Fable of Happiness

Gemma

I MISSED THE BREAK OF dawn.

The seven-hour drive stretched into ten, thanks to the winding national park roads, a few wrong turns, and the fear that I might not find Kentucky’s Khalessi after all.

Noon came and went as I veered off main roads and followed old forest trails that had long been forgotten. My poor Jeep earned its fair share of scratches and dings as I maneuvered it between low hanging branches and around large boulders that seemed to have fallen from the sky.

At first, the national park was bustling. The camping zones were filled with laughing kids, colorful tents, and flustered adults trying to figure out how to cook over a firepit. Groups of guided tours embarked on their planned adventures, and a couple of rangers waved at me from their vehicles, appreciating the beautiful sunny day.

But now, I was alone.

My phone had no internet, my GPS tracker on my Wrangler kept flashing “location error,” and my bones were rattled from off-roading. At some point, I’d had to let some air out of my tires, making them softer and better at navigating over rocks and ravines. I was hoping to spot a sprig of yellow ribbon in the trees—the markers left behind by whoever had discovered this new, untouched boulder. Whoever it was, they were either incredibly adventurous or incredibly lucky.

This place was dense. Dense and wild and not at all conducive to finding anything, let alone a climbing route.

I stopped my Jeep in the middle of another narrow, chaotic path and pulled up the last comment posted in Climbers Anon. I’d taken a screenshot of it a few hours ago before my internet gave out, hoping it would give me some clues about the boulder’s location.

Turn off the main drag after you’ve passed the tree that looks like Harry Potter’s scar. Go over the stream, up the hill, travel to the left when you find three rock formations covered in moss, then keep driving until you find the drop-off. You’ll have to walk from there.

As far as I could tell, I’d followed the instructions. I’d found a weird lightning bolt-shaped tree. I’d turned down the overgrown trail, I’d crossed a small river, I’d passed three rocks that were more green molehills than glittering granite. And now, here I was, sitting in the forest, hopelessly lost.

Josh is going to kill me.

The app that shared my location with him always sent a snarky text when it lost signal, ratting me out for disappearing.

Well, this is it.

I took a deep breath, turned off the engine, and squinted, studying the green haze of the forest. Birds darted in beams of sunlight, butterflies fluttered past my window, living their short lives to the fullest, and a peaceful, heavy silence fell. It surrounded me, enveloped me, blocking out any hint that I’d just left a city behind.

This kind of silence didn’t exist anywhere else. It wasn’t found in buildings or in suburbia. This thick, impenetrable silence was created by the trees themselves. The rustle of their leaves was the white noise, the towering height of their trunks distorted all other sounds.

This silence was both sacred and rare, and goosebumps sprang down my arms as I opened my door and stepped out.

Birdsong broke the silence. Their melodies were better than any music on the radio.

I stepped forward, entranced.

Mud squished over my hiking boots as I stood in the middle of nowhere and breathed.

The sharp scent of greenery.

The damp smell of bracken.

The sweet aroma of flowers.

Heaven.

All that was missing was the sharp scent of stone and the powdery smell of climbing chalk.

Time to go deeper.

As I turned to open the back door to grab my gear, a flutter of yellow caught my eye.

Finally!

I rushed forward and grabbed the satin ribbon. I’d expected it to be bright yellow—something new and fresh. But this marker was weathered. Sun-bleached and rain-splotched, it was more cream than yellow. Whoever had posted in the forum had made it sound like a recent discovery, but this ribbon told a different story.

Interesting.

I frowned, running the ribbon through my fingers. It tore easily, brittle from age. A chill ran down my spine despite the hot sun. A sense of adventure and uncertainty stirred in my belly.

Looking up, I spotted another frayed ribbon hanging deeper in the undergrowth. Just as old, just as eager to be found.

The faded ribbons made me feel a strange sadness. They were left to rot in the middle of nowhere, their only purpose to guide someone to a climb that had somehow become more than just a YouTube video to me.

Maybe it was the podcast I’d listened to on the drive over here about Mammoth Cave National Park. The stories of vast interconnected cave systems, historic landmarks, ghost warnings, and fantastical folklore had seeped into my blood. But I needed to climb this boulder.

Not for likes or subscribers, not for ad revenue or fame.

But because I felt a connection to something hidden away, content in its seclusion, yet lonely in its wild perfection.

I turned away from the ribbon, a sense of urgency coursing through my legs.

I need to go.

I have to see what’s out there.

