to fly us in and wait. That’s in and out quick and back home. You want to go live there for four years.

Montana State is over 300 miles from where Mom died. I have no desire to go there, not even for closure. You and Christi and Aunt Suzie can do that. As a matter of fact, I think it’s a great idea to put a plaque there, I just don’t want to go.

He softens some, but I still don’t think he fully believes me. I’m not feeding him any bull. I really don’t want to go there, at least not this soon.

It’s still too close.

Unless you’re planning on giving me Mom’s, I don’t have a car; don’t plan on getting one. The campus and the town of Bozeman don’t seem all that big, so a bicycle is probably all I’ll need. If I go anywhere, I’ll probably come back here to visit now and then, just like any college kid.

It’s still no.

Why?

He glances toward the stairs and lowers his voice. You know why.

First of all, Dad, remember what Sam said about the cats? They’re dying. They’ll be extinct again in a few years. Second, have you forgotten my relationship with them? I could walk, sleep, and eat among them and they wouldn’t harm me. They’d probably lick my feet and fetch my slippers.

That’s cold, rough country up there.

I’m sure they’re all out of tepees and drafty log cabins by now, and have heat like we have air-conditioning.

You’re not used to the temperatures.

Jeez, Dad. How cold can it possibly get? I’ll wear gloves and a hat. Okay? You can argue with me all you want, but I’m going, with or without your approval.

You’re only seventeen.

So? You’ll have to sign something. The money is all there.

The conversation ends.

I’m going.

Chapter 2

August 4, Monday

You’re not going! The University of Texas was good enough for me and your mother. It’s good enough for you.

It isn’t a matter of being good enough, Dad. It’s that Texas doesn’t offer the curriculum I want. I’ll find a job and work for a year, then I’ll be eighteen and you can’t stop me.

You’ll still have to go through me to get the money. Go to Montana State if you like, but you’ll have to figure out how to pay for it yourself.

You can’t do that! That money is there for my education. You’d be violating Mom’s wishes.

Your mother wanted you to go to college. Do you think she’d have approved of you going to Montana?

She might have.

Dad snorts.

I’m going to win this . . . somehow. It’s my money!

When you turn twenty-five it’s your money. Her rules. Until then it is to be used for a college that your mother would have approved of.

It doesn’t say that.

It says, and I paraphrase, ‘the proceeds from my life insurance policy are to be distributed equally between my daughters for their education, and shall be administered by my executor. When they turn twenty-five years of age, any remaining portions of their shares are to be released to them to be used as they see fit.’ As I am the executor and thus the administrator, she has given me the power of approval.

When did she write her will?

February. We update them every year.

It’s not fair!

Maybe. Maybe not. It’s the way it is.

I sit and stare at my father with all the glare I can muster. Forty-eight hours ago I wasn’t even thinking about going to college this year, let alone Montana State. Now it has turned into a burning obsession. If nothing else, it’s the principal. He can’t deny me. Montana is where my mother is buried. I have a connection to that state. It’d mean I’d be closer to my mother. He has no right to stop me.

I want Mom’s car, then.

You’re already using it.

Can I have it put in my name?

No. For insurance purposes it has to remain in mine. Besides, in a few years Christi will be driving and she’ll be sharing it.

A year and a half away until she gets driver’s training. A lot can change. Okay.

I want to know every place you go with it.

What? You want me to check it out and give you my itinerary, log my miles?

Not a bad idea. I may even give you a mileage allowance.

I can’t believe it. I cross my arms and roll my eyes. Okay. Whatever.

And since we’re on the subject, I suggest you get to looking into registering at the University of Texas.

Okay.

Today.

I will! I will not! I quietly stomp out of the house, leaving my breakfast for him to clean up.

The sun is low, and the house is quiet. I’m sitting in Dad’s office, at his computer. I managed to stay away all day, spending the morning at a coffee shop staring at my journal and planning what to do. Christi is at Aunt Suzie’s. Dad is somewhere doing something. He doesn’t go away very often and when he does he isn’t usually gone long, so I have to be fast. I punch his computer out of sleep mode and then go directly to his bank accounts. I haven’t been in there in months but he never changes the password. Even if he did, he’s easy to figure out.

One thing has changed at the bank. There’s a new account called children’s trust. Just as I had hoped. All of Mom’s insurance money is in it, plus a little more. $102,232.10. Dad had talked about investing into something with a bit more growth, but so far it’s all right there. A few clicks of the mouse and I could move it to my accounts. I have a savings and a checking. As soon as Dad finds out, though, he’d move it back, fix it so that I can’t get to it anymore and then ground me for life. Whatever I do, I have to make sure it can’t be undone. Luckily, I’ve already thought of that. This afternoon, after a short visit to the University of Texas, and after getting the oil changed on Mom’s car, I visited the Bank of America, asked a lot of very grown-up questions and then opened a new account. They assured me I’d have no problem transferring money from my existing accounts at the First National Bank of Dallas to my new account, online.

Very cool.

How much should I transfer?

