"Help!" I try again, louder this time. "Please! Someone!"
My voice echoes briefly before being swallowed by another crash of thunder that shakes the mountainside. I flinch, curling tighter into myself as the storm intensifies around me.
No one knows exactly where I am. The rain is coming down harder and harder, turning the ledge beneath me into a miniature river of mud and debris. My injured ankle throbs in time with my racing heart. I glance up at the steep incline I tumbled down—my only route back to the trail—now slick with running water.
I'm completely, utterly trapped. And the storm is only getting worse.
A violent gust of wind sends a spray of icy water into my face, and I turn away, pressing my forehead against my knees. I've spent my whole life playing it safe, and the one time I try to be adventurous...
Lightning cracks overhead, illuminating the forest around me in a brief, harsh flash. In that split second, I see just how precarious my position really is—the ledge I'm huddled on isn't much wider than my body, with a much steeper drop continuing below.
Darkness returns, and with it, a terrifying thought: What if no one finds me before nightfall?
* * *
Time blurs as I huddle on my narrow ledge. Minutes stretch like hours, each rumble of thunder making me flinch. The temperature drops with the storm, and I can't stop shivering. I've tried shouting for help a few more times, but my voice is swallowed by the wind and rain.
Rational thought begins to slip away, replaced by rising panic. No one knows where I am. My phone is useless. Night will fall eventually, and the thought of being trapped here in the dark?—
A sound cuts through the storm. Not thunder, not wind. A voice.
I freeze, straining to hear. Maybe I imagined it, my desperate mind playing tricks.
Then it comes again, clearer this time.
"Sarah!"
My heart lurches. I know that voice.
"Hello?" I call back, my own voice thin and wavering. "I'm here! Down here!"
For several agonizing seconds, there's nothing. Just rain and thunder. Then movement above me on the trail. A dark shape moving through the mist.
"Sarah!" Connor's face appears at the edge of the trail, his expression a mixture of relief and alarm. "Are you hurt?"
The sight of him—rain-soaked, mud-splattered, but wonderfully, impossibly real—makes my throat tight with emotion.
"My ankle," I manage. "I fell. I can't climb back up."
He assesses the situation quickly, his eyes scanning the slope between us, then the ledge where I'm huddled. "Hang on. I'm coming down."
"No!" I protest. "It's too steep, too slippery?—"
But he's already moving, finding footholds in the muddy slope, descending with controlled slides that somehow look deliberate rather than desperate. He makes it look easy, like this is just another day in the mountains for Connor Callahan.
Within moments, he's crouching beside me on the narrow ledge, his larger frame blocking some of the rain. His hand, warm despite the chill, touches my shoulder.
"Let me see your ankle."
I wince as he gently examines it, his fingers careful but certain.
"Sprained, not broken, I think," he says. "But we need to get you down from here." His eyes meet mine, intense blue even in the storm's dim light. "I saw your car at the trailhead. What were you thinking, Sarah? This trail is treacherous even in good weather for someone who doesn't hike regularly."
There's frustration in his voice, but something else too—an urgency that seems more than the situation calls for.
"It was supposed to be easy and I wanted to see the view," I say, the explanation sounding pathetically inadequate even to my own ears.
Connor's jaw tightens, but he doesn't press further. Instead, he shrugs off his backpack, pulls out a small first aid kit, and quickly wraps my ankle with practiced efficiency.
