The Man Behind Me
By Lynne Curry
“Everybody ready?” Our hike leader, Hallie, swung her pack onto her back.
Before I could answer, the man beside me reached toward my shoulder.
“Twisted strap.” I stiffened as his fingers brushed my collar. “All straightened now, Zoya.”
He knew my name. I couldn’t remember his.
We'd all introduced ourselves five minutes ago. Nothing strange about someone paying attention.
I settled the pack against my back. Beyond Hallie, snow-capped mountains crowded the valley. Our trail disappeared into spruce. From here, I couldn’t tell which ridge we’d climb.
Hallie counted heads. I silently rehearsed the names. Marlys, tightening her bootlaces. Remy, pocketing his phone. Sloan, leaning on his trekking poles, already looking up the trail.
The man beside me tugged his own pack strap. Sawyer. His name finally came back.
Six of us, one overnight. I’d signed up for the September hike on Meetup before I could talk myself out of it.
For the first hour, we traded places whenever someone stopped to shed a layer. Marlys asked about my boots. Remy photographed a spruce root that had swallowed a rock. At a creek crossing, Sawyer waited on the far bank while each of us picked our way across.
After we all crossed, he opened a bag of dried mango and offered it around. Hallie reached for a piece. “I hoped you'd bring these again.”
Sawyer grinned at the rest of us. “My wife buys this stuff in bulk. Used to leave a bag in my truck every Monday.”
“Used to?” Marlys took a piece.
“She’s had a rough year. Lost her job.” He folded the top of the bag. “Trying to get her hiking again.”
I took a piece. “Maybe she’ll come next time.”
Gradually, the climb shortened our conversations. Alder crowded the trail. I concentrated on keeping Hallie's pack in sight.
By noon, the brush gave way to open slopes. Blueberry leaves reddened the tundra, and an early dusting of snow filled the creases of the higher peaks.
I stopped to pull off my fleece. Sawyer waited.
He glanced up the trail. Hallie disappeared over a rise. “I have a confession.”
His gray eyes held mine. One corner of his mouth lifted, inviting me into the joke. “I know who you are.”
Occupational hazard. I investigated workplace complaints for a living. Sometimes people knew my name before I knew theirs. “Have we met?”
“You did some work for a company my wife worked at.”
“Which company?”
“Denali Industrial.”
A windowless conference room two hours after closing. Burnt coffee. A woman who checked the closed door before answering. She’ll know I talked to you. She always finds out.
The woman watching the door, or the one she feared?
He stepped aside to let me lead as the trail narrowed across a steep slope. Loose shale shifted beneath my boots. I planted each pole carefully, suddenly conscious of the weight of my pack and how little room I had to turn.
“After your ‘investigation,’ Sueann lost her job.”
Sueann. When the company's vice president joined our interview, she greeted him warmly and asked after his daughter. Employees described a different picture. Impossible deadlines. Public humiliation. Permission granted, then denied when someone followed through. One employee brought the email approving her leave and the written warning she received for taking it.
Behind me, Sawyer’s pole struck rock. “She hasn’t worked since.”
Ahead, Hallie’s pack disappeared around a fold in the hillside.
“Denali would listen if you told them you made a mistake.”
Wind lifted my hair, chilling my neck. I pulled my collar higher. “I stand by my findings.” I planted my pole and stepped over a loose stone.
“Of course. Funny how easy it would be to lose your footing here.” The same easy tone he’d used that morning, offering us dried mango.
My fingers tightened around the pole grips. “What do you mean by that?”
“Just looking at the drop.”
I glanced up the trail. No bright jackets. No clicking poles.
I stepped to the uphill side and waited for him to pass. Wind pressed my pant legs against my shins. For the next mile, I watched his boots.
At the next stop, I’d get beside Hallie. Until then, I kept Sawyer in front of me.
By late afternoon, we’d reached the crest. Marlys whooped and lifted both poles overhead. Sloan pulled an oversized chocolate bar from his pack. “Now somebody else can carry this. Internally.”
We broke off pieces while Remy set up a group photo. I moved beside Hallie before Sawyer could take the spot.
“Squeeze in,” Remy told us.
We descended a short distance to a sheltered hollow and pitched our tents. A creek threaded through the stones below. Sawyer held a windscreen around Hallie’s stove while she lit it, laughing at something she told him. Later, he found a dropped tent stake for Marlys. She took it from him, smiling. “You’re handy to have around.”
A whole night before we could head back. And then the descent. Every narrow stretch where I’d have to turn my back on Sawyer.
I watched him return to Hallie’s stove. I needed a moment with her, out of his hearing.
I carried my tent toward Remy’s. “Mind a neighbor?”
“Please. Sloan snores. Apparently we’ll hear him from anywhere.”
I managed a laugh and unrolled my tent. Across the hollow, Sawyer crouched beside Hallie. I pushed a stake into the ground, leaning my weight onto it.
I could tell Remy what worried me. But Remy might turn toward Sawyer, call him over, try to clear things up. My hand stopped on the stake. I wanted company tonight, not a confrontation.
Hallie led the hike. I’d tell her what he said and ask her to keep us apart on the descent. I didn’t need her to decide what he meant.
For now, I set my tent door facing Remy’s and kept Hallie in sight.
***
Stars sharpened above the ridge. Without daylight, the surrounding mountains lost their folds and distances. Beyond the hollow, darkness hid the drop we'd passed on the way into camp. Everything beyond my headlamp’s beam pressed closer.
I crawled into my tent and arranged my boots at the door. Phone. Headlamp. Bear spray within easy reach. The small whistle from my pack went into my jacket pocket. I lay down fully dressed.
For a while, the creek covered the small sounds around camp. Then the wind shifted. Nylon snapped. A buckle tapped a tent pole. Somebody coughed.