The entire fifty thousand seems a bit greedy. It’s not stealing because it’s mine anyway. So what’s wrong with it?

Wait a minute. Isn’t there some kind of red flag raised if high amounts of money are deposited or withdrawn? Does that work with transfers? Is it $10,000?

I’ll move nine thousand, wait awhile and then do it again. I’ll do it three times. Twenty-seven should be enough. I’ll get a job, too. That way there’ll still be money there when I turn twenty-five when he’ll have no choice but to give the rest to me.

I move $9,000, shut everything down and then go up to my room and transfer it to my new account. I take a deep breath. There’s no turning back now.

I go back down to his office, check that his car is not in the driveway and then log back on and move another $9,000. Back up to my room. $18,000. Wow! This is too easy.

I practically run back down the stairs and screech to a halt four steps from the bottom. Dad is standing in the foyer looking up at me. What’re you doing? he asks.

Nothing. I immediately hate myself for saying that. That’s the first clue to parents that you are doing something that they shouldn’t know about. I’ve learned to already have a story in mind anytime I get hit with the ‘What’re you doing?’ question. He caught me off guard and ‘Nothing,’ just fell out like I’m still a little kid.

What do you mean nothing? You’re rushing somewhere.

Dinner. I’m hungry so I was heading down to the kitchen. Want me to fix you something? Stop it Reba. Get the happiness out of your voice. Two days ago you were still morose over your mother, and this morning you were bickering with him over the University. He’s going to suspect something’s up if you act so damned happy.

Yes. That’d be nice.

What would you like?

Whatever you fix will be fine. I’ll be in my office, catching up on the mail, paying the bills, and figuring the budget.

Sure. I continue down, turn the corner and then snap around. Dad!

What?

Ah . . . can we . . . ah . . . go over the forms I have to fill out for college? They look kind of complicated.

Now?

I’m already behind. I need to get it all in tomorrow.

He runs his hands through his hair. I guess the budget can wait.

The forms don’t take as long as I thought. We sit at the dining room table, Dad’s signature glaring at me from the bottom of one page. So, what are you thinking about taking? he asks.

I don’t know. Basic required courses to start with, like general studies. After that, will see.

Your mom would be proud of you.

I know.

He starts to rise.

Dad. Tell me about when you and Mom met.

You’ve heard that story many times.

From Mom. You’ve never told it. I want to hear it from you.

It’s still early enough that he may try tackling the budget again, maybe go online and look at the accounts. He sits down and I breathe easier. A sad smile plays on his face and I suddenly become glad that I asked. He laughs under his breath. It was a blind date with your Aunt Suzie. I had never done a blind date before. I was kind of cornered into it by a couple of college buddies. I almost backed out at the last minute. I show up at the door and your mother opens it, a skinny girl I had absolutely no interest in. Too young, was my first thought, figuring it was Suzie. ‘Suzie has the flu,’ she says. I’m actually relieved. ‘Oh. Okay,’ I say. I turn around to walk away. ‘I’ll go out with you,’ your mother says. Brazen and bold, skinny, but beautiful, and too young. ‘No thanks,’ I say and continue walking. ‘What? You’re good enough for my sister, but not me?’ Dad laughs out loud and shakes his head. That’s your mother.

Yes, I say. That’s Mom. But it didn’t work out, did it?

No. She was a bare nineteen. I was twenty-four. We went to a movie that turned out lousy, hit a new fast food place that made hamburgers out of cardboard and then sat and tried to have a conversation. I bored her and she bored me. It had to be the most miserable date either of us had ever been on. He picks up my forms, juggles them into a neat pile and sets them back down. Good memories.

Then what happened. I don’t imagine there was a marriage proposal soon after.

He laughs again. Eight months later I’m taking flying lessons, sitting in the pilots’ lounge poking through a magazine, when suddenly there is this gorgeous thing in a white molded-to-fit jump suit standing in front of me. ‘Hi,’ she says. Her face is familiar but I can’t place it. ‘Tanya,’ she says. ‘We dated once.’ And then I remember . . . the date from hell. She tells me she’s taking gliding lessons and points outside to a glider nearly as beautiful as her. We agree to meet after our lessons for lunch. That’s where it began. Three years later, you came along.

Mom was pregnant with me during her senior year of college.

Yep. Thought you were going to be born in the middle of graduation, but, happily, you were stubborn. Still are.

I smile. If he only knew. I reach out and take his hand. Thank you, Dad. I think I really needed that. I’m very sincere. I think he needed it, too. Help me with dinner. We’ll throw something together. I want to hear more stories about Mom.

Sure. I’d like that.

And so together we work in the kitchen, father and daughter talking good memories; probably as close as we’re going to get for a very long time.

Just after midnight I transfer the last $9,000, study the road map one more time with the orange highlighter marking the route to Bozeman, Montana and then make three quiet trips to Mom’s car. On the last trip I drop a note in front of Dad’s door, and whisper, I love you, Dad. I’m sorry. Will he ever forgive me?

