Stranded

Prologue

Tanalian Mountain Trail

Lake Clark National Park and Reserve, Alaska

There was something about the fresh, crisp Alaskan air that always both enlivened and calmed Whitley Travers.

She didn’t pretend to understand it or even try to figure it out.

She just knew the land resonated deep within her and burrowed into her marrow, grounding her for life.

And it didn’t seem that anything could curdle that feeling.

Not even the noisy grumbles of the hikers ahead of her as they ambled up the craggy trail with her father, Rick, in the lead.

She’d heard plenty of complaining before and would no doubt hear it again with the next group.

Their clients often grew weary on the longer hikes and they weren’t shy about voicing it.

“Come on, gang, we got about another half hour,” her father said, continuing his pace.

Maria, a stout woman with a nasally voice, spoke her concern. “That long?” Her laborious pack was weighing her down while her hands were white-knuckled around her trekking poles. “I can already see the lake.”

“That doesn’t mean our camp is close,” another client, this one called Otter, said.

He sneered back at her and adjusted the oversized pack on his wiry shoulders.

Otter was a know-it-all, a smart-ass, and Whit wasn’t sure how he got his nickname, but to her he did indeed look like an otter with his elongated torso and narrow front teeth.

This Otter, however, was neither cute nor amusing to watch.

His attitude alone was enough to put her off, and that was difficult to do, considering her father always said she had the heart of a lion and the patience of Job.

Maria didn’t respond to Otter’s chastising and the group carried on, just as they’d been doing the last few hours after having ignored Otter’s other numerous snide comments.

Whit had heard the saying about tension being so thick one could cut it with a knife, but she’d never truly understood it until this particular outing with Otter and his uncanny ability to make people uncomfortable.

She hoped her father knew how to diffuse the growing strain.

She mused that he did, as he seemed to know how to do just about anything.

But then again they’d never had anyone like Otter as a client before.

At least she hadn’t been along to witness one anyway.

The aromatic fragrance of pines mingled with the rich scent of recently rained on earth as she stared at Maria’s thick legs slogging through the mud in front of her.

The late afternoon was cool and heavy with moisture as low-hanging storm clouds loomed overhead.

Whit hoped they made camp before another downpour, otherwise they would get soaked.

That would mean more complaining, and that was something she could do without.

Thunder growled in the distance, as if agreeing with her, letting her know complaining clients were indeed a pain in the backside.

She smiled at that and kept walking, stopping quickly however, as Maria tripped over a stone and stumbled ahead of her.

Whit quickly cupped her elbow to steady her, and once she regained her bearings, they continued on.

Whit focused up ahead this time, tired of the relentless pounding of Maria’s struggling footfalls.

And what a sight to behold. The lake had come into view with its smooth, dark turquoise allure, gleaming like a magical gem beneath the gathering thunderheads.

Again she thought about the incredible beauty of this land with its numerous threads of thick trees, vast serrated mountains, jewel-like waters, and ever-abundant wildlife.

God, how she loved it. And she loved that her father allowed her to come along on his guided excursions to experience such beauty.

She’d been doing that since she was eight.

Four years now. He even paid her upon return for helping out with the clients.

She incessantly tucked the cash away in an old tube sock under her bed, saving up for her very own ATV.

She only had a few more guided tours to work until she had enough for a used one.

Her mother, of course, wasn’t crazy about her spending her hard-earned money on an ATV.

But she was wise enough to know she couldn’t talk Whit out of it once her father gave his permission.

Besides, Whit could ride the ATV into town and run errands.

Her mother would be happy with that. She just had to wait and see.

“I need to stop,” Maria let out, halting in front of her. Her back arched and she was resting all her weight on her poles for support.

“What’s wrong?” Jerry, Maria’s ever-faithful husband, asked as he hurried back to tend to her. “You need some water?” He slid his water bottle from his belt, but she shook her head, refusing it.

“I can’t go on,” she breathed. “I need a break.”

