Page 10 of Wandering Wild
The adrenaline from our skydive stays with me as I unclip our harnesses and help Charlie to her feet. There’s a flush in her cheeks, and her eyes are bright, indicating she feels the same lingering exhilaration that I do.
I still can’t believe she trusted me with her life. If our roles were reversed, I doubt I could have placed that kind of faith in someone I barely know. Or in Charlie’s case, someone she loathes. Her acting skills are impressive; I have to keep reminding myself that her behavior is only a guise for the cameras, and that in reality, she can’t wait for this trip to be over—mostly so she can be rid of me.
I wish I knew the reason for her antipathy, whether it’s based solely on the “bad boy” gossip or if it’s something else entirely. But with Bentley’s cameras and the nano drones now on us twenty-four seven, I can’t ask her without the world hearing, which would only risk what we’re trying to achieve here. Not that I think she’d answer me, anyway.
Resigned to us both having to keep up appearances for the next four days, I follow Hawke’s instructions to fold the parachute back into its pack, listening as he explains how it’ll provide an effective shelter when we make camp tonight. I know he’s speaking for the benefit of the audience, since he’s talking directly to Bentley’s camera and goes on to share a scripted introduction to our adventure:
“We’ve just landed deep in Australia’s Blue Mountains National Park, which stretches more than a thousand square miles—that’s the size of New York City, London, and Paris combined —over perilous slot canyons, jagged peaks, sandstone gorges, secluded rainforests, and breathtaking waterfalls.”
I blink, having not realized the area was so large.
“The park itself is a World Heritage Site,” Hawke continues narrating, “and home to hundreds of species of endangered flora and fauna, many of which are deadly to humans.”
I told Summer that everything in this country would want to kill me.
“It also has a rich cultural history, being the traditional homeland to numerous Indigenous communities,” Hawke says, his eyes still trained on the camera. “All of that, along with its natural beauty, makes it one of the most popular tourist destinations in the country. But it’s also one of the most dangerous.”
Here we go. I consider covering my ears to block out whatever he’s about to say next.
“Every year, hundreds of hikers wander off the path and get lost in these treacherous mountains, learning for themselves just how lethal the Australian wilds can be.” Hawke’s lips curve into a wicked grin. “For the next four days, we’ll be trekking through one of the most extreme environments in the world, where a single misplaced footstep could spell our doom. It’s safe to say that if my special guests can survive this, then they can survive anything.”
Hawke indicates to Bentley that he’s done, and the cameraman pivots to film the dramatic view off the side of the cliff. I glance at Charlie and find her chewing her lip, making me wonder which part of Hawke’s spiel has her the most anxious. Or perhaps, like me, it was all of it.
“Sorry about that,” Hawke apologizes, moving toward us. “Usually those kinds of speeches are recorded during post-production and added as a voiceover, but since this episode is being rushed to air, there may be a handful of narrated moments in the days ahead. Not many—we’ll keep things mostly candid from here on out, and my editing team will decide what to use and what to toss.” He then adds, “So aside from the rare scripted line, try to forget about the cameras and act as you would without them.”
That is an impossible ask, for both Charlie and me, but we nod our false agreement regardless.
“Excellent. Now, let’s swap out your harnesses and strap on your packs,” Hawke says, dragging over the larger bag that Bentley wore on his chest during the skydive.
Inside are four black climbing harnesses, their simple leg loops and waistbelts making them look harmless enough, but I see Charlie gulp as she’s handed hers and shown how to put it on. I want to reassure her that Hawke has been doing these trips for years and won’t let anything bad happen, but I don’t think my words will make her feel better. So instead, I focus on removing my bulkier skydiving harness and replace it with the more compact mountaineering one, adjusting the buckles until it sits comfortably over my clothes.
After exchanging his own gear, Hawke withdraws a long coil of rope and secures it diagonally across his torso. He then pulls out three smaller backpacks—making me think the designers of the Wild World apparel must have discovered the secret to Mary Poppins’ magical bag—and hands one each to Charlie and me, keeping the third for himself. Lastly, he shoves our parachutes into Bentley’s pack, where they join a myriad of filming equipment, all of which the cameraman hauls onto his shoulders with ease.
