TWENTY-FIVE

I looked down at the white gizmo in my lap. The drone looked unimpressive. A spindly toy. Four spider legs linked its compact body’s white shell to thin whirlybird rotors.

Andy had offered to drive his vet-mobile, and I rode shotgun. Mollye’d claimed the crew cab to stretch out. Since Andy’d had little warning his truck would have human passengers, my rump was coated in dog hair. Not that I cared if my hiking clothes gained an extra layer of fur.

“Have you taken many pictures with this drone?” I asked.

Andy laughed. “This is my maiden spy outing. I’ve played with the drone enough to operate it without crashing. Snapped a few aerials for Mollye. Fortunately during my teen years I spent many hours locked in my room playing Call of Duty. I also saved the world in Halo Wars. Video games offered an excellent escape from my five little sisters. Drone controls work a lot like game controls.”

I glanced out the window as we bumped along a dirt fire road leading to the state forest trailhead. Though it was only four o’clock, an overcast sky and the filtering canopy of tall pines combined to create an artificial twilight. Nightfall seemed imminent.

“We’re here,” Andy said. “I’ve hiked this trail. Know exactly where we can spy on the CAVE men’s bullets-and-beer joint. Our timing’s good. Hard to believe but a lot of these morons do work. Mostly manual or manufacturing jobs with four o’clock quitting times. If they’re visiting on a weekday, they’ll arrive about now.”

We walked the muddy trail single file. Not much choice. The narrow, twisty path lay partially within a streambed that only channeled water during gully-washers. Evidently it had recently rained pretty hard here. Shade from the dense pine ceiling could keep the ground wet for days. Clumps of dense mud clinging to the soles of my hiking boots made it feel like I wore ankle weights.

“It’s been a long time since I hiked here,” Mollye grumbled. “Forgot the trail was better suited to one of Udderly’s goats.”

After we reached the bottom of a valley, the pine-needled path left the streambed and started climbing. Mollye huffed and puffed as we wound our way up. Soon we were hugging a rocky ridge. The exertion didn’t bother me; the drop-off did. Our three-foot wide path had narrowed to maybe eighteen inches. Rock outcrops nudged us toward the outer edge. The mix of pine needles and mud made the slender ribbon of trail slicker than a Teflon frying pan.

“Watch your step,” trailblazer Andy called. “A tree’s blown over and it’s blocking the way.”

Oh, goody.

Mollye, second in line in our hiking processional, swore when she reached the tree’s carcass. “Too big to step over. Guess I’ll have to straddle the slimy bugger.”

Great. If long-legged Mollye had to straddle, there wasn’t much hope for a shorter Brie.

Mollye grunted as she swung her right leg up. A minute later she sat astride the mossy trunk like she was riding a bronco. Her expression suggested she thought the log might buck.

“Maybe this wasn’t such a hot idea. I’m afraid I’ll slip if I try to hop down.”

“Take my hand,” Andy said. “I’ll steady you.”

Mollye cleared the log hurdle with a little yelp. My turn. I sucked in a deep breath as I looked uphill at the exposed Medusa-like roots of the fallen tree. I had no desire to take in the downhill view. The oak was angled like a park slide that promised an unhappy landing. Sweat popped out on my forehead despite the forest chill. I couldn’t move. I searched the obstacle, hoping to see some secret passage that would let me scoot under the log instead of going topside. No. The small amount of daylight between the log and the muddy path couldn’t accommodate an anorexic mouse let alone a fond-of-eating chef.

Mollye tittered. “You’re afraid of heights? Remember how you gave me the business about fearing I’d drown? Who’s petrified now?”

“Can it, Mollye,” Andy barked. “You’re not helping.”

My friend stopped laughing. Her chin dropped. She appeared to be studying her feet. “Sorry, Brie. I mean it. It’s just that you’re always the brave one.” Mollye shrugged. “Guess everyone’s afraid of something.”

“You don’t have to do this.” Andy was trying to reassure me with the same tone he adopted to calm frightened animals. “We can all turn back, or you can wait here. Mollye and I can go on, fly the drone, and collect you on our way back. Or you can head back now and we’ll meet you at the truck.”

Quitting was a real temptation. But I didn’t relish the idea of trekking the slip-and-slide trail by my lonesome. I’d seen news clips of rescue workers hoisting hikers who’d fallen into steep ravines. Their strapped-in bodies swayed like crazed metronomes.

Yet I wasn’t keen on staying put. What if a bear decided it had dibs on the trail and insisted I step off or be eaten? Okay, I was being silly. Admitting it didn’t lower my heartrate.

“I’m coming,” I said. “Just don’t hurry me.”

I sidled up to the toppled monster. Unlike my tall friends, I was too short to swing a leg over and straddle the log. I’d have to drape myself over the trunk and wiggle into position. Son of a salami. The moss-slicked trunk was smooth. Not a single burl to serve as a saddle horn in my attempt to giddy-up.

“Give me your hand,” Andy said. “I’ll pull you over.” Only his head and shoulders were visible across the mammoth log.

I shook my head. It wasn’t a matter of trust. When scared, I tended to be obstinate about controlling my own fate. I also imagined myself doing a muddy face-plant if Andy pulled too hard. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’ve got it.”

I heaved my body up, draping myself over the log like a sheet on a clothesline. A wet sheet. The sponge-like moss had transferred its reservoir of icy water to my well-worn jeans. Added incentive to get on with it.

I hiked my right leg up as I scrabbled to move my body over the obstacle. Rip!

Pickled herring. The strain had proved too much for my old jeans. Cool air tickled my exposed thigh. The denim had surrendered at the seam. Could this get more embarrassing?

“Got you.” Andy’s hands found purchase under my armpits and he hoisted me over and upright.

Either my friends hadn’t heard (or seen) my worn denim’s demise or they had the good grace to ignore it.

“Let’s get a move on,” Mollye urged. “Need daylight to take pictures.”

Her words made me wonder how much daylight remained. Even if we had enough light for the drone to take aerials, would darkness fall before we hiked back to Andy’s truck?

“Right, let’s move it,” I agreed.