Page 42

Twenty Years Earlier

“Get your butt moving, Lins,” Kevin yells lovingly from in front of me.

“My butt is moving as fast as it can,” I say grumpily, wiping sweat from my brow.

Though I normally consider myself in fairly good shape, today I feel defeated and exhausted. The sun is brutal, and we got up way too early for this damn hike.

But when Kevin, my boyfriend of four years, told me we were going on a trip to go zip-lining in Florida’s Big Canyon Cliff, I didn’t think it also meant we would be spending days of hiking, as well.

“You’re killing me here, Kevin,” I say, and flick my hand at him in annoyance. “Just go. I’ll catch up to you later—or you come back for me.”

“Fine. But once I make it to the top, I’m coming back for you.”

Considering there are no real mountains or mountain ranges in Florida, there’s also no “top” to speak of, other than the end of the hiking trail along the edge of the Big Canyon ridge, most of which is criss-crossed with zip lines.

Not to mention we are getting lapped by the horse-riding tours, which I desperately wanted to be on right now.

Anything to get me off my feet, out of the sun, and back in the hotel room in nearby Ocala, itself just over an hour northwest of Orlando.

“Deal,” I mumble. “Fine. Just go.”

Kevin kisses my lips, then disappears up the trail and around a bend. Soon, he’s gone altogether, leaving me alone. Below, a winding river threads its way through the steep canyon.

Admittedly, Kevin really knows how to push me past my comfort zones, but that’s one of the many things I love about him. My family keeps urging us to get married, with their not-very-subtle hints and jokes about my biological clock ticking and all that. I remind them that I’m only twenty-four.

Kevin and I have learned to live with it.

We let it go in one ear and out the other, but lately, I can’t help but feel like there’s been a shift with him.

I would be lying if I said part of me isn’t afraid that the whole reason he brought me out here is to pop the question.

I also have to admit, I wouldn’t know what my answer would be.

Not because I don’t love him or he isn’t the best guy I know.

For me, it’s more of not feeling quite ready to settle down, that there is more out there waiting for me.

I love Kevin and would love to be his wife and have some kids of our own, someday, but right now isn’t that time.

With my thoughts running wild, I don’t see the tree root sticking out of the ground until it’s too late, and, before I know it, I’m holding my hands out to protect my face as my body meets the dirt trail.

The next thing I know, I’m rolling down a steep incline to the ravine below.

It’s not quite a cliff, but nearly. Bushes, briers, and shrubbery tear at every square inch of my body even as I ricochet off rocks and tree trunks.

At one point, I hit my head against an outcropping of rock.

Stars flash through my head. I finally splash down in a pool of clear water that eddies in a rocky cauldron about twenty feet from the river itself, separated like a tidal pool.

The water in here is surprisingly clear.

I can see all the way down to the smooth, rock floor.

No plant life and no critters. Just my sneakered feet and socks.

I hope like hell the water isn’t contaminated with any little nasties. Pretty sure a lot of it went up my nose. I really, really don’t need a brain-eating amoeba feasting on me. I pull myself up on a sort of rock shelf.

Running my hands over the many wounds on my bare legs, I chastise myself. So dang careless. I obviously wasn’t watching where I was stepping... and paid a massive price. I look up at the cliff above me. Whoa, had I really fallen from that?

I had, and somehow ended up in this small pool of water just next to the river, a pool no wider than six or seven feet.

Lucky.

No clue how I’m going to find my way back up the cliff.

I might just have to float down the river—oh, crap, are there alligators here?

There are. We’d heard of an 11-foot gator being removed from here recently.

The place advertises itself as a nature resort.

Wouldn’t do to have maneaters lurking in the water; hence, their removal.

And where there is one gator, there are surely more.

No way I’m floating down that river without the safety of a boat.

That said, I’m pretty banged up. I can see small tendrils of blood swirling away from my many cuts and scrapes.

I absently reach down and brush the wounds with my hands in an effort to clean them; weirdly, I feel no pain.

Next, I rinse my hands and clean my arms. Oooh, I have a fairly sizable gash in my forehead.

It’s just above my right eyebrow. Ouch! I might need stitches.

I look down at the pool of water I’m sitting in. Boy, I got lucky that I hadn’t landed on the surrounding rock lip that separates it from the river at large and the land behind it.

Strangely formed with a natural, insulating barrier, if Mother Nature had a Jacuzzi, this was it.

