Wolf Canyon

Kaitlyn’s heart beat wildly, as if it would explode in her chest. Instinctively she grabbed for the body that had served as her lifeline but was now in danger of following the wreckage in its wild tumble down the mountainside. Somehow determined to save the body from at least that fate, she tugged and pulled until it was safely back on the ledge beside her. Her head pounded and her chest ached. She suddenly realized that she had been holding her breath and began to gulp in the cold air. Then, panting from the exertion and near shock from the ordeal, she lay back on the rock ledge, quietly thanking God that she wasn’t dead or lying hurt and far from help at the bottom of the slide. She had reacted without thinking; now, as the truth of the situation began to dawn on her, her body began to shake uncontrollably, and panic truly seized her. Violence and death somehow always seemed to find her, even when she was hiding out in such a remote and lonely area as this. There was a dead stranger lying beside her on the rock ledge, but in her mind she was seeing Jack’s ashen face and feeling the life running out of him as she helplessly held him in her arms and begged him not to die. Now, in desperation, she wrapped her arms tightly around her chest, trying to stop herself from shaking, feeling the blood pounding in her ears from her heart’s wild beating, threatening to steal her consciousness if not her sanity. She choked back a sob and felt the warm tears on her cheeks quickly chilling in the icy wind.

She knew that she was wasting precious time, time that she desperately needed if she was going to get through the pass to safety before the snow blocked her path. But her legs were like rubber, and the hot tears filled her eyes once again as she relived the shock of Jack’s death. The horrible memory gripped her, possessed her, threatened to drag the very life out of her. She had been so covered in Jack’s blood that the emergency crews had thought she was shot, too. She had kept screaming at them to help Jack, that she was all right—but it was already too late by the time they arrived. She looked at her hands: there was no blood now, only her leather gloves. She stared at the gloves, only vaguely aware of the large snowflakes hitting them. She pulled her knees up against her chest and wrapped them with her arms. Long moments later she sat, weak and trembling, trying her best to focus her thoughts once again as she desperately fought to rid herself of those terrifying, death-filled images of pain and loss. Jack was gone. There was nothing that she or anyone else could have done to save him. Everyone had said so. And somewhere deep down inside, she must have known it too. But why didn’t her mind want to accept it?