It was dark, so dark. No light at all - no moon, nothing. She could hear them, almost smell them. They were close, too close. Nowhere to run except forward. Soft pine needles beneath her feet pine fragrance wafting in the night air. Gasping for breath. Then nothing.
No pine needles, no trees, no ground,. Floating, plummeting and then darkness, complete darkness.
Two men stopped, shone a torch downwards then seeing nothing, after a few moments, turned and left.
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John Lightfoot was a park ranger of some years standing and knew his patch well. His 'patch' was the State Park. John was part Chinook native American. His tribe having been part of the North West US and Canada for thousands of years, His great grandfather had been a full blooded Chinook.
That morning, on his rounds, he spotted a small car in among the pines, just off the trail he was patrolling. No cars were permitted on this largely dirt road. He got out and went to investigate. The car was wedged between two trees and the driver side door was open. The car had smashed into the trees but not at speed.
Fearing someone might be injured, he gazed around the area carefully. A first sweep spotted nothing, but then he scanned the ground and saw foot prints leading away from the vehicle. He crouched down to examine them. From the size and the depth of the imprint he knew they were from a woman's shoe.
He got up and started to follow the foot marks. Shortly after leaving the vehicle he spotted two more separate sets of prints. This time undoubtedly from two distinct men. His observations of the various prints told him that all three had been running. Here and there they disappeared, but his innate tracking skills enabled him to pick up the trail quickly. He continued until shortly before reaching the gorge he knew was ahead, he saw that the men's prints were not only heading toward the gorge but now also back toward the dirt road. Those heading back were closer together indicating that whoever these guys were they were walking, rather than running.
Fearing the worst from what he had seen he hurried on, reaching the lip of the gorge shortly after. He looked down but could see nothing. The gorge was narrow, but not narrow enough to jump and it was dry, no river running through it, not even a stream.
John worked his way along the edge looking down as he did. Still nothing, not even a sign of any garments. He back-tracked to where the woman's footprints ended. They finished at the edge of the gorge. No other sign, shod or barefoot, was in evidence of any sideways or return tracks.
He removed his hat ran his fingers through his thick black hair and stood and pondered the situation. It was then that the wind suddenly blew along the gorge and upward to where he was standing. He thought nothing of it. Updrafts along the gorge weren't unusual. He turned to go, intending to walk the bottom of the gorge from an access point further down.
The wind blew again, but this time it seemed to be whispering to him, indecipherable, but it sounded like words. John was in tune with nature and honored it. It was in his genes and had been for thousands of years, passed down through his father's line. He sat down crossed his legs and closed his eyes. He slowly emptied his mind until all he was aware of was the wind and the rustling of trees. Then he caught it ...words. Words spoken by a woman. 'I'm here' the voice said, 'but I am also gone'. Then nothing John was a patient man and he waited.
Some time passed as John sat there, still and waiting. Then more words floated toward him on the wind. The same voice. 'Find me, find them', the voice said, then nothing. John sat there for almost another half hour, when he was interrupted from his state by the crackle of his radio.
He rose, replied to the radio message and tracked the two men's trail back to the roadway track. Tire marks showed up in the mud. He decided to follow them, the dirt road that the tracks were headed along was a dead end....
