2. Corinne
Corinne
“OH SWEET JESUS, CANDY!”
Apparently, I went too far after taking a right at the rock formation that looks like George Washington’s nose, because I’ve stumbled across a roaming band of surly chipmunks.
Marge’s map was spot on. If anything, Marge and Jade were underselling these vicious little woodland creatures’ tenacity and aggressiveness.
These little suckers are mean, and I’m pretty sure one of them’s wearing an eyepatch.
I didn’t get a good look at them as I strolled into what I can only describe as a trap.
A baby chipmunk was crying in the middle of the trail, and I was going to feed it some of my bear claw. But once I started rummaging through my pack, it shot to its feet, screeched a few times, and then a horde of chipmunks descended from the pines.
Which leads me back to my uncertain present situation—attempting to flee the angry horde.
CHCKCHCKCHCKSkkaaaareeeeee! The chipmunks sound like they’re out for blood.
I chuck my half-eaten bear claw over my shoulder, my arms and legs pumping faster than they ever pumped as I leap over logs, duck under branches, and pray to the mountain gods that someone saves me.
Unfortunately, the gods answer with a crash of thunder and a stitch in my side. If I make it out alive, I plan on upping my nonexistent cardio game. But the likelihood of leaving this mountain alive is slowly dwindling.
I chance a look and see the largest chipmunk raising the bear claw like some spoil of war. And he does have an eye patch—black fur slices through and circles one of his eyes as he stares me down.
I pause for a brief moment to catch my breath as he distributes the bear claw to the rest of his clan. They devour their pieces in seconds, turning their attention back to me.
Great. Just great. And to top it off, the rain is coming down hard. Jade was right, the storms move fast. But apparently, not as fast as these chipmunks.
“We’re not going to make it,” I huff to Candy in between breaths. She swings indifferently from my neck.
Chipmunks. Who’d have thought? Not bears. Not mountain lions, Bigfoot, or a misplaced step sending me careening down the mountain. Chipmunks will be the cause of my demise.
I blink away the rain stinging my eyes as I hear the chipmunk crew gaining on me, their chittering growing louder by the second.
Off in the distance, I see George Washington’s nose. I’m close. And— I have bear mace. It’s clipped to the side of my jeans. I unhook it as one of the little suckers leaps onto my leg. I shake it off, still running as I turn, aim, and blast a stream of hideous liquid behind me.
The chipmunks scatter, scampering up trees, all the while cursing me. The pirate chipmunk raises a tiny paw at me, and I let another spray rip in his direction. It sends him higher up the tree and me leaping into the air.
“Eat it, you little savages!”
If someone were to come across me right now… hoo boy. I know I look insane. I feel insane. But also accomplished in staving off a rather formidable foe.
I sigh, walking backwards slowly to make sure I’m not followed. Thankfully, I’m not. The chipmunks stay in their trees, and I head back to my car as the wind picks up and the rain slams against me.
I need to get off this mountain now.
This… is not good. And by this, I mean… that .
The squealing of my tires. The rain pounding against my car like I’m in a car wash, slapped by those long rubber flapping doohickeys, all the while my GPS screams at me to follow the new route.
Now, my visibility isn’t great, given the rogue hurricane that wandered up this mountain, but I can see that my new route would take me headlong over a sheer cliff I almost careened off of it a few moments ago because the tread on my tires is having difficulty with the rain.
Thankfully, the thick mud saved me. I guess…
I glance at my tattoo and laugh. It’s mostly gone except for one word: Live. Yes, I’d like to, but this storm is making it difficult. I knew I shouldn’t have updated my phone last night. And as I glance at the red sliver of battery, I should’ve charged it too.
I collapse against my steering wheel, my entire body aching because I can’t remember the last time I jogged, let alone sprinted like that. And that was after hiking through trails and following “shortcuts” Marge sketched out on her “map.”
“What are we going to do, Candy?”
