The Hiker

First two pages of a short story... I'll finish it as comments come in.

                                      The Hiker

     

      Gary spent almost every Sunday of the summertime hiking around some of the most richly forested mountain ranges of British Columbia, Canada.  He lived near the town of Mount Currie so he could drive to any one of dozens of different trailheads in that area in under thirty minutes.

He’d spend several hours the night before making checklists which he would repeatedly re-check and revise.  He’d gather and test his collection of extreme outdoor gear, laying everything out on his gigantic mahogany living-room floor and then refer to his most current checklist to find out which things were going or staying.  The backpack he chose for today’s trip was significantly larger than usual because today, he was going to tackle the longest, most treacherous trail he’d ever attempted in a single day.  Today was the day that Gary Flemming, the freakishly small and happily-retired park ranger, was going to conquer a little hike known as, “Demon’s Glee”.

 

      Sunrise was to occur at 5:47 am, so Gary began loading his Jeep at 4:45.  His silver 5-Speed Cherokee still ran and looked great.  Sure, there were a few dozen scratches on the lower left of the passenger-side door where his beloved, late shepherd-malamute, “Stoney”, used to claw while waiting for ‘Dad’ to catch up at the end of a long walk.  There were also many hundreds of claw marks on the inside of the same door.  Stoney wanted out more than in, but Gary never did get that door replaced.  Gary was meticulous.  He kept his things in mint condition, but Stoney’s paw-made blemishes always just made Gary laugh and revere the memories of the only true friend he ever had.  The Cherokee was packed, triple-checked, fired up and driving by 5:10.

 

      There was some concern about difficult weather that July morning but luckily, the forecast was incredibly wrong.  Save for a few pink clouds garnishing the horizon, the sky promised to be wide open, blue and totally rain-free.  Moments after he made his turn from the highway into the entrance of what is typically an abandoned service road, Gary reached into the cooler that he keeps strapped-in behind his gearshift and he pulled out a cold beer.  He cracked it open, took a plentiful gulp and began his eighteen-kilometer ascent, really tearing up the dirt.  When Mingus came around on his playlist, he cranked the volume to better than just loud.

 

      It was somewhere near the kilometer 17 marker when Gary cast his eyes upon it.  He attempted to slow down, but shock has a funny way of adversely affecting motor-skills.  A furry creature, likely a coyote or bear cub knelt in the middle of the road facing the oncoming Jeep.  Its eyes were angry and its teeth bearing. When it stood, Gary slapped on the brakes.  It was Stoney. Without question.  Somehow, defying every stretch of logic, there he was. 

 

      Gary fully lost control of the Jeep.  He almost managed to keep it on the road but he just caught a massive roadside boulder with the rear passenger wheel, tipping the back of the vehicle up from behind.  Gary and his Cherokee, packed meticulously with all his cool stuff, went tumbling end over end, down, down and down. The vehicle stopped, mangled and pinned amongst a grove of ancient cedars. When Gary came to, he could only assume he’d been unconscious for minutes.  He hung upside down held in by a blood-soaked seatbelt.  He could hear something liquid moving. In serious pain, with caution, he turned his head to look behind him.  Gary’s nightmare began as he watched Stoney lapping up a thick red puddle below him.