There had never before been a time when Pam sought refuge in the woods. Hiking didn't jibe with being an indoor kid and nature, in all its wet, leafy glory, had never made her heart skip like it did other people. Give her a good book and a quiet library – or, more recently, a good drink and a crowded club.
On the other hand, the woods were the one place where she was pretty much guaranteed to avoid Constantine and friends. Or coworkers. Or neighbors. Not that she was hiding from anyone. This was more of a tactical retreat. If she couldn't put in more hours at the garage, and she didn't want to loiter around in bars in the daytime like a loser, Pam could at least pretend she was getting some exercise.
Not running – Christ, never that – but stretching her legs. Trying not to trip over roots and forest debris. Flicking her hand repeatedly at insects that wouldn't quit buzzing at her.
As retreats went, it didn't feel very tactical. Trouble was, she had no idea where she was anymore. So sticking to the path and trudging on was her only option. There had to be a sign around here somewhere…