The Wrong Trail

The four of us—Ryan, Noah, Jake and I, Ethan—entered the forest at about nine in the morning. At the small ranger checkpoint beside the parking area, we wrote our names in the register and noted that we would return before six. Ryan took the map. Noah slung the food bag over his shoulder. Jake led the way, and I followed with my camera in my hand.

It rained after lunch. Mud collected along the trail to the campsite we had chosen. With clouds overhead, the forest was already dark at four in the afternoon. When a brief shaft of sunlight broke through the trees, I stopped to take a photograph.

When I looked up from the camera screen, there was no one ahead of me. I had stopped for less than thirty seconds, yet I could no longer hear my friends’ footsteps.

“Ryan!” I shouted. No answer. A few steps farther on, the trail divided in two. We had not passed this junction before. In the mud on the right-hand path was a print that looked like the star-shaped tread on Ryan’s boot.

Then someone called from among the trees to my left. “Hurry up! We’re over here!” The voice sounded exactly like Ryan’s. I checked my phone. It was 4:42 PM. The battery was at nineteen percent. No signal.

Had my friends gone right? Then who was calling from the left? Darkness would come soon. I had to think before choosing.