Sleep came in scraps.
Gravel crunched outside.
My eyes opened.
Another step. Close.
I slipped my hand into my jacket pocket and closed my fingers around the whistle.
A light swept across the tent, then went out. Nearby, a zipper opened and closed.
I reached for my headlamp, then stopped. Light would show whoever stood outside that I’d woken. It wouldn't let me see through nylon. I left it off.
By morning, my jaw ached from clenching it.
***
We climbed back to the crest, morning light spilling across the valley below. Somewhere down there, our cars waited. I still hadn’t caught Hallie alone.
I let Remy, Sloan, and Marlys go ahead, then fell in behind Hallie. Boots scraped behind me.
Sawyer.
At the first steep stretch, Hallie stopped to shorten her poles. I waited with her. Sawyer waited too.
“Go ahead.” I stepped aside.
“No rush.”
I pretended to adjust my cuff. He waited.
Hallie snapped the second lever shut and started down. I followed before she could get farther away.
Around the next bend, a slab of rock narrowed the trail. Hallie stepped down and moved on.
The rock pressed close on my left, the drop open on my right. I planted my pole on the trail below the ledge and started to step down. A hard tug at the right side of my pack twisted me toward the drop.
My pole skidded. I drove my left knee into the trail and clawed at the rock.
My right boot scraped the face of the ledge. Nothing beneath it. My body pitched after it.
Then my pack jerked back toward the rock. “Got you.” Sawyer’s voice came from behind me.
Hallie turned fully toward me. “Zoya?”
I pressed my bleeding palm against the ground. Pain spread hot beneath my kneecap.
“Her foot slipped.” Sawyer held the top of my pack. “Give her a second.” He sounded patient. Exactly how I’d want someone to sound if they'd caught me falling.
The tug came first. Then my pole skidded. I wanted to turn on him, but his hand still gripped my pack, and my right boot hung over the edge. Get my boot back onto the trail. I dragged it up.
Hallie looked at me. “Can you stand?”
Sawyer reached for my hand.
I turned to Hallie. “With your help. Stay beside me.”
Hallie braced herself beside the rock. I took her hand, pressed my other forearm against the stone, and pushed through my good leg. My pack shifted as I rose. I leaned into the slope until my balance settled. My breath wouldn’t.
“We’ll take it slowly.” She waited until I retrieved my pole, then started down.
“Wait.” My voice came out thin. “I need Sawyer ahead of us.”
He smiled. “I’m staying back in case you slip again.”
Hallie paused, one pole planted below the ledge.
Don’t make it worse.
Across the conference table, a woman had folded the edge of her leave approval into a narrow pleat. I’d asked what kept her from reporting the warning.
Now I stood with my shoulder against the rock, searching for words that wouldn't anger him.
I kept my eyes on Hallie. “He pulled my pack toward the edge.”
Sawyer’s hand hovered near my elbow. “Zoya. Your foot went over. I caught you.”
I drew my arm against my side. “You pulled first.”
He turned to Hallie. “She’s had a scare. Let’s get her somewhere she can sit.”
“I want to walk directly behind you,” I told Hallie. “With Sawyer ahead of us.”
Hallie’s eyes dropped to my bloody hand. Then she shifted uphill, putting herself between Sawyer and me.
“I stayed back to help.” He opened his hands. “Hallie, you know me.”
Hallie stayed where she was.
The creek sounded far below us. “Yesterday, he told me I’d cost his wife her job. Then he said how easy it would be to lose my footing.”
Sawyer gestured past me. “I pointed out a drop, like that one.”
Hallie looked at his face, then at mine. “Sawyer, go on ahead.”
Sawyer turned toward me, his mouth tightening. “You don’t know what you're doing.”
I planted both poles. “Go.”
For a moment, he held my gaze. Then he stepped past Hallie. His boots scraped down the ledge, dislodging stones that ticked against the slope below.
I waited until he rounded the bend and turned toward Hallie. “Please stay where I can reach you.”
She nodded and stepped down.
At the next wide stretch, Remy rose from a boulder. His eyes dropped to my torn trouser leg. “What happened?”
“She slipped.” Sawyer reached for his pack. “I caught her.”
“He pulled me off balance first.”
Remy looked at him. Nobody spoke. I resisted the urge to fill the silence, to make my account easier for them to hear.
“Remy, take the others down with Sawyer,” Hallie told him. “Wait at the next junction. Zoya and I will follow.”
Sawyer shook his head, but he shouldered his pack.
We waited while the others filed onto the trail. Marlys glanced back once. I couldn’t read her expression. On the descent, Hallie waited at each steep step until I reached her. Whenever boots scraped loose stone ahead, I looked up.
At the trailhead, Sawyer stood behind his car.
I stopped. Hallie stayed at my shoulder. “Which one’s yours?”
I pointed.
“I’ll stay with you.”
She matched her pace to mine.
I’d offered those words across conference tables, then waited while someone gathered a coat or searched a bag for keys. Now I limped toward my car, listening to her boots beside mine. When I stopped to ease the weight off my knee, she stopped too.
Inside, I pressed the lock button.
Across the lot, Sawyer climbed into his car. His brake lights flared red. He backed out and drove toward the road. Hallie stayed where she was.
Through the windshield, she lifted a hand.
I tried to lift mine, but my fingers had cramped around the keys. I set them in my lap and opened my hand slowly.
THE END
Author Bio: Alaska/Washington author Lynne Curry—nominated for the 2025 Best of the Net Anthology, the 2024 Pushcart Prize and Best Microfiction—founded “Real-life Writing”, publishes a monthly “Writing from the Cabin” blog, and a weekly “Dear Abby of the workplace” newspaper column. Curry has published thirty-five short stories; eight poems; five articles on writing craft, and six books.