by Stacie Ramey
“You restocking?” I ask Rain Man.
“Yeah. Sort of.”
“Hey, have you seen…”
“She was here earlier. I made her take some of my wife’s clothes. I think she went back to the trail, though.”
“But it’s supposed to be bad with the storm. You didn’t tell her?”
“I did. But you can’t stop someone who doesn’t want to be stopped. That girl’s on some kind of mission, Wild Thing.”
I nod, but the worry has made its way past the beer, into my gut. “I have a really bad feeling about this.”
“So, look for her tomorrow.”
My eyes go in the direction of the trail.
“No. Just no,” Drew, a.k.a. Gator, says. “Night hiking in these conditions, flooding on the trail, and a new storm descending is a bad idea. Under any conditions, it’s really only for experienced hikers.”
“She’ll be fine, son,” Rain Man says.
There’s that word again. It’s supposed to calm me, but it has the opposite effect. I start pacing. Rolling my neck to keep from getting too stiff. “I gotta go.”
Back in my room, I’m throwing my things in my pack when my phone rings. Emily.
“Hey,” I say out of breath. “Everything okay?”
“No. I mean yes. Mostly. But needed to talk to you. Hey, how cool is this? I can talk to you!”
Emily’s voice is a wonderful gift. A sign or reward for doing things right. For once.
“I can’t talk for long,” I say, “Going back to the trail in a minute.”
“You can’t.”
“What? Why?”
“You have to come home.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Your mom is going to sell your boat.”
The news is like a punch to the gut. I have to sit. “What?”
“She said you must not want it since you left it behind.”
“She’s trying to force me out of hiding.”
“Maybe.”
“She’s bluffing. She wants you to tell me that so I’ll come back.”
“Maybe you should.”
Disappointment coats me. Emily never takes their side over mine. Never. “Dad gave me that boat. She has no right…”
“After everything your mom’s been through, after all we’ve all been through, you should come home and talk it out.”
The thoughts bounce around in my brain. I picture Mom’s face when we found out Dad was gone. How I wanted to help her. How I felt like I fell down a well and was trapped there. But then I remember when I found out how Dad died. And I know that no matter what she says, it’s not a good idea for me to come home.
“Em. I can’t come back. But not for those reasons.”
“Then what reasons?”
“There’s a girl.”
“A girl?”
“Yeah. She needs me.”
“I need you. We need you. More than some girl you met on the trail. We are your family, and we are mourning. Come home, Dylan. Please.”
“I can’t.”
Emily sighs. Sighing means she’s frustrated. Sighing means I’m losing my only ally in the family. “Dylan, I never ask you for anything. I’m asking you for this.”
“Em, come on. That’s not fair. I’m caring about other people who I have no blood relation to. That should mean something.”
She stays silent.
“And I feel like I’m getting better. I mean, I feel less angry. More, I don’t know, more clear.” I add quietly.
“Really?”
“Yes. I keep thinking I see Dad on the trail. But not hallucinations. Like he’s here with me.”
“Brad is never going to forgive you for leaving your mom right now. You know that, don’t you?”
“You’re right. But I can’t come home yet.” I think about the last time I saw my brother. How we both were so angry and sad that we couldn’t even make eye contact. How in a better family with better people in it, we’d probably hug it out and be there for each other, except we can’t, and I can’t blame him. To Brad, I was always the pain-in-the-ass little brother who made trouble.
“Why is this so important to you?”
I know she doesn’t understand, and I can’t bring myself to tell her. The words burn inside me like a brand on my heart. I should have known Dad was sick, like Max. And now I feel like this is maybe a chance to make it up to myself. Maybe if I help this girl, it’ll somehow balance it all out. “I don’t know exactly. I just feel like I’ve got to do this. I have to help this girl.”
“How do I know this girl isn’t one of your weird obsessions?”
I stop. Try to find a way to explain it so she’ll understand. “I find myself worrying about what she wants more than what I want.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Serious as a heart attack.”
“Don’t say that. It’s not funny anymore.”
“It never was. It was ironic. Remember?”
“Dylan, come on.”
There’s a knock on the door.
“Em. I gotta go.”
“Who’s knocking on your door?”
I do one of my nervous laughs. “I don’t know. One of my friends, I guess.”
“Your friends? Dylan?”
“I have trail friends. See what I mean? I’m connecting with people. Finally. Mom always wanted that. I know you did too.”
“Dylan.” Her voice is shaky now and so far away. I want to reach out to her, be there for her. I want her to understand that I’ve got no other choice. But when you weigh emotions and actions and consequences, at this point, Emily’s needs have to take a back seat. Ghost is out there and she’s alone. I’ve got to find her, and each second I am not going after her is time where she could be getting hurt…or worse.
“I’m sorry, Em. I really am. But I’ve got to go.” I hang up. And I know this time, those two words won’t fix anything. But I can’t go home. I’ve got to find Ghost. I’ve learned that not doing something is sometimes worse than doing something wrong.
I open the door to find Rain Man, his backpack in his hands. I almost knock him over on my way out. “I’m not going to try to stop you,” he says.
