Chapter 57 – The Message Left Behind
The descent from Blood Mountain was harder than the climb.
Steep rock slabs. Sharp turns. Loose gravel under every boot.
Fleta’s legs shook with each step, but in a good way — the way that meant they had worked hard and earned their tremble. Jess slipped once and caught herself with a wild laugh. Marco pretended he meant to slide. SkyWaker narrated the entire descent like it was a heroic escape scene.
By late morning, the trail leveled. The forest opened. And the group spilled out onto the paved walkway leading to a mountain trail store — bright signs, a big porch, a handful of picnic tables, hikers everywhere.
Town.
Riley stretched her back. “Bathrooms, snacks, rest. Thirty minutes.”
Jess cheered. Marco cheered louder. SkyWaker bowed to the vending machine as though greeting royalty.
Fleta followed the others toward the porch, her heart calm and steady. She felt good. Strong. Like the milestone on Blood Mountain had rewired something inside her.
She pushed the door open.
A woman at the counter looked up with a warm smile. “Hey hikers! Water’s cold, snacks on the left, register over here.”
Jess made a beeline for chips. Marco got distracted by a rotating rack of stickers. SleepisforT headed straight for the cold drinks.
Fleta drifted near the racks of postcards — glossy pictures of mountains, sunsets, and trail shelters. She ran her fingertip along one showing Blood Mountain Shelter. I was there, she thought. I did that.
Then the woman at the counter called out:
“Excuse me — sweetie? Are you Fleta?”
Everything inside Fleta stopped.
Her heart. Her breath. Her thoughts.
Riley turned, instantly alert. “Why do you ask?”
The woman lifted her hands a little, calm and open. “You’re not in trouble. Someone left a message for her. A man. Said it was important.”
Fleta’s stomach dropped so fast it hurt.
Riley stepped between Fleta and the counter — not blocking her, but shielding her gently. “What kind of message?”
The woman reached under the counter and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “He showed me a picture and asked if I’d seen a girl who looked like her. I told him lots of hikers come through. He said to give this to her if I ever spotted her.”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
Jess appeared at Fleta’s shoulder. Marco at her other. SkyWaker hovered behind like a protective shadow with Sir Quacksworth raised in silent protest.
SleepisforT didn’t say a word — she simply put her hand lightly on Fleta’s back.
Riley kept her voice steady. “Who was he? What did he look like?”
“Tall,” the woman said. “Jeans. Work boots. Looked tired. Maybe upset.”
Fleta felt like her skin had turned cold.
The woman slid the folded paper forward. “Here. It’s yours.”
Fleta’s fingers shook as she reached for it.
Not a lot. Not enough for strangers to notice. But everyone in her group saw.
Riley crouched beside her. “If you want me to open it, I can.”
Fleta shook her head quickly. “No. I… I should.”
Her throat felt tight as she unfolded the paper.
The handwriting hit her first.
Sharp. Familiar. Heavy.
She almost couldn’t read the words.
Fleta, You need to come home. This has gone on long enough. We can fix this. Call me. —Dad
The world tilted.
Not physically. Not dangerously. Just enough that the inside of her chest felt wrong again.
Riley’s voice was gentle and low. “StillMoving… you’re okay. You’re safe. He’s not here.”
Jess leaned in close. “He doesn’t get to take you back.”
Marco added softly, “He doesn’t get to decide your story.”
SleepisforT knelt beside her. “You don’t owe him anything.”
SkyWaker lifted Sir Quacksworth. “THE FELLOWSHIP WILL DEFEND YOU WITH OUR LIVES AND/OR SNACKS.”
Fleta let out a shaky breath.
“I don’t want to go back,” she whispered. “I don’t ever want to go back.”
“You won’t,” Riley said firmly. “Not if you don’t choose to.”
She placed a hand gently over Fleta’s.
“Do you want to continue? Your trail. Your choice.”
The word choice hit something deep inside Fleta.
Choice. She had one now.
She looked at the message again — at the command disguised as concern.
You need to come home.
No. She didn’t.
She folded the paper carefully, hands steadier now than before.
“I’m not calling him,” she said. “I’m not going home.”
Riley smiled — small, proud, unshakably supportive. “Okay. Then we keep walking.”
Jess squeezed her shoulder. “We’re with you.”
Marco nodded. “All the way.”
SleepisforT whispered, “You’re stronger than he ever let you believe.”
SkyWaker raised Sir Quacksworth like an oath. “THE ALLIANCE CONTINUES!”
Fleta exhaled. Long. Slow. Solid.
The paper felt lighter in her hand.
She slipped it into her journal — not as something she owed… but as proof of something she overcame.
When they stepped out of the store and back onto the trail, the mountains rose ahead, steady and patient.
Fleta tightened her pack straps.
Her voice was small — but sure:
“I’m still moving.”
And with her friends beside her, she stepped forward — not away from something, but toward every mile that belonged to her.
