Chapter Two

Cole had learned quickly that going on vacation with Tank was both a headache and an adventure—luckily, more of the latter than the former. Tank’s boundless energy seemed to ignite around six in the morning and didn’t extinguish until long after midnight. By day four, Cole, several years Tank’s junior, was struggling to keep pace.

Scotland was fabulous, proving to be a feast for the senses, a great mix of history, natural beauty, warm hospitality, and whiskey nearly at every corner. They’d started their trip in Edinburgh, where they explored the cobbled streets of the Royal Mile, the imposing majesty of Edinburgh Castle, and Mary King’s Close in Old Town, a labyrinth of passageways, vaulted chambers, and old tenement houses that dated back to the 1600’s. Reputed to be haunted, the close lay entirely underground, its tenement buildings remarkably intact, with doors, shuttered windows, gutters, and even rooms still visible. Tank had insisted on a night tour, a spooky affair filled with tales of restless spirits that had left Cole rolling his eyes and Tank grinning like a kid.

From there, they’d rented a car and driven north through the scenic hills of Perthshire, stopping at Stirling Castle for a dose of William Wallace history. Tank had a knack for befriending strangers, and by the time they’d reached the castle’s great hall, he was sharing a dram of whisky with an overly enthusiastic local guide. Cole had caught some of their conversation, which Cole himself had heard on the plane, regarding Tank’s high school’s production of a musical version of Braveheart, in which Tank himself had played the lead.

“You sang? In a musical?” Cole had needed clarification when he’d first heard this. “ You did?”

Tank had shrugged in the seat next to Cole on the international flight. “Dude, it was twenty years ago—yeah, I sang. By the way, all the hottest chicks were in the drama club. But seriously, it was awful—I mean, I was great, but the play was brutal.”

“Please tell me there’s video of this somewhere.” Cole had pleaded. “In some old metal file cabinet in the basement of your high school.”

“Colorado next, if you want to get your hands on that,” Tank had teased, referring to the four years he’d spent as a teenager in Colorado when his mother and father had split and he and his mom had briefly moved out west.

Their journey had continued into the Highlands, where the scenery became even more dramatic. Yesterday, they’d spent hours near Loch Ness. While Tank had discussed with their guide the probability of the fabled monster Nessie being real, Cole had been more interested in the tranquil beauty of the loch and the ancient ruins of Urquhart Castle perched along its shores.

Now, on day four, they found themselves near Loch Linnhe, the towering slopes of Ben Nevis looming ahead. Tank, ever the adrenaline junkie, had declared it hiking day.

“We can’t come all this way and not see the view from the top,” Tank had said in an effort to cajole Cole.

Cole was game for many things, all the tours Tank had previously booked and plenty of sightseeing, but wondered if he should draw the line on hiking. While he appreciated the rugged beauty of Scotland, he wasn’t convinced that trudging up the UK’s tallest peak after three days of nonstop adventure was the best idea. He and Tank were both healthy males, but they weren’t hikers. Yeah, he’d done short climbs around Buffalo at Chestnut Ridge and Letchworth parks, but those were a far cry from what Tank had in mind.

Still, Tank’s zeal was hard to resist—and they were right here—so that Cole found himself suppressing a groan and lacing up his hiking boots, consoling himself with the hope that the hike would be short, uneventful, and a good dinner with a nice glass of whiskey would be his reward later.

Adjusting the straps on the small backpack he’d purchased and filled with water, a multitool, a flashlight, an extra pair of socks, and an entire box of energy bars, Cole glanced up the trail that snaked toward the peak of Ben Nevis. The morning sun was deceptively warm, but the chill became obvious as they slowly reached higher elevations.

Tank was a few paces ahead, arms spread wide as if embracing the mountains.

“This is what it’s all about, man,” Tank said, his voice carrying over the stillness of the trail. “Fresh air, nature at its purest, and a challenge to remind you you’re alive.”

“That reminder came this morning at 6 am,” Cole called up to Tank, “when you scared the shit out of me, bouncing on the bed like a five-year-old.”

“You snoozed through two alarms, dude!” Tank shot back, spinning around to walk backward with a cocky grin.

“For good reason,” Cole defended, adjusting the winter hat he’d purchased at the same time he’d bought the backpack. “We closed that pub last night.” They hadn’t gotten back to their hotel until almost 2 a.m., and Cole had struggled the entire trip, and more so last night, to sleep with Tank’s snoring being loud enough to shake the rafters.

“Gotta make the most of every hour, my man. When are you ever going to get back to Scotland?”

It was a good point, or it might have been, except that Cole was really impressed with Scotland, and had already decided it would definitely be a place he’d like to visit again. They were cramming a lot into each day, but there was so much more to see.

“This is soul-repair,” Tank pronounced, his voice carrying easily over the wind.

