Twenty years ago, I stumbled across a terrified little boy crying under a tree during a crazy thunderstorm and managed to get him to safety. Fast forward to yesterday. We were in the middle of a massive blizzard when this tall guy knocked on my door, handed me a thick envelope, and asked if I was finally ready to tell the truth.
Back in the day, the mountains were basically my entire life. I didn’t actually live up there, but I went every single chance I got because my knees still worked back then.
I always had my hiking boots sitting by the front door and trail maps stuck all over my fridge. Being out in the wild just made me feel completely invincible. But then this one freak storm happened twenty years ago, and it changed absolutely everything for me.
I was out hiking by myself up on this high ridge. By the way, my name’s Morgan. The storm rolled in so fast. One minute the sky was clear, and the next, the wind hit me like a physical punch and tree branches were snapping everywhere. I turned back toward my camp in the valley as the freezing rain started coming down in sheets. Lightning flashed so close I swear my teeth vibrated.
I was running when I suddenly heard it—a faint, muffled crying sound. I stopped dead in my tracks and yelled out into the storm.
“Hello? Is someone out there?”
I heard another quiet whimper, so I pushed through the soaking wet brush and called out to them.
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