“Good. You were the one who said she needs watching over.”
“She may not welcome someone doing that.”
“I know. I’ll keep my distance.”
“Did you restock?” Rain Man asks.
“No. But I’m a few meals ahead.”
He thrusts two packs of dehydrated chili in my hand, along with two other packets I don’t recognize. “Homemade ramen,” he says. “If she’s cold and sick, she’ll need that.” He also hands me a small bag with Advil Liqui-Gels. “Some vitamin I,” he says. “You take two when you find her, and save the rest for her. Oh, and here,” he gives me a pair of new wool socks. “These will help.”
“What about you?”
“I’m heading out tomorrow. I’ll restock before I leave. She’s got four hours on you. You won’t make up that much time tonight. Only go as far as you feel safe and then camp. You can catch up to her tomorrow.”
I nod.
“Use the sat phone if you need it. You have a headlight?”
I nod again, even though I have no idea how to use it. I haven’t taken it out of the packaging yet, haven’t read the instructions.
“Let me see,” he says.
And because he’s Rain Man, I feel like I have to give in to him even though I feel like there’s no time for this.
He opens the box and sets the whole thing up for me in seconds flat. “You got a good one.” He adjusts the straps around my head and switches it on.
The fact that the man set this up without reading the instructions would usually totally get to me. But I’m in a rush, so I tell myself
he already had this particular type and read those instructions. He digs in his pack and takes out a garbage bag. “Put this around your pack. Keep it dry.”
I must hesitate or something because he grabs my pack right out of my hands and starts wrapping it up. “You need to keep this dry, or when you find her, your stuff won’t be worth anything.”
I nod. He’s right. I feel like I should pay him back somehow and then it comes to me. So, I hand him the key to my room. “You want to bunk here? I paid for the night.”
“Might take you up on that, Wild Thing. My aching bones could use a break. Last night in a real bed.” He pauses as if that’s supposed to mean something more, but “time is a-wasting,” something Dad used to always say, and I’ve got to go.
I look at Rain Man as he sits on my bed. He looks tired. I hope he stays longer than a day and rests up. I almost tell him that, but I’m busy putting on my new socks. “Thanks, Rain Man, you’ve been really great.”
“It’s not hard to be great to a great kid. I could tell you were special the moment I saw you.”
For a second, with the low light in the room, and Rain Man tired and not trailsy, he reminds me even more of my dad. “See you on the trail, Rain Man,” I say.
“Yeah. See you, son.”
This time I don’t flinch when he says that. This time I let myself feel his fatherly concern. Maybe Dad can reach out to me in small ways.
The rain has already started, and I pull my hood up, tying it tight. As my feet hit the path on the way to the trail, I hear Emerson screech after me, “Go get her, Wild Thing!”
Gator and Pepsi chime in with their cheers.
If I was the kind of person who blushed, I’d blush now, but I’m not, so I don’t. I pick up the pace, counting my steps as a way to drive myself forward.
I know if Emily were here, she’d tell me I was being an idiot for hiking at night like this, when I’m not even great at hiking during the day, when you can actually see stuff. And being able to see the downed trees and the roots and the rocks and the mud makes the hiking part so much easier. If Emily were here, she’d have made me stay and wait to look for Ghost in the morning. But she’s not here, and I am here, on the trail at night, doing my best to aim the light on my head at the ground in front of me, but it keeps slipping and I keep tripping. Emily would say something smartass about how I’m no poet. And I’d laugh right with her.
I can almost feel her with me, Emily, and that makes me feel like I’m doing the right thing. Am I really pink-blazing? Or am I just being a concerned citizen? Ha. Even I can’t be that dense.
My feet are pissed at being shoved back into boots, but I’m grateful as hell for Rain Man’s socks. That man must have some kind of major stash of supplies the way he’s doling them out all the time. Something about that makes me worry a little. I mean, is it normal to give people stuff all the time? But maybe that’s what trail magic is all about. Anyway, I don’t have time to worry about Rain Man. I’ve got to find Ghost.
Chapter 11
The trail is even more slippery than I remember. I have to go really slow because it’s dark, which I’m not used to, and because the trail is climbing and dipping. I’m terrified that I’ll miss the white blazes that mark the trail and get lost in the woods.
The fear of getting lost lodges under my rib cage, making my breath come out ragged. The squish of my boots getting stuck in the mud, the thick sucking sound as I pull them out, and the steady rain are the only sounds I hear as I trudge forward.
My path is blocked by a massive downed tree. I have to stop to climb over the trunk that feels way too big to have fallen by itself, but the light shows a charred mark and my hands feel where it split, so it must have been struck by lightning. This adds another fear to my list. In order to fight the panic that’s building, I fill my head with the imaginary sound of my drums. I’ve listened to that track so often that my head can replicate it at will. I keep those drums going as I walk through the woods, getting hit in the face with small leafy twigs that hurt like hell each time they make contact, but something tells me that Ghost is near and needs help, so I keep going.
I make it to the top of the incline and shine my headlamp into the gap below. I think this one is called a bull gap. Water moves below me, and it sounds like more of a threat than a soothing welcome. Every ascending part of the trail feels treacherous, and for once, I wish I was hiking with those poles that the older guys use. Especially on this sloggy trail.
