Lost and Found

I'm declaring a contest of my own... of sorts. If you go to my author's page, I have submitted the first chapter of 3 stories on the same day (10/30/15). I will write and post the next chapter of the highest rated story every week or two (or maybe three) until all the stories are done.

These should all be pretty short stories, around 3-4 chapters. If there is one or more stories that aren't well received (less than 4.25 rating), I will post a summary and ending to them, so that those readers who liked that story aren't left wondering what happens next.

If you really like this or the other stories and want to read more, please vote 5-stars, so that I know and will keep it going. If you hate it and want to save others from the pain you've felt, I'm giving you the power to make it stop. I also enjoy reading your comments, so feel free to tell me what you thought of the story, or what's on your mind.

Thanks for reading!

*****

Lost and Found

My ex-wife, Liz called me as I was approaching the end of cell phone range in my truck. I put the call through the Bluetooth in the car stereo.

"Hi Ben, how are you doing Sweetie? I just wanted to catch you before you start your hunting trip to say good luck and be safe." She said

"Thanks hon." I replied. "I'm almost out of cell range, so if I lose you, it may be a few days before I call back."

"You'd better call me back anyways, and you'd better come over for dinner when you get back, we have something we'd like to discuss with you." Liz replied.

"Sounds good. Give Brooke my love, and I'll share some meat with you if I get an elk." I offered.

"Thanks, but I'm not holding my breath." She joked.

"Yeah, me neither." I replied.

We said our goodbyes and the call dropped as an enormous Colorado mountain fell into position between the cell tower and my phone. As soon as the call as the call was disconnected, my MP3 of an Italian language lesson started back up again.

It was a running joke between Liz and I when we were married what I was actually doing with my hunting time, since I had been hunting since I was a child, and had still never shot a deer or elk.

"There's always next year." My father had told me when we used to hunt together. The thought of my father brought a dark cloud over my head. I hadn't spoken to him in over a year, not since he had disowned me.

***

I had married my best friend. Literally. Liz and I had been inseparable since we met in our church youth group in middle school. We had each been raised in strict conservative Christian families. We said our pledges of chastity before anyone had even explained the birds and the bees to us.

We were married the summer after high school graduation, and that was when the problems started. We stuck it out for 7 long years, during which time we both went to college, and Liz attended law school against the wishes of her family.

We never had any kids, luckily. After 7 years of marriage, we both realized how unhappy we made each other, and separated amid a big fight. Divorce followed a few months later. Both of our families called me, and called her, begging us to stay together, then pouring on the guilt, and finally passing judgement. We were disowned.

Liz and I each turned to our best friend for support - one another. We agreed that we had made terrible spouses, and while we still loved each other, we could never again live together, and certainly not stay married. We had the world's most peaceful divorce. Liz's friend and co-worker, Brooke, agreed to be a lawyer for both of us, and expedited the process.

Liz was a bit of a packrat, and that was part of our problems. I was meticulous, and enjoyed order, while she spread out over every horizontal surface. I took only my clothes and a few possessions when I moved out, and there was no fight over who got what. Liz kept the stuff. Money was split evenly, and I had my best friend back.

By far, the biggest marital fight Liz and I had was over sex. Liz's libido was low to start with, and with birth control and antidepressants, she could barely stand missionary sex once a month. She never masturbated or watched porn, and was initially angry with me for doing so.

After our divorce was final, Liz asked Brooke to move in. She was a co-worker at Liz's law firm, and was also asexual. Liz swore that she was not gay, or even bisexual, but she craved a relationship and human contact with no sex. They shared a bed, and according to Liz, cuddled and talked every night, but that was the extent of their relationship.

Disaster struck when my parent's ran into Liz and Brooke shopping and holding hands. Within hours, Liz's parents were at her door, demanding to know the details of their relationship. When they saw that the two women lived together and there was only one bed in our old townhouse, they assumed that their daughter was gay.

I didn't think that there were levels of disownment, but Liz and I were both pestered to get back together, and end our "sinful" lives. When we refused, Liz and I were both sent copies of our parent's wills showing our portion of our inheritance was to go to the church, and a homosexual reform organization.

Liz and I banded together even closer, and Brooke became a close friend to me as well. We could talk about anything, including sex and relationships. They set me up on blind dates with their female friends, many of who couldn't believe that Liz wanted them to date me, her ex-husband.

