Brilliant smears of red, gold, orange and gray shone over the distant mountains on the Franklin County side of the lake. Aurora watched the sun drop below the trees. Soon darkness would come. She couldn’t remember if the moon would be full. She hoped so. She figured she’d better get her bearings while she could still see the mountain peaks on the horizon.
The dampness of late fall chilled her. A heavy jacket or at least a sweater would feel really good over her thin, long-sleeved shirt. How could I have been so stupid as to come to the mountain without preparation? Be prepared, her dad had always told her. She patted her pants pocket; at least she had her dad’s Boy Scout knife. She hoped she wouldn’t need it.
She stared at the skyline, recognized Turkey Cock Mountain in Franklin County, knew that if she turned left and kept the lake in sight she’d eventually wind up where she’d beached the rowboat—as long as she didn’t fall in the water. The last rays vanished. In the darkness, the chances of stumbling over a root, stepping in a hole, or sliding into the lake soared. Not a fun thing to do this time of year.
As she trudged the rough shoreline, she wondered what Sam had thought when he’d arrived home and she wasn’t there. She hoped this wasn’t one of those evenings when he’d have a last-minute meeting and call home to say he’d be late for dinner, because she wouldn’t be there to answer the phone. And if he called her cell, he wouldn’t get an answer. He’d figure then that something was wrong. Surely he was looking for her. She hoped he wasn’t too worried. After all, she told herself, this is my mountain, Mom and I rode horses on it when I was growing up. I’m in no real danger. Right?
A twig snapped behind her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She wheeled around, twisted her left ankle and fell to the ground. Her hands felt around for a root, a branch, anything to grab hold of to stop her downward slide. She cried out when her injured foot hit a stump. Lying on the ground, she waited for the pain to subside. Look on the bright side Aurora, she thought. At least you’ve stopped moving.
A rustling in the brush four feet away erased all thought of pain. Something—or someone—is stalking me, she thought. She eased her hand into her pants pocket, pulled out the pocket knife, opened the blade, and waited. The rustling ceased.
“Who’s there?” she called out.
No answer.
“Show yourself.” Nothing. Lord, she thought, am I going to die? Please not like this, Lord. Please.
Something—was it human or animal—moved closer. Whatever it was, she wouldn’t go down without a fight. Aurora raised the knife above her head.
A familiar whine stopped the downward thrust of the knife in mid-air. “Little Guy! Am I glad to see you.” She put the knife back in her pocket and wrapped her arms around his neck. He licked her face. Funny how much safer she felt now. She wished she’d brought a leash. Again she chided herself for being unprepared.
“This time you won’t run off and leave me all alone.” She grabbed his collar with one hand and unbuckled her belt with the other.
“Down, Little Guy.” He stretched out on the rocky ground. “Good boy. Now please stay long enough for me to hook this belt to your collar.” She ran one end of the belt through his collar and pulled it taut. “Glad you’re tall enough and my belt long enough so I won’t have to bend over when we walk. This isn’t perfect, but it will work. It has to. I can’t let you run off again. Wish you could tell me where King is.”
When she tried to stand, pain seared through her ankle. She winced. “Not good, Little Guy. Hope I haven’t broken it. Don’t think I’ll be able to put much weight on it. Nope, not good.”
I need a walking stick, Aurora thought. Still holding on to one end of the belt, she crawled through twigs and leaves until she found a stick. Using the makeshift cane to brace herself, she hauled herself upright.
“I need to go right, Little Guy, get closer to the lake, follow the shoreline to the rowboat. But I can’t see the lake or the shoreline. And I don’t want to fall in the water.”
Holding onto the belt, she hobbled a few yards and stopped to catch her breath. “This isn’t working. I can’t limp along uneven ground for more than a few steps at a time.”
Little Guy barked.
“Why do I keep talking to you? I know you’re smart, but surely not smart enough to understand me.”
The terrier barked again. “Guess hearing my own voice makes me feel safer.”
Her progress would be at turtle-speed, but she had no choice.
“Standing around gabbing won’t get us anywhere. Let’s go.” Putting her weight on the stick in her left hand, she held the belt in her right hand and started out.
Crack! The crude cane broke in two. Aurora tumbled several yards down the hill, hit her head on a log, and lost consciousness. Little Guy’s improvised leash fell from her hand. The Jack Russell terrier nudged her arm, licked her face. When she didn’t respond he let out a high-pitched bark.
Two minutes later, Aurora moaned, rubbed the back of her head, felt the knot already forming. Her head hurt like crazy. She hadn’t felt blood, but she was a little dizzy.
Little Guy cocked his ears, barked again. He dashed into the woods, yelped, returned to Aurora. She reached for his leash but missed. He whined, ran a few feet, stopped, looked back at Aurora, and disappeared into the night.
“No! Little Guy, come back!”
But he didn’t come.