Embrace the wild

Just My Luck

Leigh ran through the storm-soaked forest all night and well into the next day, not stopping until her lungs burned and her legs felt like rubber. The wind howled through the pines like a warning, and sleet rattled against the branches overhead. Every few minutes, a gust tore through the canopy hard enough to shake loose clumps of snow that exploded across her shoulders.

But she kept going. She had to. The storm was her shield now, its chaos burying her tracks, its roar muffling her movements. Anyone trying to follow her would be slogging through shredded visibility and knee-deep drifts. Splitting up with Allie had been a gamble, but a smart one. Two trails were harder to track than one. And if someone was getting caught tonight, it sure as hell wasn’t her sister.

When she finally found a small clearing, a dip in the forest floor where the wind softened and the trees leaned in like silent guardians, she let herself stop. Just for a moment. Snow drifted lazily down in thick, soft flakes now, the worst of the storm moving east. The air smelled like pine sap, cold earth, and the copper tang of winter.

She hated stopping. Hated giving the world even five minutes to catch up to her. But her body demanded a truce she could no longer refuse. Strength now meant survival later. Her father had told her that repeatedly. You can push past fear, but not past exhaustion. One gets you killed slower than the other.

So she let herself collapse into the snow, and sleep tugged her under almost instantly, despite the tension wrapped around her like wire.

When she woke, the sun was sinking behind the horizon, setting the snow-covered trees on fire with gold and blood-orange light. The temperature had dropped sharply; her breath puffed out in white clouds. The world was quiet in that eerie, winter-evening way—nothing but the occasional creak of an ice-laden branch and the whisper of wind through frozen needles.

As she packed up her gear, she felt a strange calm settle in her chest. Everything in her life right now screamed danger, urgency, loss… but she didn’t feel like this was the end. Not for her. Not for her parents. Not for Allie. Somewhere deep inside, something warm and stubborn insisted they were alive—moving, fighting, surviving.

She wasn’t scared. Not in the way she should’ve been.

Huh. Either fate’s giving me a pep talk or I’ve finally snapped. Both are on-brand.

She set off through the silent forest, her boots crunching through a thin crust of snow. The sky deepened to indigo, and shadows stretched long between the trees. There was a strange magic to it—a sense that she was being nudged forward, step by step, down a path she was always meant to take.

Great, she thought, now I’m getting sentimental. Next thing you know I’ll be hugging trees and thanking the universe.

And then the universe snapped back.

A violent metal crack split the quiet, and agony detonated up her leg. She hit the ground hard, snow exploding around her as she screamed.

“What—WHAT the hell was that?” she gasped.

The answer gleamed up at her: a bear trap clamped around the small of her calf, metal teeth sunk deep.

“Oh, holy s**t. Seriously?” She blinked hard through tears and pain. Good job, Leigh. Missed the giant murder-jaws hiding under the snow. Very elite survival skills.

The cold bit at her exposed skin, turning the sweat on her forehead icy. Snowflakes landed on her cheeks and melted instantly against her heat. The forest felt suddenly too still, as if it were watching.

She forced herself upright, each breath a knife in her ribs. Her leg was mangled, bleeding freely, and the bone was clearly broken.

Okay. Step one: remove this trap. Step one is… going to be awful.

She grabbed the steel edges and pushed. Pain lanced through her so sharply she nearly blacked out. But she kept going because stopping wasn’t an option. Millimeter by millimeter, she forced the jaws apart until she could drag her leg free.

The moment she was loose, she fell forward and vomited onto the snow. Steam rose from the mess in the frigid air.

Excellent. Graceful. A true forest goddess.

She wiped her mouth with shaking hands. “Step two,” she muttered, breath coming fast, “find shelter before something else wants a piece of me.”

The wind picked up again, carrying with it the scent of distant snowfall. The sky darkened to a deep blue-gray. She dragged out her map, fingers numb from cold and shock. A clearing not too far ahead. She just needed to reach it. Assuming her leg didn’t fall off first.

Using a nearby tree for balance, she hauled herself upright. The second she put even a ghost of weight on her injured leg, fresh pain ripped through her, bright and merciless.

She hissed between her teeth. Okay. Standing: achieved. Walking: debatable.

A long fallen branch lay partially buried in snow a few feet away, frosted over but sturdy. Perfect. She lowered herself to the ground and crawled toward it, pushing snow aside with every dragged breath. The cold bit into her palms with needle-like precision.

She cut away the smaller branches, measured their length, and fashioned them into a crutch. Using both the tree and the stick, she lifted herself again. The forest swayed for a second, her vision narrowing to a tunnel of blue shadows and breathless cold. She steadied herself.

The first step hurt like hell. The second wasn’t much better.

But she took them.

There you go, Leigh. The weather’s trying to kill you, the forest’s trying to eat you, traps are trying to maim you, and you’re still moving. Eat that, nature.

She hobbled on, breath steaming, snow crunching under every uneven step. The sky continued to darken, and fat flakes drifted down again, catching on her lashes and melting instantly. The cold burrowed deeper into her bones as the wind picked up, rattling bare branches like fingers tapping warnings.

Then she saw it, a shape tucked between the trees, half-buried in snow: a hunting shack. Smoke stains on the chimney. Weathered wood. Camouflaged too well for an accident.

Her eyes narrowed. Bear traps ringed the small structure.

Oh great. The jerk who snapped my leg probably calls this home. Hope he’s inside so I can return the favor.

But when she approached and pressed her ear to the door, she heard nothing. Just the low howl of wind threading through the forest.

The shack was empty when she opened it, dusted with a thin film of frost, as though no one had stayed here in weeks. Relief mingled with irritation.

Probably for the best. Beating someone senseless with a broken leg wasn’t a winning strategy.

Inside, it was cramped but perfect. A tiny hearth. Stacked wood. A battered cot. A first-aid kit. The air was cold enough to sting her lungs, but at least it was still.

Time to deal with her leg.

She lit a fire; the flames flickered to life, sending warm orange light dancing across the walls. She sat heavily beside it, letting the heat begin to thaw her trembling hands.

“No better time than the present,” she muttered.

She stripped off her pants. One leg came free easily, the other not so much, the dried blood had fused the fabric to the torn skin. When she peeled it away, she lost bits of skin with it. Fresh blood welled up, dotting the floorboards like dark red petals.

“Fantastic,” she muttered. “Truly loving the ambiance.”

She rinsed the wounds with peroxide, biting down on her sleeve to keep from screaming. After picking out fabric fibers and sealing the cuts with butterfly bandages, she felt along the bone. Straight, she hoped. Hard to be sure with the swelling.

She snapped her crutch in half and splinted her leg tightly. The painkillers she found in the kit were a small blessing, and she gratefully took them.

“Tomorrow’s going to be worse,” she whispered, easing herself onto the cot as the fire warmed the small room. “But so will I.”

The wind howled outside, snow tapping at the boarded window like restless fingers. The fire crackled. Her pain dulled. And eventually, exhaustion pulled her under—alive, stubborn, loyal, and still fighting for the family she refused to lose.