Chapter 23

I plan to make the most of my few days off before snowfall—something I am eagerly awaiting. I’ve never been anywhere with a lot of snow and am excited to experience my first winter in Washington. Maybe I can even learn to ski or snowboard. On a little hill… a baby hill… perhaps a fetus hill if they have one. I’m good on my feet, but the thought of sliding down the side of a mountain has my forehead breaking out in a cold sweat.

Tomorrow will be my first big hike in the mountains. I’ve hiked parts of Arkansas, before, but the scenery is noticeably different in the Pacific Northwest. Not only are there snow-capped mountains, but the trees are mightier, the flora is greener, and the forests are darker and deeper. The urge to immerse myself in nature has never been stronger.

After all this business with Callahan, I can’t rely on others to make me happy. That was the whole point of moving away. How long have I sacrificed my own peace so others could have theirs? I’m done . If I’m going to make it in this world, I have to protect my heart and not offer it so freely, even if it is just for fun .

This hike is important; it’s part of finding myself. I’ll never be who I once was, and I don’t want to. So it’s time for me to rebuild a version of me I can love. So that someday, someone else can love me too.

It’s an undertaking that will prove I can overcome obstacles, whether they be mountains or hot men. Quell’s Peak trail is one I’ve chosen very intentionally. It’s a challenging hike but comes with the reward of captivating vistas. I don’t plan on making it to the top, as the peaks have snow on them and I don’t have the appropriate gear, but my objective is to reach the false summit that will serve as my finishing line.

I’ve done my homework. Quell’s is roughly a twelve-mile hike to the summit. It’s out-and-back style, no loop. However, I’ll only be doing about nine of those miles. Someday, I’ll do the full route, which continues on through a fairly flat section of forest that gradually rises in elevation until it opens up with rocky patches of scree to the top. However, based on trail reports, snow is covering that section.

This time of year, there may be icy patches, but they should be easy to navigate with no special equipment. The most difficult portion is the last mile, which I won’t be completing anyway. I’d love to check it out another time because according to other hikers, the view from the peak is spectacular. I’ll come back to conquer it next year, but tomorrow’s expedition will provide me with the sense of control I’m yearning for.

I load up my backpack with water, some snacks, a first aid kit, and a jacket, and set it next to the most valuable thing I own: my boots. I double-check the weather one last time. Looks like there could be some storms rolling through in a couple days, but tomorrow is clear and perfect for hiking.

Flopping onto my bed, I plug the charger into my phone and set the alarm. I’m all set.

After the sun is up, I brush my teeth and tie my hair up into a ponytail. My fingers work a glob of sunscreen into my face and neck where my skin will be exposed. Layers are important, hence my current thin thermal base layer, which will wick moisture from my body on the hike.

After turning off the bathroom light, I return to my bed and tug my hiking pants over the leggings. They’re wind resistant and have a couple small tears from previous use. Crouching on the edge of the air mattress, I drag thick socks over my feet, then wiggle my toes. Next to me lays my wool sweater, which will act as my mid-layer. I’ll bring it with me in the car and put it on at the trailhead. My final outer layer is my burnt-orange puffer jacket that I’ve squished into a ball into my backpack. That jacket is probably the second most valuable thing I own, and I’m hoping it will get me through this hike—and all the cold and wet winter months to come.

I grab a granola bar to eat on the way to the trailhead and stuff it in the cargo pocket of my pants, then step into my hiking boots and lace them up. The right boot is too tight, so I untie, adjust, and repeat the process. Much better. With my wool sweater in one hand and my backpack over my shoulder, I snatch my keys and head out, locking the door behind me.

The skies are mostly clear when I park at the trailhead. There’s one other truck here, so apparently, I’m not the only one who thought it was a good day for a hike. First, I got turned around on my way. I was looking for a road sign, but after driving around in circles, I finally stopped to ask for directions. As it turns out, the road isn’t actually marked. Helpful.