A few of the women made it past the first date, and one even made it to girlfriend status, for a while. We wanted different things from life, and agreed to go our separate ways.

Two years ago, I had lost my job. Liz and Brooke came through for me, loaning me money to pay bills until I had found a new one in a town almost an hour's drive up in the mountains. I was going to wait until my lease was up on my apartment to move, but found that I didn't mind the commute that much, and the mountain real estate market was ridiculously expensive.

I had started passing the time by checking out Pimsleur language lessons from my local library, and learning languages during the two hours a day I spent in my truck. I had learned a school year's worth of Mandarin, three years of Russian, and two years of Arabic (Syrian variety, since there is a regional difference). I was currently working on Italian, which was my second favorite so far after Russian. Both languages seemed to flow off the tongue smoothly. I had learned Spanish in high school, and still retained most of what I had learned at a conversational level.

***

I pulled into the campsite as the sun set. I cleared out the camper of my truck, and spread my bedding in the truck bed under the hard topper. I made no fire, and ate a freeze dried meal. I laid out my clothes and sprayed them with a baking soda solution to reduce smells. This was supposed to help mask me from the elk I was hunting, though they always seemed to smell me anyways.

The next morning, a Saturday, I was the only one on the trail head two hours before dawn. I hiked 3 miles into the meadow where I knew the elk bedded down for the night, and was waiting. I saw a big bull, but I had a hunting license for a cow elk, so I just watched it pass.

Around noon, the woods seemed to fill with hikers, out for a September hike to enjoy the golden aspens changing colors. I walked the 3 miles back to my truck and took a nap in the bed, and repeated the hike near sunset.

Sunday went the same as Saturday, except that I didn't even see a bull elk. I heard some calling in the trees above the meadow, but nothing ever came down. I spent a third night in the bed of my truck, and on Monday I stayed out all day. I never saw or heard any elk.

When I returned from my morning hunt on Tuesday, there was only one car in the parking lot, an expensive Mercedes SUV. I awoke from my nap around 4 PM, and hiked the three miles back into my meadow. This time I saw a small herd of cow elk, but they stayed at the other end of the meadow until after sunset, and I never had a shot on them.

I grudgingly set back off down the sparse game trail, following the stream towards my car. I turned a headlamp on, since it was too dark to see by the moonlight. When I reached the main hiking trail, I heard a moaning sound that sounded distinctly human. The temperature had fallen, and I was beginning to get cold. Anyone lost or stuck out here on the mountain overnight would be in trouble without the proper precautions.

"HELLO?" I shouted.

I heard the moan again, followed by a faint woman's voice "help!"

I called out again, moving in the direction that I thought I had heard her voice. I moved around a small lake, and over a pile of rocks. I could see a flash of pink polyester fabric at the bottom of a small cliff. I climbed down to her and called out.

The woman was petite and blonde. She lay in a fetal position, and moaned again as I reached her. I shone my headlamp at her, and saw that her lips had already turned blue. She had a black eye, and a split lip, but otherwise was very pretty, with fine features and gentle curves.

"Hi, what are you doing out here? Do you need some help?" I asked her. She lifted her head to look at me, but seemed unable to focus on me. I took the headlamp off, and shone it on a rock to provide diffuse lighting to the area.

"I'm Ben, what's your name?" I asked her.

"No English" she replied in what I thought was a Russian accent.

"Vui gavaritzya pa Ruskya?" (Do you speak Russian?) I asked her.

The woman's eyes focused on me for a moment, and I thought I saw fear in them, but then her head slumped, and she regained her fetal position.

I took off my backpack. I had a small survival kit, and in it was an emergency 'space' blanket. I found the small rectangle, the size of a deck of cards and started unfolding it. It was a 5'x7' rectangle of metallic colored plastic film that looked a lot like a sheet of aluminum foil.

I wrapped the blanket around the woman, rolling her over to get it under her body as well as on top. I took out my jetboil stove, and started boiling water, and made up a packet of ramen noodles that I had luckily not eaten for lunch. Within minutes, the noodles were ready, and I took out a spoon, sat the woman up, and spooned a little both into her mouth.