Eager to delve deeper into this new world, I pulled my backpack from the Jeep and placed it on a small hill out of the mud. Leaning into the back seat, I pulled out my bedroll, sleeping bag, and tent, followed by long lengths of rope, a mess of carabiners, cams, and quickdraws. I never knew what sort of terrain I’d find. Sometimes, the boulder was straightforward after a good clean and assessment of its crags. Other times, it turned out to be a cliff face, requiring spring-loaded cams and ropes to keep me safe.

The ropes and carabiners were heavy, but they were my lifeline, and I wouldn’t leave necessary gear behind. My climbing shoes and chalk bag were tucked inside a spare set of clothes, which completed my basic staples.

I opened the large container in the back of my truck, grabbing enough granola bars, pasta packets, Fruit Roll-Ups, chocolate bars, and electrolytes to last me two days. I left the rest of my supplies behind. If I couldn’t make it to the boulder and back in that time, I had more provisions waiting for me here.

I never ventured into the wilderness without at least a week’s worth of food, plus some extra. I had eighty liters of water stored in containers, and a medical bag filled with needles, antibiotics, and bandages. I’d taken a course on how to use them. Knowing how to set a bone, stitch a wound, and self-treat to stay alive until I could find a doctor was a skill I was grateful to have.

I carefully strapped, stuffed, and tied everything to my backpack before hoisting the heavy load onto my back.

Carabiners clinked together, rope cord draped over my shoulder, and my water bottle hung from the front strap. It was bulky and top-heavy, but I’d rather be safe than sorry.

Before leaving my trusty truck, I pulled up the hood and unhooked the car battery. I’d learned that lesson the hard way. There’s nothing worse than returning after a week of exploring only to find your battery dead.

I chose the tree with the first ribbon tied to it, dug a shallow hole beneath it, and placed my keys inside, covering them with a small rock that I marked with my penknife for easy spotting.

I didn’t like climbing with my keys. If I took them with me, I might lose them. If I left them at the base of a climb, they might get stolen. This way, I knew where they were. Safe and waiting for my return.

There.

Is that everything?

My phone, without reception, was in one pocket of my leggings. My PLB—personal locator beacon—was in the other. The bulky size stretched my Lycra, but I’d been taught to always, always have the PLB on you and not in your backpack. You never knew when you might need it or what kind of injury could happen.

I tapped the bottom of my backpack, where my recording devices were packed and protected by clothing, and took a deep breath. I was carrying a lot of weight on this adventure, but at least I was prepared.

I’m ready.

I ran through my mental checklist one more time, buckled the backpack around my waist, and happily stepped into the thicket.

* * * * *

You have to admit defeat. At least for tonight.

I sighed as I unbuckled my backpack and let it slide off my sore shoulders. It hit the ground with a thud, sounding almost disappointed in me.

How did this happen?

I’d followed the ribbon. I’d kept going until all traces of faded yellow were gone, pushing forward in hopes of finding the path again. I’d doubled back. I’d stopped and checked my compass. I’d scanned the landscape for any sign of a valley holding a boulder that some stranger had posted about in an anonymous forum.

I’d taken their word for it. I’d gone on a wild goose chase that ended with me alone, in the middle of nowhere, completely vulnerable to anyone who thought they’d play a prank.

Maybe they were laughing at me from the bushes, rolling their eyes at how gullible I was to follow a ribboned trail into an uninhabited national park.

You really aren’t very smart, Gem.

I huffed, running dirty hands over my face and wiping away the sweat from my seven-hour hike. I scanned the darkening trees, hoping whoever had posted about the boulder hadn’t planned to ambush whoever was foolish enough to fall for it.

Am I safe?

I’d gone so far off the trail, I’d put a few miles between me and the last ribbon, but still. Anything was possible in such a wild place.

Unfortunately—and I didn’t admit this lightly—I was lost.

I’d been lost before on other expeditions, but this time? I had no sense of direction on how to get back. I’d been so focused on those damn ribbons, letting them pull me forward without paying much attention to my surroundings, that I’d gotten turned around, confused, and now had the delightful task of admitting to myself that tonight, I wouldn’t be climbing a virgin rock, but setting up a lonely camp for one and hoping my brain rebooted so I could figure out how to get back to my truck in the morning.

Hopefully, you’re alive in the morning.

Shut it.

I rolled my eyes, angry with myself. Frustrated at my predicament and short-tempered because I was tired. So, so tired.

Exhaustion made my legs buckle, and I fell to the ground. My toes hurt from my hiking boots. I was thirsty, hungry, and my eyes stung from being awake for over twenty-four hours.

That’s probably why you’re lost, you know.

I shouldn’t have set out on a fool’s quest without a nap first. I should’ve taken my time. It wasn’t like I had deadlines or pressure from someone to post videos at certain times.

