Page 2 of Heart of the Mountain
I’ve always been… too much. Too talkative, too curious, too loud, too fat. That last one stings, though I’ve owned up to the rest. I have a big personality and a lot of thoughts, and some people can’t handle that. The comments about my weight from foster parents and some foster kids still play in a loop in my brain when I go to bed at night.
Shaking my head of those depressing thoughts, I try to focus on the task at hand. The sooner I poke around this property, the sooner I can return to civilization.
I continue following what I hesitate to call a road until it fades into the thick, almost suffocating forest.What the hell?I look behind me, confirming there’s a path, however pathetic. When I stare ahead again, I’m met with nothing but trees, moss, and the forest floor, littered with leaves and sticks.
Should I keep going? There has to be a road somewhere up ahead, right? I mean, how else would the property owner get down the mountain?
I take one last long look around me in case I missed a sign or another road, but I’ve got nothing. My feet are screaming at me, my stomach is growling, my sweaty hair is matted to my forehead, and I’m about the furthest thing from prepared for this mission.
The horrors persist, and so do I,I think to myself. So I'm a little nervous, but that’s okay. I’ve done scarier things than hiking through an unfamiliar wooded area. With no marked trail. Oh, and no water or food.
“Fuck,” I huff.
For what feels like the tenth time today, I take a deep breath, hold my chin high, and push forward. What other choice do I have? I need this job. If things continue to get worse, I can always apply to other agencies when I return to Denver.
With my pep talk over and done with, I forge ahead. It takes me less than five minutes to stray from my original plan of finding a clearing up ahead. A giant fallen tree blocks me from going forward. I attempt to climb over said tree, but the moss makes my hands slip, and I wince at the rough bark cutting into my palms.
“Fuck,” I mutter again as I wipe my hands on my skirt. I close my eyes and pick a direction to walk that isn’t forward or backward. It makes as much sense as anything else, at least in my mind.
I adjust my purse and turn to my left, walking with confidence down my new path. The land itself has loads of potential. We wouldn’t have to raze the forest or anything; we could simply create a few hiking trails, install some signage, and make it worth the hike with a resort at the top of the mountain.
I’m busy typing out my thoughts on my phone when I’m suddenly jerked to the side. I fall on my ass with a thud and begin rolling down an embankment. I clutch my phone in onehand and try grabbing onto something with the other to keep myself from falling.
Sticks and branches claw at my clothes and rip at my hair, but I can’t seem to get a grip on anything to slow down my momentum. My blouse rips open, sending the cute sparkly buttons flying in every direction. A second later, I lose the shirt completely.
My foot gets wedged in a knotted tree root sticking out of the earth, making me and my considerable weight come to an abrupt stop. I struggle to catch my breath, the endless treetops spinning faster and faster the longer I look up. I slam my eyes shut to keep from getting sick to my stomach. Finally, I gasp and sputter for air, realizing I hit the ground so hard I knocked the wind out of my lungs.
Oxygen floods my system along with a painful awareness of my throbbing ankle. I try wiggling my left foot free, but end up biting back a yelp at the intense, sharp pain radiating up my foot and leg.
A welcome breeze kisses my cheeks, cooling me down from the heat and sweat of my trek out here. I lie on my back and think of my options. I still have my phone secured in my hand, but one look at the screen tells me I have no service out here because, of course, I don’t. That would be too easy.
I wish I’d taken Hugo up on his offer to drive me back to town.
The breeze picks up, whipping my hair in my face along with a few dried leaves. The temperature seems to have dropped dramatically in the last ten minutes. It felt refreshing at first, but now that my back is pressed against the cool earth, I’m starting to get chilly. I’m sure the lack of my shirt is also contributing to my discomfort.
In nothing but a bra, a ripped skirt, and my stupid shoes that are partially to blame for my current situation, I feel morevulnerable than I have in a long, long time. While I’ve never experienced anything quite like this, I’ve experienced feeling vulnerable and at the mercy of the powers that be, whether it’s the state sending you to shitty foster homes or Mother Nature kicking you while you’re down.
“Come on, think,” I say to myself. “You’ve been in worse situations than this.” I try to think of one, but nothing comes to mind. Still, I’ve survived a hell of a lot, and I’m not about to be taken down by a damn tree root. Not when I just started life on my own, without all the baggage of Las Vegas and everything I left behind.
A rustling noise catches my attention, and I freeze, not sure what to expect. A bear? A wolf? A mountain lion? Do they have those in Colorado?
My eyes dart around, searching in vain for something to defend myself with. I doubt a dried-up branch will do much good against a wild beast. The sound grows closer, closer, closer before stopping just out of eyesight. I press my back against the cool earth, trying to blend in with my surroundings. Then I get a brilliant idea to cover myself in dirt and leaves as camouflage.
I fling a few handfuls of dirt over my nearly bare chest and torso, then nestle my head into the mound of dirt beneath me. Twigs and dried leaves tangle in my hair, but I’m hoping it all adds to the illusion.
I hold my breath and squeeze my eyes shut, trying with all my might to stay completely still. Some animals have sight based on movement, right? Then again, aren’t you supposed to make yourself big and scary for other animals? I suppose I don’t have much of a choice. I’m trapped here, so I lean into my strategy of blending into my environment.
Despite the imminent danger I find myself in, only one thought comes to mind: it would suck to be eaten by a bear before I even make my first sale.
2
CUTTER
Ibreathe in the crisp mountain air, taking a moment to appreciate the cooler weather up here on Hope Mountain. It was a brutal summer, but I can smell fall in the wind today. Only a few short weeks until autumn is in full force. Not much makes me happy these days, but when I’m on my porch, soaking in the rich reds, deep oranges, and golden yellow colors of the season, I feel something close to contentment.
Twigs snap under my feet, drawing my attention to the original reason I came all the way out to the east side of my property. I kick a few leaves and pine needles out of the way, revealing the still-empty trap I set last night. It’s a cage, not a foothold trap. Those things are torture devices, in my opinion. Living primarily off the land means lots of rabbit stew, but I don’t mind. With a hint of cinnamon and cloves, I’ve almost perfected the recipe.
A faint but high-pitched screech sounds in the distance, and I snap my head in that direction. It sounded almost human, but that can’t be right. Everyone within a hundred-mile radius knows not to trespass on my land.
