Fable of Happiness Book One Page 3

  I sighed as I unbuckled my backpack and allowed it to slip from my aching shoulders. It crashed against the earth, sounding almost disappointed in me.

  How did this happen?

  I’d followed the ribbon. I’d kept going until all scraps of faded yellow were gone, pushing onward in the hopes of finding the path again. I’d doubled back. I’d stopped and looked at my compass. I’d swept the landscape for any sign of a valley holding a boulder that some stranger had posted in an anonymous forum.

  I’d taken their word. I’d gone on a wild goose chase that ended with me alone, in the middle of nowhere, utterly vulnerable to anyone who thought they’d have a joke.

  Perhaps they were laughing at me in the bushes, rolling their eyes at my gullibility to have followed a ribboned trail into an uninhabited national park.

  You really aren’t very smart, Gem.

  I huffed, running grubby hands over my face and wiping away the sweat from my seven-hour hike. Scanning the darkening trees, I hoped whoever’d posted about the boulder hadn’t planned to ambush whoever was stupid enough to fall for it.

  Am I safe?

  I’d gone so far off the trail, I’d put a few miles between me and the last ribbon, but still. Anything was possible in such a wild place.

  Unfortunately—and I never admitted this lightly—I was lost.

  I’d been lost before on other expeditions, but this time? I had no sense of direction on how to get back. I’d been so stupidly focused on those damn ribbons, allowing them to tug me forward and not paying much attention to my surroundings, that I’d gotten turned around, confused, and now had the enjoyable task of admitting to myself that tonight, I wouldn’t be climbing a virgin rock, but setting up a lonely camp for one and hoping my brain rebooted so I could figure out how to get back to my Jeep in the morning.

  Hopefully, you’re alive in the morning.

  Shut it.

  I rolled my eyes, angry with myself. Frustrated at my predicament and short-tempered because I was tired. So, so tired.

  Exhaustion buckled my legs, and I plummeted to the ground. My toes hurt from my hiking boots. I was thirsty, hungry, and my eyes stung from being awake for over twenty-four hours.

  That’s probably why you’re lost, you know.

  I shouldn’t have set out on a fool’s quest without a nap first. I should’ve taken my time. It wasn’t like I had deadlines or pressure from someone to post videos at certain times.

  All of this was my fault, and I had no one else to blame.

  So, you better stop feeling sorry for yourself and get organized before it’s blacker than death out here.

  I half-heartedly tried to summon energy into my feeble body, willing my legs to stand and my arms to unpack my tent. However...just ten minutes.

  A ten-minute rest, and then I’ll set up camp.

  Checking there were no branches or predators behind me, I flopped onto my back and groaned in relief.

  Good God, that feels amazing.

  The sensation of going from vertical with a heavy weight pulling on my shoulders to blessedly free and horizontal was almost enough for me not to care about setting up my tent at all.

  Ten minutes only and then you’re being smart.

  I groaned again, arguing with common sense.

  The earth had never felt so comfortable. The air cooled the heat from my exertion. My muscles relaxed until I was a puddle of hiking boots and dirty leggings.

  After ten minutes passed—to be honest, it could have been seconds with how quickly it came and went—I did the responsible thing and sat up.

  I couldn’t stop the heavy groan or the stiffness as I clambered to my feet and stretched out the worst of my tied-up and overworked muscles. My body existed in an annoying realm of what my fellow climbers called “climbing fit.” To usual humans who didn’t put their lives on the line by ascending vast piles of rock, I had more tone and strength than any gym bunny was allowed. But to other climbers? The YouTube idols and the free climbing gods, I was a couch potato who ate far too much caramel fudge.

  Right now, I felt exactly like an unfit pudding and stumbled about very inelegantly as I shook out my tent, secured the poles, tightened the guy ropes, shoved my sleeping bag into the one-person orange and teal sleeping pod, and kicked off my hiking boots before crawling inside.

