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Lena

T he scent of damp earth and pine filled her lungs as she followed the winding trail along the steep mountainside. It was hard to think that all this green would soon be covered in snow. It was all so alive at the moment.

Below her, the river valley stretched wide, the water threading through it like liquid silver beneath the shifting light. Even with the thick clouds pressing in, it was beautiful—wild, in a way she’d always loved, in a way that made her feel she was home. Regardless of where Lena went, regardless of how much she traveled, this was the smell she always came back to. The smell of home.

Every step on the familiar path brought memories rushing forward. She hadn’t even realized how much she missed it while she was away, but now that she was back, it was as if she’d never left.

She remembered the hikes she’d taken as a child, always at her mother’s side, their boots crunching against the dirt as they picked their way up the slopes. Once in a while her father would join them, but he’d always considered weekends to be bonus work days, so usually it was just her and her mother, out here in the mountains.

Even now, six years after her mother’s passing, the loss felt fresh. Like she could turn a corner and find her waiting there, smiling, one hand on her windblown hair as she pointed out some hidden pocket of the forest. A bird’s nest. A deer trail.

Everything Lena knew about wildlife, she’d learned from her mother. Sometimes she thought her love of photography came from the same place—an irresistible urge to preserve those fleeting moments of her childhood.

Huffing a bit from the sudden uphill—maybe she wasn’t as fit as she’d once been—she veered off the main path, pushing through the trees. The dense forest muffled the world beyond, the hush of damp leaves and distant river filling the silence. She knew these trails well—knew where the wildlife lingered this time of year, where she might catch the last movements of the season before winter set in. Or at least, she hoped she did.

She adjusted her camera strap, stepping carefully as she moved toward a familiar clearing, where she’s last seen the family of chamois earlier in the fall. But the rain, which had started as a light mist, was beginning to pick up, thickening the air with a steady, whispering drizzle.

Lena stopped briefly to put on her light waterproof layer and trudged on. This wasn’t the first time she’d found herself walking in less than ideal conditions. In her job, persistence sometimes paid off. Giving up never did.

She was determined not to let the weather dissuade her, telling herself at the end of the day she’d hopefully have a spectacular set of photographs to show for her effort … and that there’d be a warm bath waiting for her back at her father’s house.

By mid-afternoon, though, the ground was slick beneath her boots, the packed dirt of the trail softening to mud, and her hair under the thin waterproof jacket hung in wet, heavy strands. She wished she’d taken the time to braid it earlier that day.

The clouds had deepened to a heavy gray that didn’t bode well. A small voice inside her told her it was time to turn back, that the rain she’d experienced so far was nothing compared to what she’d face if the storm caught up with her for real. But she’d gotten no good shots all day. If she could just get a little farther, maybe find the perfect shot before the storm rolled in …

Her phone pinged once, then multiple times in quick succession. Reception was hit-and-miss up here—she must have just hit a spot with decent reception.

She wondered briefly if one of them was from Tristan, but no, they were all work-related messages. You fool . There was no way he’d want to see her again. She recalled the brief message exchange from the night before, when she’d finally built up her courage to write to him, at close to one in the morning.

I’m sorry I didn’t show up.

He’d written back almost immediately.

Are you okay?

Her fingers had hesitated on the keyboard. She’d been sorely tempted to make something up. Anything. Something to make him give her another chance. But she wasn’t willing to lie—that wasn’t the way she wanted to live her life. She thought for a long time before typing out three words.

Yes. I’m sorry.

That time it took him longer to reply.

Thanks for telling me, Lena. I’m glad you’re okay.

She wished she’d had the courage to write back after that. She liked Tristan. She genuinely liked him. Their first evening together, unexpected as it had been, had been the most fun she’d had in recent memory. But she’d been too embarrassed, and too much of a coward.

Thunder rumbled, sending a shiver down her spine. The storm was getting closer, and if she’d learned anything from her father, it was that the mountains weren’t a good place to be in the middle of a storm. That voice inside her spoke again and, suddenly, it was her mother’s voice, urging her to head back.

She wasn’t stupid enough to ignore that warning. There would be other days to find the chamois. It was time to head home.

Lena turned, retracing her steps slowly. Already, the path had become more treacherous. Every step sank into the mud, and the rain-slicked rocks beneath her well-worn hiking boots felt unsteady. She moved quickly, eyes scanning the trail ahead, eager now to off the mountain.

