“Just… ambient concussion vibes,” I admit. “Manageable.”
“Take breaks. Hydrate. If your vision does anything funky, radio us.”
“Got it.”
They walk with me for the short two-mile hike so I’m just another fifteen minutes away from base—Sam hovering far too close, Gladys forging ahead with her machete-cutting-through-bullshit energy. When they’re satisfied the trail is safe and I’m reasonably stable, Gladys stops.
“This is where we leave you,” she says.
Sam hesitates. “You sure you’re good?”
“I’m good,” I say, and mostly mean it.
Gladys nods once. Then both rangers turn back toward the truck.
As they walk away, the forest regains its quiet. Sound softens. Air thickens with scent and shade. My heart slows.
I’m alone.
Almost.
Because the moment the truck disappears down the road, I feel it. That prickling awareness. That pressure between my shoulders. Like the world is watching from between the trees.
I turn slowly. Just enough to scan the edge of the clearing.
Nothing moves.
Nothing breathes.
Nothing shifts.
But I swear—swear—something is there.
A shadow too still.
A shape too tall.
A silence too deliberate.
“Get a grip,” I whisper to myself. “No Bigfoot. No mythical creatures. Just… concussion leftovers.”
I tighten my pack straps and start down the trail toward my station.
As I walk, the forest sways gently around me. Light filters through high branches in gilded beams, illuminating floating pollen and dust motes like tiny worlds suspended in the air. I take deep, steady breaths, letting the rhythm settle me.
My head still aches, but the painkillers are doing their job. The dizziness recedes to a tolerable hum.
I stop once, scanning the trail behind me. Something flickers between two cedars—movement quick and sure, a shift of dark against darker.
My breath catches. But when I blink, it’s gone.
It’s just wind. I swallow hard. Or simply the trees. Heck, at this point, it’s likely just my nerves.
“Bigfoot,” I mutter to myself. “Right. Totally sane. Nothing weird about that thought at all.”
I shake my head, huff a laugh that sounds more tired than amused, and press onward. Because I need to work, and the forest isn’t going to document itself.
And also because—ridiculous or not, hallucinations or not, shadows or not—I want to be back where I belong.
