Page 4 of Rescued By the Lumberjack
My rock has fallen into the growing shadows, I'm feeling chilled and realizing I left my fleece jacket in the car.
Tears spill down my cheeks and I wipe at them with the back of my hand as I look up and watch the shadow of the western peaks slowly inch its way to the top of the cliff above me.
If I can't get up this embankment, I'm in for a miserable-- and dangerous-- night.
Then I hear it; someone-- or something-- moving on the trail above me.
At first, every muscle in my body goes still, images of what sent me into this situation flooding my brain, but then I hear the deep, masculine voice carried on the cooling air, softly singing a song I haven't heard in ages.
Adam
"Yeah, go ahead," I assure my bosses. "Just going to mark this location on the map and make some notes for the crew. I'll be right behind you."
Oz is always in a hurry to get back to his family, and Clinton's eager to get back to whatever it is the boss has waiting for him at home; microwavable dinners and ball games on tv, I reckon.
Nobody knows much about Clinton's personal life and the old man seems content with keeping it that way.
The two men make me assure them one more time that I won't be far behind them, before they finally take off hiking back to the trucks.
The area we've been tagging doesn't have any trails running through it and I need to get the coordinates entered on the map so the crews know where to set up camp when they get out here.
Ever since Oz's sister-in-law, Finch Diaz, started recording evidence that there really is a wolf pack up here, the rules have been pretty strict that no one's supposed to be out here alone.
Believe me, I'm not looking to be far behind the two men who finally head out ahead of me.
But once I'm done making notes for the guys who will be out here after me and step onto the main trail that runs back to the parking area, the sun has dipped lower than I'd anticipated and there's no trace of the two older men on the trail ahead of me.
Guess I took longer than I thought.
Like I said, I don't particularly scare easy. I'm not worried about the mile or so hike back to the main road on my own. Not even realizing I'll likely be finishing it up well after sunset.
But the way the forest springs up out of nowhere, creating a wall of towering pines to one side of me as the trail takes its sweet time running alongside them before it'll break away and follow the ridgeline downhill and back to the road where my truck is parked at the trailhead, might have my steps falling faster than my usual pace.
By the time the main trail finally leaves the weeping wilderness behind me, I might also be well into the second verse of Miley Cyrus's The Climb.
What? It's a mountain song! I've got two younger sisters; it was kinda hard to avoid their Hannah Montana years. Besides, the guys left me in the dust, there's no one out here to call me out on knowing the song, let alone singing it out loud, but a couple of chipmunks scurrying across the trail in front of me.
"Hello?"
My pace slows and I stop singing, listening for what sounded like a woman's voice on the cooling breeze.
Bigfoot and mysterious wolf packs aren't the only stories these woods are known for-- it's said that some of those woman that went missing in the eighteen hundreds continue to lurk in the tree line. Some call for help to save them from whatever fate they fell victim to nearly two hundred years ago, some are said to lure men to their deaths for revenge.
"Is anyone there? I need help."
The voice is soft, feminine. The soft wind blows the words through the canyon, making it hard to tell which direction it came from. Whoever she is, she sounds tired.
My head turns back to the woods and a tingle runs up my spine.
It's probably just a trick of the wind and my imagination, I decide. Still, there's no point standing here waiting to be proven wrong.
This time, my feet move a little faster as they get back in motion under me.
"Wait! Help!"
The sound of gravel skittering under my boots temporarily drowns out the other mountain noises. That was louder. Definitely real, and coming from somewhere below me-- on the cliffside that only leads down the river far below this ridge.
"Keep talking, miss, I can't see you yet," I holler back to the disembodied voice as I slowly backtrack up the path I was just so eager to put behind me.