All of this was my fault, and I had no one else to blame.

So, you better stop feeling sorry for yourself and get organized before it’s pitch black out here.

I tried to summon energy into my tired body, willing my legs to stand and my arms to unpack my tent. But…just ten minutes.

A ten-minute rest, and then I’ll set up camp.

Checking there were no branches or predators behind me, I flopped onto my back and groaned in relief.

Good God, that feels amazing.

The sensation of going from vertical with a heavy weight pulling on my shoulders to blissfully free and horizontal was almost enough for me not to care about setting up my tent at all.

Ten minutes only and then you’re being smart.

I groaned again, arguing with common sense.

The earth had never felt so comfortable. The air cooled the heat from my exertion. My muscles relaxed until I was a puddle of hiking boots and dirty leggings.

After ten minutes passed—to be honest, it could have been seconds with how quickly it came and went—I did the responsible thing and sat up.

I let out a deep groan, my body stiff as I hauled myself up and stretched, trying to ease the tension in my overworked muscles. I was in that frustrating state of being what my fellow climbers referred to as “climbing fit.” To the average person who didn’t risk their life scaling massive rock formations, I was more toned and strong than any gym enthusiast had a right to be. But to my fellow climbers? The YouTube stars and free climbing legends, I was just a couch potato with a serious caramel fudge habit.

Right now, I felt like a couch potato, moving clumsily as I shook out my tent, secured the poles, tightened the ropes, stuffed my sleeping bag into the small orange and teal sleeping pod, and kicked off my hiking boots before crawling inside.

Darkness descended like a heavy blanket, as if it had been waiting for me to get under cover before turning off the lights. No stars tonight. No moon. Just me and my solar torch, which transformed into a lantern when I twisted the middle and hung it from the hook I’d sewn into the ceiling.

I didn’t bother to change.

I didn’t bother setting up my usual comforts like chargers, water bottles, or a tripod for my video diary.

I was exhausted.

I used the last of my energy to eat two granola bars, brush my teeth, then I burrowed into my sleeping bag and passed out.

* * * * *

I woke up gasping for breath.

I sat up abruptly.

I hit my head on the lantern hanging from the tent’s ceiling.

I froze, clamping both hands over my mouth to muffle my heavy breathing.

What the hell was that?

I blinked.

Something…something dangerous.

My ears strained for the terrifying howl that had woken me.

It had invaded my dreams and yanked me out with its bloody claws.

A bear?

A bobcat?

Coyote?

Slowly, I lowered my hands from my mouth and gripped my sleeping bag. Instinctively, I reached for my windbreaker that I’d tossed in the corner, grabbing the knife that had come in handy more than once. A simple switchblade with a mother-of-pearl handle, it had cut away vines I’d gotten tangled in, carved firewood, and skinned fish for dinner.

It felt as familiar in my hand as a rock, but I’d never used it in self-defense. I’d taken a quick course when I’d started venturing into deeper, more remote places, but I’d never left myself so vulnerable to danger before.

Shit.

The noise came again.

I ducked instinctively, as if the howl could reach through the fabric of my tent and snatch me from my sleeping bag. It echoed in the ravine I’d camped above, reverberated up the hillsides, pounded like a grim drum on the rock faces, and tangled with the trees that both absorbed the growl and amplified it.

Not a bear. Not a bobcat or coyote.

Then…what is it?

I’d never heard such a horrifying sound. Never had a noise stop my heart and scrape itself over every inch of my skin, leaving me shaking and breathless.

Leaving me desperate to know what it was.

It came again. A cry as well as a roar. A thunderous shockwave of pure agony.

An instinctual part of me stirred deep inside. My hand tightened around my knife, not in self-defense this time, but in preparation to do what was necessary and put such a tormented creature out of its misery.

The sound came again. Haunting and low, torn apart by the slight breeze and carried away before I could determine if it was animal, human, or something else.

Emerging from my temporary shelter, I stood up, swaying in the underbrush, my socks snagging on leaf litter, my hand raised with my knife.

Still no moon, no stars. Without my lantern, I couldn’t see two steps ahead.

If I went exploring, I might tumble down the cliff not far from where I’d set up camp. I could break a leg and never escape this place.

I could die here.

The howl came one last time, echoing with sorrow and an unmistakable plea for help. It sounded like rage mixed with sadness, pulsating with fear and torment.

It made me ache.

Made me desperate to help.

And then, it was gone.

And no matter how long I stood outside, a lone girl exposed to the elements with every instinct straining to find such a creature, only silence and rustling leaves remained.