She slowly came awake as the warm broth hit her mouth. I cooled another spoonful enough to drink, and fed it to her. Her eyes fluttered open, and I saw that they were a brilliant blue color. She looked right into my eyes, her own eyes filled with fear.

"Do you speak Russian?" I asked again in Russian. The woman slowly nodded her head.

"My name is Ben. I speak a little Russian." I said, working to remember the words I had learned so many months earlier. The language came back to me slowly as I tried to form the next sentence I wanted to ask her.

"We need to move. Can you walk?" I asked her. She shook her head slowly.

I spooned more broth into her mouth, and she gratefully took what I offered her. I held out the mug and spoon to her, and she opened the sliver blanket with a pained effort to take it. I closed the blanket over her shoulders, and could see steam from the soup pouring out the blanket around her neck. She closed her eyes and seemed to relish the warmth of the steam coming off the noodle soup.

"Your name?" I asked her in Russian. Her eyes slowly opened, and she seemed to assess my intentions.

"I'm Alexandra." She told me.

"Are you here alone?" I asked. Her eyes lowered, and she didn't answer me.

"Black Mercedes is yours?" I asked, sure I missed a pronoun in there. Alexandra's eyes shot back up to me, and the fear returned.

"We need to move. I carry you?" I asked. Alexandra recoiled from me, but stopped when her back hit the rock, knocking the light over, and we were once again in darkness. I heard a whimper from Alexandra as the light disappeared between two stones. I fished it out, and set it between us.

"Eat." I commanded, gesturing at the soup, then pulled a water bottle out, offering it to her. "Drink."

A hand shot out from the silver blanket, and grabbed the water bottle, I unscrewed the cap, and she drained it in two big gulps. The pink color was coming back into her lips, and as she handed me the water bottle back, I noticed her manicured nails, and how expensive her clothing looked.

Alexandra began sipping the soup, and used the spoon to shovel mouthfuls of noodles out. I watched while she ate the entire mug of soup, and I accepted it back from her, empty.

"Now walk?" I asked. Alexandra shook her head. She stuck her ankle out from the blanket, and I could see swelling where it had been twisted. I took her ankle in my hand, and she jumped at the contact. "Pain?" I asked, and she nodded. "Carry?" I asked again, and she dropped her head in resignation and nodded.

I got to my feet, and situated my backpack. I slung my rifle over my back, and lifted Alexandra. She probably weighed only 100 pounds or so, and was easy to pick up, but I had two miles to hike over rough terrain before I could get to my car and get her to her own car. I am over six feet tall, but not overly strong. I have the frame for big muscles, but never put the time into working on them. I was regretting that now, with my heavy burden, and miles to carry her.

I had to stop every quarter of a mile to rest. Alexandra was still wrapped in the silver blanket in my arms, and she seemed to be in pain, though she was silent. I was pouring sweat under my coat, and my arms were burning. At a mile, I had to set her down and take a long rest. I split the rest of my water with her, and gave her a bag of trail mix. She silently accepted the food, and to my surprise, there was even a hint of a smile as she picked out the chocolate M&Ms.

I marshalled all of my strength for the final mile. The trail finally leveled out, and was smoother, and I walked faster the last half mile. From a distance, I was surprised that my car was the only one at the trailhead. I was sure that Alexandra's car would be there.

"Alexandra?" I asked her. She turned her head to look at me, and our noses were inches away. Suddenly I was aware of my breath, hoping I didn't smell like nuts and chocolate. "Your Mercedes... not here." Alexandra looked, and I felt a small sob shake her whole body in my arms.

As I approached my own truck, it seemed to be leaning at a bad angle, which surprised me. Then I saw why. The front and rear tires on the driver's side had both been slashed. I had one spare, but couldn't fix both, and couldn't drive the 20 miles back to cell range with a flat tire.

I pointed out the slashed tires to Alexandra, and her face grew angry. "Ashraf!" She spat.

I set her down in the bed of the truck, and she winced in pain as I helped her back onto my air mattress. "Ashraf?" I asked.

"Druzhok." She said. I didn't recognize the word, so I put it into my phone translator, and came up with 'boyfriend.' I was suddenly nervous. Alexandra hadn't twisted her ankle on a hike, she had been injured and abandoned by her boyfriend. With the cold and remoteness where he had left her, that was attempted murder. That he slashed my tires, either showed that he left in a rage, or that he wanted to limit her chances of rescue by hobbling me. Either way, he was bad news.

