5. Sara
5
SARA
W histling Acres is a three-story luxury lodge, complete with a twinkling rooftop bar, that’s set amidst sprawling manicured grounds that stretch as far as the eye can see.
Every corner is finished to perfection. From the tray of complimentary mocktails at reception to the golden-framed paintings that line the white-paneled walls leading up to my room on the second floor.
When I see the dish of chocolate covered strawberries on a marble serving board at the foot of the king-sized bed, I almost wish I’d made up this hiking lie sooner.
I’d always been terrible at taking vacations. Instead, I’d indulged in designer shoes, bottomless brunches, and a bimonthly visit to my facialist. Boston was going to be my first vacation in almost a year, and I’d been looking forward to it. Yet as I sniff the vanilla scented pillows and catch sight of the enormous tub, I decide that this is so much better.
I sip on the sugary mocktail before snacking on the jumbo-sized watermelon wedged onto the side of the glass. Heaven .
Until I look at my phone and find an email from Walter.
All it says is, Good luck Kirby .
Right. The hike. The one that’s suddenly put me on my boss’s radar, for a good reason for once.
I set down my glass, succumbing to the fact that any indulging must wait until after I execute the plan, which means leaving the bliss of the hotel to stage a couple of photographs.
I dip into my case and begin to unfold a backpack. I slip into a pair of black lounging leggings, tug on a matching black tank, and tie a sweater around my waist. I wasn’t lying to Amber when I said I wasn’t bringing sneakers. Instead, I pull on a short pair of sheepskin lined booties. Then, I toss a can of bug spray into the backpack as I call down to reception.
A soft-toned female picks up on the third ring.
“Oh hello, this is Sara in 201, I ordered a rental car and wanted to check if it’s ready?” I say as I continue to squish my feet into the warm booties.
“It’s ready and waiting.” The girl informs me before adding, “If you’re planning on leaving the spa, we ask you to leave your key in our safe and sound basket at reception as a safety measure.”
“Oh?” My voice peaks with curiosity.
“Yes, it’s so we know you’re not in the hotel. It’s a little vast out here, so if you should get lost and find yourself stranded without cell phone reception, we can at least send for help.”
“I see.” I nod as the realization of just how isolated this place is sinks in. “I don’t plan on leaving for long anyway.” Not when I plan on ordering room service and sipping margaritas while soaking in the most perfect tub in existence .
Amongst other arbitrary items, I jam a few T-shirts into the backpack so I can perform some outfit changes, a conniving way to make it look like the photos are from different days.
“Adventurous and daring enough for you, Walter?” I murmur as I inspect myself in the mirror.
I douse myself in bug spray in the same way I would in perfume before a first date, and when I’m certain that not even a single gnat can penetrate my toxic forcefield, I head down to the lobby.
Two things become clear; the desk is unmanned, and the alleged safe and sound basket is nowhere to be seen. After a couple moments deliberating, I decide that since I don’t plan on getting lost or stranded, it’s probably safer to keep the key on me rather than leave it to the mercy of any passersby. The guests probably aren’t serial killers who’ve checked into a five-star spa with the purpose of murdering other guests in their sleep, but the New Yorker in me refuses to leave it to chance.
After discovering the keys to the rental beneath the wheel, I drive for several miles in a red Jeep Wrangler, until my navigation finally kicks in and the car fills with the commanding tones of a feminine voice, instructing me to continue ahead.
Eventually the road peppers with signs for several kinds of treacherous sounding trails before finally revealing mine, the Narrow Valley Wilderness Trail .
“I can’t believe people actually come out here for fun,” I mutter while pulling into a red chip parking lot. Painted white arrows on wooden pickets point to a small footbridge with a large gray sign. Loopy, yellow font hints that this is the beginning of the trail .
As I approach the sign, a woman in perhaps her fifties wearing a tie-dyed bandana leans back from her group. She sucks in a sharp breath through her teeth while pointing at my feet.
“There’s a small river crossing just after the bridge, best change into the other boots now, sweetheart.”
I glance down at my suede booties. “I’m not setting off quite yet, but thanks.”
She shrugs, returns to her group, then sticks her head back again. “If you’re leaving it till later, keep in mind there’s heavy rain in the forecast. Could be a storm.”
I nod, thanking her again while fighting the urge to divulge that I’ll be in the tub and on my fourth margarita by whatever definition of “later” she means.
I arrive at the sign which reads, Northernmost Point, Narrow Valley Wilderness Trail . I position myself in front of the chiseled-out letters, fake a smile, and snap a couple selfies.
“Have a great day.” I beam to the tie-dyed woman as I pass her group on my way back to the Jeep. Perhaps this is going to be easier than I thought.
When I set off again, my navigation displays a road which runs adjacent to the trail for another few miles before it cuts off. It looks like a good stretch of semi-wilderness to take a couple more shots before I turn back.
When I park at the next spot, my eyes snag on moving gray shadows in the near distance. Closer inspection reveals that the shadows are in fact swarms of blackflies, all bobbing and intertwining as they dance in circles around each other in the late afternoon light. Gross. Unease courses through me as I decide I’m not getting out of the Jeep and that it’s probably best I come back in the morning when there are less bugs .
Half a mile later, the creatures are everywhere. Swarms of them. I’m even forced to turn on the wipers because the amount of bug death on the windshield has formed a light film that’s compromising my vision.
Soon, the road veers into a single lane and the terrain becomes a little bumpy, but it’s nothing the Wrangler can’t handle, right? I glance at the navigation, noting that I should be approaching a fork in the road shortly. Unless I’ve taken a wrong turn…
Bzzz.
My ears prick, and my head whips to the side.
“You have got to be kidding me.” I whine in horror as I see a huge bee bobbing around beside me.
I hover my finger over the switch to crack a window but curse when I realize that doing so would probably only invite more bugs to join me.
“This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. This. Isn’t. Happening.”
While holding the wheel steady, I reach behind my seat. I pat blindly for my bag and squeal with relief when my fingers brush against the cool tin surface of the canister of bug spray. I grip it, take aim at the bee and spray…
Clouds of white smoke explode from the tiny nozzle, engulfing the inside of the car in a thick white haze. I cough and splutter, waving my hands violently to get rid of the fumes. It only makes things worse and draws the cloudy plumes closer to my face. I slam my foot on the brake, pushing the pedal to the floor.
The car does not stop.
Instead, it scrapes over loose gravel, spinning out of control.
Then everything happens very quickly.
My body absorbs the shock of whatever solid object the rear passenger’s door collides with. The impact sends the car jerking and skidding farther. A moment later, the entire vehicle is tilting.
No. Not tilting. Teetering.
I squint ahead, over the edge of a steep, steep embankment.
A symphony of creaks ring in the air before the hood dips and my stomach turns to liquid. It’s the same curdling feeling of being flung about on a rollercoaster, or when you think you’ve reached the bottom step in the middle of the night but there’s still one more.
The feeling of falling.
The Jeep is flying. Down.
Jerking and scraping, the sound of stone grinding against metal ricochets throughout the cabin as I lurch from side to side beneath my seatbelt.
The last thing I remember is the impact when I slam against whatever solid thing the Jeep collides with.
That’s when things get hazy. But this time it’s not the bug spray… It’s me. I’m losing consciousness. I reach for the handle, but my eyelids become heavy, and everything starts to go dark.