A bee stung Greg Bly in his neck as he walked up Butters Hill. He didn’t exactly hate walking up Butters Hill but he didn’t love it either. Oh, sometimes it was fantastic. When Sandy was with him. And when she was in a good mood. And when he wasn’t tired or hungry or thirsty. Or when he wasn’t stung by a bee.
Today was not fantastic.
Greg knelt by the road trying to catch his breath. Sweat dripped from his face. Dirty, tired, and dehydrated, he reached for his phone to call Sandy. Low battery and no signal. This place was lousy for cell signal.
He blinked. Breathed. Blinked. Threw up. He collapsed. Rolled to his back. And passed out.
+++**+++**+++
Sandy visited him in the hospital.
“You scared us to death!”
“I will never climb that damn hill again.”
“Don’t be silly. You love climbing Butters Hill, Greg Bly.”
“Well. Maybe. When I get out of here. But I’ll be ready next time.”