Page 46 of Fight

The patch of trees above the switchbacks mark my finish line. I’ll stop to take in the view, have a short break, then head back to my car. As I ascend, sporadic flurries are whipped into a frenzy, and it’s hard to tell if it’s coming from above or below. More snow is sure to fall, and in a few weeks, the ground I’m standing on will be blanketed in white.

Another switchback down. Then another. The wind lashes at the exposed portions of my face and hands. Why didn’t I bring gloves? I tuck my stiff fingers into the sleeves of my coat. Almost there. My eyes fix on a point in the distance, and I use it as the next marker for me to rest and drink some water. As much as I want to get out of the wind, I need a minute to catch my breath.

Another switchback. My body is shouting to turn around, that I won't have enough energy or time to make it back if I keep going, but I can't give up now. I have to finish what I started. If it was easy, it wouldn’t be rewarding.

The cold batters me with every step as I climb higher. I knew this would be a difficult spot.Keep going.I’m almost to my rest marker when a rumble startles me. It’s been constant white noise for the last twenty minutes; what could be loud enough to break through the roar of the wind?

I pause, ripping off my hood and hoping to get a better idea of where the rumbling and crunching is coming from. The hairon the back of my neck stands up, and I freeze. The noise fades as it carries the sound of popcorn popping. Another thud triggers the rolling thunder again, occasionally interrupted by more pops—like snapping toothpicks or…trees.

Blood drains from my face as I’m hit with a flashback from The Fold when they wanted to construct a giant cross at the top of a hill. It was a giant monument from some foundry out west. There were dangerous boulders near the top, and they used a bulldozer to roll them down the hill to ensure they wouldn’t move during the construction and endanger the workers. I was there when they pushed those massive rocks down the hill. There’s no mistaking it now, it’s the crash of trees being mowed over as massive rocks carve new paths in the earth. This is a rockslide or a runaway boulder.

If it’s a boulder, I might have a chance to dodge it, but if it’s a rockslide, I’m likely already dead. The flurries disappear against the white sky when I look up, but I can’t see anything. I scan the ledge above for any falling rock or dirt. Do I hug the wall? The cracking crescendos until it sounds like gunshots. My hands shake. A rock the size of a brick falls about twelve feet behind me.

Run.

I unsnap my backpack and drop it as my feet hit the trail, covering as much ground as I can. With my bag gone, I’m able to move faster and am a smaller target than I was while wearing it. The echo of snapping trees is replaced by scraping dirt and a steady thump as rocks pummel the earth behind me, chasing me higher up the mountain. Prayers I learned as a child are recited in my thoughts over and over again. My heart hammers against my ribcage as I push my legs harder than I ever have before.

Then everything is silent and the world goes dark.

The drive home from the trailhead doesn’t faze me. My thoughts are occupied with a certain five-foot-something ginger-blonde pain in the ass. I pull my truck into the detached garage behind my house, collect my pack, and hop out, slamming the door behind me. While typing the code to close the door, a few flakes fall from the sky.

She better not be trying to summit with a storm coming in. I turned around to stop her and ensure she knew about the weather, but after her less-than-thrilled “Hi,” my pride got the better of me and I continued off the trail. Not to mention, her telling me to stay away from her when we bumped into each other on our run. I should have said something.

She’s hiked before, she should know the rules, and she’s not my responsibility anyway.She never was.She’s got a husband to worry about her.

Where is her husband anyway?

I unlock the back door of my fixer-upper and step into the kitchen, dropping my pack with a thud. While untying my boots, my phone buzzes in my pocket, and I fish it out.

Xander

Just saw there’s some ugly shit moving in near Quell’s. Text me back so I know if I gotta delete your browser history and start planning your funeral. You wanted strippers, right?

Just got home, I got an early start. Yes, strippers. The good ones from Vegas.

Xander

Darlene from Hangers said she’d do it for half the price.

Sold.

My thoughts return to Scottie when I slide my phone back in my pocket. Is she still up there? I glance out the window, and more flurries fall. A mountain is the last place you wanna be during a storm. I check the time; she’s probably already turned around and is in her car.

Probably.

I dismiss the anxious thoughts and open the fridge to gather ingredients for a sandwich. After grabbing a butter knife, I twist off the mayo cap. She doesn’t know how the weather works in the Pacific Northwest mountains. I slam the knife on the counter and snatch my phone out of my pocket. Goddamn it.

Hey. Are you off the trail?

I finish assembling my sandwich. My gaze bounces back and forth between my meal and the phone screen, waiting to see it light up with a text notification. Each time I look, I’m met by my angry expression reflected in the dark screen.

Slapping a slice of bread on top, I take my plate of food and plop into a chair at the dining table. Still nothing. I take a bite and chew while waiting for her response, but it doesn’t come.

It’s been almost ten minutes since I first texted her. I lick asmudge of mayo from my thumb and unlock the phone again. She should have service if she’s off the mountain. Being worried about a woman I’m not responsible for is ruining my lunch. This is dumb. I tap the call icon next to her name, clearing my throat while I wait for the ring, but it goes straight to voicemail. After five seconds, I try again. Voicemail.Shit.

“Damn it, Scottie,” I grumble. “You better not be acting stupid.”

After turning the ringer on loud, I bring it with me into the bathroom and take a shower. While rinsing the shampoo out of my hair, it hits me that she might have my number blocked. Matt probably has her number. I finish getting clean and dry off, then tap his name to dial.

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