“Where are you going?”
I stop and look over my shoulder at my husband. His expression is one of complete bafflement.
“Back to the truck. You said we’re done, right?” I brush the dirt and leaves from my numb backside and shift the rifle to my shoulder.
He stares at me a second or two in disbelief then shakes his head.
“Renee, the pickup is that way.” He points up the hill in the opposite direction.
“No, it isn’t. It’s this way.” I grumble a few more words to myself and start walking down the mountain, picking my way over fallen logs and through the thick timber.
“Honey, stop!” His shout echoes through the trees, successfully halting me in my tracks. “Trust me, I know where we are and the truck is not down there. Come back.”
Now it’s my turn to look at him in shock. I gaze around me and begin to realize that I don’t have a clue where I am. Everything looks the same. The trees, the scattered leaves, and the snow crunching under my feet combine to create a scene o…