Page 8 of Yolo

Same for me. I’d been so damn bummed that I couldn’t finish the hike, but risking life and limb wasn’t something I was willing to do for a recreational activity.

“Same,” I said.

My brother and I liked to hike.

We traveled all over the place when we were in the military together, finding hikes all over the world to hit up when we had the time.

Colorado, being the closest to Dallas with great hiking, was our go-to hiking location when we wanted to hit up something close.

“Watch that. It’s a little slippery,” I said, pointing at a rock that’d shifted underneath my weight.

My brother didn’t reply in thanks, though, because he’d stopped.

I turned to look down at him, and his eyes were squinty.

He got like that when he was concentrating.

“What’s that?” Gable asked after a few long moments.

I tilted my head and frowned, my gaze searching around and finding nothing.

“What?” I finally asked, thinking he’d seen an animal of some kind.

“Shh, listen,” he urged, holding up his hand almost abruptly.

I did and could faintly hear the sound of a woman crying, calling out for help.

Hysterically.

“Shit,” I said as I hurried up the trail. “Where’s Boss when I need him?”

Boss was my K-9 partner at DPD—Dallas Police Department.

We’d been together for years now, and he was ultimately one of my best friends.

I didn’t bring him with me on any hikes lately, due mainly to the injury he’d received a few weeks ago during a call that had sprained a ligament in his left leg.

The woman wasn’t hard to find, though.

It took us another four hundred meters or so—me all out sprinting up the mountain—to get to her.

What I saw had my heart leaping out of my chest.

She was a tiny little thing, probably around five-foot-four or so, and she was backed up against a rock with a deathly pale look on her face. A face that was covered in blood.

“Shhh, shh,” I said as I slid to a stop in front of her. “I’m here.”

Her head whipped around, and the way she was looking at me had my heartbeat accelerating.

Like she couldn’t see me.

“What happened?” I asked, catching her hand once I’d looped my arm out of the strap of my backpack.

“R-rock s-slide,” she whispered, voice hoarse from all the yelling. “Rock came down the mountain and hit me on the head.”

Gable came to a stop beside me, finally catching up, and noted all the issues at once.

“When did it happen?” I asked as I started to pull out the first aid kit I carried with me everywhere.

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