Mason

The third day was when our brains started to fail us in small ways.

It's hard to stay logical when you haven't slept and you've been listening for death all night.

We argued about directions, about whether to follow the creek back down or keep climbing to reach a ridgeline where we might get service.

We checked our supplies and realized some food was missing, even though the bear bag was still hung and the knot looked untouched.

My lighter was gone from the pocket I always keep it in.

Caleb's headlamp wasn't in his pack anymore.

We tore through everything.

and it's not like we had much but those two items disappearing felt like someone taking away our ability to see and make fire and that didn't feel random we started hiking with our packs on while the ground was still cold and as we left the clearing i looked back and saw the deer standing behind the trees at the top of the slope

watching us go not chasing not rushing just following with its eyes like it knew where we were going better than we did it kept appearing in places it shouldn't have been able to reach quietly a flash of movement in the brush to our left and then the same antlers visible between trunks ahead of us

We took hard turns off the trail to confuse it, climbing over deadfall, scrambling through rock, and then we would find fresh hoofprints in a patch of mud in front of us.

We stopped for water and heard a branch snap behind us, and saw nothing.

And then a minute later we heard our own voices carry back at us from the trees, repeating things we'd said earlier that morning.

Not full sentences.

Bits.

My laugh.

Caleb saying hold up.

A grunt from when I shifted my pack.

It wasn't an echo.

The timing was wrong.

It came in separated pieces, like someone sorting through sound and trying to put it on.