"Sleep here." I told her. "Hospital tomorrow." Alexandra's eyes darkened, but then she set her chin and nodded. "Food? Water?" I asked, but she shook her head. I offered her an Ibuprofen, which she accepted. It was after 10 PM, and we were both worn out from our ordeal. I took off my jacket and climbed into my sleeping bag. Alexandra looked at me, then took the space blanket off of her, and to my surprise, she unzipped my sleeping bag and crawled in with me, zipping it up behind her.

I was on my side facing her, and she curled into my large frame, letting me spoon her. My arm was out to the side, and she lay her head on my bicep, using it as a pillow. It seemed like less than a minute before she was asleep.

***

I woke with the sun the following morning, all thoughts of continuing to hunt gone. This would be yet another unsuccessful year without an elk. I shifted in my half-asleep state, and was shocked to feel a small hand gripping my morning erection. I quickly awoke, and looked down to see sapphire blue eyes smiling up at me, one surrounded by a purple bruise. Alexandra looked back down, and moved so that she was grinding her pussy on my erection through both of our layers of clothing.

It felt amazing, but I was having trouble reconciling the bruised, injured and terrified woman freezing to death on the mountain last night with the playful and sexually forward little blonde playing with my morning wood.

Alexandra was breathing heavy and her back arched hard against me in at least one orgasm as she ground her ass backwards, rubbing herself over my hard length. I placed my hand on her hip to slow her, but she grabbed it with two hands and brought it to her breasts. I grabbed her breasts gently, remembering Liz's stern warnings about being gentle when handling her breasts. Alexandra was having none of it. She squeezed my fingers roughly, kneading her breast flesh over bra and shirt.

I felt a nipple poking through the fabric of the bra, and gently circled it. "Please!" Alexandra cried out in Russian, and I gently pinched her nipple. "More!" she cried, and I roughly twisted and pulled. "AHHH!" She sighed and arched her back again in another orgasm. My erection was rock hard, and she was pushing against it with surprising force.

I'd had sex with two other women since my divorce, but had never seen a woman so lost in lust for me. It was beyond any of my wildest fantasies, and we hadn't even gotten naked together. Alexandra started working on my belt, then my zipper. She had my bare cock in her hand when we were distracted by the sound of a car approaching.

I lifted my head and saw the black Mercedes from yesterday pulling into the parking lot. "Ashraf?" I asked, hoping I remembered the right name. Alexandra poked her head up, and then sunk back into the sleeping bag, hiding her face. She muttered a string of profanities that I didn't understand, but got the meaning of pretty well.

I heard men's voices as the car shut off, and doors opened. Four distinct doors slammed, and I recognized the language being spoken as Arabic, though not the Syrian variety I had learned.

The light in the bed of the truck darkened as I could tell several heads looked in on me. I held still as though I was sleeping, and they moved away from my car.

"... stay here...two hours. ... woman's body..." I only caught a few words that I recognized in Arabic. I raised my head in time to see 4 men headed up the trail with a stretcher, and a fifth sitting in the driver's seat of the car. My mind was racing. Ashraf had returned for Alexandra's body. He would be upset when he returned without her. He had brought muscle, and I doubted that they would be understanding about my rescuing her and spending the night sharing body warmth.

I felt Alexandra shaking against my body. She was plenty warm, so I knew she was trembling in fear. She knew what Ashraf and his friends were capable of, and I already knew that it included leaving an injured woman to freeze to death on a mountainside. I slowly worked on a plan. There was nothing I could do that would get us out of there risk free. I briefly considered abandoning Alexandra to the man in the car, then chastised myself for my cowardice.

I looked up and studied the man in the black Mercedes SUV, and the car itself. An idea occurred to me, and I decided to try it.

"Stay." I whispered to Alexandra, and slipped out the top of my sleeping bag. I donned my jacket, then my orange safety vest and cap that showed I was a hunter. I then grabbed my rifle and slipped my boots back on. The man in the car next to me noticed my movement, and was watching me, but stayed in the car. I opened the bed of the truck, climbed out and locked it behind me. I could still see Alexandra shaking in fear.