Not toward the trail back to the RV park. I ran into the forest, into the darkness, into the trees, because my brain had apparently decided that the best survival strategy was to become utterly and completely lost in terrain I’d only explored during daylight.
Branches whipped at my face. My foot caught on a root, and I stumbled, caught myself, and kept moving. My lungs were burning, and my heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my teeth.
I couldn’t hear any footsteps behind me or a voice calling out. The only sounds were my own ragged breathing and the rustle of undergrowth as I crashed through it like a B-movie heroine making every wrong decision possible.
I didn’t know where I was going. I’d left all my stuff, including my cell phone and keys, behind. I was going to die out here because some guy had decided to go streaking.
I kept running until I couldn’t anymore, and my legs gave out. I collapsed against a tree, gasping for air, my hand still clutching the bear spray.
There was only silence, and me, crouched at the base of a pine tree, sweating through my shirt and trying to convince myself that I wasn’t about to die.
I waited.
And waited.
No footsteps. No voice. No rustling that suggested a man was tracking me through the trees like a rabid predator.
Maybe he’d gotten the hint. Maybe he’d decided that attacking a woman who was already deep in the forest, far from help, was too cliché. Maybe he’d been just as surprised to see me as I was to see him.
A naked man in the middle of the woods. At night. An hour’s hike from civilization.
What were the odds? What were the actual mathematical odds that I’d pick the one campsite in a forest where some random guy started a solo nudist colony?
This was fine. This was completely fine. I’d dealt with worse. I’d dealt with Scott. This was nothing compared to that.
Scott was a lying, gambling drain of a human being who had cost me everything I owned. Compared to that, a naked man in the woods was practically a minor inconvenience.
I stayed where I was for what felt like hours but was probably only twenty minutes. My heart rate finally normalized.The shaking stopped, replaced by the bone-deep exhaustion that came from running on five days of poor sleep and stress.
I’d go back to my campsite, put out the fire, and go to my car. I would leave the forest and never speak of this to anyone. I would add this entire experience to the growing list of things that were my fault because I didn’t think things through.
The walk back was slower than running away had been. I kept stopping, listening, and scanning the darkness for any sign of movement. But the forest remained empty, the only sounds my own footsteps and breathing.
When I saw my campsite again, the fire had burned down to embers, and there was no sign of any male genitalia. There was just my tent and the fading light of a fire that had seen me through a few nights of peace before the universe messed with me again.
Thankfully, my cellphone was right where I’d left it inside my tent, and I didn’t waste any time. I smothered out the rest of the fire and started shoving things into my pack with the frantic efficiency that came from a lot of pent-up rage.
How dare any man rob me of my peace.
I ripped my sleeping bag off the inflatable pad and fought with the small valve until it gave way with a satisfying hiss. The air escaped in a rush, and the pad collapsed like the last shred of my patience. Next was the inflatable pillow, which had served me well but would now be buried in the depths of my car along with the entire adventure bundle I’d bought.
My eyes stung from how much of a waste it had been. I hadn’t been thinking after having to sell my entire collection of special edition books. I’d taken some of the money and bought the backpack that literally fit everything inside.
After rolling everything together, I stood in that half-crouched way that was necessary in a tent, and my eyes caught the glint of something in the corner.
I grabbed my cell phone from where I’d set it to use as a light and pointed it at the object.
A knife. A very fancy gold Swiss Army knife that sparkled with what looked like diamonds.
My hand reached for it.
Don’t touch it.
The thought came instinctively, and I snatched my hand away. I’d seen the news stories. The ones about booby-trapped items left in places. Drugs that could knock you out, objects that could frame you, all kinds of modern terrors.
But it also didn’t look like a dollar-store special someone would use as bait. I could pawn it or try to sell it.
The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. The man had been in my tent. That was the only way a knife would have gotten inside because I certainly didn’t own one that cost over twenty bucks.
