Page 1 of Silent Mountain Man
one
Dawn
I'mgoingtodieon this mountain.
The thought hits me as the snow thickens, transforming from picturesque winter wonderland to blinding white nightmare in minutes. The trail markers I'd been following have disappeared, and my phone's GPS shows nothing but a blue dot in a sea of green. No roads. No civilization.
Just trees, snow, and dropping temperatures.
"Stay on the marked trails," Vernon Cooper had warned me this morning. But marked trails don't get you the money shots, the ones that make followers stop scrolling and hit that heart button.
I pull my inadequate jacket tighter. The sponsored hiking boots that looked so cute in my unboxing video are now soaked through, my toes numb. The expensive camera hanging around my neck feels like a lead weight. What good is the perfect filter when you're freezing to death?
The December snow falls faster now, and I realize how foolish it was to venture this far from the lodge alone. I'd convinced myself that early winter would be the perfect backdrop for my content, pristine snow without the Christmas crowds, but I hadn't counted on the weather turning so quickly.
Then through the curtain of white I see it. A wisp of smoke, curling gray against the colorless sky. Where there's smoke, there's fire. Where there's fire, there's people.
I stumble toward it, hope propelling my frozen legs. After what feels like hours but is probably only minutes, a cabin materializes through the snow. Not the rustic, charming kind I'd stage for my Instagram. This one is utilitarian, weathered, with a NO TRESPASSING sign hanging crooked on a tree.
Desperate times. I bang on the door, my knuckles stinging with cold.
Silence.
I knock again, harder. "Hello? Please, I need help!"
The door swings open, and I stumble back.
He fills the doorframe completely—tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair. A thick beard frames a face that hasn't smiled in a long time. But it's his eyes that stop my breath—piercing blue, assessing me with a mixture of irritation and wariness.
"I'm sorry," I stammer. "I got lost. The storm—"
He doesn't respond, just looks past me at the thickening snow, then back at my pathetic, shivering form. After what feels like an eternity, he steps aside, gesturing me in with a jerk of his head.
The warmth hits me like a wall as I stumble inside. The cabin is small but neat. A main room with a woodstove, kitchen area, and a doorway leading to what must be a bedroom. No decorative touches, no photos, no color. Just function.
"Thank you," I say, my voice unnaturally loud in the silence. "I'm Dawn. I was hiking and—"
He turns away, crossing to a small table where a notebook and pen lie. He scribbles something, then holds it up.
Storm warning. Roads closed. Radio says 3 days.
Three days? Here? With him?
"Oh." My voice sounds small. "I'm really sorry to impose. I'm sure once it lightens up a bit, I can find my way back to Silver Ridge"
He's writing again.Dangerous. Stay.
Two words, but the command in them is clear. I'm not going anywhere.
"Do you have a name?" I ask.
He hesitates, then writes:Gunnar.
"Gunnar," I repeat, testing the weight of it. "Thank you for letting me in. I promise I won't be a bother."
He doesn't respond, just moves to the woodstove, adding another log. His silence is unnerving, making me babble to fill it.
"I'm a photographer. Well, content creator really. I was getting winter shots for Wilderness Outfitters. They're sponsoring my Silver Ridge series, but I needed something more dramatic than the usual tourist spots, you know?"