Cole couldn’t argue with that. There was some benefit to traveling with Tank. While Cole tended to overanalyze everything— until all the spontaneity was sucked out, as Tank had pointed out several times over the years—Tank was the kind of guy who turned every moment into an adventure. And sure, Tank’s relentless energy could be exhausting, but Cole couldn’t deny that he was glad he’d been talked into coming.

As they crested a ridge, Tank paused to admire the view. The mountains rolled out in endless layers of white-capped green and gray, the sky stretching impossibly wide above them.

“Worth it, huh?” Tank said, pointing toward the horizon.

Cole nodded, breathless from both the climb and the scenery, but hardly able not to appreciate the vista presented to them. “Yeah. That’s quite a view.”

They continued up the trail, the conversation meandering from the landscape to Tank’s latest business venture—a juice bar he wanted to open in Buffalo.

“I’m telling you, it’s gonna be huge,” Tank said, gesturing animatedly. “Cold-pressed, organic, all that good stuff. It’s what the world needs right now.”

“Uh-huh,” Cole replied, his smile amused. “And when exactly did you become a health guru?” Cold-pressed, organic juices weren’t in the same arena as fries, chicken wings, or Tank’s favorite—and Buffalo’s own—beef on weck. Certainly, it shouldn’t be mentioned in the same breath as beer and whiskey, Tank’s other favorites.

Tank laughed. “You’ve got your little side gig, MVP. I can have plans as well.”

“You sure can,” was all Cole said, unconvinced that anything would ever come of it. Last spring, Tank had been all gung-ho about opening an ax-throwing bar, from which he’d quickly been dissuaded when the cost of insurance was projected to be more than the monthly lease on the property he’d had in mind. Before that, Tank had talked nonstop about buying a used cube van and turning it into a mobile pet grooming business, though he hadn’t a minute’s worth of experience with either pets or their grooming. During Covid, curious about places he was unable to visit, Tank had bought half a dozen drones, determined to start a drone photography business. He’d crashed four of them before scrapping those plans.

“Actually, the juice bar was Doreen’s idea,” Tank admitted, “but she’ll never do anything with it. And I still think it’s a great investment. There’s only one other one in all—”

Tank went suddenly silent as a strange wind rose from behind them, cutting his words short. It wasn’t a typical gust but felt instantly unnatural, carrying with it a faint, otherworldly hum that Cole felt more than heard. It prickled at his skin, like static electricity crawling along his arms and neck.

Cole stopped dead in his tracks and exchanged a sharp glance with Tank, whose usual lively expression had dimmed into wary confusion.

“Wind’s been coming straight at us all day,” Cole muttered, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the darkened peaks surrounding them. “Why’s it blowing backward now?”

Tank didn’t answer immediately. His lips pressed into a tight line as his gaze swept the trail they’d just climbed.

The air had shifted, growing heavier with each passing second, pressing down on them. It wasn’t just heavy—it felt alive, charged, like the moments before a thunderstorm, but magnified a hundredfold.

“You feel that?” Cole asked, his voice low and tight.

Tank met his gaze again, his frown deepening. “Yeah,” he admitted, his usual confidence replaced with something closer to unease. “What the hell is—”

The words died in his throat as something rippled through the air. Cole felt it first—a faint vibration beneath his boots, like the earth itself had taken a shallow breath.

Then, Tank blurred. Not gradually, not subtly, but as if someone had dropped a gauzy material between them. His form wavered, distorting in and out of focus, while the world around them seemed to ripple, like heat waves rising off sunbaked asphalt.

“Tank?” Cole’s voice cracked, the single syllable betraying the fear clawing its way up his throat.

Tank was only a few feet away, close enough that Cole could have reached out to grab his arm, except now, it felt impossible. An invisible barrier seemed to rise between them, a thin, vibrating wall of pressure that pushed back against every instinct Cole had to lunge forward.

The air buzzed, filling his ears with a low, eerie drone. Cole's stomach twisted as the feeling intensified, his pulse hammering in his temples. The mountains around them seemed to grow darker, ominously so.

“Tank!” Cole tried again, louder this time, but the word seemed to dissolve in the dense, oppressive air.

Tank turned his head toward him, his blurred features contorted in confusion and alarm. “Cole—” he started, but his voice warped, stretching and distorting, sounding like he was underwater. His figure flickered, one second solid, the next translucent, as if he were being pulled apart by unseen hands.

A thin, hair-raising breeze whipped past Cole, carrying with it a faint metallic tang that made his stomach churn even more.

This wasn’t normal. This wasn’t nature.

Something wasn’t right.

Panic gripped Cole as his vision wavered. He tried to move, to reach for Tank, but his limbs felt weighted, unresponsive. The last thing he saw before the world went black was Tank’s distorted figure reaching toward him.

And then—nothing.

