Chapter 3
AUTUMN
Morning came slowly.
Or maybe it just felt that way because I was still drenched, still cold, and still huddled under the shallow rock overhang like some washed-up stray. The fire I’d managed to start had done little. Setting up the tent in a clearing wasn’t an option. Too risky.
So much for a starfish sleep!
I reached for my phone. It should’ve been charged. I’d plugged it into my power bank before sleeping and tucked it away so it stayed dry.
I pressed the button. Nothing.
I held it down longer. Still dead.
Yanking out the power bank, I checked the connection. No blinking light. No charge.
Fuck! Something must’ve shorted it out. I had no clue where the hell I was, except that the Blodgett trailhead was way behind me. Turning around could be an option, but it was too dangerous.
Think, Autumn.
I’d glimpsed the map last night before my battery gave out, so I had a general idea. I just needed to keep heading south.
The useless phone went back into my crossbody bag.
I pulled myself up, and pain shot up my leg. I bit back a curse, gripping the nearest tree for balance. My ankle wasn’t broken, but it sure as hell wasn’t happy with me.
Anyway, it didn’t matter. I couldn’t stay. That stiff-necked bastard would find me.
I gave my surroundings a quick scan. There was no sign of him. No sign of the dog.
It was time to move.
The first few steps were a mess, stumbling over roots, every movement making my ankle protest. The swelling wasn’t terrible. On pavement, I’d have managed just fine. But with the pack on my back and the trail underfoot, even a mild ache felt like a parade of pain.
I adjusted and kept my steps even and controlled enough not to do more damage, but fast enough that I wouldn’t be stuck out here another night.
The sun had finally started breaking through the clouds. I tilted my face toward it, tracking its position.
South.
I hoped I was going south.
I had no phone. No GPS. No backup plan.
But I still had two working legs.
Well, one and a half, maybe.
So I kept walking.
The sun had burned off the last of the morning chill and turned relentless.
After dragging myself through every uphill scramble and downhill slide, I finally saw it.
A wooden trail sign, grayed and cracked with age, but still upright.
The rectangular board was mounted to a single post with metal brackets.
Buffaloberry Hill — 6 miles
I stared.
Then, before I could stop myself, I whooped.
Triumphant. Borderline unhinged.
“Eat that, Jimmy Van Beek! I know how to hike.” I threw my arms wide, resisting the urge to shout it up the hill. Stiff-Neck might still be lurking, but I already had a running list in my head of how to make toenail Jimmy regret ever standing me up.
For just that moment, I forgot everything else.
The soaked clothes. The twisted ankle. And the fact that my last sip of water had been…well, long enough ago that I probably should’ve been more concerned.
But I only had to make it six more miles.
I forced my aching legs into motion, picking up my pace just enough to push forward. I needed to get out of these woods.
And I did, mostly. The trees thinned until I was out on open rock, the treeline shrinking below me. No shade. No cover. Just heat. My mouth felt like sandpaper.
“God, I need water,” I muttered.
I rubbed my eyes. There was a shimmer of blue between the trees below. Water. But it flickered out like a mirage.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!”
If only my bottle had still been functioning, with no bullet holes and no crisis, then I could’ve gotten all the water from the rain last night. My head pounded, my tongue felt thick, and I kept blinking just to stay sharp. I was stupid-thirsty. Stupid enough to start seeing things.
Then, I spotted the sign.
Buffaloberry River →
I squinted and really stared, making sure I wasn’t imagining it. It looked legit, with the same shape and mounting as the one I passed earlier, but older. The arrow pointed toward a narrow dip in the trees.
“Finally,” I breathed. “Okay. Let’s go.”
It looked doable. A shallow slope, a few trees to grab onto. Nothing I couldn’t manage.
“One tree at a time,” I told myself. “You’ve done dumber stuff than this.”
Then the ground dropped out harder than expected. Steeper. Slicker. The kind of descent that’d eat you alive on the way back up without ropes or common sense.
I paused, swaying slightly, and my breath stuttered.
“Shit. Don’t be an idiot.”