  Darkness fell in a heavy cloak of nothingness, almost as if it had been waiting for me to have a roof before clicking out the lights. No stars tonight. No moon. Just me and my solar torch, which turned into a lantern by untwisting the middle and hanging it from the hook I’d sewn into the ceiling.

  I didn’t bother changing.

  I didn’t bother setting up other creature comforts such as chargers, water bottles, or a tripod for my video diary.

  I was spent.

  I used what little energy I had left to eat two granola bars, clean my teeth, then burrowed into my sleeping bag and crashed.

  * * * * *

  I woke panting.

  I jack-knifed up.

  I hit my head on my lantern swinging from the tent’s ceiling.

  I froze and clamped both hands over my mouth to stop my heavy breathing.

  What the hell was that?

  I blinked.

  Something...something dangerous.

  My ears twitched for the bloodcurdling howl that’d woken me.

  It’d reached into my dreams and yanked me out with bloody claws.

  A bear?

  A bobcat?

  Coyote?

  Slowly, I dropped my hands from my mouth and clenched my sleeping bag. Instinct made me reach for my windbreaker that I’d tossed in the corner, grabbing the knife that’d helped me more than once. A simple switchblade with a mother-of-pearl handle, it’d cut away vines that I’d stumbled into, carved firewood, and skinned fish for dinner.

  It was as familiar in my fingers as stone was, but I’d never used it in self-defense. I’d taken a quick course when I’d started off-roading into deeper, more desolate places, but I’d never left myself so open to violence before.

  Shit.

  The noise came again.

  I ducked involuntarily as if the howl could reach through the material of my tent and pluck me from my sleeping bag. It echoed in the ravine I’d camped above, ripped up the hillsides, banged morbid drums on the rock faces, and tangled with the trees that both absorbed the snarl and amplified it.

  Not a bear. Not a bobcat or coyote.

  Then...what is it?

  I’d never heard such wretchedness. Never had a noise stop my heart and scratch itself over every inch of my skin, leaving me shaking and out of breath.

  Leaving me desperate to know what it was.

  It came again. A lament as well as a roar. A thundering shockwave of pure suffering.

  An instinctual part welled deep inside me. My hand curled around my knife, not in self-defense this time, but in preparation to do what was necessary and put such a broken creature out of its misery.

  The sound came again. Haunted and low, dismembered by the slight breeze and carried away before I could determine if it was animal, human, or otherworldly.

  Crawling from my temporary bedroom, I climbed to my feet, swaying in the bracken, my socks catching on leaf debris, my hand raised with my knife.

  Still no moon, no stars. Without my lantern, I couldn’t see two steps in front of me.

  If I went exploring, I might fall down the cliff not far from where I’d set up camp. I could break a leg and never get out of this place.

  I could die here.

  The howl came a final time, echoing with grief and the undeniable moan for help. It sounded like fury melted with sadness, throbbing with terror and torment.

  It made me ache.

  Made me desperate to help.

  And then, it was gone.

  And no matter how long I stood outside, a single girl exposed to the elements with every instinct straining to find such a creature, only silence and leaves existed.

  CHAPT
ER FOUR

  I’D BEEN DIGGING AGAIN.

  Holding up my hands, I scowled at the dirt beneath my nails, the mud up my arms, and the soil spread through my single bed.

  Fuck.

  That hadn’t happened in a while. It’d been years since I’d had the faculties to unlock the multiple barriers on the dormitory door and sneak my way outside in my sleep. To move with the moonlight. To slip between shadows, naked and silent, before falling to my knees in the earth.

  Looking past my dirt-caked hands, I narrowed my eyes at the window.

  It was ajar.

  Vaulting from my bed, I bolted to it. Grabbing the wrought iron frame, I fisted the old-fashioned latch.

  Why is this open?

  Who?

  How?

  My eyes shot around the room, flying over empty beds, searching barren walls, and probing into dark corners.

