Chapter one
Lucia
Fifty dollars. That’s what I was promised for climbing this death trap of a mountain.
All I had to do was camp for one single night and survive. Easy, right? Tourists are always flooding the mountain; I assumed anyone could do it.
Well, jokes on me. The sad thing is, no one is around to laugh.
How much does it cost to get rescued from a mountain because of a sprained ankle? More than fifty dollars, probably.
I should have known this bet was stupid to follow through with from the get-go.
Who am I kidding? It was never about the money. It was because Jessie and Gwen insisted I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t leave the comfort of my home and live a little beyond my normal routine. So what if I never mix things up and try to make my life more exciting?
My pride and stubbornness are what have pushed me as far as I’ve made it. Too far to go back now.
The sky splits open above me with a frighteningboomthat vibrates the very bones in my body. Thunder rolls across the entire half of the mountain, and for a second, I swear even the ground trembles beneath the storm’s wrath.
Even Mother Nature is telling me to go home, as if that’s still an option.
Unless I want to risk going down the world's messiest slip and slide, I'm stuck up here.
"Ouch." My clothes are glued to my skin, heavy and cold. I try to shift just enough to stretch my legs. "Ouch."
The tarp I'd carefully put up? Gone. Snatched by a wind that had no business being that strong. One second it was there, the next it transformed into a performer—cartwheeled into the dark as if I'd never owned it.
All those YouTube knot-tying videos? A waste.
Now the rain isn't just pouring. It's aggressive, coming down like small needles. Like the sky has a personal grudge against me and my already-sprained ankle. Every drop blurs the trees into smudges, turning what was already hard to see into a complete guess.
I sure hope there aren’t any hungry bears or wolves out. Otherwise, I’m going to turn into a late snack.
There aren't any humans, either, from my poor attempt of calling out for help.
So here I am, planted on a rock, pretending a few thin pine branches are shelter. Soaking up failure like it's rainwater. I'veofficially proved that I cannot survive out here. Not even for a single night. Talk about pitiful.
Am I really going to die because of some money and my damaged pride? At this rate, it's hard to tell.
Sitting here sniffling about my problems isn't getting me anywhere.
Cradling the stick I'd found thirty minutes ago, I pull myself upward. It's no crutch, but it's thick enough to support most of my weight.
Slowly and ever so carefully, I pick up the crumbling pieces of my miserable self and keep moving.
Going down risks slipping again—a mistake I won't make twice. So instead, I keep walking up. Eventually, I'll have to stumble upon someone with a phone. A traveling vehicle, a cabin, anyone. They'll be my saving grace.
I just can't give up. No matter how much it hurts. No matter how much I want to cry. I have to keep moving.
My rescue comes far sooner than I expect.
Deep in the trees, past the fat, frantic drops of rain, I see it. A low glow. Like a lighthouse beacon calling out to a shipwreck—except the shipwreck is me, and the sea is this stupid mountain. I drag myself through the thick of the forest, stumbling and groaning, until finally, my feet hit wooden steps.
I abandon my stick and my pride.
Grunting, I make my way to the door. The windows glow orange, promising life on the other side. Warmth. A fire to dry my clothes. A future where I'm not just a human-shaped puddle.
I bang my fist on the door to get no answer.