As she stepped onto the narrow path beneath the tree-line, a sudden crack of thunder split the air. She flinched, instinctively turning her head—and missed the loose rock beneath her boot. It rolled. Her balance tipped, and she windmilled her hands to hold her position.

The rumble came again, deeper this time, vibrating through the very ground.

And then—the world shifted as the trail gave way beneath her.

A sickening lurch, the sudden weightlessness of losing her footing, and then she was falling—arms flailing, breath catching in her throat as she tumbled forward.

Lena’s instincts took over. She curled in on herself, arms wrapped tightly around her camera, her fingers gripping the strap like a lifeline, even as she realized how ridiculous she was being. A fat load of good her camera would do to her if she broke her neck. She raised one arm to protect her face instead.

The world spun in a blur of gray sky and wet, rushing earth as gravity took over. Her body slammed into the ground, jolting with each impact as she slid down the slope, loose rocks and sodden mud cascading around her.

Pain lanced through her shoulder as she struck something solid. All breath left her lungs. The shock of it sent her rolling again, helpless against gravity, the force of the slide dragging her down, down—until, suddenly, there was nothing beneath her at all.

She dropped.

For a split second, she was weightless.

Then—a hard impact. Her side slammed onto an uneven surface, her head snapping back against the damp stone. The shock of it radiated through her bones, stunning her. The camera, still clutched against her chest, dug into her ribs, and for a moment, all she could do was lie there, gasping, marveling that she was still alive.

Rain drummed against her face, cold and insistent. A deep ache bloomed in her limbs, her nerves waking to pain—her shoulder throbbed, her back felt bruised from the fall, but by far the worst pain was in her left ankle.

She tried to move.

The pain multiplied by ten, hot, searing agony that shot through her foot and all the way up her leg. She sucked in a breath, her vision going dark at the edges. Shit. She bit down on her lip, forcing herself to stay still, breathing through the pain.

When she was able to, she opened her eyes again. High up, she could see the ledge she’d been standing on—or what was left of it—and beyond that, the trees. A raw, muddy scar marked where the trail had collapsed, earth still crumbling in the downpour.

This isn’t good.

There was no way she was getting back up there, but she had to at least move out of the way, lest some of the looming jagged rocks fall on her head.

The sound of rushing water echoed nearby—the river, somewhere below. Too close. Too loud. Not good at all.

Her stomach clenched as she realized her predicament. She was trapped here, off-trail, down a slope, and no one knew where she was.

The thought sent a wave of cold through her that had nothing to do with the rain.

She reached for her jacket pocket with shaky fingers, praying that her phone had survived the fall. She always carried it in an inner pocket, close to her body, as her father had taught her.

Her heart pounded as she pressed the button. Hope flared inside her as the screen came to life … then plummeted when she saw the small icons on the top right. No cell reception.

She exhaled, hard. Dammit. She’d left her father a note, telling him she was going out to find the family of chamois, but hadn’t told him exactly where she was going. Idiot. Rule number one out in the mountains was never go out alone. The other number one rule was, if you had to go out alone, you made sure someone knew exactly where you were going, and you checked in periodically.

A hysterical laugh bubbled out of her.

If she lived through this, her father was going to kill her.

She tilted her head back against the wet stone, forcing herself to think.

Okay. Priorities.

She needed shelter. If she stayed here, exposed, she’d be in trouble fast. Her gaze was caught by a large rock overhang. Not large enough to be called a cave, but large enough to crawl under—maybe. But she’d have to get there first. And walking the short distance separating her from the overhang was beyond her at the moment.

It’s not beyond you. If you can’t walk, you can crawl. Or drag yourself there. But you’ve got to get out of the rain.

That sounded a lot like her father’s voice, though she knew it was coming from inside her mind. She wondered if she was going delirious.

A gust of wind howled through the trees, chilling her to her bones.

She couldn’t stay here. She rolled herself onto her front, her frozen hands digging into the mud for purchase. Even that slight movement sent jolts of pain through her ankle.

Gritting her teeth, she pulled herself forward. Every movement sent new waves of agony through her leg, but the cold and the rain drumming against her skin helped to center her.

She dragged herself forward in small bursts of power.

One inch at a time.

She had to get out of the rain.

And then?

She’d cross that bridge when she got to it.