Elizabeth Lawrence
My Jeep’s engine grumbled with me as I climbed in to rescue a troublesome hiker. A message crackled over my radio—“Be careful, Liz”—but my vehicle was already crunching down the pebbled road to the trailhead.
Usually, I had more patience. But this particular hiker pushed my buttons. I volunteered as Incident Commander for this search and rescue because, only hours ago, I’d taken him through the preventative training to avoid this exact thing. I’d explained the equipment he needed, warned him of potential hazards, made sure he wouldn’t get dehydrated, and answered every question he asked—and he had a lot of those. I’d done it all without a hint of irritation because I couldn’t stand the thought of him venturing out unprepared or getting hurt.
Now, we’d gotten an emergency call stating he was lost. We had procedures to follow, but I told the other rangers to contain their urgency. It wouldn’t take long for me to find him.
I pushed my Jeep faster than I should. This was far from the first time this hiker had come into the park to bother me, and if I had my way, it wouldn’t be the last.
The breathtaking views of Mount Rainier National Park and the light breeze coming through my cracked windows tried their best to calm me down, but everything I passed reminded me of him.
The lake where I caught him throwing rocks into the water and had to tell him he couldn’t do that because it disturbed the fish.
The winding trail into the trees where he stooped to feed a chipmunk, and I reminded him he can’t feed the wildlife.
A big rock not far from where he tried to pick wildflowers, and I informed him that all plants were a protected part of the ecosystem and must be left alone.
I parked near the trailhead, flung my seatbelt aside, and got out and stomped up the path. I couldn’t even properly complain about him to the other rangers because none of them seemed to know who he was. They never spotted him while they were out patrolling the backcountry or remembered him during shifts at the Visitor Center. I thought he had to be on some blacklist by now, but apparently only I had the privilege of correcting his misdemeanors and memorizing his personal information with the number of times he checked in to visit the park. Benjamin Reynolds, Tacoma resident, six foot one, brown eyes.
My heartbeat kicked higher with uphill exertion and something sharper tightening my chest. Giant trees lengthened the midday shadows around me. Would this turn into a full-blown search and rescue?
What if he was really lost—or hurt?
I quickened my pace and took longer strides until I reached the crest of the trail. I looked away from the sheer cliff to my left, deeper into the woods. I thought I saw something, a break in the uniformity of dark trunks and green pine needles, so I headed that way. And came upon a scene that stopped me in my tracks.
No blood, not a single bone jutting out of place, nor any signs of dehydration. But a red and white checkered picnic blanket lay over the grass with two sandwiches wrapped in pretty cellophane. My perfectly healthy hiker stood over it, smiling at me.
“So,” he began eloquently. “I’ve been trying to gather the courage to ask you out for weeks.”
Irritating me within an inch of quitting my job was his idea of gathering courage?
“You decided to call in a fake and borderline illegal search and rescue to do it?” I planted my fists on my hips and failed at a scowl.
He shifted his weight. “I didn’t say it was a . . . good plan.” He straightened, and the smile came back in full force. “But I knew you would be the first to find me.”
Now it was my turn to glance away at the very interesting trees. Maybe he’d been just as observant of me as I was of him: the hope in my heart when visitors drove in, and I thought one of them might be him, or how I always took a backcountry shift if I could when he was on the trails or volunteered to lead his group on the guided tours. Sometimes I sat at my desk during an exceedingly boring day and wished I would get a call about him.
We’d both been stepping around and toward each other. National parks had a way of stripping away pretense, eroding the superfluous and displaying only what was natural. Not even my feigned irritation could last long beneath the mountains and along the winding paths when there was someone making his way to me, trail by trail.
But some things were too practiced to go easily, and I was still at work. “You’re not supposed to walk off the designated paths,” I said. “Erosion.”
“Oh.” He had the decency to look uncomfortable; it was cute. “I will be better about that, from now on. Especially since I’ve made my move.”
Thank goodness my wide-brimmed hat covered most of my flushing face in shadow. “Why don’t we take this somewhere off national park grounds, when I’m not at work, and you’re not seconds away from compromising the natural integrity of the park just to talk to me?”
He brightened like the sunrise over the crystal lakes. “I’d like that. Coffee?”
“Coffee,” I agreed, and took the radio from my belt to call it in. “Missing person has been found, uninjured and stable. No need for helicopters or any of the rigmarole.”
The response came quickly. “Do you need additional resources or assistance returning to the Visitor Center?”
I eyed the picnic blanket and the sandwiches. Then I looked at Ben and smiled. “No backup required, but don’t be alarmed if there’s a delay. It might take us a while to come back down the mountain.”
When she’s not working on stories, she enjoys reading, music in all its forms, baking, and spending time with her family and friends.
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Spark Flash Fiction 