Silence. Must still be moping about getting caught in the rain.
I sigh, slinking back in my seat before realizing that one: I have a phone. And two: IT HAS SERVICE! So I’d better use it before it runs out of battery, or this storm knocks out the single cellular tower that’s likely providing service to this town.
I yank my phone from the holder on my dash, unlock it, and then stare. And stare… Who am I supposed to call? Ghostbusters? 911? My mom? The— no, no, no…
Mackenzie is calling me yet again, and there goes what little calm I have left. I consider chucking my phone but resist, realizing that it’s my only option for a chance at help.
Lightning cracks, shaking the car, and I jolt, adrenaline tearing through me. I need to get it together, and fast, because I’m almost out of battery.
I take a few deep breaths, trying not to freak out when it hits me: Jade. Unfortunately, when I whip out the paper from my pocket, it’s completely soaked. The ink weeps, turning the numbers into a blurry mess. But then it hits me: Marge. I’ll call the Hungry Hiker!
I open up my web browser, and five minutes later, Google loads. This is not exactly promising, but neither is my situation, so I hammer out Hungry Hiker and wait. And wait. And wait… Until, finally, the webpage loads, but there isn’t a phone number on the listing. Cool. Cool, cool, cool.
After spending the next couple of minutes not freaking out, I tap on the website, and thankfully, it loads in less than a minute. I find a phone number on a menu after frantically searching the homepage.
It rings a half dozen times before someone answers the phone, but they tell me to hold on, slamming the phone on a counter before walking away.
I hear low, incomprehensible conversation coming through the line.
Laughter too. That’d be nice—being in a safe place or a state of mind conducive to laughter that isn’t accompanied by hysterical crying.
“Hello?” I yell into the phone, hoping someone hears me. “Marge? Jade?”
Someone picks up the phone, but it’s not Marge or Jade. All I hear is breathing. Some smacking of lips. And then a soft, “Hello.”
“Hi…”
“Hello— Put the phone down Abigail ,” a soft but stern voice cuts through in the distance. Marge.
“Byebye.”
The phone rattles, and then the line goes dead. That toddler has no idea that she just sealed my fate. I tap frantically to redial the number, and thankfully, the call goes through a moment later.
“Hungry Hiker,” Marge answers.
“Marge! Marge! I’m so glad I got a hold of you. I’m…” I glance at her map. “Somewhere in between George Washington’s nose and the cliff that looks like Sasquatch bowling.” I pause. “Marge?”
There’s no response. Not even the sound of Abigail breathing. My phone is completely dead. And so will I be if I can’t find a way off this mountain soon.
You only live once… never thought I’d only make it to twenty-six.
I probably shouldn’t follow this narrow gravel road through the woods.
I probably shouldn’t be on this mountain in the first place.
But here I am, soaked to the bone and exhausted as I stare down a long, dark road with tall trees and thick shrubs on either side.
If it wasn’t so dark, spooky, or overgrown, it might look inviting.
But then, of course, there’s the wooden sign at the opening to the road. Beware of Hank!
I’m not sure who Hank is, but I’m about to find out.
With my phone dead, my car stuck in the mud, and little more than a half pack of gum for nourishment, I’m not left with many options.
Hopefully, Hank’s like Marge. A little gruff on the outside, but perfectly pleasant, kind, and helpful on the inside. I could use that right about now.
I let out a long, deep sigh and start hiking. With the trees as big as they are, the rain isn’t as bad. It takes what feels like half an hour to make it down the road, but eventually, I come into a little opening in the forest, and I find a cabin.
It’s not very large, but with the front porch, decked out with a couple of Adirondack chairs and a swing, it looks quaint.
Dare I say inviting? I shouldn’t risk it, though.
It seems like the universe is all in on tricking me today.
If I so much as think of this cabin as cozy, I’m sure that the front door will swing open and out will come some chainsaw-wielding maniac ready to tear me to shreds.