Once I got that far, the drive to the parking lot was winding with occasional rocks jutting out of the narrow gravel path. Between navigational issues and travelling slower than anticipated, I’m getting started much later than I’d originally planned, but now that I’ve arrived, I’m eager to put some distance between this parking lot and me. I’ve got nine miles ahead of me and can’t get behind schedule, or I’ll have to turn around before reaching my destination.

I get out, pull my sweater over my head, lock my car, and stuff my keys into one of the pockets on my backpack before I hoist it over my shoulders and clip the strap over my chest. I walk toward the wooden sign carved with QUELL’S PEAK TRAIL and tighten the backpack straps at my sides.

Pulverized rock crunches under my boots. The journey starts with a gravel path from the trailhead and becomes steeper as you reach the top, winding through boulder fields and patches of forest. The landscape ahead is stunning, and I’m in awe of the wildness of it. I marvel at the herculean mountain range peppered with rock formations, emerald trees, and white snow. My smile grows as I trek ahead.

I’m not twenty minutes into my hike when I see another hiker descending. I’m assuming it’s the owner of the truck I saw earlier, and a man, based on his height. I doubt he reached the top; he would have had to get here hours ago. Or maybe he’s just fast and has a lot of stamina. His strides are likely much longer than mine. I keep my gaze down on the uneven path, glimpsing up occasionally, but the next time I glance up, I notice he almost looks like… It can’t be . I straighten my pack and stand taller.

Yup. It’s him. Sweaty, sexy Callahan Woods. I am unaffected by him. I’m totally not even a little bit affected by him.

Am I okay? No. But am I going to be? Without a doubt.

He was a lesson, a painful—but important—one I needed to learn: never invest more than you’re willing to lose.

It’s not like I loved him or anything, that would be ridiculous, but I really liked him before he showed his true colors. Before he gave truth to the rumors.

I want nothing more than to experience true love for myself. Now that I’m starting over, I'm in a much better position to receive it, but I still feel like I’m getting my start a decade behind my peers. From now on, I will go out more, meet new people, focus on my job, and have adventures like this one. I will live life fully and create my own happiness.

The moment he recognizes me, he does a double take. We ignore each other until we’re right at the point of passing. If that furrowed brow is any indicator, he’s not thrilled to see me either.

“Hey.” There’s mirthfulness in his voice, as if he’s as perplexed as I am by the wild coincidence. We keep running into each other; Sky Ridge is one thing, but this is the mountains.

“Hi,” I say without making eye contact. I may be amused by the happenstance, but there’s no need to let it show. I’m over him, and I want him to know it.

Five hours later, I clear the thick copse of trees, and the path opens to the most breathtaking views. Wind whips up the side of the mountain, and the icy patches on the ground are more frequent. The higher I climb, the stronger the winds blow, which is normal, but the sky is a lot more overcast than when I began. The clouds aren’t stormy and gray, though. I verified the weather before bed last night, and everything seemed fine. I consider whether I should start my descent but check my watch. Assuming I’m on the part of the trail I think I am, I’ll reach the false summit in less than an hour. It’s too close to give up and turn around.

I stop for a beat and extract my puffer coat from my bag and put it on, zipping it up to my chin. Much better. No such thing as bad weather, just bad clothing. Now that the wind isn’t penetrating the threads on my sweater, my body heat fills the jacket, which insulates the warmth. After pulling my backpack on my shoulders again and adjusting the straps to fit over the new layer, I plod on, increasing my speed.

The boulder field I’m maneuvering through winds into switchbacks ahead that grow steeper at each turn; they’re intimidating. The rocks surrounding me are enormous. Two in particular are enough to stop me in my tracks to marvel at. The colossal size of them is unearthly. Well, at least they are for someone not from the Pacific Northwest.

Before long, the trail through the boulder field meets the steep section of the mountainside. I’m almost there. The wind is louder, and I’m unable to hear my boots crunch on the path. Flakes begin to fall. Is it snowing? A smile stretches across my face, and I laugh. Snow! My first Washington snow! I want to spin in circles like I’m Julie Andrews in the Alps, but the better part of my judgment reminds me that snow means inclement weather. I’m almost there, and it’s only a few light flurries. Perhaps it’s just snow that’s being blown off the peaks from above. I can’t give up when I’m so close.