“Our extraction point is roughly forty miles northwest of here,” Hawke reveals, gesturing over the cliff in that direction.
From this height, all I can see is the landscape dipping down into a forested ravine toward what might be a river or a canyon, then rising again into more peaks all around us. I can’t help realizing how isolated we are out here, so far from any trace of civilization, and relying entirely on Hawke’s skills to survive.
“So needless to say,” he continues, “we have a lot of ground to cover if we want to make it there by Friday afternoon.”
“I suppose it’s too much to hope that we’ll be walking the whole way, and this is just for decoration?” Charlie asks, fiddling with her harness.
Hawke grins. “It’s always good to have hope. It can be the difference between life and death in a place like this.”
Charlie waits a beat, then says, “You didn’t answer my question.”
Bentley snickers from behind his camera, and Hawke’s grin widens as he hoists his pack onto his back, his only reply being to say, “We’re wasting daylight.”
I have to choke back a laugh at the look on Charlie’s face, and again resist the urge to comfort her as we follow Hawke away from the cliff and into the trees, beginning a gentle ascent up the mountain, with Bentley—and his camera—bringing up the rear.
“What are some of the most important things you need to prioritize when you find yourself in a survival situation?” Hawke asks as we walk. “Zander?”
I’ve watched enough of his show to confidently answer, “Water, food, and shelter.”
“Correct.” He sends an approving smile over his shoulder. “But while we can last some time without food and shelter if needed, the one thing we absolutely will need—and soon—is water.”
Under her breath, Charlie pleads, “Oh God, please don’t let him say we have to drink our own pee.”
I grimace, fully agreeing with her.
“That means we need to find a water source,” Hawke continues, leading us around a fallen tree trunk as he searches for a clear path forward, “and the best hope for us to do that is to travel downward and look for a creek or stream.”
“Not to state the obvious,” Charlie says, “but we’re hiking up, not down.”
“Not everything is as it seems when you’re in the wild, Charlie.”
There’s a pause, before she replies, “Maybe so, but I’m pretty sure my thighs are telling me we’re on an incline.”
Hawke chuckles. “Keep that sense of humor. You’ll need it in the coming days.”
“Sense of humor?” she mutters, low enough that I doubt Hawke can hear. If he can, he ignores her to share more about our environment, but whether it’s for us or the audience, I’m unsure.
“An interesting fact about this national park is that it’s made up of different kinds of forests—rainforests, wetlands, woodlands, heathlands—but over eighty-five percent is covered in what’s called a ‘dry sclerophyll forest,’ which is a group of tall trees growing close together, mostly of the eucalyptus variety.” He pats one as we walk past. “These eucalyptus trees are widely considered the reason behind the ‘Blue Mountains’ name, because the high levels of oil they emit create a blue haze when looking at the mountains from a distance.”
“That’s great and all,” Charlie says, her voice as dry as the forest we’re walking through, “but what does it have to do with us finding water?”
“Forests need water to grow,” Hawke answers, “so we just need to listen to nature and it will show us where to go.”
Listen to nature ? I repeat the words in my mind, before reminding myself that I have two tasks over the next four days: to show the world I’m not the reprobate they’ve come to believe, and to survive this trip so I can reap the rewards. Both of those things rely on me yielding to Hawke’s wisdom, even when he says things that would normally make me raise a skeptical eyebrow.
Charlie, it seems, is having similar doubts. “And, um, if nature doesn’t want to... talk to us?”
“She always does, to those who pay attention,” Hawke says sagely, his dark eyes amused as he swivels his neck and notes the looks on our faces. “And speaking of, watch your step.”
Right as he says it, a lizard as long as my arm ambles coolly across our path. I jerk to a stop, half expecting Hawke to pull out his iconic hunting knife and say we’ve found lunch.
