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All thoughts of the inadequacies of his department aside, he dashed to the medical hut, grabbed his supplies, and hopped into Meredith’s truck. Their radios crackled between updates and streams of information from Jacques, the ranger leader, who was already on site and trying to help the trapped runners. They were at the Logger Pass, one of the higher points in the forest and tricky in the best weather. It was part of Barrett’s current route and while he enjoyed the challenge of hiking up the hills and driving around the twisty-turny bends of the access paths, he knew it was dangerous. It’s why it was only assigned to seasoned rangers, and he was the most senior next to Jacques. Having something happen on his route made his heart plummet a little bit more.
It was a trail for experienced hikers and runners but doable if you knew what you were doing. Barrett could feel his heart pounding harder with every turn Meredith took, the snow chains on the truck’s tires crunching and squealing against several inches of thick, heavy snow.
“Come on, fucker,” she grunted as she spun the wheel and got them around the last corner. “Thank god.” She gave him a gap-toothed grin. “Aw, look! You didn’t even cling to the door like you usually do.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, but he had to smile back. It felt forced with all the worry coursing through him, but she didn’t seem to take offense. They’d been coworkers and friends for nearly a decade, handling all sorts of shit on the job and closing out the bars in Elsie in their younger days. But he trusted Meredith with his life, and had at least a handful of times when shit got rough.
The moment Meredith parked as close as she dared next to the evac site, they both launched from the truck and raced over. The bridge he checked every week was nearly snapped in half. But whatever the cause wasn’t important in the moment, because Jacques was heaving timber off a woman’s leg. She was conscious but panic was written in every line of her face, and Barrett could hear her calling out to her companion. The man was flat on his stomach, pinned at the hips by a large piece of timber.
“Shit,” Meredith said just as Jacques looked up at them. “Is he conscious?”
“No, but he’s breathing. Barrett, I’ve got her. Help Meredith.”
Barrett sprung into action, pulling timber and rocks off the unconscious man. He had a nasty gash on his head, another through his running tights. He’d have a concussion at best, brain damage at worst.
“Emergency services are already on their way, but they can’t get up the trails,” Meredith said quietly as she pulled rubble away. The man’s hand was going purple and the skin at the index and middle fingers was tented grotesquely. A bad break then, but the least of their worries.
“Okay, friend,” Barrett said near the unconscious man’s ear, his free hand on the fluttering pulse at his neck. “We’re going to get you out of here.”
The keening of sirens caught his attention and Ambrose whipped around to see two ambulances racing down the service road parallel to the hiking trail. Startled, he hopped aside even though the vehicles were peeling up the hill where the road split, spraying snow as they sped by. He wondered idly what casualty had befallen someone up ahead, and then he remembered.
Barrett was a forest ranger. Would he be on call today? Was he at the scene? Was he okay?
Ambrose gave himself a little shake and adjusted his pack. It was a short hike, a mere six miles, but he’d awoken itchy and restless and not wanting to stare at his own walls for another day. Had the newness of home -hishome - worn off so quickly? That wasn’t possible. He awoke every morning to mist on the lake, made dinner by the dying light of spectacular sunsets, and spent his days in quiet contemplation and creation. Even if creation was another spreadsheet for work, or editing another chapter or verse or note.
So why was he worried about a stranger? Neighbor or not, he knew little about Barrett. And no matter how hard he tried, he could never shake the habit of looking up new people in his life. But could anyone blame him for wanting to check onwhothe neighbor was? So he dug around online. Barrett Miguel was thirty-eight, single, never married. No arrest or court records, owned his little home on the lake for the last decade. Worked for the forestry service for as long, before that was a paramedic. But previous to his mid-twenties, his history was far more scant. Born in Harperton, about twenty minutes down the road from Elsie, not quite an hour from Lake Honor. Divorced parents, one younger sister. A few random photos from Barrett when he was in high school, but they were that specific kind of grainy, yearbook style that made details hard to make out. Bachelor’s degree in applied sciences. In the age where all kinds of information was available online, it wasn’t the most scant early life profile, but it made him wonder.
He was wondering about his neighbor a little too often, and this morning as he watched Barrett’s truck roll past his house, snow crunching under his tires, he figured enough was enough. He’d put off his running for too long and now the trails wereright there. Ambrose had once been a pretty accomplished trail runner, even winning a few local races, and he needed to get his head set right.
And yet the whine of ambulance sirens was echoing in his ears and his first thought had been to Barrett. Dammit all.
Racing up there into gods knew what was a bad idea. He could turn around and go home, but how would that make any difference? Then again, he’d just hit his stride, music blasting in his ears, and his trail was a slight downward slope instead of up into the hills where the ambulances had disappeared. So back to his business it was.
But a twinge of guilt had him yanking off a glove with his teeth and pausing to type out a quick text to Barrett. They’d exchanged numbers that first week, more in the interest of an emergency than friendliness. And beyond an occasional message from his Paul Bunyan-esque neighbor about bad ice on the roads or to ask if he wanted more fish, they didn’t chat. Just two loners in the woods, keeping to themselves while winter settled in around them like a blanket.
But even loners sometimes had to look out for someone else.
To: BarrettI’m out on the trails south of the Logger trailhead. Some ambulances went flying by. Everything okay?
If it was an emergency, Barrett would be busy and answer when he could. But even the text message didn’t assuage all his guilt, so he cranked up the music, tugged his glove back on, and set out determined to run himself to exhaustion in hopes of feeling better. He’d hit his stride again right before the big bridge over the creek, and he could really lean into the tougher climbs beyond that.
Think in increments, his coaches had said.Make it to a point, then once you’ve arrived, set another point ahead. Bit by bit, you’ll get there. Except Ambrose had never done anything by halves in his life, even when everyone else told him to do so. Maybe it was in spite of them that he leaned in hard to everything - his work, his hobbies, his quiet lifestyle. Hell, saving for his house had taken dedication over nearly a decade; a decade of shitty paying jobs and counting every cent and never splurging. All so he could live in peace in the woods, far away from the noise and bustle.
His phone buzzed as the bridge loomed ahead and the jolt of it sent his right foot skidding on a patch of thin, muddy ice. Cursing, Ambrose righted himself and pushed harder into his stride. He’d check the phone once he was past the bridge, didn’t want to get distracted and wind up face-first in the snow.
“Shit. Meredith, drop me off.”
“What?” The smaller woman shook her head. “No, why? We’re going with the ambulances. We’re already halfway down, Bear.”
Barrett clutched his phone tighter. “Got someone down on the Logger trail, and I need to tell them not to go any further.”
“Well, text ’em!” she said over the blast of snow that dropped on them from the trees overhead.
“I did, but he didn’t answer!” Barrett yelled back.
“Shit!” Meredith stomped on the brakes, sending him lurching for the dashboard. “Okay, keep me posted!”
“You do the same, let me know about those runners.” Barrett snatched his bag from the utility chest on the back of the truck, gave her a wave, and then wrapped his hand around his phone in his pocket, picking up the pace. Ambrose wouldn’t be too far ahead if he’d been able to see the ambulances from Logger. The Seesaw trail didn’t start to curve out of view past Logger until the bridge andthatwas propelling him forward.
