Embrace the wild

I've Never Been Alone Before

It was the fifth day of Allie’s and Leigh’s trek, and if you asked her, she’d say it felt like the kind of day that should come with a warning label: “May contain frostbite, existential dread, and random death squads.” The morning started deceptively normal, a quiet snow-blanketed calm as they moved along the trail. They were making good progress, keeping to the plan—but the phone calls from their parents were like tiny ghostly echoes that refused to materialize.

Allie’s stomach twisted. She hated waiting, hated the unknown gnawing at her insides. She dug into her pack, pulled out the phone, and muttered, “Time to call and get either a comforting hello… or a heart attack in digital form. Bonus points if it’s both.”

Leigh sat beside her, eyes downcast, shoulders tense. Allie glanced at her sister, feeling a pang of guilt mixed with panic. God, Leigh looks like she’s about to fold in half. Someone get this girl a latte or a grenade, whichever works first.

She dialed. The ringing was endless, stretching like taffy. When someone finally picked up, silence answered. Allie’s lips twisted into a grim smile. “Hello? Oh, it’s you. Creepy Spider Hands, I see,” she muttered under her breath. No response. Nothing. Just the faint vibration of her heart hammering in her ears. She cut the call, yanked the battery from the phone, and lobbed it into the snow like a javelin.

Allie shivered—not just from the cold. Great. Someone is playing peek-a-boo with us. I hope they brought cookies.

Leigh’s quiet voice cut through the snow-laden air. “We’re being tracked.”

Allie froze. Then she blinked. Then she tilted her head and said, “Oh, fantastic. And here I thought today’s horror show might be limited to frostbite and my charmingly poor life choices.”

“Yes. We are being followed,” Leigh confirmed.

Allie gave a low whistle and muttered, “Well, at least they care. Nothing says ‘We’re invested in your misery’ quite like being stalked by strangers in the snow.”

A storm was brewing, thick clouds rolling over the mountains. They needed shelter, and fast. The girls pressed on, trudging through the knee-deep snow, hearts hammering with every crunch beneath their boots. The mountains offered refuge—a small indentation in the rock face where they could hunker down. Allie set up the fire, shivering but grinning wryly. “Ah yes, the three-star cliffside resort. Complimentary frostbite with every stay.”

The day had been quiet, almost eerily so. The girls hadn’t spoken much, each lost in thought, tension coiling around them like barbed wire. When night fell, the storm whispered against the rocks. They lay beside each other, watching the fire flicker, hoping for answers in the dancing flames.

Then came the crunch—soft, deliberate. A footstep in the snow.

Allie’s heart did a backflip, her breath catching in her throat. She pressed her hand against Leigh’s, voice low and sardonic, “Well, this is fun. I always wanted an uninvited guest who might kill us. Dreams really do come true.”

Leigh’s eyes mirrored Allie’s fear. They didn’t need words. Both knew what had to happen. They separated, each clutching their packs, whispering quick, tearful goodbyes. The storm whipped around them, snow blinding, wind biting.

As they ran, Allie’s mind worked overtime. North, zigzag, erase tracks, don’t die, don’t die, don’t die… Her pulse raced, adrenaline sharpening every sense. The Hunters were close, her sister was out there somewhere, and yet she forced herself to joke quietly: Well, at least I’m getting my steps in. Fitbit’s gonna love me.

Allie ran all night, muscles screaming, lungs burning, but fear wasn’t stopping her. She paused only once at dawn, finding a tree to lean against. The world was white and silent, a deceptive peace. She pulled out a snack, shoving it in her mouth, muttering, “Calories in, terror out. Makes perfect sense.”

Her hands shook, not from the cold but from exhaustion and the weight of worry pressing on her chest. Leigh… please be okay. Please be alive. The thought hit her harder than the wind, and for a fleeting second, her dark humor faltered. She closed her eyes, breathing heavily, letting the storm and the silence soak into her bones.