Instead, he crouches down to watch as the reptile slowly disappears into the scrub. “I was hoping we’d see one of these,” he says, clearly pleased. “It’s a monitor lizard—also known as a goanna. There are around thirty different species of them in Australia alone, with the largest reaching over eight feet in length.”
I peer into the bushes, wondering if we’ve just seen a baby and its giant-sized parents will be appearing next. I almost say I didn’t sign up for Jurassic Park , but Charlie speaks before I can.
“I’ve seen a lot of goannas in my life,” she says, sounding dubious, “but none have been anywhere close to eight feet.”
My gaze remains fixed on the bushes. “Let’s hope it stays that way.”
She doesn’t disagree, though she does add, “Fun fact for you non-Aussies: goannas have been known to accidentally mistake humans for trees.”
I try—and fail—to envision that. “What happens if they do?”
She shrugs. “What do all lizards do with trees? They climb.”
I consider the size of the massive-but-nowhere-near-eight-feet reptile we just saw and shudder at the idea of it even attempting to climb a human.
“So if a goanna ever runs at you,” Charlie continues, “act like it’s a bear and lie on the ground.”
“That doesn’t work with all bears,” Hawke warns. “Only grizzlies.”
I jump in as if I know what I’m talking about. “Haven’t you heard the saying? ‘If it’s brown, lay down. If it’s black, fight back.’”
“Don’t forget the last part—‘If it’s white, goodnight,’” Bentley calls from behind his camera. He’s been keeping mostly silent, maintaining his role of invisible cameraman. “Pray you never come across a polar bear in the wild.”
Charlie glances uneasily between us all. “The fact that you have a rhyme for how to react to different bears is alarming. How many attacks do you have in your respective countries each year?”
“Not a lot,” Hawke answers, “but plenty of close calls, especially where I grew up in Western Canada. That said, it helps to think of bears like you would sharks—we’re the ones invading their homes. They mostly want to leave us alone.” He returns to his feet, gesturing to where the lizard vanished. “It’s a shame to let that monitor go since it’d make a good meal, but goannas are a protected species in Australia, so they’re off limits outside of life-and-death circumstances. And besides, we don’t want to be carrying the extra weight for what’s coming next.”
I watch as Charlie swallows and repeats, “What’s coming... next?”
Hawke dusts soil from his pants, then continues forging a path for us through the brush, calling over his shoulder, “I already told you we have to go down to find water. Remember: nature speaks, we listen.”
* * *
We hike upward for half an hour through the dense forest, until we find ourselves on another ledge similar to the one we landed on, just narrower—and ending at an even steeper cliff face. Last time, the drop was intimidating, but this time it’s a near-vertical edge that Hawke cautions us to keep our distance from. Not that we need the warning.
“Do you want the good news or the bad news?” he asks, opening his backpack and withdrawing an assortment of items that cause a spike of adrenaline in me, and prompt the paling of Charlie’s features.
“How about we stick with the good news only?” she says weakly.
Hawke unfolds a map and lays it on the rocky ground. “The good news is, according to this, there should be a small stream a short distance from the base of this cliff.” He presses a finger to the paper. It has so many topographical details that it might as well be drawn in hieroglyphs for how well I can read it. “That means water is in our sights.”
I hold my breath as I wait for the other shoe to drop, already knowing what he’s about to say.
“The bad news,” Hawke goes on, “is that the quickest way down is over .” He indicates the rope he carries. “Have either of you rappelled before?”
I raise my hand. “I have. It’s been a while, though.” My stunt double handled the more extreme action scenes in all of the Lost Heirs movies, but I still did as many as I was allowed, purely for the thrill of it.
“We rappelled at school camp,” Charlie says. Her eyes go to the cliff and her throat bobs. “But that was fifteen meters down a man-made tower with all the safety equipment you can imagine. This is... not that.”
“Fifteen meters, four hundred feet, they’re about the same,” Hawke says cheerfully.
Charlie sends him a flat look. “I don’t know who taught you math but they absolutely are not .”
“Give or take a few hundred feet,” I murmur. Even I’m daunted by the task before us.
