Page 5 of Lost and Found

My heart rate picks up again when I realize her trail is heading for a cliff that's easy to miss if you don't know it's there. Barreling through the woods like she is, she could easily have walked right off it.

And dropped thirty feet.

I pick up my pace and stop, frozen in place.

"Step back, please," I say in my calmest voice to the tourist who is standing with the toes of her sneakers over the edge of the cliff, her curls tossed about by the early morning wind.

Her body jolts like she's been hit by a bullet and she steps forward reflexively, only to find nothing but air under her foot. She lets out a shriek as she starts to fall.

CHAPTER THREE

Dani

I'mstanding on the edge of the world. The rising sun is painting the green valley below me in golden streaks and there's a bit of fog at the edges hinting at a hidden magical world. I stand with my toes hanging over the edge of the cliff because it makes me feel like I'm flying, buffeted by the chilly morning wind. I am a part of the sky and the land beneath my feet simultaneously.

It is so peaceful. The only sounds are the wind in my ears and the occasional screech of a bird. I am small. I'm insignificant and so, therefore, are my problems.

A shout breaks the silence.

My breath catches and my heart stutters. Instinctively, I step forward to run, only to find nothing but air and the distant ground beneath me.

This is it.

This is how I'm going to die.

And everyone is going to find out I'm a failure.

Those are my thoughts before a vise grip, so tight it hurts, wraps around my upper arm and yanks me back onto solid ground.

I crumple to the leaf-strewn forest floor, my chest and throat so tight I can't find air.

"What the fuck were you thinking? Do you know how many people die every year falling off this mountain? Are you a complete and utter imbecile?"

He's shouting so loud it feels like his voice alone might blow me off the mountain.

Off the mountain.

Fuck.

I vault onto all fours and vomit out my terror and impotent fight-or-flight response, along with my embarrassment.

My throat burns from the acid of the vomit and I spit out the taste before scurrying away from the revolting pile. It's not much, thankfully. I haven't eaten in twelve hours.

At least the male voice has gone silent. I look up to see the obnoxious park ranger squatting in front of me. He looks different when he's not scowling. Softer. Maybe even kind.

"You okay?" he asks. "Any dizziness?"

I shake my head.

"What day is it?"

"Wednesday."

"What's your name?"

"Dandelion Greens Weston."

And the scowl is back. "Right. Hilarious. You feel good enough to walk back up to the campsite?"

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