Mesa Trail ch. 6
Draft 3

"Only sand and palm trees and water. In Iowa, Signe had felt as locked in as the landscape, but not here, not on Oyster Ridge Road, a world onto itself." from Kathi Appelt's Keeper


Hannah was born, she always felt, with a lot of plans built right into her brain.  If 'A' does not happen then it will be 'B.' But Hannah had not only the A's and B's covered, but C's, sometimes all the way down to D's, E's, heck even F's when the time came.

It was at this moment, though, on this deep dark night walking along a secluded semi-arid Alpine trail, so utterly quiet in certain pockets you might as well be underwater, she had already used up her first couple of plans. The first one was the most obvious, but it was too late: turn back when it got spooky out here on the trail 2) wouldn't it be nice to find three friends somewhere about half way along this long trail. 3) How's about just "wake up" from this dream of the fear of the night altogether and find yourself inside a very soft new blanket in bed.

There was no contingency she could come up with for the sound of those footsteps clomping along behind her somewhere back in the woods. Hannah might have had a contingency plan for a moment, like a brief flash of northern lights in her mind, but of course anybody who has ever planned for the unwelcome visitor really just hopes for the best. "I hear you out there," she yelled out loud.  "We also know the sheriff of Boulder County," which was a flat out lie, but one that might work in certain company, and she didn't feel very guilty for it for very long.  Her pace had quickened and her backpack became quite light.  Up ahead, a dark meadow.

Long grass at least head high created an upward moving plain where there stood what looked like a major trailhead sign.  Briefly she could see a flash of a person up along an opposite ridgeline, one that was facing the city below, his head bobbing up and down, likely a night jogger.  She could yell, but wondered if that would help her if what was behind her was nothing more than a heavy chipmunk, wishful thinking.  Her father once said that ninety percent of fear is the fear itself not the thing that is being feared.  She always wondered about the ten percent.  What was that part of it anyway? Before she come to the conclusion of the ten percent or contingency plan F, something rubbed up against the back of her leg and let out the very distinct yelp that only one creature she knew could yelp.

"Nevada! What in the world are you doing here?" Nevada was an adorably adventurous Siberian Husky that also happened to be Hannah's best friend, confidante in all things, fellow house keeper, cooking partner and an all around fishing buddy.  She shone in the dark night like a white knight, virtually glowing, blazing the trail, so to speak, with fluffy swirls of white fur, and a set of eyes so blue, so certain, that last ten percent of fear melted away like warm caramel over a candy apple.