“You’ll both be fine,” Hawke says in a coaxing voice. “In fact, I bet by the time you reach the bottom, you’ll want to climb back up and do it all over again.”
Judging by Charlie’s expression, she doesn’t agree. But then she glances at me and holds my gaze, a storm of emotion behind her eyes, before she finally slumps her shoulders with resignation. I feel a pang of guilt over the bargain I elicited from her, and decide that once this trip is over, I’ll find a way to thank her outside of what I’ve already offered for Ember. It’s the least I can do, given all that’s likely ahead.
Hawke begins to uncoil his rope, gesturing for us to follow him to a nearby eucalyptus tree. “For obvious reasons, it’s important to anchor yourself around something strong, and, where possible, rooted deep into the earth. Something like this is perfect.” He raps his knuckles against the solid tree trunk and proceeds to wind the rope around the base, showing us how to knot it before tossing the rest over the side of the cliff.
Charlie makes a moaning sound as it falls out of sight, prompting Bentley to peek out from behind his camera and offer her quiet reassurance. She whispers her thanks, but her face remains pinched with dread.
“In your packs you’ll find helmets and gloves, so grab those and put them on,” Hawke instructs, doing the same himself. Once we’re geared up, he clips carabiners to our harnesses and tightens all our straps, before asking, “Who wants to go first?”
A squeak leaves Charlie, so I take one for the team and say, “I will.”
At my offer, Hawke hooks the rope into my carabiner and maneuvers us all closer to the side of the mountain.
“You said you’ve done this before, but it doesn’t hurt to have a refresher.” He curls my fingers around the rope. “This is your brake hand. It never leaves the rope—that’s the most important thing to remember. You let go, you fall.” He waits for me to nod, then looks over to Charlie until she does the same, before he continues, “You’re in control of your own descent, so go as slow as you need. Lean back, keep a nice wide stance, trust the rope to hold you. Even if you slip, as long as your brake hand stays tight, you’ll be fine. Just take your time, don’t panic, and find your way back to your feet.”
I nod again, my heart beginning to pick up speed.
Hawke goes over a few more safety details, making me recite everything back to him, and Charlie as well, before he checks all our gear one last time and finally indicates for me to approach the edge. He and Charlie are now clipped onto the rope as well, though I know they’ll wait until I’m at the bottom before starting their own descents. Bentley, too, is secured, and currently wriggling forward on his stomach until he’s half over the edge, angling for the best way to film my rappel from above.
“Ready when you are,” Hawke tells me. “Remember: trust the rope.”
Given how many times I’ve skydived, and even how many times I’ve rappelled before, this shouldn’t be as nerve-racking as it is. But still, as I turn my back to the view and lean out over the edge of the mountain, carefully transferring my weight onto the rope, I can’t keep my insides from roiling. Fifteen meters or four hundred feet, it really doesn’t make a difference when you have to rely on a nylon cord to keep you alive.
“That’s it, Zander, you’re doing great,” Hawke says as I ease my way backward into a horizontal position, my pulse thrumming in my veins. “Relax that brake hand a little so you don’t get caught up. There you go.”
Hawke continues to offer directions and praise as I begin to work my way down the side of the mountain, the hardest part passing once I leave the edge and fully commit to the descent.
“Awesome work,” Hawke calls to me. “Keep it up. Slow and steady.”
I gain confidence with every downward step, and soon feel bold enough to cast my gaze around, marveling at the close-up view of the rocky cliff and how it meets the forest spread out beneath me, the contrasting colors indescribable. I think about the last time I rappelled with a similar outlook, and with some surprise, I realize it wasn’t for a scene in The Lost Heirs , but to celebrate Maddox’s seventeenth birthday.
Suddenly, I’m no longer on the side of the cliff, but instead in southern Mexico, vividly recalling the weekend when Maddox flew in to join Summer and me on location in Chiapa de Corzo. She and I were filming the final movie of the series, but we had some rare time off, so the three of us used it to explore the city before venturing out to the Selva El Ocote biosphere reserve, where we rappelled straight down into the forested sinkhole of Sima de las Cotorras.