Whit set down her own walking poles and placed her hand on the small of Maria’s back to encourage her to straighten so she could breathe better.

Maria complied, but doing so seemed to cause pain as her red face contorted and a groan escaped her dry lips.

“Here, let’s take off your pack,” Whit said.

She unbuckled the heavy pack and eased it off her shoulders.

“Everything okay?” Whit’s father asked from the front of the group. Without waiting for a response, he wove between hikers until he reached Jerry and Maria, a look of serious concern on his ruddy face.

“Maria’s beat,” Jerry said solemnly.

Her father rested his hands on Maria’s shoulders and stared into her eyes. “Take long, deep breaths,” he said. “Fill up your lungs.”

As she did so, Whit noticed that her legs were trembling, along with her hands.

“We need to get her to camp,” Whit said, giving her father a knowing look. “I’ll carry her pack.”

Her father nodded, understanding her silent concern. “Can you walk a little farther to camp, Maria? Without your pack? It’s just ahead.”

Maria bent once again, resting her hands on her knees. “I’ll try.”

“Keep standing straight,” her father said, angling her up. “You breathe better when you’re upright, okay?”

“Okay.”

“We’ll take it slow,” he said.

“Jesus Christ, we’re already going to get rained on,” Otter spat. “Now we gotta slow down because of her ass?”

Blood rushed to Whit’s face, just as it seemed to have rushed to Jerry’s. He looked at Otter and spat back.

“Why don’t you shut the hell up, Otter?”

Her father raised his palms. “Everybody calm down. Jerry, Maria, you stay back with me. Everyone else can go on to camp with Whit.” He motioned for Whit to hand over Maria’s pack.

Whit gave it to him and moved to walk to the front of the group. Otter cut her off, looking disgusted.

“Great, so now you’re pawning us off on your kid? I paid good money for this trip and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let some weak, lazy ass woman ruin it or a little kid lead it.”

Her father bored a hole into Otter but didn’t speak for several seconds.

Whit knew he was pissed. She could tell by the firm set of his strong jaw and the pulse of the wormy vein in his temple.

Otter had better watch it. Her father, once upset, couldn’t be reckoned with.

Many a drunk man in a bar had found that out the hard way.

“Otter, I understand your frustrations, but you need to keep them to yourself. Everyone is doing the best they can. And remember what I said about working as a team. It’s just us versus nature out here. You’d be wise to remember that should you need someone’s help at some point.”

“Whatever, man. I’ll just go myself. I’m not waiting on some fat bitch or some kid.”

Jerry spun around, hands knotted into fists. “What did you say, you son of a bitch?”

Otter sneered again. “Whoa, he comes to life again. For a while there, man, I thought you didn’t have a sack. I thought your wife had it in her pack.”

“You motherfucker,” Jerry said as he lunged at him. But her father stepped in front of him and held him back.

“Jerry, Jerry, he’s not worth it,” he said. “He’s not worth it.”

“He’s talking about my wife, Rick.”

“I know. And he’s doing it to get a reaction.”

Maria covered her face and cried. Whit tried to comfort her, unsure what else to do as her father continued to hold Jerry away from Otter. But Otter, who was unrestrained, wasn’t backing down. He was still talking, still taking jabs at Jerry.

“Come on, you piece of shit. I’m right here.” He pulled out a hunting knife. One with a serrated blade.

Her father, who had his back to him, didn’t even see it.

And that’s when Jerry lunged once again, just as Otter charged, pushing her father against Otter.

Her father grunted at the contact and his eyes went wide.

The three men tangled on their feet for what seemed like an eternity, Jerry still trying to get at Otter, before her father slowly reached for his side and bellowed.

Otter backed away slowly then, withdrawing his knife, his thin face pale.

The serrated blade was slick with dark red.

“No,” Whit said, moving toward her father who promptly collapsed onto the ground.