But then Mackenzie comes to mind, and I wonder if it would be so bad.
But I brush my tattoo, which is beginning to wash away, grip my bear mace, and head for the door.
My boots clomp against the steps, caked in mud.
If Hank’s a neat freak, I’m in trouble. Everything sloshes as I make my way to the front door and knock.
There are a few lights on, but I don’t hear anything other than rain.
Another knock. “Hello?”
Nothing. But now I can hear my teeth chattering. I’ve been out in the rain for far too long, and I need to warm up. I need food. I try the door handle, and it’s unlocked. The door creaks open, and I stand there, looking inside for any sign of life… or danger.
No on both accounts. There doesn’t seem to be anyone here.
“Hello?” I call out again, taking a tentative step inside.
I shake out my limbs, slip out of my sloshing shoes, and then look around.
I don’t want to say it’s cozy. That it’s clean and well-cared for with an inviting rustic charm that I find soothing.
I don’t want to say any of that because I know the moment I let my guard down is the moment the universe turns the tables on my luck.
I walk cautiously into the main living area of the cabin, hand at the ready on my bear mace.
I should probably slip that whistle into my mouth, but I’m afraid it won’t get the desired effect if a serial killer does indeed live in this remote cabin.
But the gorgeous hand-crafted furniture, tasteful rugs, and rustic metal finishes aren’t exactly serial killer chic.
Still, I am intruding. I’m snooping, slinking, and trespassing all over this cabin.
Thunder rattles the coffee mugs hanging on hooks in the kitchen. I swallow, nerves rising in my chest. I’m not sure what to do. Can I really stay here? I guess I could try and sleep in my car, but knowing my luck, a bear will try to break in. Or the chipmunks.
There’s a strange rumbling outside. It doesn’t sound like thunder or rain.
It’s mechanical but dampened. It stops a few moments later as my stomach rumbles.
I’m probably hallucinating the sound, my mind pulling out all the stops to get me out of this place.
I don’t blame it. I probably should leave.
And I definitely should be doing this—walking toward the refrigerator in search of something edible.
But to be honest, I’m so hungry that everything looks edible right now.
After removing a cord holding the door shut, I open the fridge and shiver. Once because of the cool air, but then again because there’s a slice of Roy’s Hazelnut Hiker. This person, whoever lives here, is okay in my book. And also, I’m sorry for what I’m about to do.
I grab the plate and then pause. That mechanical noise starts up again. I can’t be imagining it. Or that…
Hfft— followed by a slow, menacing chitter.
That’s not good. I turn around slowly. My muscles tense. But when I see the raccoon, reared up on its haunches, I scream as I drop the plate on the ground and take off for the front of the cabin.
I bang my knee on a chair, pain ripping through me as I hit the ground, gliding forward like I’m on a Slip ’N Slide. I rotate, still sliding, and I see the raccoon nosing at the fallen cake. I’m safe, for now. But if this guy’s like the chipmunks, he’ll be in hot pursuit soon.
I’m finally stopped by an area rug, and I immediately get to my feet. Unfortunately, my knee is banged up, adding to the pain I was already in from my marathon escape.
I hobble to the door, grabbing my bear spray in case that trash panda finishes his cake early. I don’t even try to get my shoes back on. I’m out the door and down the front steps in less than record time because I’m moving like someone coming up on their centennial birthday.
Lightning flashes, and I look right. The entire area is illuminated, and I see it. I see him. And by him, I mean the giant masked man who’s brandishing a chainsaw.
I scream.
I hobble.
“STAY BACK! I have mace.”
I fumble for my bear mace. It’s wet and slippery, but I manage to aim it in his direction and?—
“ Ahfuckughlegh!” I swipe at my eyes, burning and stinging and pulsing as the wind carries the liquid magma-like substance straight into my eyes, nose, mouth, and damn soul.
I’m screwed. Absolutely screwed. And the chainsaw-wielding maniac is headed straight toward me.