Rattled and aggravated from bumping over every rock on this godforsaken mountain, I pull into a gravel lot, wrestling the gear shift of my ranger truck into park and jamming up the e-brake. The incline here isn't much, but the old rust bucket they assigned to me has a tendency to wander.
I grab my notebook and double-check the coordinates given to me by dispatch. One of our fire tower girls spotted someone in the restricted area, but I'll need to do some quick calculations before I make my approach. My pen taps along my bottom lip as I ponder. It took me roughly thirty minutes to drive out here, and according to the last reported sighting, the trespasser should be due west by the time I make the ascent. I pull a hair tie from the breast pocket on my olive green uniform shirt and knot my greying hair in a messy bun at the nape of my neck. Petite all my life, trail patrols were never an issue until I was injured last year. My knee hasn't quite been the same since, requiring a brace, and tolerating less and less activity.
I reach across the bench seat to grab my pack. Quickly checking my radio for signal, I pop the truck's door handle, and hop out. Charcoal grey stones scrape underneath the rubber soles of my hiking boots. I wince as the shockwave travels through my knees, and my breath condenses into a fine mist in the air. The steel door slams shut with some help from gravity, and my pack is flung across my shoulder blades before I cinch my utility belt. In my fifteen seasons out here, I've learned that having three items will solve pretty much any issue: a working radio, a sharpened hatchet, and a can of bear spray. Satisfied with my preparedness, I head up the trail.
The restricted zone includes a few dozen acres around an alpine lake that sits ten thousand feet above sea level. Back in the spring, a researcher identified some high-altitude bacterioplankton that sparked raucous debate, closing off the area to recreation until further notice. We hadn't received a single call about it, which has been my preference lately. Less calls means less altercations. Nobody enjoys being corralled by a ranger, but my interactions are rarely violent, and most of them don't warrant this bristled demeanor. I tell myself that it's just the pain.
I try my best to calm down, but my frustration only increases as I begin trudge up the steepest section. By the time I spot the figure, I'm about ready to throw my hatchet first and ask questions later. Too far away from them to do either, I dig, aging muscles doing their best to keep up with the spry hiker.
With great effort, I clear the grassy meadow, my boots starting to crunch loudly along the now-gravel trail. The trespasser is heading deeper into the restricted zone. Gigantic glacial boulders dot the landscape here, set strangely far away from one another. Standalone and eternal, the grey masses make me feel very small all of a sudden.
I shake away the wonderment as I catch up to the hiker. Whether they heard the sound of my huffing or the crash of stones underfoot is unclear, but they stop, turning back towards me. It's a man, barely in his twenty's. A mop of brown hair sticks out at all angles from beneath a grey beanie; dark blue eyes cut through his otherwise indifferent demeanor.
"Are you- aware - that you- are in- a restricted zone?" I ask between deep breaths.
"I come out here all the time," he shrugs, meeting my glare hesitantly.
I can only stare at him, unsure what else I expected to hear. With an exaggerated exhale, I lay my fingers across my radio, a clear sign of intimidation. Only one of us has the power here, and it sure isn't him. "Restricted zone," I repeat, leaning into the unsteady space between commanding and negotiating.
I watch cautiously as the hiker snakes one lanky arm out of the strap on his backpack, letting the canvas sack fall gently to the ground. He opens the top compartment and produces a folded paper, handing it to me.
His eyes linger on my chest a little too long. *Is he checking me out? No, he can't be...*
I only read his paperwork to learn his name, knowing damn well that he doesn't have the necessary clearance. "You're not hearing me... Levi. This is a restricted zone. You can't be here."
"Paper says I can," he points at the document in my hand.
"These are general entrance papers. You need a special research permit to be out here," I say, gesturing to the area around the lake. My tone is becoming sharper, less understanding. "Look, I'll ask you one last time before this turns ugly: are you going to follow me back to the parking lot, or do I need to arrest you?"
"Arrest me? You people can't make arrests," he scoffs, taking a noticeable step backwards.
"I look forward to seeing the look on your face when you find out," I shake my head, pulling my radio from the plastic case on my belt.
Mid-swing, my arm is caught in the air. Levi's hand closes around my wrist. He's a lot stronger than he looks. "Adding assault on a wildlife officer, huh? Very smart." I meet his eyes with a challenging glare. My head is tilted down, barely peeking past the brim of my ranger hat. I can see that he's terrified. He's doing all he can to force a steady expression, but the sweat that beads at his brow and the quivering of his outstretched arm gives away the truth.
"Look, I had no idea. Just... please. I can't have this on my record," Levi speaks slowly, trying to fake his calmness.
"Take your hand off me," I warn.
Levi's eyebrows crease with worry. Shaggy lengths of his hair flit as he frantically looks back and forth between my confined wrist and my furious expression. The heat behind my ears begins to spread across my shoulders and down my chest. My mind doesn't know what to do with the sensations. I feel the electricity surging through my muscles, perking my nipples and tightening my abs. Intrusive thoughts come in lewd and unsolicited. I can't help but imagine what this man might look like on his knees, what his skin might taste like, how his cock might feel betwe-
"Levi... you're trespassing, simple as that. Once you decide you'd like to keep that hand," I look towards his grip on my wrist, "I can radio in and tell my team that you're in compliance. Otherwise, I can send the distress signal and have you on a bus to federal court within the hour."
