You're probably waiting for me to tell you how terrible it was to turn back and walk through that cave and believe me, it was no picnic, but we had the time to pull a flashlight from my backpack – much more useful than the lighter Jackson had since cast over the edge of the mountain – and the freedom to use it now that that thing wasn't around.

We could put our heads down this time and pretend that we hadn't seen all the horrible things that lay strewn about that cave. And even though I didn't really want to be here, it was a better alternative to the harsh outdoors considering my steps were coming slower than they should have been. I'd rather plug my nose, grin and bear it within the confines of a smelly cave than freeze to death. This being the same cave I couldn't get out of fast enough just a few moments before. Priorities and perspective can change at the drop of a hat; life is funny that way.

Like I said, we kept our heads down. Both of us were used to the stench by now after being subjected to it for the past fifteen to twenty minutes, maybe more, and it was easy to ignore the discarded articles of clothing and all the other debris, keeping it in the corner of my eye, never stopping for a closer look. I knew they would be more vivid, more horrific now that they were fully illuminated and not cast in the dim light of a flickering flame. I'm sure that Jackson, though he obviously has issues, felt much the same way.

We kept a steady pace, didn't say much to each other. After all that running my heretofore frozen muscles, exhausted as they may be, were actually feeling warm again and even if I wasn't eager to go back out in the frigid wilderness, I didn't want to lose that feeling. Sometimes, no matter how tired you are, the worst thing you can do is stop.

"Lisa," Jackson said, breaking the silence. One word and that was enough.

By the tone of his voice and the formality – calling me Lisa instead of Leese – I knew it had to be important.

"What?" I asked, chancing an upward glance and seeing the vague light at the other end of the tunnel.

It meant that we were almost out of here, had almost put some real distance between us and that monster, if it were still alive or in any condition to come after us, and it also meant that when we did reach the entrance of the cave the tattered remains of that poor hunter would be waiting for us; the poor soul whose boots and heavy jacket had saved my skin, though certainly not his. But I didn't have his boots, did I? Between his death and the monster's reappearance, I hadn't had the chance. In retrospect, that was probably for the best. I never would have gotten very far in oversized boots.

With that said, I still needed, and had to get, those damn boots.

I stopped out of necessity and approached. It wasn't much of a consolation that the creature had deemed them inedible and thrown them to the side. I was however, thankful that I didn't have to go searching for them. They'd been cast aside like I said, about a yard from where the dead man lay. I snatched them up and put them on faster than you could say "it stinks in here" and though I could see him in my peripherals, I never actually looked at his remains. Some things are better left to the imagination. Keep going, onward and upward, as they say.

As I closed the small gap and stepped over what was left of him, I held my breath and gripped the jacket tight, almost gagging when those oversized boots slipped in something that was greasy, yet cloying. I tried to convince myself it was mud, but I knew all too well it wasn't.

"No," I groaned before I ever realized I had opened my mouth and when I took a deep breath, the smell hit me full force. I'd become accustomed to the odor of decay that had surrounded me in the depths of the cave, but this was different, this was fresh and it had an impact that was every bit as effective as a slap in the face; the air so thick with blood and death that I could almost taste it.

"Jack."

I don't know why I called for him and I don't know why I felt so comforted when he reached back and took my hand, but I knew I was grateful to have him there and in some strange way I was thankful to have seen this human side of him, baffling as it was.

I miss kindness. You just don't see much of it these days. I don't think people are uncaring per se, just pressed for time; running errands on their lunch breaks, rushing to and from work, juggling family, friends, and careers…all of it. We get so busy; we tend not to notice one another. No one knows that more than me. I used to be the exact same way before the gleam of a knife and a new, harsh reality taught me to be more observant; there were some people, some things in this world that refused to be shut out.

After the rape, the first night anyway, I couldn't get out of bed. I stayed there, thinking about it, replaying it and wondering what I could have done differently with the aid of hindsight. The actual physical pain of those recollections and the constant sinking feeling in my stomach is what got me moving again. I knew that no matter what, I couldn't tolerate feeling that way for long. That left me with two options; fall apart or pick myself up and face the world again. I could handle being swamped with work and responsibility, I could allow myself to get so tied up in my own obligations that I didn't have time to sleep, let alone think, but I couldn't feel that specific sort of emotional pain ever again. Unless you've gone through it, you can never understand and I probably can't describe it in a way that would do it justice, but think about the greatest despair you've ever known. Maybe it was something someone did to you or maybe it was something you might have done to another; it doesn't matter, just remember that guilt or shame, remember feeling low, then magnify that by ten and strap a 200 pound weighted belt around your shoulders.

Yeah, it feels just a little like that…..

Now do you understand why I became a workaholic?

The sky was clear when we stepped outside, both of us thankful to have that unpleasant leg of the journey behind us but not really knowing what we should do next.

"We need to hunker down, Leese, get warmed up and see what's in that backpack of yours."

