She headed toward the snow-swept hill and began to climb. It was steeper than it looked and she worked up quite a sweat as she ascended, her breath clouds lacing the air before her. At the top, there was nothing there.
The howling wind stung her face. Time to go. The Balsams were known for absorbing stray hikers every couple of years, especially those stupid enough to go exploring during a snowstorm. The trees creaked in the wind. Mom lost her bearings around the same age as me. Maybe this is how it starts?
Kate began to make her way down the hillside, but after a couple of minutes, she came to a sharp drop-off she hadn’t seen from above and had to start over. The trick was finding a gradual descent without any hidden ledges along the way. At the mid-point, rocks gave way to ice, and she slipped and fell, soaking her gloves and parka. She picked herself up, brushed herself off, and continued her slippery descent.
Kate made it to the bottom and headed back to Kirkwood Road—or at least in the direction she thought it was—but then the hiking trail turned into a series of washouts, and she no longer recognized where she was. She doubled back, but the storm had grown in its ferocity. She could barely see five feet in front of her.
It took another couple of minutes to realize she was lost. The temperature had plummeted. She picked a direction, but the trail was so eroded that she was forced to double back again. Soon she couldn’t find any of the colored disks on the trees marking an official trail. She must’ve wandered off the public trail onto private property.
Her head was beginning to throb. She’d left her backpack in the car. She took off her gloves and dug her hands into her pockets, looking for an Aleve. She found one lint-covered pill and swallowed it dry, then took a moment to gaze at the towering treetops. There were no colored disks anywhere to be seen. She edged down a moderate-sized hill and came to another fork in the trail. Which way? Left or right?
Neither, she decided. She began retracing her steps, but now the snow was coming down even harder, making progress difficult. She tried to bully her way through the icy wind but couldn’t see three feet in front of her. Her legs were growing numb. She stomped her boots to keep the blood circulating and refused to panic. Panic only made things worse. Panic got you killed. The driving snow was devouring her footsteps behind her.
Kate craned her neck, searching for any colored tags, but all she saw was snow and trees. Her head was pounding. Her ears were ringing. Her vision began to blur. She took out her phone and stared at it. Despite the dire circumstances, she couldn’t bring herself to dial 911 yet—not just yet. The potential for humiliation was too great, far worse than being lost. The police, Search & Rescue, a call for volunteers. Her embarrassing adventure would end up on the nightly news. Dr. Kate Wolfe got lost in The Balsams today during white-out conditions. What she was doing in such a remote location during a blizzard is anyone’s guess. Thirty-two-year-old Kate—a child psychiatrist and the sister of murder victim Savannah Wolfe—had no backpack, no compass, no water, and no explanation. Sources suggest she was chasing the ghost of her dead sister. News at eleven.
The snow fell around her silently. This blizzard would smother her slowly, inch by terrifying inch. Death by soft suffocation.
Kate glanced at her watch. 4:15 PM. She didn’t have much time left. In forty-five minutes the sun would begin to set. Unless the Aleve took effect soon, her migraine would cripple her with debilitating pain that could last for hours.
Snow. Trees.
I’m so fucking lost.
45
KATE TOOK OUT HER phone but there was hardly any charge left. She thought about calling James, but then she couldn’t deal with the blowback. He would be worried sick about her. He might even be angry. What do you mean you’re lost in the woods? How the hell did that happen? Didn’t you see the weather report? What were you thinking, Kate? Besides, all he could do was call Search & Rescue, and she could do that herself.
But Search & Rescue wouldn’t be able to locate her if she was on a private trail. She squinted around at the trees. Still no colored disks anywhere. Maybe she should call her father? But he’d probably come down equally hard on her, and she couldn’t face his criticism. She needed someone steady and non-judgmental, somebody who’d “get” why she was there in the first place. Kate didn’t want to have to explain herself. So she called Palmer Dyson.
“Hello?”
“Hi, it’s me. Kate. I did something really dumb.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m lost in The Balsams,” she said, trying to keep the tremolo out of her voice.
“How did that happen?”
“Listen, my phone’s about to die. I forgot to recharge it.”
“Okay, calm down, I know the area,” Palmer said. “Describe where you are.”
“I have no idea. I’m all turned around, and it’s snowing pretty hard.”
“Where did you park?”
“Kirkland Road, next to the trailhead. I’ve been wandering in the woods for about half an hour.”
“How far into the woods—your best guesstimate?”
“I don’t know. Maybe two miles.”
“Do you see any colored disks on the trees?”
“No. I’ve been looking. I’m on a private trail.”
“Okay. Keep walking and describe it for me. What do you see?”
She trudged along the trail, fighting her own exhaustion. “Snow. Trees.”
“Not helpful, Kate.”
“Underbrush… rocks, a few boulders. I don’t know what I’m looking for,” she admitted miserably.
“All right. Listen. If you keep walking, you’re bound to come across a stone foundation or an old well, something along those lines.”
“All right.” She came to a fork in the trail. “Oh. I’m at a fork.”
“Good. Pick a direction and keep walking.”
“Okay. I’m going left.”
“See any of those disks?”
“No.”
“Keep going. Anything yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Okay. Turn around and try the other fork.”
She did.
“Anything yet?”
She spotted an orange disk nailed to an ash tree. “Yes! Found one. It’s orange.”
“Great. You’re on a hiking trail. Can you read the number for me?”
“Two zero something.”
“Can’t make it out?”
“Hold on…” She reached up to wipe off the snow.
“Kate?”
“Just a second.” Her cell phone sputtered with static. “Palmer?”
For a moment, there was nothing but silence.
“Palmer?”
He came back. “Kate?”
“Thank God. You were fading out for a second.”
“What does the number say?”
“Two zero nine.”
“Okay. Hold on.”
“My phone’s dying,” she said plaintively.
“Stay calm. I’m looking at the map now,” he said. “Two zero nine. Got it. I know exactly where you are. I own a cabin not too far from there. It’s closer than where you left your car on Kirkland Road. That okay?”
“Yes. What should I do?”
“Stay on the trail for a couple of minutes, until you come to another intersection of hiking trails. Let me know when you reach it.”
“Okay.”
“Take your time.”
After several laborious minutes, Kate said, “Okay. I’m at the intersection.”
“Read the number on the nearest disk.”
She did.
“Okay, good. I want you to take the left fork and stay on this trail until you come to another fork, where you’ll take a right. Be careful here. If you get on the wrong trail at this point, you’ll end up on a two and a half mile loop. We need to avoid that if possible.”
“Okay,” she said, struggling to stay focused.
“After about ten minutes or so, you’ll come to the foundations of an old homestead and a rusty pump nearby. I want you to draw a line from the foundations to the pump. You’re going to follow this imaginary line out of the woods. Understand? Are you getting all this?”
“Yes,” she said above the howling wind.
“Okay. I want you to follow this imaginary line until you come to a gravel road, which will be aligned in a south–north direction. You’re going to cross the road and take the trailhead back into the woods. From that point on, you’ve got maybe forty yards to go before you’ll reach my cabin. Got it?”
“Okay,” she shouted above the wind. “Got it.”