  I stilled and stopped breathing, waiting to hear an intruder cough or command. My skin bristled, and if I’d been graced with fur instead of pitiful flesh, I would’ve shuddered with a warning hackle.

  Just like it’d been years since I’d been digging in the night, it’d also been a while since I was young enough to fantasize. To pretend I was another beast—any other beast—than what I was. I’d read every single book in this godforsaken place three times over. I’d devoured economics, cooking, horticulture, and mechanics. I’d indulged in thrillers, sagas, and even romance, but my favorite literature was fantasy.

  It was the only thing that had the power to pull me from my existence and place me in the skin of another. The magic of a written word could transform me into a wolf or a giant or a sorcerer so awfully wicked that his hands were caked with a millennium of blood instead of earth.

  There’s no one here.

  Previously, I wouldn’t have believed myself.

  These days, I’d learned to trust my instincts.

  Slowly, I relaxed.

  The room was empty. Just me, a few cockroaches, and the resident raccoons who’d set up home in the attic above.

  But why is the window open?

  Pushing it further, I glanced down to the roof of the ten-car garage. To the small overhang where the bottom level spread out wider than the second story above.

  There, on the dusty metal, were footprints.

  My footprints.

  My shoulders crumpled in relief.

  I hadn’t gone out the door. I’d used the window. The trap I’d set to alert me if anyone tried to break in had been disarmed. The string attached to the ladle that would crash to the floor had been simply ripped off the handle and set aside.

  It should probably worry me that I could do something like that when I had no memory of where else I’d been, but this was an old habit.

  A habit I’d outgrown...or so I thought.

  Where did I go?

  Find out.

  Nodding, even though I didn’t truly want to know where I’d gone last night, I left the dormitory. I traveled naked with my back still prickling with warning, stalked down the narrow servant stairs, cut through the kitchen, and barged out the back door.

  Sparrows took wing with insulted squawks. Vines shuddered, dropping a few leaves onto my shoulders as I ducked under the overgrown arch that led to the woods and away from the chef garden.

  It was warmer than usual today. Muggy and heavy, living up to the stifling summer so far. The ground was dry after being damp from the thunderstorm only a few days ago, and a couple of fallen leaves rested beside dusty indents of my journey last night.

  I was skilled at tracking. I’d hunted for years. I’d read game books and how to preserve caught meat.

  It was strange to be hunting my own footfalls, but I did it because I had to know.

  Had to see if I’d regressed.

  My hands balled into fists as I followed the trail into the forest. It wasn’t too far from the house. I’d needed it to be close enough back then, but now, it seemed as if darkness had claimed it as its own.

  Nothing grew here. No grasses, no berries, no trees.

  A blank scar in the dirt.

  A blank scar with nail marks on the perimeter and handfuls of fresh earth piled on top.

  I backpedaled.

  Fuck.

  Grabbing my hair, I yanked at the roots, wishing I could rip out the memories that continued to swarm inside me.

  Why had I come here?

  What was I trying to do last night?

  The answer to that question almost made me vomit all over my recent claw marks.

  A flurry of birds suddenly took flight behind me. Squawking indignantly, their wings creating a fluttering raucous of feathers. They bolted from the treetops ringing my ravine.

  I spun in panic.

  Had they spooked because of me? Because they sensed my rising terror?

  They squawked again, circling over the top of the cliff where I’d never ventured. They hovered and dived, investigating something I couldn’t see before taking off in a choreographed cloud.

  Something’s out there.

  Self-preservation sliced through me.

  Rage and hate sent violent possession for my valley down my legs.

  No one else was welcome here.

  Ever.

  I broke into a run, back the way I came, slamming to a stop by the cliff to look up, up, up the craggy ravine that both imprisoned and protected me, through the crisscrossed branches that blocked out the sky, to the swaying treetops beyond.

  I waited for another flock to spook.

  My eyes darted in the new sunlight, searching for whatever had made them take off. I’d lived here long enough to read the forest, and birds didn’t suddenly perform a mass exodus unless a predator was in their midst.

