Page 24

As he walked, harsh thoughts battered at him, rattling around his brain.

What are you doing, you idiot? He was always making stupid decisions; doing things like this on impulse, not thinking things through properly.

And he could never come up with the right thing to say, especially under pressure, with people looking at him, waiting for him to speak, expecting an answer.

He loved her so deeply – could she really not see that?

Not feel it? He just didn’t always say the right thing – or anything at all.

Sometimes he didn’t know how to react in the ways she wanted him to.

And he was useless with his phone, which used to drive her insane; sometimes he’d forget to message when he was away with work for a couple of days, even though she’d asked him to stay in touch.

It wasn’t that he didn’t think about her – he just couldn’t keep track of the days sometimes, couldn’t keep everything in his head.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t love her. He’d have done anything for her.

He just didn’t know how to tell her that. And he didn’t know how to tell the others – Naya, especially – what he’d done either.

A large bird – something colourful, a macaw, maybe – flew out of one of the nearby trees, shaking the branches, startling him out of his thoughts.

With the shock came a jolt of adrenaline, and a new realization: he knew loads about nature, about the wilderness.

He could identify most of the birds out here just by their colours.

Wildlife was literally what he lived and breathed for his day job – OK, the bush he was used to wasn’t exactly the jungle, but still, working as a ranger in Yarra Ranges National Park meant he’d been on his fair share of hikes in remote places.

He’d had to find his way back enough times, when he and his team had been out monitoring conditions in the furthest reaches of the sites.

He could get himself out of here – even without a map to guide him, he could probably manage it. He could just disappear now, quietly slip away, out of the rainforest, back to the house, and away home. He could get away from them all without ever having to explain himself.

But then I’d never see Naya again.

He’d known Naya less than two days, and already the thought of disappearing on her – leaving her to make all kinds of assumptions about what he might have done – was unbearable; it made his chest ache. No, it wasn’t an option.

What should I do then?

He needed to stop, think for a minute. As if the rainforest had heard him, at that moment he stumbled into a small clearing dominated by an enormous tree – vast, with huge, sprawling roots a metre thick.

This was one of the kapok trees he’d read about, one of Costa Rica’s wonders – he recognized it by its shape and breadth.

It was as good a place to take a pause as any.

He checked the tree for spiders and ants; finding it clear, he set his bag down.

Only then, when he’d scanned in every direction to make sure, and seen no trace of the others – he couldn’t hear them calling for him any more; couldn’t even be sure which direction they were in – only then did he allow himself to take a breath.

He sat down, leaned back, pushed his body into the huge, hefty bulk of the tree’s trunk, then began to turn the options over in his mind.

He could go back to the others, try to explain himself. Would they even believe him, though? Would they understand why he’d done it?

They’d think he was lying – or crazy.

Bloody hell.

Scott rested his head in his palms, covered his eyes.

It was too late for any of this ruminating now anyway.

He’d fled, and they were all bound to be thinking the worst about him – who could blame them, under the circumstances?

He thought of Naya – lovely, kind Naya – assuming he was a liar, a fake; perhaps a murderer , even.

I’ve been so stupid.

It was all of them seeing the snack bar, and Naya in particular, that had done it.

The realization he was about to be found out – all right, he hadn’t done the worst thing in the world, keeping some food to himself, and he’d had good intentions for doing it.

But it was the way he’d handled it – the running off, looking so guilty, and now his fear of the sorts of suspicions it might have aroused in them: that he was dishonest, that he was capable of being that selfish, of keeping secrets.

Which, of course, he was. He just hadn’t meant it to come out like that; he hadn’t meant to behave like that, in such a bizarre way.

It was just that everything had come together in one horrible, perfect storm: the trauma of the previous day; the shock of finding poor Hannah dead, murdered.

Of realizing they weren’t making it back to the house that night.

By bolting like that, though, he’d only made himself look guilty – more guilty.

More suspicious. And what on earth was he thinking, blurting out that he was sorry as he backed away?

Yes, he’d lied about the food, he’d hidden that from them. But everything else that had happened – everything that had gone wrong, the storm, the mudslide, Hannah – none of those things were his fault.

Lulled by the heat, the rhythmic, pulsating hum of the cicadas, and his dry-mouthed exhaustion, Scott’s eyelids began to droop.

He forced them open again. Come on, now, focus.

This wasn’t the time for a nap; there were pressing issues at stake.

He attempted to swallow; his throat was parched, his lips arid.

Perhaps he could just have a sip of water.

Enough to sustain him, so he could keep going long enough to get out of this large but non-insurmountable patch of jungle.

How much stuff did he have with him exactly?

Scott turned to his backpack, opened the zip to the main compartment, started pulling things out – grabbing at whatever he could lay his hands on.

His fingers emerged with two packet of nuts, another cereal bar and some dried fruit.

He laid them all on top of the bag, covered them with his hands to avoid attracting the insects that would no doubt begin swarming once they caught the sweet scent.

At the sight of the rest of his secret stash, a flash of guilt slapped Scott across the face. How stupid he’d been to let a snack bar fall out of his bag like that, where he was sleeping – when he thought he’d been so careful.

Oh God, what have I done? He should have stayed with the group. Even if they’d given him a hard time over the food, even if they’d suspected he was hiding something else – running off like that was the worst possible thing he could have done.

He should try to find them again – he could trace his path back to the clearing where they’d slept easily enough. He hadn’t made it far. Yes, he’d do that. Find them and explain. Hope that they’d understand, that they’d forgive him.

He’d just got to his feet when he heard it.

Their voices coming through the thicket straight ahead of him. Rooted to the spot, he listened as the sound became louder, the bushes started to bend and shift with the shape of bodies and arms and then, finally, faces.

‘Scott – here you are! Guys, I can see him – he’s through here, look.’

They had found him.