“Do you have blurred vision? Nausea? Ringing in the ears?”
The forest outside is a muted hush. My vision swims when I move too fast. My stomach is a cautious hostage situation.
“No ringing,” I say, which is technically true. “Maybe a little headache. I’ve had worse after faculty meetings.”
“Elias.”
The way she says my name makes it very clear she’s imagining driving up here just to smack me upside the head.
I sigh. “I might have a mild concussion. Might. But I’m lucid. I know where I am. I know who you are. I know I forgot your birthday last year and you’re still mad about it.”
A small, offended sniff comes through the line.
“GPS coordinates,” she demands.
I rattle them off from memory, then double-check on my handheld unit. She repeats them back to me to confirm.
“You stay put tonight,” she says. “No wandering, no heroics, no chasing data. If your symptoms get worse, you radio in immediately. I’ll decide in the morning whether you can walk out on your own or if we’re sending someone in.”
“That’s really not necessary?—”
“I was not asking.”
I let my head fall back against the makeshift pillow.
“Okay,” I relent. “I’ll stay put. I’ll check in again in the morning before I break camp.”
A long pause follows.
“You sure you’re alone out there?” she asks finally.
A shiver crawls up my spine.
I glance at the closed tent flap, at the neatly lined-up boots, at the satellite phone that should not be where it is.
“Yeah,” I say slowly. “Pretty sure.”
The words don’t quite land even in my own ears.
“Get some rest, Hart,” Gladys says. “Try not to fall on anything else.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I end the call and let the phone drop gently onto the blanket.
The effort has drained me. My head is pounding again alongside the fading adrenaline. My stomach growls faintly, reminding me that I haven’t eaten since… whenever that was.
I dig out a packet of crackers and some jerky, nibbling at them slowly until the worst edge of the hunger backs off. Everybite feels like lifting weights. My body is very clear about its current priorities: lying down, not dying, not thinking too hard.
The sat phone sits within arm’s reach, silently accusing.
“I’ll figure you out later,” I mumble at it. “You and your mysterious… helpful… forest courier.”
Outside, the stream chatters on like nothing happened. A breeze ruffles the tent fabric. Somewhere in the distance, something large moves through the underbrush with steady, unhurried steps.
I’m too tired to be properly unsettled.
I tuck the blankets up around my shoulders, close my eyes, and let the forest’s heartbeat lull me back under.
