Page 1 of Trapped with the Mountain Man

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Tessa

Icheckmyphone'sGPS for the third time in ten minutes, watching the blue dot of my location pulse reassuringly on the trail map. The service has been spotty all day, but right not it seems to be holding out. The Darkmore Mountain hiking path stretches before me, carpeted with fallen pine needles and dappled in sunlight. I inhale deeply, filling my lungs with crisp mountain air that tastes nothing like the recycled oxygen of my downtown apartment.

"This is exactly what I needed," I murmur to myself, adjusting the straps of my brand-new backpack. The weight presses uncomfortably against my shoulders, but I welcome the discomfort as part of the authentic experience.

Months of sitting in my cubicle, processing insurance claims while daydreaming about wilderness adventures, has finally culminated in this solo hiking trip. At twenty-eight, I've decided it's time to stop living vicariously through nature documentaries and Instagram explorers.

A distant rumble of thunder makes me glance skyward. Dark clouds gather over the western ridge, but the weather app on my phone promised the storm wouldn't arrive until evening. Plenty of time to reach the scenic overlook and head back down.

"I've got this," I say, my voice stronger now. No one is around to hear my affirmation, but speaking it aloud helps quiet the doubtful voice in my head, the one that sounds suspiciously like my ex-boyfriend, Marcus.

You're not really the outdoorsy type, Tess. Maybe start with something easier.

I push the memory away. Marcus never understood my yearning for something more than weekend brunches and predictable Netflix evenings. Our breakup two months ago was the final push I needed to reclaim my long-dormant sense of adventure.

The trail steepens, and my breathing grows heavier. My new hiking boots—still stiff despite wearing them around my apartment for a week—pinch at my heels. I pause to take a swig from my water bottle, surveying my surroundings with appreciative eyes.

Massive pines tower overhead, their branches swaying in the strengthening wind. The forest floor is alive with activity. A chipmunk darts between roots, and somewhere nearby, a woodpecker hammers rhythmically against bark.

This is living. This is real.

A gust of wind whips my ponytail across my face, and I frown at the darkening sky. The clouds have moved closer with surprising speed.

Maybe I should turn back. I check my watch. I've been hiking for just over an hour, and the overlook is supposedly only thirty minutes farther. Turning back now would feel like admitting defeat.

"Just a quick peek at the view, then straight back down," I decide, quickening my pace.

Twenty minutes later, I emerge from the tree line onto a rocky outcropping. The panorama steals my breath more effectively than the climb has. Rolling mountains stretch to the horizon, verdant valleys nestled between them like secrets waiting to be discovered.

"Worth it," I whisper, pulling out my phone to capture the moment.

The first fat droplet of rain splashes against my screen just as I snap the photo. Then another. And another.

I frown up at the sky, which has transformed into a menacing ceiling of charcoal clouds. This isn't a light shower; the storm has arrived hours ahead of schedule.

"So much for reliable weather forecasts," I mutter, hastily stowing my phone in a zippered pocket. Time to head back down. Fast before the storm gets worse. I don't want to be stuck out here in the wilderness on my own when the weather gets bad. Once you go off-trail, Darkmore Mountain has a reputation for be dangerous when for even experienced hikers.

I retrace my steps to the main trail, which has already begun to darken with moisture. The rain falls harder now, drumming against the canopy overhead and finding its way through gaps in the foliage. Within minutes, my lightweight jacket is soaked through, clinging uncomfortably to my skin.

The trail, which had seemed so inviting on the way up, now looks treacherous. What had been pleasantly packed earth is rapidly transforming into mud. I adjust my pace, placing my feet with greater care.

A deafening crack of thunder directly overhead makes me jump. Lightning flashes, illuminating the forest in stark relief.

"Just keep moving," I tell myself, heart pounding. "Slow and steady."

The mantra carries me forward for another ten minutes before disaster strikes. As I round a bend in the trail, my foot slips on a slick patch of mud. My arms pinwheel as I fight for balance, but gravity wins. I land hard on my side, skidding several feet down the trail.

"Ow!" Pain shoots through my hip and elbow, but a quick assessment confirms nothing is broken. Just bruised pride and what will surely be impressive soreness tomorrow.

As I push myself up, a deep rumbling sound rises above the pitter-patter of rainfall. At first, I think it's more thunder until the ground beneath my palms begins to tremble.

I look up just in time to see the hillside above the trail shift.

It happens with terrifying speed. Trees tilt like dominoes. Earth and rock break free in a massive wave, cascading down toward the trail toward me.

"No, no, no!" I scramble backward on all fours, then lurch to my feet. I run, slipping and sliding, as the roar grows louder behind me.

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