“I think I see something! Up there!” I can hear a distant stranger intrude on our moment. Sawyer pulls away from me, scanning the snow drifts and trees for the owner of the voice.

I step back and twist around like an owl, my eyes wide and my senses on high alert that, for the first time in days, I’m going to see other people again.

Why does it feel like an invasion? Like these peaceful woods are a fortress for only Sawyer and I. The excited cries grow louder and more unsettling as I spot a flash of bright orange a couple hundred feet away.

Sawyer grabs my arm, “Come with me. Let’s get out of here!” he hisses.

“I can’t. It’s the search and rescue. I can’t just give them the slip. Come into town with me and we’ll figure this out together.” I plead, but I can see it’s falling on deaf ears. His big brown eyes are locked on the search team and he takes another step back from me.

“Ashley, there’s nothing to figure out. We can just go now. Fuck these guys. You don’t need to be rescued. Come with me,” I can hear the irritation grating across his vocal chords.

“I can’t,” I stand my ground. How ridiculous would it be if I just hightailed it off into the forest with him right now? They would worry about my sanity and send more people. Or assume he was keeping me against my will. This isn’t a Tiffany song from the eighties. We’re not going to stumble to the ground in each other’s arms and whisper that we’re alone now.

This is real life. No matter how disappointing and empty it feels.

“It’s her!” A member of the crew announces and begins to run toward me. I can see his partner radio in the information as others come up from behind carrying a first aid kit and supplies.

Everything is a blur of orange and white, I twist around and see Sawyer slowly walking backwards. The feet he’s putting between us feel like miles as the crowd of search and rescue members surrounds me.

“Ashley Young? You’re Ashley, right?” A fit, middle-aged man with a wide, black moustache yells.

“Yes. That’s me.”

“That’s a confirmation on finding the person of interest. Ashley Young has been found at 37.7934° North, 106.9156° West, copy?”

I can hear the radio crackle and buzz like the one Sawyer and I would wind up in the cabin. “10-4 copy that.”

Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh! I tilt my head back and squint my eyes at the bright sky. Above, a black, sleek helicopter is hovering over us like a metallic eagle ready to swoop in on her prey.

“They said we need to get her to a clearing.” A woman with chestnut hair and permanent worry lines etched in her face, interrupts.

“Gotcha,” the man acknowledges her. “Ashley, are you able to come with us? We’ve got a lot of people who are worried about you. Are you injured? Can you walk?” He talks to me like I may have lost my hearing along with my sense of direction the night I took off in the snow.

“I’m not hurt,” I answer and almost fall over as I look for Sawyer past the neon orange. Where did he go?

“Ok, that’s great. We’re going to get you home. There’s going to be a lot of happy people to see you! It’s a miracle you’re alive,” he smiles and tugs my arm, leading me with the team toward whatever clearing they’ve been instructed to take me to.

“Just wait, I can’t go yet.” My voice is shrill as I frantically look for Sawyer’s distinctive plaid among the trees.

“Here, drink some of this, it has electrolytes in it,” the man insists, holding what looks like a Capri Sun bag under my nose.

“No, wait.” I insist. “Sawyer, come with me. Don’t leave me,” I twist like a flag in the wind, but I don’t see him anywhere.

“She’s in shock,” the man with the moustache announces to the other crew members as I follow their lead to the clearing.

“I’m not in shock. I’m fine. I need Sawyer.” I look back over my shoulder, but all I see is a mess of footprints in the snow.

“Sawyer!” I call out. But I know it’s no use.

He’s gone.