Narrator

We met her at a gas station off a highway that had more trucks than cars, the kind of place with a rack of hunting magazines by the register, and a sign that said no shirt, no shoes, no service, like it was still 1986.

Tessa was smaller than I expected, wiry, with hair pulled back under a cap and forearms scratched up like she lived in brush.

She shook my hand, shook Luke's, and then immediately started loading our packs into the back of her SUV like she'd done it a hundred times.

"'Y'all ever been out here out here?'

she asked.

Luke grinned.

"'That's the whole point.'

Tessa looked at him for a second, not smiling, then shrugged like she'd heard that line before.

"'All right.

Just do what I say if I tell you to do something.'

That should have been my second warning.

We stopped at a little diner for breakfast before the trailhead.

A narrow building with a porch and a faded sign, smelled like grease and coffee and old wood."

Inside, there were three older men in work shirts and caps, sitting in a booth like they were anchored there.

The waitress called everyone hun, including me, and poured coffee that tasted like it had been simmering since dawn.

Tessa didn't talk much.

She ate fast.

eyes moving now and then to the window, as if she was checking the parking lot.

One of the older men glanced at our packs.

He didn't say anything at first.