“I’ll… look later,” I whisper, to the ceiling more than anyone else. “Later. After a nap. A small, responsible nap. Then we panic.”
I let my hand fall back to my chest, already exhausted from the effort. My eyelids sink almost on their own.
The last thing I remember thinking before sleep takes me is that the blanket is tucked around me in a way I definitely didn’t do myself.
The next time I wake,the light in the tent is dimmer—late afternoon, maybe, or overcast. My head still hurts, but the pain has retreated from “sledgehammer” to “aggressive roommate.”
I blink, swallow, and reach automatically for the water bottle. My fingers brush something else instead. It’s a solid, rectangular shape that feels like cool plastic with rigid edges.
I turn my head and stare.
The satellite phone sits neatly next to my water bottle, antenna extended, screen dark but intact. For a moment, all I can do is look at it.
“I… what?” I say eloquently.
I peer toward the zipper. It’s still closed. There are no muddy prints on the groundsheet or signs of someone crawling in and out.
I glance up at the vent. It’s far too small for a person. Unless an extremely organized raccoon has decided to take an interest in telecommunications, this makes no sense. With trembling fingers, I reach for it and turn it over. There are no cracks or scratches that weren’t already there. The battery icon flashes green when I press the power button.
“Okay,” I murmur, struggling to process. “So either I dragged myself in here, carefully tucked myself in, passed out, and then later sent my astral projection to retrieve my phone… or someone helped.”
Someone who didn’t wake me. Didn’t leave footprints. Didn’t steal anything. Just… put me to bed and went back out into the woods.
My brain cycles through possibilities, each more ridiculous than the last.
Lost hiker? No. They’d have radioed.
Ranger on patrol? Possible, but Gladys would never leave without checking my vitals and lecturing me back to full health.
Very large, polite bear? Unlikely opposable thumbs situation.
Forest spirit, satisfied I’ve done enough litter cleanup? Now I know I’m concussed.
I rub at my face carefully, avoiding the tender spot at my temple.
“Later,” I tell myself. “You can have the existential crisis later. Right now you call Gladys before she sends a search party and finds you talking to moss.”
I fumble for my first aid kit, pop two painkillers out of their foil with shaking thumbs, and wash them down with more water. The nausea protests but doesn’t revolt. Good enough.
Then I prop myself up enough to hold the satellite phone to my ear and punch in the ranger station’s direct line.
It rings twice.
“Ranger Crowe” comes the familiar voice, clipped and alert.
“Hey,” I say, wincing at how rough I sound. “It’s Elias.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“Hart,” she says. “You were due to check in an hour ago.”
“Yeah, I know, I know. I, uh… I slipped.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “Took a little tumble. Hit my head. But I’m okay.”
The silence this time is heavy.
“How hard?” she asks.
“Not ER-hard,” I say quickly. “Just… ice-hard. Ground-hard. I blacked out for a bit, but I’m awake now, talking, walking—well, not walking yet, but I could. Probably. I’m just… resting. Out of an abundance of caution.”
