Although I’d been camping plenty of times before, a minor—okay, major—problem hit me the second I merged onto the highway:

I had no idea where I was going.

I knew I wanted trees, water, fresh air, and zero people. That was it.

McCall, Idaho came to mind. I’d been there before—good trees, good air, and not far. Maybe a little over two hours from my dorm.

Good enough.

Windows down. Music up. The road stretched ahead, nothing but endless asphalt and the occasional cow.

For a while, it was just me and the hum of the tires. Excitement warred with the occasional nagging thought that I might be about to make some very poor survival decisions.

Then, after two hours of singing way too dramatically to songs no one else could hear, I saw it.

WELCOME TO McCALL.

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STOCKING UP

Pulled into town. Immediately got distracted. Almost drove straight into the woods with zero food.

Great survival instincts, Layton.

No cooler. No plan. And at least one adult decision had to be made.

I stared at the grocery store shelves, contemplating my options.

What did I land on?

* Two boxes of Clif Bars—nutrition? Sure.

* Hot dogs—protein, technically.

* A bag of Doritos—because balance.

* Graham crackers, Hershey’s, and marshmallows—absolute priorities.

* Two gallons of water—so I don’t die.

Perfect.

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FINDING CAMP

After another hour of winding roads, I spotted a dirt turnoff that looked promising.

I turned onto it, and immediately regretted it.

My Toyota Corolla—certified highway princess—bounced like a dying horse, groaning as if personally offended by the terrain.

Yeah. This was as far as it was taking me.

I pulled off to the side—careful not to get stuck—and stepped out.

The air was cool and crisp, thick with pine and damp earth. Hell yes.

I grabbed my backpack—now stuffed with food instead of books—slung a gallon of water over my shoulder, and carried the other in my hand.

Less than a hundred feet in, I stepped into another world.

A clearing, wide as a football field, bathed in golden light. The wind rippled through waist-high grass, turning it into a rolling green ocean. Somewhere beyond the trees, water rushed—soft, steady, alive. Across the field, the base of a mountain loomed, its shadow stretching like a sleeping giant.

I grinned. I couldn’t have picked a better spot if I tried. Time to set up camp.

I walked back to my car, popped the trunk—and froze. My tent was gone.

Where—?

And then, like a sack of bricks to the face, it hit me.

The golf clubs.

I’d taken everything out to make room for my stupid golf clubs.

My tent. My sleeping bag. My sleeping pad.

Every single thing I needed to not die in the woods.

Oh. No.

Oh no, oh no, oh no.

Brain. Engage. Fix this.

I rummaged through my trunk, shoving my idiot golf clubs aside, hoping for a miracle.

Aha! A picnic blanket. My only line of defense against the freezing dirt. I am going to have the worst night of my life.

I set down my water and backpack, trying to figure out how to salvage this.

Maybe I could—A noise. Sharp. Wrong.

I froze. And just like that, the world stopped turning.

One second, I was running. The next, I wasn’t.

I wasn’t anything.

Everything around me froze. Like reality had just ctrl-f4’d it out of existence. I stood there, muscles locked in place, like the world had just stopped responding and needed a forced restart.

Then, after what felt like an eternity—

Everything went black.