Nostalgia floods me as I remember how much fun those two days were, but it quickly sours when I think of all that came next. Because a week later, the film wrapped, and then it was only a few months until Summer’s world imploded, with mine following soon after that.
And as for Maddox...
“Everything all right, Zander? Why have you stopped?”
I’m so lost in my memories that I barely hear Hawke calling to me. But the longer I dangle midair on the rope, the more I realize it’s because I can’t move.
Something is happening to me.
Something is wrong.
Pins and needles prickle all over my body, my pulse is deafening in my ears, and my vision is dotting in and out of focus. Hawke yells my name again, his tone full of urgency, but I can’t respond. I’m having trouble breathing, the air leaving my lungs in short, sharp puffs. It’s all I can do to keep gripping the rope, hanging on for dear life.
Maddox’s face flashes across my mind again, his caramel eyes bright with mirth, his copper hair messy from running his fingers through it. He used to laugh all the time, bringing joy to everyone around him, even during the darkest days of our lives. But it was all a lie. And on the darkest day of his life, when I tried to be there for him, when I gave everything to be there for him?—
“Zander! Zander! ”
The voice comes from right beside me, but it doesn’t belong to Hawke.
It belongs to Charlie.
She’s clinging to a second rope, her violet eyes brimming with concern.
“I need you to take a deep breath, okay?” she says, removing one shaking hand from her rope and reaching out to clasp my arm.
With her words, I realize I’m still having trouble breathing, my vision now blackening worryingly around the edges.
“One big, deep breath in, like this.” She inhales loudly.
I try to do the same, but it gets caught in my throat.
“Let’s do it again, together,” she encourages.
This time I manage a full, wheezing breath.
“That’s it,” she says in a soothing voice, her eyes holding mine. I know I must look as panicked as I feel, but she doesn’t flinch away from whatever she sees in my gaze. “Now let’s keep doing that, but I also need a favor. I’m going to ask a few questions, and I want you to say the first thing that comes to your mind. I’ll answer, too. Ready?” She doesn’t wait for my confirmation before continuing, “What’s one thing you can hear right now? I can hear birds chirping in the trees beneath us. Can you hear them?”
Slowly, I nod.
“Your turn,” she says.
I think for a moment—it takes everything in me to focus my mind—and I barely recognize my own voice when I rasp out, “Rocks. Clattering down the mountain.”
“Nice one,” she says, her gaze still locked on mine. “This time I want to know what you can see. I’m not brave enough to look around, but you jump out of helicopters for fun, so I’m guessing you have no problem enjoying the scenery. Is it pretty? Can you tell me about it?”
I keep breathing deeply, trying to stop my attention from spiraling all over again, and glance around before I haltingly answer, “It’s—It’s beautiful. Blue sky. Fluffy white clouds. Green forests. You should try to look.”
“Maybe in a minute,” she lies. “What about something you can touch or feel? Even with these gloves, I bet I’m going to have rope burn from how tight I’m holding on. How about you?”
“The wind,” I say, my answer coming quicker this time as my pulse begins to settle and my breathing finally eases. I close my eyes as the breeze caresses my face, drying the clammy sweat on my skin.
“And how does the wind feel?”
“Peaceful,” I say automatically.
“Focus on that feeling,” Charlie tells me. “Do you think you can take a step down now? If we go together?”
I reopen my eyes and, seeing the steadiness in her expression, I nod again.
“We’ll go slowly,” she says. “Nice and easy.”
The moment we begin moving, it’s as if my body recalibrates. My mind, too. I’m suddenly overcome with embarrassment, not just for having what I assume was a panic attack—something I’ve never experienced before, though I’ve seen Summer hit by them too many times to count—but also that I had it at the worst possible time. I open my mouth to apologize, mortified that Charlie had to come and literally save me from myself, but she doesn’t give me the chance.
“Don’t,” she says, her voice soft but firm.
