Daphne finished the last of the M&Ms just as the rain began to fall. She shifted her place on the moss-covered rock to peer down at the man lying at the side of the trail. Fat drops hit his forehead, rolled over his eyelids and down his cheek. The rain mingled with the blood oozing out of the gash above his ear, tinting some of the forking rivers a watery pink. Daphne stretched her arms out above him, hoping to at least protect his face. Her bare hands glowed red from the cold. She rolled them into tight fists and glanced back down the trail for what must have been the hundredth time.
I wish my mom came back already. I wish I had my gloves.
They weren’t planning on being out this long. Just an easy five-mile loop hike. Daphne’s mom preferred to hike in the early months of winter, when the city crowds cleared from the mountains, yet only a dusting of snow graced the worn paths. They sang songs as they hiked—loudly, certain no one could hear them. Her mom invented terrible lyrics that made Daphne giggle. Each verse would get progressively worse. In an army cadence, she’d chant:
I hate kitties, yes I do.
Like to kick them with my shoe.
What do you do with a kitty at night?
Pour gasoline on ‘em and give ’em a light.
Daphne loved cats. She knew her mom did, too, as she had watched her hold an uncomfortable position on the couch for hours just so as not to disturb their tabby’s carefully balanced perch across her knees. So the songs were wholly hilarious.
“Daphne, you do one,” Mom had said. But Daphne had stopped laughing.
She had stopped in the middle of the trail. “There’s something,” she said.
Daphne felt the sudden force of her mother pushing her aside and watched as she raced down the trail in the direction Daphne had pointed. She had known right away that it was a man.
“Hello? Hello!” her mom had said. “Can you hear me?”
The man had groaned. His eyes flickered open. Mom pulled her cell out of her pocket and swiped her thumb across the screen.
“Shit. No signal.” She stood up, ran a few feet ahead and climbed up on a slippery stump, holding the phone high. She brought it back down. “Shit.”
The man had moaned. Daphne'’s mom clambered back down.
“We have to get help!” Daphne’s voice had felt small, as though the towering pines had pulled the strength out of her lungs, or caught her breath in the net-like witches’ hair moss that hung in curtains around them.
“Sir? Sir? I’m going to get you some help.” Daphne’s mom bent back down over the man. She touched the side of his face, examined the gash she could see.
Blood marked the rocks around his head. She slowly lifted his head and slid her hand underneath. The man moaned. She gasped. With her free hand, she pulled her scarf from her neck with one quick movement, bunched it up, and carefully pushed it under his head. When she finally pulled her hand away, it was covered in blood.
“How bad is it?” Daphne had said.
“Bad.” Her mom sat back on her heels, looked at Daphne, looked down the trail and then back at Daphne. “Look, sweetie, I have to run. We’re a good two miles from the trailhead. I have to go fast.”
“I can run too.”
The man moaned. He lifted a hand and placed it on Daphne’s mom’s foot. She bent down and grabbed it.