And when he said hunker down I just assumed he meant someplace other than a cave filled with human remains.

"But where?" I asked, wiggling my toes as I spoke to make sure they were still there. I couldn't feel them and if I made it out of this, if we made it out of this, with all ten still healthy, pink and permanently attached, it would be a miracle. It might seem hard to believe but I didn't fear the loss of a toe or two. My greater concern was hypothermia, not the luxury of being able to wear open toed shoes on a hot, summer day. I was getting tired and considering I was unused to the cold weather, I could feel myself starting to freeze up again, slowing down more and more. If my body shut down my pinkie toes would be the least of my problems and the thought of warming up, getting a little blood flowing through this aching body sounded like music to my ears. And I already told myself that if Jackson could find us shelter and maybe even get a fire going, I would gladly plant a sloppy kiss on those full lips of his and offer to have all his children.

He stopped so abruptly that I almost ran into him. I did run into him actually, but his feet were planted firmly on the ground and he stared ahead. I remembered that look. When he turned the corner and spotted me across that crowded airport he'd had that same look in his eyes; like nothing else in the world existed but his quarry.

"What do you see?" I asked.

"Over there," he responded, pointing up, but away from the edge of the mountain.

I didn't see anything that looked like a potential shelter or hiding spot, just a divot in the earth where one hill ended and another began.

I followed him anyway. He seemed overly confident, as usual, and I was too tired to care. Besides, after all that running and uphill climbing, walking downhill for a stretch sounded pretty good to me.

The outdoors looked even more desolate than I'd remembered. The barren trees, stripped of their leaves as well as their branches, grew in spotted clusters across the hills and valleys, but the moon was still there, reflecting off the snow and the river, giving us light. Again, in the presence of its glamour, I felt that same sense of peace.

"Start looking for branches, Leese. Get the longest ones you can find."

"Okay," I answered, drawing a funny look from him before I realized I'd confused him by not arguing for once.

"You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, Jack."

"Why don't you give me that backpack then? It'll make your work a lot easier."

That was a good idea, wasn't it? Why hadn't the thought occurred to me? That couldn't be a good sign as the longer we stood out here in the driving wind, the more I felt like a car that had all but run out of gas.

Off I went though, didn't wander too far of course and I didn't need to. Branches weren't that hard to come by. Up in the hills, the winds were strong, but thankfully, the snow hadn't lasted that long and had formed drifts in some areas, leaving others almost completely bare.

As I brought those branches back, for reasons yet unknown, I stopped and studied Jackson as he opened the backpack and pulled out what appeared to be a folded sheet of plastic.

"Yes," I heard him exhale with relief. "This is good, this is good."

"Why are you so giddy?" I asked.

He held up a relatively small aluminum can and his eyes lit up like a set of Christmas lights. "Canned heat; we can't light a fire, for lots of reasons, but this will get the job done and be discreet. Like me," he finished with a chuckle.

That's when I noticed the pile of leaves beside him.

"What are you going to do with those?" I asked.

"I'm going to build a shelter, a Dugout shelter if you must know, a place for us to hide out and even have something to eat," he said, pulling an MRE out of Lindsay's pack. "I'm going to kiss her feet if we ever see them again. She sure did come prepared."

She sure did, but I couldn't help but wonder if Emmitt had done the same and how the two of them were faring without her share of the supplies. For a brief moment, I was gripped with worry. Then quickly, I realized how self defeating that was given the circumstances. No good could come over worrying about things I couldn't possibly change.

Wow, why did it take a situation like this to spark such awareness?

"This is great, Leese. Finally, life is handing us something other than heaping plates of shit."

"Yeah," I responded. I wondered what was worse, the flat tone of my voice, or the fact that I didn't care how blasé I sounded.

I saw the look of concern in his eyes. Not because he's a humanitarian, I'm sure. We were dependent on each other and wouldn't get out of here alive if we didn't stick together. The last thing he wanted was for me to turn into a pillar of ice, fall to the ground and shatter.

It didn't take him long to lay the first layer of branches down, followed by a thick coating of leaves. At that point, he turned to me and told me to get underneath; fire up the canned heat and warm myself up while he finished the job…such an interesting choice of words on his part.

"Tell me something," I began when he joined me minutes later and I watched as his face dropped.

I think he knew what was coming and why I was asking. Here was the man who had stalked me for eight weeks. He no doubt had cameras set up throughout my home, knew that I sometimes woke at 3:00 in the morning to cook up a therapeutic helping of scrambled eggs; he'd seen me laugh, seen me cry….and cry, and cry.

"All that time you watched me, did you ever think…suspect that I'd been…,"

He took a deep breath, paused and thought carefully before he responded.

"Lisa,"

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Author's Note: Dang, I've updated two stories in less than a month. Dare I say I'm on a roll?

Thanks again to everyone for taking the time to read and/or review. I also want to thank you for your patience during my more than ten month absence!

And, as always, thanks to emptyvoices, who is always willing to brainstorm with me.