Page 1 of Beastly Mountain Man

1

June

The worst part about climbing this mountain? The endless sea of identical trees. Sure, if I squint, I can spot the differences—some bristling with pine needles, others flaunting jagged leaves—but in the fading light, they all blur into the same oppressive green.

That’swhy I’m lost.

Every turn leads to another winding trail, another shadowed thicket. My legs burn, but I can’t even tell if I’m ascending or just circling some cruel joke of a slope. Fairland is supposed to be crawling with hikers—so where the heck are they? At this point, I’d take anyone. A seasoned backpacker, a clueless tourist, or even some smug trail runner with too-short shorts.

Just… someone. Before the trees swallow me whole. At this rate, I feel like I’m about to be devoured.

I swipe the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand, the scent of damp earth clinging to my skin like a perfume made of nature.

I need to take a seat and rest for a few minutes. Sure, it’s my third break in an hour, but my feet ache fiercely in shoes not made for this walk, and my thighs burn with every step.

Wearing shorts was an oversight I can now deeply regret—the fabric rides up, and the patch against my inner thighs is rubbing raw. I must look absurd, walking with this awkward, wide-legged gait, like someone navigating an invisible stream.

Once more, I accept that some people aren’t suited for nature. I’m putting my name at the top of the list. I’m crazy for thinking someone like me, someone born in the city, could suddenly say goodbye to their life and throw themselves at something so different.

Finding a stump with my name written all over it, I plop down and pull my phone out, my breath held for any difference from the last time I checked the device.

No new messages or calls. It might have something to do with the lack of signal. Ever since I started this climb, I lost it. At this rate, the device is going to die from searching for any hints of service.

Couldn’t call anyone to give me a ride up the mountain when my Uber shot down what was supposed to be an easy trip. I guess not everyone wants to put that kind of wear and tear on their vehicle.

Now look at me, taking my last shot of survival on the side of a freaking mountain by hiking for the first time in my entire life.

Sighing, I look down and take in the view of the small town. Despite my struggle, I’ve made quite a distance. If it were a normal day, I’d be proud of myself.

Eyeing my phone once more, I pull up my last contact. Taylor Bueller. Taking in a deep breath, I press the device to my ear and hope to hear it ring. Instead, just like the last time, it goes straight to voicemail.

“Hi, Mr. Bueller. June again. Not sure if you got my last voicemail, but I’m still hoping to arrive today. I really appreciate the opportunity you’ve given me!” Trying to sound positive, my voice cracks. “I hope to see you soon so we can finalize this job offer.”

Ending the call, I groan and hang my head in defeat.

I finally get a chance for my fresh start, an opportunity to plant my feet and stay somewhere concrete, and look what happens.

Kicking the stump with my heel out of frustration, I try my maps app once more, silently pleading with the mountain gods to cut me some freaking slack here.

I can’t even get the address I last put in to load up. So, if Idorun across someone, I have to try to remember as best as I can. Before, I didn’t think it would be important to memorize it.

Guess that’s what I get for relying on technology so much. Now I’m feeling even more lost than before.

Taking in a deep breath, I steal a drink from my pack, pat my thighs, and get back up.

No more breaks. I need to find someone so I don’t let this golden opportunity slip from my fingers.

I push forward, ignoring the sun’s heat and the ache in my feet. My thighs continue to burn as I follow the fading trail.Is this even right?Maybe real hikers go off-trail. Maybe the only rule isup.

I’m already lost—what’s the harm in veering off? Maybe someone will catch a glimpse of me and call in a lost woman to the mountain rescuers. Something like this has to happen more often than not.

I leave the dirt path behind, stepping fully into the wild. The forest floor is a tangle of moss-covered logs and weathered boulders, each one slick with dampness. My footing grows uncertain, and with my luck, I’ll twist an ankle with one misstep.

But here, at least, the air is cooler. The sunlight filters weakly through the canopy of leaves, no longer a relentless glare, but something softer. Diffused. Almost forgiving.

“Hello?” Calling out in hopes someone will hear my voice, I get nothing in return but a few birds mocking me with their squawks. Sighing, I try again further up.

Above me, the birds suddenly scatter from the trees like there’s a threat nearby. Can’t possibly be me.

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