Chapter 3

August 6, Wednesday

Bozeman, Montana

I’m sitting on a bench in the middle of a park in the middle of the Montana State University campus, drained by the two day, fifteen-hundred mile trip, but absolutely in awe by the majesty surrounding my new home. It is like a postcard and my camera sits, broken, on my desk in Texas. I must get a new one. I can’t let this time in my life go by without it becoming a part of my digital scrapbook. To the west are streaks of yellows, golds, bronzes and reds, accented by wee wisps of clouds. In one place golden rays shoot high into the sky; a heavenly light show. To the south, east and north giant mountains loom over me, their tops lit by the setting sun; one actually has snow. I want to call Dad and tell him what it is like. I talked to him once, from Colorado and then turned my phone off. He was angry, but he wasn’t coming after me. I didn’t think he would. As much as I want to share this, I can’t face his words again, not yet, especially since the next time I talk to him he will probably know about the money. I have no one else to talk to. I used to be close to Aunt Suzie, but that has all changed. All my friends have dumped me. I am all alone.

While my computer boots up I watch the constantly changing sunset, take deep breaths, suck in the smells, and bask in the warm, dry air against my skin. This feels so right that I almost can’t stand it. My journal comes open and I look toward where I think Mom is, off in the northwestern edge of the glow in the sky. It is like she is there, smiling down at me, approving of what I’m doing, watching over me. Maybe I’m not completely alone. My hands fall naturally onto the keyboard.

Mom,

Please don’t be angry with me. I had to come here. It was meant to be. I’ll be up to see you as soon as I’m sure I can handle it, as soon as I’m sure I’m ready. I had to take the money; Dad wasn’t being rational. I promise I will use it wisely, just as you would have wished. I am who I am and this is where I’m meant to be at this time. I have no doubt in that. There is more journey yet to go. I am here to learn about life, about death, about Smilodon. I have to study them, these great cats. They are part of me, and I a part of them. When I go to visit you, I will be visiting them as well. No choice. I have to do it before they are gone. There is a reason I have the abilities that I have; I just don’t know, yet, what it is. Everything that has happened to this day has been designed to bring me to this place, right now, right here, and this place shall prepare me to continue on to someplace else I am meant to go.

Tears flow, unchecked, down my cheeks. There is no one to see except Mom, and He who paints the sky, and I hope and pray that they both understand. I turn my face back down to the keyboard and type.

The journey has begun.

Chapter 4

December 25, Thursday

No beautiful sunset today, but the snow is awesome. If it was summer I’d want to pack it into a cup and pour strawberry syrup over it. It is not summer. The clouds hang low and heavy. It is eighteen degrees. It’s supposed to get to zero tonight. Wow! Talked to Dad a little this morning and talked to Christi even less. She was cold. I miss her. I miss home. I miss Mom. I miss our family Christmas. Dad is still angry with me.

Talk about stubborn.

There are only a small handful of us hanging around the campus during Christmas vacation. The lonely. The unwanted. Carla found a local friend to spend Christmas day with in Bozeman. I really don’t know Carla. Don’t know much about Mandi either, though she’s the only friend I have in Bozeman, in the entire world, actually. We only became friends when break started so before that I was totally friendless. She’s a walker and is probably out walking to the other side of the town and back. She’s from Canada; acclimated to these temperatures. You’re not going to catch me out walking. I don’t care how much clothes I put on, I’m still cold. I’ve been warned that there will be days when zero will be the high. I hope they’re joking.

Already had to put money into Mom’s car. It almost froze to death a couple of weeks ago. Had to get it winterized and a heater put in the engine block. I have to plug the damn thing in if it gets really cold. What do they mean by really cold and where the hell am I going to plug it in? Whoever heard of plugging in a car anyway, unless it runs solely on batteries? Give me a break! Now it’s buried under snow. I hope it’s alive come Spring.

I close my journal and push my computer aside. I’m snuggled under blankets in my room on the freshman floor in Hapner Hall, the girls residency dorm. I don’t like it. It’s weird but you’d think I would. In high school I had lots of friends, was semi-popular, enjoyed crowds and big groups. Ever since Cancun it has all changed. Cancun was my senior trip. It’s where I started reading aura, and where I foresaw a guy getting bit by a snake and then dying. It’s where I discovered that I was weird. It’s where my friends, my best friend, discovered I was weird. I wasn’t so popular all of a sudden. And then I decided I had to know for sure that the sabre-toothed cats that Dad tangled with eight years before, really did exist. I had to see for myself. So off I went to Montana where I did in fact prove to myself that sabre-toothed cats roamed in the Montana mountains. The trip from hell, no doubt about it. First Dad came after me and then Mom came after me and then suddenly we’re being chased around the mountains by men with semiautomatic weapons and night-vision goggles, Victor Vandermill’s killers. Sam, Samantha Sikorski, was his target and it’s because of me deciding to crash in her place that he was after her. Before I knew it he and almost all of his men were dead, along with Matt’s dad, Sam and my mom. And now