Booze and Boos

My hands were itching for that .45 on my hand, but drawing it now felt like this kind of escalation that I wasn't quite ready for. The trail then narrowed, pinched by this fallen tree, and I jumped it, gasping and tasting copper on my tongue. My mind spat half-formed plans out. Loser at the fork. Call out if I saw anybody. Fire a warning shot if I had to.

My hands were itching for that .45 on my hand, but drawing it now felt like this kind of escalation that I wasn't quite ready for. The trail then narrowed, pinched by this fallen tree, and I jumped it, gasping and tasting copper on my tongue. My mind spat half-formed plans out. Loser at the fork. Call out if I saw anybody. Fire a warning shot if I had to.

The sounds behind me grew sharper, more desperate. Sticks snapping, breathless hitches. The slap of souls against dirt. Enough. I yanked that .45 from the holster and fired two shots into the air. The echo cracked through the trees like a whip, and for a heartbeat the woods froze as well. And then, through the hush, the unmistakable sound of retreat, footsteps pounding back the way they come.

The sounds behind me grew sharper, more desperate. Sticks snapping, breathless hitches. The slap of souls against dirt. Enough. I yanked that .45 from the holster and fired two shots into the air. The echo cracked through the trees like a whip, and for a heartbeat the woods froze as well. And then, through the hush, the unmistakable sound of retreat, footsteps pounding back the way they come.

I spun around and caught a quick glimpse of her, the woman hair flying, arms pumping, bolting back down the trail like something feral, something that had been burned by the sound of that gun. I holstered the pistol, wiped sweat from my brow, and kept climbing. No stopping now. No stopping until I saw my truck. The climb out of that canyon felt twice as long on the way back.

I spun around and caught a quick glimpse of her, the woman hair flying, arms pumping, bolting back down the trail like something feral, something that had been burned by the sound of that gun. I holstered the pistol, wiped sweat from my brow, and kept climbing. No stopping now. No stopping until I saw my truck. The climb out of that canyon felt twice as long on the way back.

My legs were burning, lungs straining, every muscle wired tightly, waiting for the slap of feet to return behind me. But the woods had gone still again, almost too still, like they were watching, holding their own breath. I kept my head down and pushed up the trail, counting every bend and switchback, feeling sweat bead down my spine.

My legs were burning, lungs straining, every muscle wired tightly, waiting for the slap of feet to return behind me. But the woods had gone still again, almost too still, like they were watching, holding their own breath. I kept my head down and pushed up the trail, counting every bend and switchback, feeling sweat bead down my spine.

I told myself over and over, do not look back, do not give her that satisfaction, do not show her that you're scared. But every now and again, I couldn't help it. I'd glance over my shoulder, eyes darting through the trees. Nothing, just shadows, just the wind teasing the undergrowth. When I hit that fork again, I barely slowed. I could see now how I'd been led wrong.

I told myself over and over, do not look back, do not give her that satisfaction, do not show her that you're scared. But every now and again, I couldn't help it. I'd glance over my shoulder, eyes darting through the trees. Nothing, just shadows, just the wind teasing the undergrowth. When I hit that fork again, I barely slowed. I could see now how I'd been led wrong.

The overgrown path that I had taken was just subtle enough to pull somebody in without really thinking. Tyler's directions had been clear. No forks, no turns. Which meant the path shouldn't have existed. And my gut twisted at that thought. The last mile was a complete blur. The sky was starting to dim and the sun was dipping behind the ridge.

The overgrown path that I had taken was just subtle enough to pull somebody in without really thinking. Tyler's directions had been clear. No forks, no turns. Which meant the path shouldn't have existed. And my gut twisted at that thought. The last mile was a complete blur. The sky was starting to dim and the sun was dipping behind the ridge.

The woods were slipping into that blue-gray half-light that makes everything look wrong. Every sound around me was amplified. The snap of twigs, the hush of the wind, my own ragged breathing. I kept my hand near that gun, listening for anything and everything. By the time I saw the edge of the trees and the shape of my truck parked in that gravel turnout, it almost felt like a hallucination.

The woods were slipping into that blue-gray half-light that makes everything look wrong. Every sound around me was amplified. The snap of twigs, the hush of the wind, my own ragged breathing. I kept my hand near that gun, listening for anything and everything. By the time I saw the edge of the trees and the shape of my truck parked in that gravel turnout, it almost felt like a hallucination.

I half stumbled up that last stretch, boots slipping and heart hammering like it wanted out of my chest. I threw my gear in the back seat without any kind of ceremony, climbed into the cab and locked the doors. I sat there for a moment, hands on the wheel, forehead resting against the rim, letting the tremors roll throughout me. My mouth was dry, tongue sticking to the roof.

I half stumbled up that last stretch, boots slipping and heart hammering like it wanted out of my chest. I threw my gear in the back seat without any kind of ceremony, climbed into the cab and locked the doors. I sat there for a moment, hands on the wheel, forehead resting against the rim, letting the tremors roll throughout me. My mouth was dry, tongue sticking to the roof.

And when I finally started the engine, the sound nearly made me flinch. That drive home was dead quiet for two hours. No music, no podcast, just the hum of the tires and the relentless replay of what I'd seen. The woman's pale face between trees, the ragged clothes, the way she sprinted when those shots rang out. When I got home, I didn't even unpack.

And when I finally started the engine, the sound nearly made me flinch. That drive home was dead quiet for two hours. No music, no podcast, just the hum of the tires and the relentless replay of what I'd seen. The woman's pale face between trees, the ragged clothes, the way she sprinted when those shots rang out. When I got home, I didn't even unpack.

I walked inside, sat on the couch, and rang Tyler. He picked up on the second ring, voice easy and relaxed. Yo, how was it? Catch anything good? I swallowed. My throat was raw. Hey, quick question. Are you really sure about that trail? You said no forks, right? Yeah, man, dead straight. It's been a couple of years since I was down there, though, but it's a simple run. paused. Why?

I walked inside, sat on the couch, and rang Tyler. He picked up on the second ring, voice easy and relaxed. Yo, how was it? Catch anything good? I swallowed. My throat was raw. Hey, quick question. Are you really sure about that trail? You said no forks, right? Yeah, man, dead straight. It's been a couple of years since I was down there, though, but it's a simple run. paused. Why?