Page 47 of Fight

“Hey. This is gonna sound weird, but can you give Scottie a call and tell me if she picks up?” I pace back and forth until I find myself in the bare living room. I’m in the process of sanding down the antique wood floor and moved all the furniture into the home office last week.

He chuckles. “Is there a reason you’re not doing it yourself?”

“It goes to voicemail, but she might have my number blocked.” I sigh.

“Gotcha.” He’s disappointed. He probably assumes I did my usual fuckboy routine, but he can think whatever the hell he wants. “Yeah, gimme a sec. Call you back.”

I hang up and shake my head, then lean against the wall, staring out the large front windows as my anxiety creeps in. A minute later, the screen lights up with Matt’s name, and I swipe to answer before the phone has a chance to ring.

“Hey,” I answer.

“Goes to voicemail,” he says.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “’K… Thanks.”

Ending the call, I rub the back of my neck and groan, then throw on some sneakers and head out. My thumb is tapping the steering wheel in a steady staccato when I pull onto her street.

“Come on…. Be home. Be home. Let me see your piece of shit, rattletrap of a car sitting there so I can go home and quit this bullshit.”

After seeing her vehicle this morning, I was shocked it even made the drive from Sky Ridge to the trail’s entry point.

Any remaining hope plummets when the empty parking lot comes into view. I pound my fist on the steering wheel. “Fuck!”

The only way to know for sure is to go back to the trailhead and see if her car is still there.And if it is, then what?Do I go after her? My immediate response is a resoundingHell yes.

My gut instinct says she’s on the mountain, which means I can’t show up unprepared, and I need to move fast. She’s facing a serious punishment when I get her ass back down to Sky Ridge. Can't believe she’s making me go get her. There’s no telling what mess lies ahead of me, but my thoughts spiral with worst-case scenarios. What if she fell? Or crossed paths with a cougar? What if she’s lost and is wandering around miles off trail? I’d never find her.

My foot presses down on the accelerator. The tires on my truck squeal as I turn into my driveway and shift into park. After throwing open the back door to the house, I swap my shoes for boots and grab my pack, adding supplies for every situation I thought of on the way over. Crampons, space blanket, extra water bottles, and two handfuls of MREs. In addition, I fetch my ski patrol bag. It contains some miscellaneous survival gear, like a handwarmers, first aid kit, pocketknife, rope, and an avalanche shovel.

“Scottie, you better be in a such a fucked situation for me to be coming after you like this.” I grip the steering wheel as Iapproach the road to the trailhead, praying I don’t see her car. My neck cranes as I come around the bend, and my sight lands on her vehicle.

“Oh, fuck.”

She’s still up there.

A dull ache pulses behind my eyes. With a wrinkled brow, I wince as my lids slowly open. My right ear has a stabbing pain, and my cheeks sting like they’ve been slapped. I’m not sure how long it takes me to pry both eyes open, but when I do, a thin layer of white fuzz covers everything. Snow. My mouth is gritty like I ate a handful of sand, making it difficult to swallow.

My muscles and body are so fatigued it takes great effort to not close my eyes again and succumb to the drowsiness. I blink, squinting as I attempt to find my bearings. Double vision makes it nearly impossible to get a clear view of my surroundings.This is not good.I pause for a moment to mentally check my body for numbness or injuries, ignoring the pain in my head and focusing on the rest of my limbs. Did I fall?

How did I get here?

As soon as I get to all fours, my stomach retches, and I rotate my head in time to vomit off to the side. The pressure on my skull intensifies, and the pain has me seeing bright lights when I close my eyes.

My fingers probe my forehead and land in a section alongmy hairline that’s caked and sticky with dirt. I draw my hand back and notice the blood. I groan. It’s not bright red, so that’s a good sign.

Cautiously, I turn my neck to assess the vicinity, hoping I don’t make myself throw up again. Am I on a ledge? About twenty yards behind me is a rock wall. The wall juts out over the side. It’s as if I was picked up and dropped somewhere else. Did I walk here and don’t remember? I’ve got symptoms of a concussion. Maybe if I take another rest. I could close my eyes and when I wake up, I’ll remember what happened and can figure this all out, but there’s a small voice in my head that’s having none of it.Get up.

I palm the rock wall to the right of me for balance and squint, shielding my eyes with a hand as my gaze travels upward. It instantly makes me nauseous, so I keep my head down. No more looking up. Red smudges are left behind when I pull back from the wall.

Sliding to my ass, I lean against the nearly vertical rock of the mountain. My vision is delayed as I glimpse the path that ascends to the right of me. The trail is here, so I can’t be on a ledge. Wait… I glance to the left again, and will my eyes to focus despite the now piercing headache. It’s not a wall; it’s a pile of rocks and dirt. Some the size of grapefruits, some the size of a basketball, some the size of Volkswagens. All covered in that same thin layer of snow.Rockslide.I shuffle backward like a crab, needing to put as much distance as I can between it and me.

Holy shit.A laugh escapes my mouth. How am I not dead? The amusement quickly turns to tears as a new problem surfaces: I have to get down this mountain, and there’s no route back. The boulder and rock have blocked my exit. Not only that, but I dropped my backpack, and there’s no sign of it anywhere. For all I know, it’s buried under the rock pile. I brace one arm against the inner wall of the path and try to stand, testing to see if I canput weight on my legs. Nausea swarms me, so I lean against the mountain, gently lowering my body until I’m on my ass again.

I have no supplies. Wind and snow are whipping around as temperatures plummet, and I’ve got no way down. I curl into a ball and chuckle at the irony. All I did was trade a quick death for a slow one.

Triage. First priority is getting out of the elements. How do I get out of the wind? If I climb higher, the gusts will only get stronger. I stare at the pile of rubble… Can I climb over it? There’s no way. I can barely stand, much less free solo a loose pile of boulders that could easily collapse or send me off the side of a mountain.

A gust of wind hits me, and I suck in a breath. My eyes water as they’re blasted with more wind and dirt. If I stay like this, it won’t be long before frost forms on my lashes. I’ve got a better chance with the rocks than I do the elements. I huddle up in one of the corners, giving myself a few minutes to rest in a ball. Holding up my index finger, I move it side to side and track it with my eyes. It’s not as staggered as before; nystagmus is improving.

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