Page 4 of Lost in the Wild

I hate to admit it, but… it’s not the worst thing, having some company. When was the last time I heard another human’s voice?

The girl stops walking, unfolding the map again to check her progress. All around us, the forest is quiet, and the sunlight shining through the trees is tinged gold. The birds are roosting, settling in for dusk, and she needs to move faster if she wants to get down off the mountain by nightfall.

I scratch my chest as I watch her, pondering.

The river isn’t too full. It hasn’t rained in a few weeks—not hard anyway—so she should be able to cross the bridge near town okay. No concerns there.

But far across the mountain, there’s a mournful howl. Another two animals cry out in response, howling in a ghostly chorus, and the girl freezes, her colorful body tensed in fear.

My gut twists.

The wolves won’t bother her. They’re too far away, and there’s better prey for them in these mountains, but I can’t tell my interloper that. Not without revealing myself between the trees.

Her hands shake as she checks the map again one more time, then folds it again hurriedly and sets off down the path.

She starts whistling again, the sound shrill and panicked. My bare feet press against dried pine needles as I track her through the forest, and my heart beats out a steady rhythm.

Look, I don’t want her death on my conscience. That’s all. And if this foolish city girl dies in my territory and attracts scavengers, I’m the one who’ll be chasing critters away from my home with a stick for months. Escorting her down the mountain just makes good sense.

It’s got nothing to do with that wide, friendly smile she gave me back there. Nothing to do with the happy way she said “There you are”, like I was the best thing she’d seen all day.

Nothing to do with her pretty red hair and freckled cheeks and the way she smelled like cinnamon spice when I got close. Obviously.

I may have checked out of society, may have walked away from my old life, but I can still do a stranger a good turn. Especially if she doesn’t even know it.

“Ow.” The girl slaps at her neck, then wrinkles her nose at the bug smeared on her palm. “Ew. Gross.”

You don’t have bugs in the city? That’s what I want to ask her, the words crowded on the tip of my tongue, but I’ve been following her in silence for too long now. If I speak, she’ll definitely freak out, and I don’t want that.

Even if it gets her moving faster down the mountain… somewhere deep inside, I really don’t want to scare this girl. The wolves are bad enough; every time they howl to each other, the sound carried on the breeze, City Girl jumps and lets out a tiny squeak then picks up the pace. Makes me want to step out of the trees, walk beside her, and say some comforting shit. Makes me want to be the man I left behind in that other life, at least for a few hours.

“Oh god,” the girl mutters, boots slipping over loose rocks as she clambers down a steep slope. “Oh, man. I’m too young to die.”

Too young.

Too sweet.

Too innocent.

…Agreed.

Why didn’t I answer her damn questions back there? Would it have killed me to be friendly for a change? Hanging back in the shadows, I follow her progress with a sour taste in my mouth.

It’s her fear—that’s what does it. The panic rolls off her in waves, making the trees shiver and my skin tighten and her footsteps extra clumsy. This whole forest is tensed when she finally steps wrong.

“Careful—”

My voice cuts through the quiet, echoing through the trees, but it’s too late. Like a slow-motion clip, I watch her boot land wrong, the loose rocks sliding away beneath her; I see her arms pinwheel and her weight fall back. Heart stopped, standing uselessly in the shadows, I watch the city girl slip and tumble down the rest of the slope, her colorful body slamming into rocks and hard dirt and exposed tree roots before finally landing in a colorful heap.

I’m running before my brain processes what’s happened. No attempts to be silent—my body crashes through the undergrowth, swiping plants and thin branches out of the way in my rush to reach her. There’s a high pitched ringing sound in my ears and suddenly I’m with my unit again, bullets flying, men groaning in pain, trying desperately to reach the injured—

The girl moans, still lying at the base of the slope in her sad little heap. The sound jolts me back to the present. Her bag is twisted on her back, with half her belongings strewn in the dirt.

That bright blue notebook; a stainless steel canteen; a cheap flashlight. A bruised apple and a simple cell phone. They all lie in a halo around her body, and fuck, why hasn’t she rolled over yet?

What if she’s broken a bone?

What if she hit her head too hard?

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