How the water within was so clean, I hadn’t a clue.

Perhaps the rock wall acted as a sort of filter.

The river rushing beyond the surrounding tall reeds seemed dark, opaque.

But not the water in here. It’s clear as glass.

A throbbing ankle might spell my doom. Pretty sure it’s sprained or even broken. With that terrible thought in mind, I’m seized with a sudden, unrelenting thirst—along with the realization that this might be my only chance to quench it.

Before I know it, I’ve pressed my face into the crystalline water, drinking it as surely as I might gulp air, sucking in great mouthfuls and swallowing it down greedily.

My god, it tastes so good, so sweet! There’s a chance that I’d never tasted water this good before.

Was I that thirsty? Or was this pond water that good ?

I didn’t know, but I kept on drinking until my belly ached. Finally, I pulled my dripping face away and sat back, shaking my head. Okay, that was an unexpected experience.

I crawl away from the pool and lean back against a thick tree trunk.

As I do, I feel my body growing stronger, along with the myriad of aches and pains easing.

Though I’m not exactly exhausted, I feel I need a few minutes to recover before trying to tackle the climb back up the cliff.

As I sit and rest—and heal—I close my eyes and take in slow, deep breaths. Before I know it, sleep claims me.

When I next open my eyes, the sun is close to setting and panic sets in.

Kevin must be freaking out. How long had I been asleep?

I stand, testing my ankle. There’s no protest from it.

Wow, okay. I can’t help but notice the many scrapes and cuts along my bare arms are gone, too.

Maybe I hadn’t been that hurt? I certainly cleaned up well.

Not looking a gift horse in the mouth, I search around and find a scant trail that seems to lead straight up—and begin my ascent.

There are just enough tree roots, hardy plant life, and rock protrusions to give me handholds and foot support for me to climb up at a steady pace.

In fact, I don’t even tire as I head straight up, feeling a bit like a monkey or Spider-Man.

Soon, I’m back up on the main path. I look back down at the tiny thread of river far below, amazed at what I had just accomplished with seemingly minimal effort.

From here, I can’t see the tiny pool of water that had broken my fall.

Truly a miracle that I had somehow found it.

“Well, that was easy enough,” I say, marveling at the sudden vigor of my body. Hell, I could climb another two or three hundred feet up if I had to. Maybe I’d missed my calling. Maybe I was a mountain climber at heart.

I swipe my hand along my forehead and marvel at the lack of sweat there.

Hadn’t I just hiked in the heat of the setting sun, practically straight up?

So, why no sweat, then? Whoa, wait! I don’t feel the cut above my right brow now.

Hadn’t I bashed my head pretty good on the way down, opening up a sizable cut?

I had. I look down at my forearms and bare legs.

Where are all my cuts? My skin is clean and smooth, as vibrant as ever.

I’ve always been one of those people who sweats easily. Normally, I would have sprung a leak just sitting here in the sun for a minute or two. What gives?

I shake my head, not sure what to make of all this strangeness, secretly wondering if I had, in fact, hit my head on a rock and am presently out cold somewhere at the bottom of the cliff.

“Lindsey!” Kevin’s frantic voice comes from the trail behind me and momentarily pushes the concern from my mind. “Thank God!”

Breathing hard, he soon reaches my side and pulls me into a tight embrace.

“Where have you been, Lins?” He pulls back long enough to look me in the eyes. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“I’m sorry. I tripped over a root and literally rolled over the cliff.”

“No way!”

“Way.”

“This cliff here?”

“Yes. I just climbed back up it.”

His eyes widen as he looks me over, no doubt noting the tears and dirt on my clothing. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m a little banged up. Or was banged up. I feel really good now, actually.”

His expression tells me he doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. “As long as you’re sure you’re okay.”

He takes my hand in his and leads me away, back down the trail. “Okay, then. We’ll have to hurry. It’ll be dark soon.”

Thirty minutes into our fast hike back, I realize I still haven’t broken a sweat—or feel any sense of weariness.

If anything, Kevin is showing more signs of fatigue than I am.

Yes, I get that going downhill is a lot easier than up, but that’s never made a difference with me.

Up, down, sideways—it’s all rough on me.

Something’s not normal, I think.

Then again, this could be a momentary glitch in the Matrix and I’ll wake up tomorrow being my old weak, sweating self again. Cuts, bruises, exhaustion, and all.

Guess we’ll see...