I look to my side, where she’s keeping pace with me as we descend together.
“Don’t what?” I croak.
“I used to have anxiety attacks all the time,” she says, instead of answering. “Especially when Ember first got sick. And then again more... recently.” She clears her throat. “There’s absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“I bet you were never hanging hundreds of feet in the air when you had one.” My voice is full of all the embarrassment she told me not to feel.
“No,” she concedes. “But I did have one when I was merging onto a highway once, soon after I got my license. It was raining so hard I could barely see, and the other cars weren’t letting me in because there were two huge trucks taking up so much space. I remember numbness starting at my lips and spreading from there, along with a ringing in my ears as everything started to get hazy. I was sure I was going to die. It was—it was terrifying.”
I shudder as she shares her experience, having just felt most of those physical symptoms myself. “What did you do?”
“One of the cars finally made room for me, but the panic didn’t leave, so I knew I needed to pull over. Only, there wasn’t anywhere safe to stop,” she says as we continue lowering ourselves down the cliff. “So I turned my music up until it overwhelmed my senses, and I dug my fingernails into my palms until they hurt, and when that wasn’t enough, I visualized the lyrics of the songs as words streaming across my mind, seeing them appear letter by letter. Doing all of that took my attention off what was happening inside me for long enough to bring me back into the present.”
“Hearing, touch, sight,” I say, noting the senses she used for herself, and how they were the same ones that delivered me from my own mind.
“It’s the five-four-three-two-one grounding technique,” she explains. “Name five things you can see, four things you can touch, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, and one thing you can taste.” She pauses. “I improvised with you and skipped a few steps, but the point is to bring you back to yourself by making you more mindful of what’s happening around you. As the name says, it grounds you, and helps distract you from whatever triggered the attack long enough for you to regain control.”
“I wish I’d known about it last year,” I say. “Summer has really bad panic attacks and I always feel so helpless when they happen to her, just holding her and saying everything will be all right.”
There’s a weighty silence, before Charlie says, somewhat hoarsely, “If it’s any consolation, I would have given anything to have someone do that for me. So don’t be too hard on yourself. That kind of comfort... there’s power in not being alone, especially when you feel like your world is crashing around you.”
I glance at her, alarmed by her admission, and wonder what happened to make her feel that way. I’m also painfully aware that her words echo the thoughts that triggered my attack in the first place—how my world had come crashing down, and in the process, I lost my best friend and greatest source of comfort. But before I can figure out how to ask about her own history, I realize with a start that we’ve reached the bottom of the mountain.
Relief slams into me—along with a wave of exhaustion, both physical and mental.
“That wasn’t as bad as I feared,” Charlie says, unclipping her carabiner and helmet, then shaking out her hands.
“Speak for yourself,” I mutter, causing her to grin at me. It’s the most lighthearted expression I’ve seen from her since we first met, offering a small but undeniable silver lining to what just happened.
Her smile fades as she tucks a strand of blue-purple hair behind her ear and asks, “Now that we’re safely on the ground, do you... want to talk about it?”
Warmth hits my chest, the feeling pleasant compared to the humiliation I anticipated. Even so, I’m aware that while Bentley may have only captured footage from above, the nano drones would have caught my entire panic attack in high definition, and I’d rather not share what was going on inside my mind as the whole world listens. Summer speaks openly about her mental health, otherwise I would have been more careful with what I said about her. But I’ve never experienced anything like that before, and even if I did want to reveal what prompted my attack, there are other factors to consider—namely, Maddox, and the secrets I won’t risk exposing, both his and mine. So I shake my head and say, “Thanks for the offer, but it’s still a bit fresh. Maybe later?”
She searches my expression, seeing more than I would like, before she drops her gaze and says, “I’m guessing Hawke and Bentley will be down in about two seconds flat, but while we wait, should we check out what goodies are in our backpacks? What’s the chance they packed us chocolate? Or toilet paper?”
A grateful smile touches my lips. “Pretty slim for both, I’d say.”
“Figures.” She sighs dramatically. “But a girl can dream.”