I reach down and grab a long branch from the ground, break off some of the limbs, and use that as a staff to propel me forward. I’m making my way across what I’m sure is supposed to be a small creek, but it has become a rushing stream. I’m very glad for the extra stability of the staff, and I am almost across when I see a dark mass about a hundred feet ahead of me. It doesn’t have the same shape as a tree or a rock, but it’s hard to see in my light and the rain.
As I get closer, my pulse quickens. The shape is definitely human. A lying-in-a-lump-on-the-ground human. I race up the slope, not even caring about the stray branches that wallop me in the face, closing my eyes to avoid being blinded. It’s Ghost. She’s laying on the trail, her leg pinned under a tree. Her breath fills my ears as I bend down and the rain falls in heavy drops around us, my headlamp aimed straight at her face.
She puts her hand up to shield her eyes. “Are you trying to blind me?”
I shake my head. “Are you okay?”
“Sure. I’m fine. Just thought I’d lie under this tree for a while.”
“Right.”
I take off my pack and put it on the ground under a tree, still encased in the garbage bag Rain Man gave me. I look for a branch to use as leverage so I can get that tree off her. Somehow, despite all of the surrounding trees, there seem to be no suitable branches. Ghost’s teeth are chattering, and I can hear her breath sticking in her chest. I untie the garbage bag and open my backpack, pulling out my tarp and a blanket. I throw the blanket on top of her and the tarp on top of the blanket while I keep searching the forest floor. I finally find a useful branch, and when I circle back to her, she’s got the blanket up around her neck and she’s breathing into it, maybe even crying, it’s hard to know for sure with the competing sound of the rain.
“It’s okay, we’ll get you out of here in no time.”
Her head bobs up and down, and I go to work getting that tree off of her. It starts to lift. I hold my breath while silently thanking Dad for making me a swimmer. It’s made me strong enough to prop up the tree while she grabs her leg with both hands and pulls it out of the way.
I drop the tree, let out a breath, and then kneel next to her. “Hey, let me check that out.”
She looks back at the tree. “Who are you, Superman? Maybe we should give you a new trail name.” Her hands run up and down her foot. “I don’t think it’s broken.”
The rain slows a little and I feel like it’s a gift. “You think you can stand?”
She gives me her hands, and I pull her up. She balances on her good foot, then carefully puts the injured one on the ground. Her face contorts with a groan and she lifts it again.
“Here.” I hand her the stick I was using. “Let me get on my pack and then we can get yours.”
With our gear collected, I sling her arm around my neck and put my hand around her waist so she’s got the stick on one side for support and me on the other. We hobble forward, almost trip, and have to stop. She laughs a little, but it’s a tiny sound, like her lungs are too tired to exhale. I start to worry that maybe she hurt a rib or punctured a lung. First-aid pictures and descriptions float through my brain, because, yeah, I read up on issues you could encounter being alone on the trail. I can see all of them laid out in front of me. I try not to focus on everything bad that might happen, but on easing us forward, listening carefully as I do to be sure she’s still breathing. I hear her little whimpers as her injured foot ine
vitably touches the ground and her teeth chattering. I try to pull her closer to keep her warm.
“There’s a campsite up ahead,” I say.
“How do you know, newbie?” Her voice is so worn, the insult is barely formed.
“I looked at the map before coming after you.”
She stops. I almost fall.
“You came after me?”
“Well, everyone was saying it was dangerous to hike in this rain. There’s been flooding. And Rain Man said you’d gone anyway.”
“And you just had to—”
“I was worried. It’s a trail thing. My own version of being a trail angel, you know, like paying it forward. Or actually paying you back, since you saved my ass from a bear, in case you forgot.”
“How could I forget that?” She points. “Let’s set up here.”
It’s definitely a campsite, but there are no other campers here tonight. The rain slows to a drizzle.
“You want to find a shelter?”
She shakes her head. “Hate those.” She drops her pack and almost falls back with it. I reach for it and she pulls it away.
“Take it easy. I’m going to set up your tent for you, okay?”
She doesn’t answer. Just sits on a log, hanging her head.
I spread her tarp on the ground, then set up her tent. When I’m done, I reach into her pack and grab her sleeping bag, noting that her pack is still so damn light. Did she not restock? I leave the tent flap open and throw in new clothes. “You need to change, okay? You’re freezing.”
Then, I set up my tarp between two trees and put her pack and mine under it. I set up my tent next, and then get out my stove. I light it and start cooking the ramen under the tarp. I want to make her coffee too. I read somewhere that coffee helps open up the lungs. It’s the theophylline or something. It’s also supposed to speed up pain relievers. She needs both right now. So I reach into her pack and grab her stove. There’s almost nothing else in there. What the hell is she thinking? Why didn’t she resupply when she had the chance?
But this is not the time to ask questions. This is the time to assess her injuries and ailments. I start up her stove and grab my coffee supply, which I’m sad to say is dwindling. I could have used a restock myself, but I’ll think about that later.