All Rhodes Lead Here Read Online Mariana Zapata

Categories Genre: Contemporary, Romance Tags Authors: Mariana Zapata Advertisement

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Ten minutes later, I got up, put my socks and shoes back on, zipped my jacket because the rain had seriously cooled everything down and the sun wasn’t out, and started the damn hike back.

Everything hurt. It felt like every one of my leg muscles was shredded. My calves were on the verge of dying. My toes were never going to forgive or forget this.

I’d lost my momentum having to stop for the rain, and another glance at my watch told me I’d lost two hours because of the weather and my breaks. What had seemed hard on the way to the lake was about a hundred times harder on the way back.

Fuck, shit, fucking shit, motherfucking fucker all came out of my mouth. How the hell anybody ran this was beyond me. I stopped what felt like every ten minutes, I was so tired, but still, I kept on going.

Two hours later, not knowing how I was going to survive the next three hours and eyeballing the damn clouds that were back again, I pulled out my phone and waited, hoping for service.

There wasn’t any.

I had to try to send a few messages out.

The first was to Rhodes.

Me: Running late. I’m okay. Heading back.

Then I sent Clara another with basically the same message.

And finally Amos got my third one.

Me: On my way back. I’m good. The weather turned bad.

I left my signal on, hoping it would eventually reconnect with a tower. The battery was at 80 percent, so I figured it would be good enough. I hoped.

The ground was slippery, the gravel dangerous under my boots, and that slowed me down even more. There was no one around. I couldn’t risk hurting myself.

I knew I was going to have to go even slower than I’d planned.

And the clouds opened up more, and I gave myself the middle finger for being a stubborn idiot.

I had to be careful. I had to be slow.

I couldn’t even call out for rescue because there wasn’t any service, and I wasn’t going to shame Rhodes by being that person who had to get saved. I could do this. My mom could do this. But…

If I made it out of here, I was never doing this shit alone again. Didn’t I know better? Of course I fucking did.

This was stupid.

I should’ve stayed home.

I wished I had more water.

I wasn’t going to hike at all next year.

I wasn’t going to walk anywhere ever again.

Oh God, I still had to drive home.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I wasn’t giving up. I could do this. I was going to make it.

I was never doing a difficult hike again. At least not in a day. Fuck that shit.

One foot after another took me down. I stopped. I hid under my tarp. The temperature started to drop, and I couldn’t believe I hadn’t brought my thicker jacket. I knew better.

I layered Rhodes’s jacket over my pullover when I started to shiver.

My water was getting low even though I’d filled it up with water from a creek, and I started having to take the tiniest sips every time I stopped because there weren’t any more water sources.

My legs hurt worse and worse.

I couldn’t catch my breath.

I just wanted a nap.

And a helicopter to come save me.

My phone still wasn’t connecting.

I was so stupid.

I hiked and hiked. Down and down, slipping sometimes on the wet gravel and trying my best not to fall.

I did. I busted my ass twice and scraped my palms.

Two hours turned into three, I was going so slow. It was getting too dark.

I was cold.

I cried.

Then I cried more.

Genuine fear settled in. Had my mom been scared? Had she known she was screwed? I hoped not. God, I hoped not. I was scared already; I couldn’t imagine….

Half a mile to go, but it felt like thirty.

I took out my flashlight and put it in my mouth, clutching to my trekking poles for dear life because I would have probably died without them.

Big, fat, sloppy tears of frustration and fear ran down my cheeks, and I took out the flashlight to scream “fuck” a couple of times.

No one saw me. No one heard me. There was no one here.

I wanted to get home.

“Fuck!” I yelled again.

I was finishing this motherfucker, and I was never doing this so-so hike again. This was bullshit. What did I have to prove? Mom had loved this. I liked six-mile hikes. Easy and intermediate ones.

I was just kidding; I could do this. I was doing it. I was finishing it. It was okay to be scared, but I was getting out of here. I was.

A tenth of a mile left that switchbacked and rounded and dipped, and I was cold, wet, and muddy.

This sucked.

I glanced at my watch and groaned when I saw the time. It was six. I should’ve been done hours ago. I was going to be driving in the dark, and I mean, the pitch-black shit. I could barely see anything now.


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