***

Cole awoke to a biting cold that seemed to cut through his clothing and sink directly into his bones. Snow covered him in a thin, icy layer, dampening his jacket and soaking into his jeans. His breath misted in the frigid air, the sharp inhalation burning his lungs. He groaned as he tried to sit up, his muscles stiff and unresponsive, as though he’d been lying there for hours. Disoriented, he blinked against the dim light of dusk—or was it dawn? He wasn’t sure.

The world around him was eerily silent, save for the occasional whisper of wind. Sitting up now, he paused and tried to orient himself.

He squinted, his heart thudding against his ribs as the realization struck him: the ground beneath him was covered in snow. Not just a dusting or a patch here and there, but a thick layer, at least half a foot deep. How? When they’d started their hike, the mountains had been bare except for snowy caps on the highest peaks and a few wind-swept pockets.

What the hell had happened?

"Tank?" he croaked, his voice raspy and weak. No answer. He twisted his head, scanning his surroundings. His gloves were missing, leaving his fingers red and burning from the cold. “Tank!” he called again, stronger this time which resulted in a bout of coughing, but no response came.

He coughed again, louder, and struggled to get to his feet, his hands plunging into the snow as he braced himself.

He turned his head, his pulse quickening as he took in his surroundings. The winding trail they’d been climbing was gone. In its place was a dense grove of trees, their branches burdened with snow. Shadows crept along the forest floor, and the faint light above cast the entire scene in a surreal, bluish hue. The ground was without any marks, save for his own imprint. No trail. No footprints. No sign of life.

A gnawing fear ate at him. Where was Tank? He couldn’t fathom his friend leaving him behind. Tank was the type to drag him over his shoulder if need be, not the type to disappear without a word.

Cole forced himself to stand, his legs trembling under the strain. His boots crunched in the snow as he took a few unsteady steps. He tried to steady his breathing, but his chest tightened with rising panic. He called for Tank again, louder this time, his voice echoing uselessly into the void.

Nothing. No response.

The sun—or what little light there was—was fading fast. Shadows crept across the landscape, stealing what little warmth the day had provided. Cole’s training flashed through his mind: Hypothermia doesn’t just make you cold; it clouds your judgment, slows your movements. Keep moving, keep your blood circulating, stay sharp. But where would he go? He spun in place, searching for any sign of civilization. No lights in the distance, no smoke trails from a chimney, no sound of cars or planes—nothing but an unrelenting wilderness.

Where the hell was the mountain?

He forced himself forward, each step an effort against the biting wind.

His thoughts raced as his body slowed. Did Tank go for help?

Had there been an earthquake?

Did Scotland even have earthquakes?

Could he have hit his head?

His pulse spiked at the thought of more sinister possibilities. What if Tank had been injured—or worse?

As he trudged through the snow, the cold settled deeper into his limbs. His fingers were numb, his lips dry and cracked. After about an hour of walking aimlessly, Cole realized with growing alarm that he’d left his backpack behind. But then he didn’t remember seeing it at all after he’d woken up, and he did recall searching the immediate area. Maybe it was still on the mountain, where he and Tank had first noticed the change in the air, before he’d blacked out?

Another puzzle, that. Why had he passed out? He couldn’t make sense of anything, not one damn thing. It was beyond maddening.

Presently, however, finding warmth, shelter of some sorts, needed to be his first priority. He would freeze out here in the elements. He tugged his coat tighter around him and lowered his hat over his ears, but it was no use; his body was losing heat faster than he could retain it. He clenched and unclenched his fists, stomped his feet, even jogged for a little bit, tried anything to keep his blood flowing while another hour passed.

Just when despair threatened to overwhelm him, he saw it: a dark opening in the side of a small hill. A cave. It wasn’t ideal, but it was shelter, and right now, it was his only option. Stumbling toward it, he ducked inside and collapsed against the rough stone wall. The air was stale and damp but marginally warmer than outside.

Cole’s breaths came fast and shallow as he assessed his situation. He knew the risks of staying here, but he also knew the risks of wandering aimlessly through the cold. Stay put, his training said. Make yourself easy to find. But the gnawing fear that no one was looking for him at all made him second-guess everything.

He pulled his knees to his chest, trying to conserve what little heat he had left. The darkness pressed in on him, amplifying his thoughts. The surrealness of the situation was almost too much to process. One moment, he’d been hiking with Tank, grinning over Tank’s desire to be a businessman. Now, he was freezing in the middle of nowhere, no Tank, no explanation, no idea what to do next.

As exhaustion tugged at him, Cole fought to stay awake. He had to survive. He had to figure this out.

For the first time in a long while, he felt something dangerously close to panic.

And as he closed his eyes against the cold and the dark, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something just wasn’t right, that he was missing some crucial piece of the puzzle surrounding his circumstances.