Then she whispered to herself, with a crooked grin despite her fear, “Alright, Allie. Survive, don’t die, maybe look dramatic while doing it. That’s the plan.”

The snow wasn’t soft and fluffy; it was a brutal, bone-scraping blanket that resisted every step. Every time she lifted a foot, it sank halfway to her knee, pulling her down like some cruel playground game. Her muscles screamed in protest, but she forced herself to keep moving. Leg day without the gym. Thanks, universe.

The wind cut through her jacket, prying into every seam, every fold, and she pulled her scarf tighter around her face. She could feel her eyelashes freezing together. Her cheeks burned from the cold, but she pressed on, her breath puffing out in small white clouds that vanished instantly into the stormy air. Her heart thudded like a war drum—half exhaustion, half fear.

She glanced back over her shoulder, as if the storm itself might be a tracker. “Alright, creepy stalkers of the snowy wilderness,” she muttered under her breath, “I hope you like cardio.” Her voice was a whisper, barely audible over the wind, but the words made her feel a little braver. Humor, as useless as it might be, was her shield.

Hours blurred together as the snow fell harder, each flake stinging her skin. She zigzagged through the treeline to erase any signs of her passage, crunching over frozen twigs and rocks hidden beneath the snow. Her boots slipped on icy patches, and she cursed each one with grim satisfaction. At least if I die, it’s graceful—epic wipeout style.

Allie stopped once to lean against a tree, her back pressed to the rough bark, her hands trembling. She pulled out a granola bar from her pack, snapping it in half. She gnawed on it while staring at the storm, the silence between gusts almost deafening. If I’m lucky, the snow will hide me from the people who want me dead. If I’m unlucky… well, at least my snack wasn’t wasted.

Her mind wandered, drifting into the territory she usually avoided—the “what ifs” that could paralyze a normal person. What if Leigh… what if the Hunters… what if she didn’t make it to the mountains? She swallowed the fear, muttering, “Okay, Allie, don’t think about death. Think about how much fun it will be explaining frostbite to the paramedics.” Her laugh was hollow, but it was hers.

The forest thinned, giving way to jagged cliffs and snow-packed ledges. Every step was a gamble; one slip could send her tumbling down, snow and rock tumbling with her. Her hands dug into the snow for balance, leaving slushy prints, while she calculated each foot placement like a high-stakes chess move. Checkmate, death. You’re going down… hopefully not me first.

As the day bled into evening, exhaustion clawed at her bones. Her breath came in harsh, ragged bursts, and her boots left wet, heavy prints behind her. Her fingers had gone numb hours ago, but she pressed on, gripping her pack straps like lifelines. Every snap of a branch underfoot, every whisper of wind against the trees, made her jump, but she forced herself to laugh quietly. “Really, snowstorm? Creepy footsteps? You’re trying so hard. I almost admire the effort.”

Finally, she spotted the mountains rising against the grey sky, jagged and imposing. Shelter waited somewhere in those rocky ridges, a small indentation where she could hunker down and plan her next move. Relief swelled in her chest, tinged with fear. She knew the Hunters weren’t far behind. The storm could be an ally—or a trap. She let herself rest for a moment, leaning against a boulder, and whispered to herself, “Alright, Allie. You’ve survived the snow, the wind, and your own brilliant ideas. Time to survive some humans.”

Her heartbeat steadied just enough to take a drink from her canteen. Every sip warmed her throat, but it wasn’t just the water—it was the tiny pulse of life that reminded her she wasn’t done yet. Her journey wasn’t just through the snow; it was through fear, doubt, and every terrible thought her mind could throw at her. And so far, she was winning.

With a grim smile, she adjusted her pack, tightened her scarf, and whispered, “Let’s see if anyone’s stupid enough to catch me now.” And with that, she pressed forward, every step a calculated act of defiance, every heartbeat a mixture of terror, humor, and raw determination.