Firewatch Ch 12

The car door breaks the stillness, and Wilde reaches into the back of the rental for her camera. Flores zips up her windbreaker and follows Wilde past the small restroom building to a path winding into the trees. It’s pretty, but not peaceful. The temperature is low enough that Flores can see her breath. The quiet in the town was uncomfortable. This is different. Oppressive.

“Wilde.”

Wilde looks back. “Yeah?”

“Do you think this woman is dangerous?”

“Aria Durano? Probably.”

“Should we have backup?”

“Nearest field office is in Seattle. I’m not waiting.”

Flores has to agree. She’s not convinced that Hailee Siegel is in physical danger, but it’s possible. They have to move. She’s just not used to feeling this way.

Wilde senses it. She looks almost pitying. “Get used to it.”

Flores shakes her head and follows.

A hint of woodsmoke hangs on the still air and grows stronger as they crest a rise, coming into view of a reasonably sized blue tent. Folding chairs, a trash bag—Flores spots and catalogs only normal camping equipment. Wilde lifts her camera on its strap around her neck and removes the lens cap, nodding to Flores and indicating a sign with her eyes. The sign cautions campers from hiking at night due to the prevalence of mine shafts on the mountain.

Wilde takes several pictures. A little blue smoke rises from the fire pit in front of the tent. A small, folding table holds a pan on a towel. Breakfast was cooked, and the pan was washed. Flores counts three folding chairs. She sniffs the air, but woodsmoke is all there is.

“Hello? Is there anyone here?” she says in a normal speaking voice.

Wilde hasn’t called out. She approaches the fire pit, camera in hand, eyes searching.

“What are you looking for?” Flores asks quietly.

“That.” Wilde brings up her camera, the lens pointed at a red 3-ring binder sitting on top of a green backpack. She photographs it, then bends and reaches out.

A twig snaps, and Flores whirls.

Hailee Siegel stands at the tree line, some sticks under her arm. She wears a puffy vest over a pink hoodie. Her hair’s up in a quick, messy bun and she wears minimal makeup. Nothing unexpected for someone camping in the Oregon woods.

Her eyes are on Flores’s hand, which is on her gun.

Flores smiles. “Sorry.” She takes her hand off the gun and covers it with her windbreaker. “FBI.”

That seems to startle the young woman. “Whoa.”

“Hailee Siegel?” Wilde says.

She’s wary. “Yeah.”

“I’m Special Agent Wilde. This is Special Agent Flores. Your parents are worried about you, Hailee.”

“Well, I’m 21.” She folds her arms. “They sent the FBI after me?”

“Are you in danger or under any sort of duress? If so, we can get you out of here right now, no questions asked,” Flores says.

“No. I’m not under duress.”

Flores believes her. Relieved, she starts to breathe again. “Ms. Siegel, you were reported missing because you didn’t communicate your travel plans with your parents, with whom you reside. If you had told them where you were going, this could’ve been avoided.”

“Yeah. Sorry about that,” Hailee says, looking back and forth between them. There’s sweat on her forehead.