Untraceable

Coleman

Stott

"Grace is a spunky, independent, nature girl who doesn't need a boy to save her. With wilderness survival, a juicy love triangle, and more twists
 
than a roller coaster, this fast-paced novel had me holding my breath until the very last page!"

Kimberly Derting, author of the popular
The Body Finder
series

"This thrilling story is a dramatic entanglement of mystery, deception and teen romance. The author has achieved a stunning, high-tension tale that takes the reader on a journey over rough terrain as it follows a young girl's quest to find the truth and protect the sanctity of a national park and the animals that owe their survival to it. These unique, lively characters will rouse a gamut of emotions in young adult readers. The action flows like a brisk mountain stream interspersed with rapids, holding suspense to last page and then leaving an intriguing teaser in anticipation of the sequel. It is a riveting tale of family ties, friendship and community loyalty."

Kirkus
Reviews

Coleman & Stott

Untraceable: The Nature of Grace series, Book 1

Copyright © S.R. Johannes, 2011

www.srjohannes.com

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictiously.

Cover photograph by Vania Stoyanova at VLC Photo.

Photograph copyright © 2001 Vania Stoyanova at VLC Photo

Internal design and typography by GraphicCat.com

All right reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means - electronic, photocopying,
 
mechanical, or otherwise - without prior permission of the publisher and author.

ISBN: 978-0-9847991-0-7

To my parents who always instilled courage, persistence, and a love of reading

- Ernest Hemingway

I
know the exact moment I went wrong.

Three weeks, two days, twenty-two hours, and thirty-three minutes ago.

I had no clue a few small decisions could puncture the perfect bubble of my existence.

I zigzag through the forest’s brown pillars like I’m barrel riding in a local rodeo. The internal rhythm keeps me running at a steady speed along the broken path.
Left, right, left, right
. My muffled breath echoes in my ears, making me feel as if I’m underwater. Sinking. Drowning.

Don’t stop, Grace, or you will die.

I veer off the main path and into the arms of the darkening woods. Gnarled branches, shaped like broken fingers, comb my hair and scratch my skin. I fight against a clump of twisted vines grabbing at my ankles. Jerking. Pulling. Ripping. The rhythm of my running becomes choppy and uneven as I sludge my way through the curled tangles of vegetation. My lungs sear from the lack of oxygen. Burning.

As soon as I round a corner, I slip behind a mammoth oak to catch my breath. A brown rabbit scurries by me and disappears into the safety of a prickly bush, giving me hope that maybe I can escape too.

My eyes dart across the monotonous woods, searching for a way out. I need to calm down. Can’t lose it now.

My chest rises and falls as my lungs finally pull in enough oxygen to settle my nerves. Pure air sweeps through my body like the dry wind over a starlit desert. Blowing away the doubt, and erasing aside the fear. Everything Dad’s ever taught me about wilderness survival comes flooding in.

Suddenly, I know exactly what to do.

Examining my GPS watch, I pinpoint my coordinates and map a way out. After assessing the area, I tiptoe out of my hiding place and backtrack down the trail, careful not to disturb anything along the path that will give away my position.

I disguise my tracks all the way back to Dead Man’s Cliff. After securing my backpack, I clutch onto the cragged rocks and scale the steep wall, careful to place every toe and finger just right. My palm hits a sharp edge and begins to bleed as both my arms spasm from the strain. My toes cramp underneath my weight as they press against the tiny ledges. I slowly creep up the steep rock like a lizard, careful not to send showers of rocks or crumbling dirt onto the path that now lies several feet below me. My arms quiver, threatening to numb.

When I finally reach the top, I fight against the pain and summon all my strength to pull myself over the ledge. Instantly, I roll onto my stomach and flatten against the cool dirt, scanning the horizon. Tiny pieces of sun punch through the thick canopy, dotting little amoebas of light along the forest floor. I listen for the slightest sound, search for the tiniest movement.

Nothing.

As a wildlife enforcement officer, Dad believed the woods would talk to me if I could be still enough to listen. Closing my eyes, I concentrate on the space around me.

Listening. Waiting. Afraid to breathe.

A light breeze slithers through the ghostly forest. The leaves rustle and the trees hiss as if whispering secrets to each other. The forest appears to exhale then hold its breath. Everything goes as quiet as a graveyard at midnight. Nothing scurries, burrows, or twitters. The trees stop swaying and freeze, as if they’re hiding too. And then I hear it: the distant snap of a random twig. The hair on my neck bristles.

They’re still after me.