With my eyes on my phone, I position the drone and start to turn it, but something catches my eye. A little animal, running through the woods, its golden fur flashing in the late afternoon sun between the leaves that make up the thick canopy.
A dog.
Without thinking, I turn the drone and focus in on it, worry coursing through me. Is someone’s dog lost out here? Every article I read before coming out here listed leashing your dog as one of the most important tips for avoiding a bear attack.
But when I get the drone closer to the dog, chasing after it, something weird happens. A line moves over the footage, then another, almost like an old-timey channel changing. Then, all at once, it shows my drone falling from the sky, and the screen goes dark, flicking to anErrormessage.
I realize I’m breathing hard when the dark screen reflects my face back at me. Whose dog is that? And is it okay?
My brand-new hiking boots bite angrily into my heels as I stand, turning and shifting side to side, looking in the direction of my drone, of the dog.
I can’t stand the idea of leaving the drone behind. Crashing like it did, it probably broke, exploding into bits of plastic and metal. I’m not going to leave it behind and litter in the forest.
That would not be veryEcotraof me.
Sighing, I reach down and grab my little pack — the one I planned on taking hiking tomorrow — and set out in the direction of where the drone went down. I’ll have to make quick progress if I want to get back to my site before dark.
I do not makequick progress.
By the time I get to the approximate last location of my drone — according to the app — the sun has long set, and my entire body is covered in goosebumps, thoughts of what might be out here with me threatening to hijack my mind.
Every shadow in the corner of my eye, or rustling of leaves, makes me jump.
I’m so focused on following the little tracker on my phone that I nearly run face-first into a tall wooden fence covered in ivy. There’s a tiny open spot, and when I lift a hand to it, I see a sign half-buried under foliage.
Keep Out.
What is this — private forest land? I didn’t read anything about that in my research.
I bite my lip, linger for a moment, thinking about my drone. About that dog.
Then, I make a decision, stripping my pack from my back and tossing the thing up and over the fence. I look up at the top and pray I’m strong enough to get over it.
Luckily, though the fencelooksrun-down, it seems to be relatively new, and I’m able to scale up and down easily, landing on the other side with a satisfiedoomph.
The trees are just as dense on the other side of the barrier, and I grab my pack, pushing through them in the direction of where the drone went down.
And then I see something, and the air leaves my lungs.
It’s like a cabin, but hidden in the side of the mountain, earth completely covering the top of the structure. From here, I can see the front of it, golden light filtering out through a quaint little door and window. There’s a rocking chair out in front. If you were looking down from the sky, you would never know it was there.
A spike of fear goes through me; maybe I should have paid attention to those warning signs. But it’s at this moment that I spot my drone, surprisingly in one piece, just to the back of the structure’s sloping, rounded roof.
I’ll run in, retrieve it, and be on my way. I need that footage.
And besides, there’s video ofmeon there. And it’s not like I want whoever is out here to figure out who I am and where I’m camping.
Creeping forward, I reach the base of the building and look up at the grass and moss-covered side. It looks like a hill, so I back up, start running, leap onto the thing and try to climb toward my drone.
But the side is slicker than I thought, and I quickly lose my balance.
“No, no,fuck!” I hiss, grappling for a hold. There is none. It’s all just short, stubby, moss-like grass, which is almost slimy in the moisture. I’m making more noise than I want to. And I’mdefinitelytoo loud when I lose my grip and tumble to the side,sliding down the building like I’m at a playground. I land hard on what looks like the cabin’s back porch.
For the second time today, I’ve nearly thrown out my back, and for a minute I stay completely still, holding my breath with the pain and the anticipation of someone hearing me.
A light flicks on in the back of the place, the golden glow oozing out through the window, but this time I don’t think of it as beingmerry. This time, it makes my pulse quicken, terror coursing through me.
Oh,fuck.
