Page 33 of Clear Path

When the heaving subsided, she gasped and coughed.

Spent, she rounded her shoulders and hugged her midsection. The dull cramping in her abdomen was sharpening, turning into a hot, needle-like stabbing. Her arms and feet tingled. The tang of metal filled her mouth.

“No, no, no,” she moaned as the reality of her situation sunk in.

It had been nearly a year since her last episode. She’d been careful—regular meals, limiting alcohol, managing stress. But the past few days, she’d been busy. First, focused on her exhibition, then upset by the cancellation, and finally caught up in making her statement. She hadn’t eaten a proper meal in days. The adrenaline and stress had been constant. And, as she did the math, her stomach sank with the realization that her cycle had aligned perfectly with the worst possible timing.

Her hands shook as she patted her pockets, hoping against hope that she had her phone. Her right hand hit something solid. As she eased the mobile out of her thigh pocket, she would have wept with relief if she hadn’t been so dehydrated.

She was going to be okay. Call 911. Then stay calm. That’s all she had to do. She raised the phone to her face to activate the facial recognition feature and turn it on. Nothing happened. Too dark probably. She felt for the power button on the side on the phone, and as her hand slid over the glass, the phone bent underthe weight of her fingers. The glass was crushed, smashed and caved in. Her heart lurched. Her stomach heaved. No.

She continued to move her hands over the phone in the darkness. The bottom edge was twisted, a chunk of the frame missing entirely. A piece of plastic dangling loosely from the side. She pounded at the side of the phone with her finger, pressing the dead power button over and over, refusing to believe the truth. The phone was destroyed. Useless.

The tears she thought her body couldn’t create filled her eye, and she released the dead phone from her hand. As it hit the floor, she let out a raw sob.

She had no phone. No glucose tablets or carb-rich snacks. No water.

A burst of images flashed through her mind: photographs hanging from her ceiling, Julie standing in rubble, Lydia watching her home being destroyed, Sadie scowling at her across a coffee shop table, kids playing soccer in the Patch. The pictures came fast, disconnected, and jumbled. Her exhibition. The trail. The messenger bag. The cave.

Someone had followed her to the cave. Who? A face hovered just out of reach in her memory.

Trying to puzzle it out made her head throb even worse. The twisting pain in her stomach intensified, a warning sign of what was to come if she didn’t get help soon. She eased herself onto her back again, her movements slow and deliberate, and closed her eyes against the darkness.

Without intervention, she had, at best, a few hours before things got much, much worse. She’d only experienced one truly severe attack before—three years ago in Arizona. The memory of that terrifying episode was seared into her brain: the paralyzing pain, the confusion that made her think she was going mad, the seizure that had finally led to her diagnosis.

She needed to focus. But between the pain in her belly and the throbbing in her head, she couldn’t. She touched her bloodied skull. She has a head injury. What if it was a concussion?

Exhaustion pulled at her, tempting her back into unconsciousness. She fought it. You weren’t supposed to sleep with a head injury, were you? But the darkness was so complete, so enveloping, it made little difference whether her eyes were open or closed.

She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself.

Her thoughts cleared briefly and she remembered the photographs hanging from her apartment ceiling. Her statement about displacement. Forcing the community to understand and acknowledge what was being lost in the name of progress.

Now she was the one who was lost. Displaced. The irony wasn’t lost on her, even in her compromised state. She choked out a bitter laugh before she surrendered to sleep.

22

On the Great Allegheny Passage

Sadie and Julie drove the ten miles to the trailhead closest to the cave. Evan sat in the passenger seat of Julie’s Mercedes, Bodhi folded himself into the backseat, and the others piled into Sadie’s three-row SUV. The trip was short and, at least in Julie’s car, silent.

They parked and tumbled out of the vehicles. Sadie and Diana must’ve spent the drive discussing strategy. The former police chief clapped her hands together to draw everyone’s attention.

“We’re going to use a classic bike wheel model search,” Diana announced. “It’s what a formal search and rescue team would do if Chief Mercer had seen fit to call one in. Sadie’s volunteered with S & R for years, so she’s gonna take the lead on determining our search area and priority.”

Diana stepped back, and Sadie cleared her throat.

Before she could begin, Julie piped up. “I don’t know what that means—a bike wheel model. And I doubt I’m the only one.”

Sadie gave her a brisk nod. “Right. You don’t need to understand the nitty gritty. It’s just one method used to organize the initial search. People who are lost in the woods tend to follow predictable behaviors. Most folks are found within three hours if you take a few minutes to think through which direction they’re likely to have gone and how far. There are lots of variables—children, people with dementia, intoxicated people all exhibit different patterns. So we imagine a bike wheel. The person’s last known location is the axle of our bike wheel. It’s in the center of the search area.”

“So the cave?” Julie’s tone was uncertain.

“Exactly. The rim of the wheel is the outer bounds of our initial search. There are mathematical models that we can use to establish the containment area. But gut instinct works, too. Rory’s generally fit and healthy. But she’s injured, she doesn’t have her bike or pack, and she’s wearing one shoe. So we’ll assume she didn’t get far. Let’s call it two miles, tops.”

“And we’re currently two miles east of the cave,” Diana added. “So this spot is within the outer bounds of our search area.”

“So, we start here?” Evan asked.

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