Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
LINDY
T he moment I pull the blindfold off, I blink rapidly and shield my eyes from the sun.
I exhale slowly and take a look around. There are several trails that he could have taken. Methodically, I start at the left and work my way right, checking for fresh prints. It’s a little scary to be on my own out here, but I know that Cody won’t be too far away, not to mention I have the whistle.
I crouch and scan for disturbances—a scuffed boot print, a shift in the ground, the way leaves have been displaced.
And there it is—a faint indentation in the soil a few feet to my left, partially covered but definitely there.
Gotcha! I give a little arm pump when I find Cody’s footprint.
I straighten, adjusting my stance, remembering what he told me about tracking: move with purpose, pay close attention every step of the way.
I follow the signs carefully. A crushed blade of grass. A faint shift in the undergrowth. My confidence builds, the thrill of it making my pulse beat in time with my steps. I’m doing it. I’m tracking him.
Everything feels great…and then the trail forks into two paths.
To my right, the ground slopes downward slightly, leading toward a cluster of thick trees. To my left, the path winds into denser brush with darker shadows.
I slow, scanning for signs.
There isn’t anything obvious on the trail, but there are also more rocks here. I see what looks like a footprint, but I can’t tell if it’s fresh or a week old.
I glance between both options. Left or right?
I roll my shoulders, shifting my weight as I replay Cody’s words in my mind. Trust yourself.
I take a steady breath and take the path to the left. There are more shadows, and the signs of Cody’s trail quickly disappear.
Fifteen minutes pass. Twenty.
My stomach twists, the first inkling of doubt settling in my gut. Should I go back to the fork? I didn’t go the wrong way. I couldn’t have. Cody’s trail was here—I saw it. Didn’t I?
Still, I stop hiking. The light is softer now, the sun sinking lower toward the ridge. Shadows stretch further across the ground. The air carries a deeper chill.
For the first time, I glance up. Everything looks the same, and nothing looks familiar.
In a frustrating rush, the confidence I had before starts to crack.
I put my hands on my hips and force myself to calm down. Nothing good will come if I lose my shit out here. Cody didn’t have to say that for me to understand that.
A pit forms in my stomach. Maybe I’m not cut out for this. But dammit, I couldn’t back down from the challenge with that jerk David. No. I remind myself that I’m doing this for me. No one said it would be easy, so I need to work on this like a new challenge.
My fingers tighten around the strap of my pack.
Cody wouldn’t have made this impossible. He left a trail—I just lost it. I take a deep breath and count to ten. I can work through this.
I start walking back toward the fork, and a gust of wind moves through the trees, making me shiver. The temperature is dropping as the sun lowers toward the horizon. There isn’t much light left.
I swallow hard. Would Cody hear if I called out for him? Should I use the emergency whistle? Or should I keep going? I know if I walk down, I should make it to a road…but what then? Would anyone be driving after dark? No, I tell myself. Hitchhiking after dark is probably worse than shivering under a tree all night.
I exhale, pressing my fingers to my forehead, trying to ignore how much my heart is hammering in my chest.
Cody will find me. He has to. Right?
I keep walking, exhaling slowly as I scan the ground, looking for footsteps other than my own. Where is the fork in the path? I should be back at the fork by now. How did I get even more lost? I see a fallen log ahead of me. I slow and think. Did I pass that before? Maybe? Everything looks the same right now. I should have marked my way as I came down this path.
I stop walking. I’m not getting anywhere except more and more lost, and the sun is going down. Should I try to make a camp? I have an MRE in my pack and a little bit of water. Enough water to boil for the food and enough to drink? I’m not sure.
A tight breath pushes through my chest. I should use the whistle.
But I don’t want to. I want to figure it out myself. I want to walk back into camp with the same confidence I had when I started this challenge, not as someone who had to be rescued.
Isn’t part of being smart knowing when to ask for help?
I get the whistle out of my pack and blow in sharp bursts until I’m out of breath. Sliding my pack off my shoulders, I find a dry spot by a tree and sit down to wait.
My breath catches at the sharp snap of a branch. Are there bears out here? I turn my head toward the sound, heart pounding against my ribs, as I brace for an encounter with a wild animal I have no chance against. The dim light makes it harder to see, shadows stretching long across the uneven ground, the trees shifting in the breeze.
A figure steps between the trees, and my breath rushes out in a single, uneven exhale, relief crashing into me so hard my knees nearly give out.
Cody. He came for me.
His gaze locks onto mine. Even in the low light, I see the relief on his face.
“Lindy.” His voice is low and steady.
Cody steps closer, and even though the air is cold, a heat surges through me.
I swallow hard. So much emotion races through me that I feel on the verge of sobbing. “You came for me. You found me.”
His gaze doesn’t waver. “I’ll always find you.”