But I could hear it now. Water. And not just a trickle. It was moving water. My throat ached just imagining it.
I scanned below. Trees, brush, and flashes of silver through the green.
I can make it.
I grabbed the next trunk, then the next. My boots skidded, but I kept going. Down, down, faster now. Then came a jolt.
Dammit! My pack had caught on a low branch.
A bird shot from the limbs above.
Then came the crack.
It was violent. And too close.
“No—no, no!”
The tree groaned, and its base tore free.
The next thing I knew, it fell. Not on me, but my pack was still tangled in it.
And there I went.
As I rolled, something gave inside my shoulder, a deep, wrong kind of slide, and then the pain was everywhere, howling down my arm.
“Oh, God…”
The tree didn’t stop. It kept dragging. The slope dropped again, and this time there was nothing but air beneath.
If it rolled off that next ledge, I’d be gone with it.
I clawed at my pack, but the waist strap held tight. I fumbled with my good hand, my fingers shaking, fighting the clip, my teeth gritting through the pain.
“Come on. Come on. Don’t you dare die on a buckle!”
The strap finally gave. I shoved myself sideways, the tree lurching again behind me. It scraped downhill through dirt and rocks, then vanished over the drop.
I wasn’t tumbling, but gravity still had me. Bit by bit, the slope dragged me away from the trail toward god-knows-where.
My boots kicked, my legs scrambled, and my hands clawed for roots, rocks, anything. But nothing held. The ground kept pulling, until something jerked me to a stop.
White-hot pain ripped through my leg.
Something had punctured my calf. Blood started pooling, mixing with the mud. I couldn’t tell what had pierced me, only that it had gone in deep and wasn’t letting go.
I choked on a sob and tried to move, but my right shoulder gave a sickening pulse of protest. There was no strength there. No use.
The irony wasn’t lost on me. Whatever jagged thing had stabbed my leg was also keeping me from sliding further.
My head swam. I tried lifting my leg just enough to see if I could pull it free, but the pain surged so hard that it almost blacked me out. I collapsed back, my vision tunneling.
Time stretched, unchanging. Then came the sound of snuffling. Something moved.
It took effort, but I got my eyes open.
Black and white fur filled my vision. And I felt a wet nose close to mine.
Stiff-Neck’s dog!
My heart jerked back to life. If the dog were here, then he might not be far behind.
This is it.
My leg throbbed, my shoulder pulsed, and all I had were useless limbs and a rising dread. But the dog wasn’t growling. She was nosing my leg, sniffing the blood, then coming back to nudge my face.
“Lulu,” I rasped. I was pretty sure that’s what he’d called her.
She perked up at the name.
It was still just the two of us. She kept circling, restless. Maybe the man had ditched her. Or maybe she had more sense and ditched him.
Then she looked toward the top of the slope with her ears alert and her nose lifted, reading the air like only dogs can.
And she bolted.
“Lulu! Wait…”
She didn’t look back.
I sagged into the dirt, pain rolling over me in waves. My throat felt like dust. The river—I could almost taste it in the air. So close. But I couldn’t get to it. Couldn’t get anywhere.
My strength drained fast. I had to hold on to something. Anything.
To my left, I spotted something solid, maybe a stump. I crawled toward it, dragging myself like the hand of a clock, my injured leg acting as the center pin I had to pivot around.
It was the base of an old tree, long fallen, the bark worn smooth. My left arm hooked around it and didn’t let go. There was just enough space to rest my head. The moss met my cheek, and my breaths came slower.
I didn’t know who I was praying to. But in my head, I swore that if I made it through, this would be a story I’d tell my future students. People thought Physical Education was all push-ups and whistles, but half the syllabus was psychology. And right now? I was the living case study.
Was I proving anything? Or just stalling death?
I drifted. Then came back. And drifted again.
By the time I registered the sky again, it was sunset. If something hadn’t eaten me yet, maybe it had just taken a leg and called it a day.
The thought came too late, but it surfaced anyway.
I should’ve stayed on the trail.