“No!” She dropped to her knees and searched his torso frantically for the wound. He was slightly reclined, lying on his hefty pack. His hand shook as he brought it forward for inspection. They both stared at the blood.

“Dad, no!” She pulled him closer to her, trying to reach the blood-soaked patch of his shirt.

She pressed her hand to it and gagged at the hot surging blood against her palm.

“Dad,” she breathed. His wide eyes had glossed over, focused somewhere far away.

“Dad, look at me.” He shifted his longing gaze to her.

He attempted a smile. Covered her hand with his own trembling one.

“It’s okay,” he said. “It’ll be fine. Just get something to put pressure on the wound.”

Whit looked to Jerry, who was obviously in shock. Maria, who’d been crying, was now throwing up a few steps away. “Get me something!” Whit cried.

“What?” Jerry replied.

“A shirt, a bandana, anything. Hurry!”

Jerry first unfastened, and then slid out of his pack. He fumbled with the zipper before he got it open.

“Hurry!” Whit said. The blood was spewing out of her father, oozing through her fingers.

She pressed harder, causing her father to wince.

Jerry fished out a shirt. She shoved the folded fabric tightly against the wound.

It was soaked through in seconds. “Dad, tell me what to do.” She knew help was too far away.

There was no service for the cell phones, and the only way out to Anchorage or to a hospital was by plane from Port Alsworth.

It was the closest community, and it was a days’ hike away. They would never make it in time.

“Send for help,” her father said. “To Port Alsworth.” It was a hopeful suggestion at best, but he obviously had no other recourse either. Her heart sank in hearing his only proposition.

“I’ll go,” one of the other hikers said. His name was Pete. Next to her, he was the youngest of the group and very fit. “I can run back.”

“The terrain is too steep to run,” Jerry said.

Whit wanted to hear none of that. If Pete was willing to try and run she was going to encourage him to do it.

“Go,” Whit said. “And tell them to send a float plane.”

Pete slung off his pack, took a great deal of his belongings out of it to lighten the load, and swung it back on. “I’ll hurry,” he said. He took off at a brisk walk, using his poles for support on the muddy, rocky trail, following it back toward what little civilization there was.

“It’ll be okay,” her father said again. But now his lips were trembling, along with the rest of him. He was going into shock. Whit looked again to Jerry. “Cover him,” she said. “We need to keep him warm.”

“It’ll be okay,” her father said. His glossy eyes had that far off look again.

“Dad.” She gripped his hand. The one he’d had on his wound. It was sticky with blood. “Dad.” But he wouldn’t look at her.

“It’ll be…okay.” His trembling was worse. Spittle formed at the corners of his mouth. She was losing him.

“Jerry, blanket, now!”

Jerry found a blanket and tossed it to her. She quickly tucked it in around her father.

“Hang on, Dad. Just hang on.”

Slowly, as tears formed in her eyes and her throat grew tight and raw, her father’s gaze shifted back to hers.

“Whit,” he said.

“I’m here, I’m right here.” He was looking right at her but it seemed like he couldn’t see her.

He licked his dry lips. “Whit.”

“Yeah, Dad, I’m here.”

“Keep them safe.”

She forced a swallow and clenched her eyes. “No, Dad. You’re gonna be fine. You’re—”

He gripped her hand. “Lead…them out.”

“No.” She shook her head. “You’re going to do that with me. You’re going to be fine.”

“Lead them,” he said again. His gaze drifted beyond her once again and froze.

“Dad.” She blinked at him. “Dad.” He wasn’t moving. Wasn’t breathing.

She shoved him. “Dad!” He didn’t react. “Dad!” She hit him in the chest. Again and again. Jerry pulled her away, but she fought him.

“Let me go!”

“He’s gone,” Jerry said. “Whit, he’s gone.”

She angrily yanked off her pack and collapsed onto her father. “Don’t leave me, Dad. Don’t—” Sobs overtook her, and this time, Jerry backed away and the rest of the group stood around her quietly and let her cry.