Page 2 of Trapped with the Mountain Man

I'm not going to outrun it. With desperate instinct, I lunge sideways, rolling down a small embankment away from the trail.

The world becomes chaos: thundering earth, cracking wood, my ragged breathing. I curl into a ball, arms covering my head, as smaller debris rains down around me.

Then, gradually, silence returns, broken only by the steady drumming of rain and my hammering heart.

I slowly uncurl, taking stock. Somehow, I've avoided being buried. But when I look back at the trail, my stomach drops. Where I'd been standing moments before is now a jumbled mass of mud, rocks, and fallen trees stretching for at least thirty yards.

The trail is completely obliterated.

I fumble for my phone with shaking hands. No service. Not surprising given my location, but devastating nonetheless. I try moving to higher ground, holding the phone skyward, but the "No Service" indicator remains stubbornly in place.

"Okay," I say aloud, forcing my voice to remain steady. "Okay. Think."

I weigh my options.

I could try to climb over the debris from the landslide. One look at the unstable heap, still occasionally shifting and settling, eliminates that possibility. I could try to find another way around, but in unfamiliar territory with a storm raging, that risks getting hopelessly lost.

Or I could wait for help. Surely, when I don't return to my car by nightfall, someone will notice. The parking area had a check-in sheet. The ranger station will send someone to look for me. Won't they?

Another crack of lightning, followed immediately by a boom of thunder, decides for me. I need shelter, and soon.

I peer through the curtain of rain, searching for anything that might offer protection from the elements. Through the trees downslope, I spot what looks like a rocky overhang—not quite a cave, but better than nothing.

Carefully, I pick my way down toward it, acutely aware that the ground beneath my feet might not be stable.

As the rain intensifies to a torrential downpour, I huddle beneath the rocky shelter, wrapping my arms around myself in a futile attempt to generate warmth. My adventure has turned into a nightmare. I'm lost, alone, and the only trail I know is now impassable.

"Help!" I shout, my voice instantly swallowed by the storm. "Please, someone help!”

two

Corbin

Thestormhitsearlierthan forecasted.

I hunch my shoulders against the driving rain, pulling my worn leather hat lower over my eyes as I make my way through the increasingly treacherous terrain. Lightning flashes, illuminating the forest in stark white before plunging it back into premature darkness. Three seconds later, thunder cracks overhead, far too close for comfort.

I need to get to my shelter soon. The canvas bag at my side holds only half the strawberries I'd planned to gather, but survival trumps foraging. Every experienced woodsman knows when to abandon a task. Nature doesn't negotiate and doesn't care about human intentions. The mountain demands respect, especially during a summer squall like this one.

That's when I hear it: a sound that doesn't belong to the storm. A human cry, desperate and frightened, barely audible over the howling wind.

I pause, rain streaming down my face as I listen. There it is again. It’s definitely a woman's voice calling for help.

Every instinct tells me to continue to my cave, to prioritize my personal safety. These aren't gentle woods on the best of days, and in a storm like this, they turn deadly. Whatever tourist has wandered off the marked trails has made their own poor choices. Not my responsibility.

I take three steps toward my shelter before cursing under my breath and turning toward the sound.

The rain has transformed the forest floor into a slippery maze. Carefully placing each foot, I navigate around a stand of young firs, following the increasingly frantic cries. Rounding a rocky outcropping, I finally spot her as a splash of unnatural blue against the greens and browns of the mountainside.

She's clinging to the trunk of a pine tree halfway up a steep slope where a fresh landslide has obliterated the trail. Her bright blue yoga pants and jacket are soaked through, and her blonde hair is plastered to her head. Even from this distance, I can see she's shivering violently.

"Hey!" I call out.

Her head whips around, eyes wide with desperate hope.

"Help!" she calls. "The trail just disappeared! I can't get down!"

I assess the situation quickly. The landslide has left her stranded on an increasingly unstable slope. The ground beneath her is saturated, threatening to give way with each passing minute. She's maybe twenty feet up, clinging to the tree as her only anchor, her inappropriate footwear—some kind of fashion hiking boots with zero traction—slipping in the mud.

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