  Was it the bear from last summer?

  The coyote that I’d snared and then let go?

  I strained to hear. I listened for far longer than usual because something felt off. Something wasn’t quite right.

  Nothing.

  Silence. Just the bicker of birds, the rustle of leaves, the soft hum of insects.

  No other hint that anything stalked me from above.

  No enemy to hunt.

  I was alone, like always.

  I waited another few minutes before turning back toward the house. I tried to relax, to prepare for my morning run. However, foreboding iced my naked skin. It drew daggers down my spine and latched hooks into my flesh.

  Something was out there.

  Something was inside me.

  Nowhere was safe.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  YOU MIGHT AS WELL admit it.

  You’re lost as hell and need to give up the idea of climbing and head back.

  My shoulders slumped as I stared once again at my compass. I hadn’t been able to go back to sleep after the strange noises in the night and had left at dawn, packing up my meager camp and continuing on in the hopes of stumbling upon the promised, untouched boulder.

  I had visions of recording a fabulous video with the new sunshine striking just right, enjoying a nice lunch at the base, then having enough rations and daylight to hike back to my Jeep.

  I was never usually this stubborn about finding a hunk of rock, but just like when I’d first parked and began this journey, something pulled me forward. Something made my steps quicker than usual and my familiar finesse at navigating trees and overgrown shrubbery messy and uncoordinated.

  I made noise. I disrupted nature. Insects got out of my way, and birds squawked and swooped at my interruption. Mammals of all shapes and sizes disappeared into the shadows as if I’d trespassed upon their privacy.

  Which I have, so fair enough.

  This part of the national park was more than just untouched. It was feral. Every gnarly root and ancient branch looked untamed as if I’d fallen through a time portal and found the Middle Ages.

  I doubted any tourists, campers, or rangers had been here in decades, if ever.

  It was wild.

  No paths, no pruning, no animals
comfortable with human presence.

  It didn’t want me here.

  The entire park seemed to bristle with secrecy, unwilling to allow me to travel deeper. But that only made this failed expedition more intriguing. Knowing that I was one of the few who’d walked this earth made me burst at the seams with gratefulness and curiosity, but it also made me wary that if I didn’t play it safe, I could die and never be found.

  My bones would become part of this ecosystem. My flesh become part of the forest.

  I’d be swallowed whole and gone.

  Unfortunately, even though I didn’t want to, I had to concede.

  I’d been following the ridgeline of the valley I’d slept above for hours. I’d backtracked and shimmied down a small distance to see if I could see anything that looked like the photo in the Climbers Anon group. I’d spotted a couple of clusters, a few rock formations that could be useable as a backdrop for YouTube content, but it wasn’t the fabled Kentucky Khalessi.

  But now it was past noon, and I always did endeavor not to be entirely stupid.

  I was running low on water. I’d eaten the packet pasta and Fruit Roll-Ups for breakfast, and I’d worn far too many warm clothes with how hot the weather had turned out to be. Bugs buzzed around me, and the odd mosquito braved my clothing to bite my arms and legs.

  I’d have to come back better prepared.

  Looking one last time at the gorgeous view, I marveled at the way cliff sides seemed to crush close together before spreading out into a wider ravine. Trees on either side of the valley strained toward one another, their branches touching and entwining over centuries of growth.

  I’d seen such phenomena before. A canopy of living branches formed in rainforests around the world. When I’d gone climbing in Vietnam, a few locations had been entirely closed in, the trees so dense and interlocked that sunlight speared in vain to the damp earth below. Another climb had led me to caves in Malaysia where an entire cathedral had formed from banyan trees, all linking together as if saying no to the sky.

  It had been a while since I’d come across something so intricate, and I hadn’t been lucky enough to stumble upon something like this in the US. Typically, trees preferred their own towering individuality. Claiming their own space instead of binding into one massive air-carpet of leaves.