As I hurry forward, my quickened pace is quickly corrected to something slower by the high altitude. I exhale steam from my mouth and inhale fresh, cold air through my nose, my heart battling the incline and thin air.

According to my research, this is the steepest part of my hike—the switchbacks. After completing two, I have to stop for a water break. Thankfully, the pathway is wide enough so I’m not having to cling to the mountainside on the inner pass. Curiosity gets the better of me, so I slip my water bottle in my bag and move toward the outer edge. Those sixteen foot boulders from earlier don’t appear so big anymore.

The call of the void . How easy it would be to just… le ap. A blast of wind hits me, and I tense, pushing away from the ledge. Small rocks crumble under my hands, falling over the side and bouncing off the vertical wall to the path below. Okay, that’s enough intrusive thoughts for today. Backing away from the edge, I choose a safer footing toward the inside wall. The gusts of wind strengthen until it’s all I hear. It's a loud white noise, and the only thing that occasionally breaks through is my own panting breaths. Gazing up, I estimate there are three or four cliffside switchbacks left before the trail breaks into something more gradual—the false summit.

The patch of trees above the switchbacks mark my finish line. I’ll stop to take in the view, have a short break, then head back to my car. As I ascend, sporadic flurries are whipped into a frenzy, and it’s hard to tell if it’s coming from above or below. More snow is sure to fall, and in a few weeks, the ground I’m standing on will be blanketed in white.

Another switchback down. Then another. The wind lashes at the exposed portions of my face and hands. Why didn’t I bring gloves? I tuck my stiff fingers into the sleeves of my coat. Almost there. My eyes fix on a point in the distance, and I use it as the next marker for me to rest and drink some water. As much as I want to get out of the wind, I need a minute to catch my breath.

Another switchback. My body is shouting to turn around, that I won't have enough energy or time to make it back if I keep going, but I can't give up now. I have to finish what I started. If it was easy, it wouldn’t be rewarding.

The cold batters me with every step as I climb higher. I knew this would be a difficult spot. Keep going. I’m almost to my rest marker when a rumble startles me. It’s been constant white noise for the last twenty minutes; what could be loud enough to break through the roar of the wind?

I pause, ripping off my hood and hoping to get a better idea of where the rumbling and crunching is coming from. The hair on the back of my neck stands up, and I freeze. The noise fades as it carries the sound of popcorn popping. Another thud triggers the rolling thunder again, occasionally interrupted by more pops—like snapping toothpicks or… trees .

Blood drains from my face as I’m hit with a flashback from The Fold when they wanted to construct a giant cross at the top of a hill. It was a giant monument from some foundry out west. There were dangerous boulders near the top, and they used a bulldozer to roll them down the hill to ensure they wouldn’t move during the construction and endanger the workers. I was there when they pushed those massive rocks down the hill. There’s no mistaking it now, it’s the crash of trees being mowed over as massive rocks carve new paths in the earth. This is a rockslide or a runaway boulder.

If it’s a boulder, I might have a chance to dodge it, but if it’s a rockslide, I’m likely already dead. The flurries disappear against the white sky when I look up, but I can’t see anything. I scan the ledge above for any falling rock or dirt. Do I hug the wall? The cracking crescendos until it sounds like gunshots. My hands shake. A rock the size of a brick falls about twelve feet behind me.

Run.

I unsnap my backpack and drop it as my feet hit the trail, covering as much ground as I can. With my bag gone, I’m able to move faster and am a smaller target than I was while wearing it. The echo of snapping trees is replaced by scraping dirt and a steady thump as rocks pummel the earth behind me, chasing me higher up the mountain. Prayers I learned as a child are recited in my thoughts over and over again. My heart hammers against my ribcage as I push my legs harder than I ever have before.

Then everything is silent and the world goes dark.