Page 2 of The Hotshot's Prize
I close my eyes for a second, letting her words sink in. I want to believe them.
And Idobelieve her…Tessa never says things just to say them. But that part of me that second-guesses everything is whispering in the background. What if I screw this up? What if I don’t get the shots I need? What if I get caught in a storm and end up on the evening news as “That Dumb Girl Who Got Lost in the Canyon”?
Another gust of wind makes my ponytail dance, and I glance up. The sky’s darker now, a rumble of thunder echoing faintly in the distance. Time to wrap this up. It’s a long hike back to my car, and the terrain gets slippery when it rains.
“Tess, I need to get moving. Storm’s rolling in.”
“Okay. Be safe. Text me when you’re back, or I’m calling a ranger.”
“Will do. Thanks, T.”
“Always. Go kick ass.”
I’m about to hang up when I hear a faint flutter, like silk brushing against stone.
I freeze, slowly glancing up, and there in the upper branches of a juniper tree, are two Mexican spotted owls. I blink twice to make sure I’m not imagining it.
No, I’m not.
There’s no mistaking those mottled feathers, dark eyes, and stocky bodies.
A pair.
Together.
“Oh my god,” I whisper, my heart racing with excitement.
This could be it. The game changer. This species is threatened—seeing one is rare enough, but two? Together? Nesting? This could be the hook for my whole piece.
“El?” Tessa calls, her voice crackling in my ear. “What’s wrong? Are you alright?”
“I gotta go,” I say, keeping my voice low.
“What? Wait, is everything okay—?”
“I found something. I’ll explain later.”
I hang up and drop to one knee, camera rising instinctively to my face. Rain or no rain, I’m not leaving until I get this shot.
The owls shift on the branch, one of them fluffing its feathers like it’s posing for me. My breath catches. I’ve never seen anything like it.
Carefully, I inch forward. There’s a shallow ridge to my left that might give me a better angle—the tree’s halfway down the slope, and the needles are blocking my line of sight. But if I lean out just a bit further…
I set my camera to silent mode and hold it against my chest as I creep toward the ridge. Every step kicks up red dust and tiny pebbles that skitter down the incline. My boots slip a little, but I catch myself just in time. I crouch, twist my body for the angle, and raise the lens, taking shots in rapid succession.
Click. Click. Click.
A thrill pulses through me. This is gold. Conservation magazines. Wildlife sites. Maybe even a feature in Wilderness Now. I can practically hear the headlines. I can already see—
A low crunching sound interrupts my thoughts. I freeze as the rock under my right foot vibrates, then shifts. And before I can react, the whole thing suddenly gives way.
I scream.
I’m sliding against rocks, dirt, and dust, my limbs scrambling for anything to grab onto. My camera slams against my chest, and I throw out a hand, catching the edge of a scrubby bush. It slows me down for half a second, but the momentum drags me further until I tumble off the ridge entirely.
I slam down hard onto a lower ledge, the impact jolting my teeth together. Pain explodes in my ankle.
For a moment, I don’t move. Can’t move. I just lie still, my heart pounding out of rhythm.
