Page 14 of Wandering Wild
Charlie nearly died today.
That’s the only thought screaming across my mind as Hawke continues pulling climbing gear out of his pack, telling us about the task ahead.
If I hadn’t seen the snake in time, if I hadn’t moved fast enough to haul her backward, if she’d taken one more step?—
Thirty minutes, Hawke said. That’s how long she would have had if it had struck her. There’s no way we would have been able to get her anywhere for treatment in that time. She would have died—and it would have been my fault.
Maybe not directly. But I’m the reason she’s here. And feeling her trembling in my arms afterward, knowing how close she’d come to death?—
“Zander, are you listening?”
A shuddering breath leaves me and I force myself back into the present, knowing better than to travel down the what-if path. Charlie is unharmed. The snake is dead. We’re all safe. That’s what I need to focus on now, rather than dwelling on what might have been.
“Sorry, yes,” I answer Hawke.
He eyes me suspiciously, and I know I’ve been caught in my distraction, but he only says, “I was just explaining how we need to make it up this cliff before we can keep hiking, but it should be the last of the strenuous obstacles we have to tackle today.” He gestures for Charlie, Bentley, and me to step back, and once we’re far enough away, he swings the grappling hook a few times before letting it fly. It takes him three attempts before it locks onto something at the top of the rock face, and he tests it with his weight, nodding in satisfaction.
“I’ll go first this time,” Hawke says. “Make sure you pay attention to what I’m doing so you can repeat these actions for yourselves.”
I assume the warning is for my benefit, given that I spaced out only moments ago, so I concentrate when Hawke shows us how to clip our carabiners to the rope, and how to adjust the foot loop.
“You’ll also need a jumar—an ascender,” he says, holding up a metal, clamp-like device. “Grip it with your dominant hand, and when you use the foot loop to step upward, slide the jumar along the rope. It locks in place to make it easier for you to pull yourself up without slipping back down. See?”
He demonstrates again, then says, “Helmets on, in case I dislodge any rocks on my way up. And remember: there’s no rush. This kind of climbing will really work your core muscles, so don’t be afraid to stop and rest.”
Just as he says it, the sun disappears, and I look up in surprise to see that the blue sky from earlier is now covered in clouds. They’re still high and fluffy enough not to be threatening, but in the distance they’re much darker and heavier. Charlie, Hawke, and Bentley are glancing in that direction as well, all with varying expressions of concern.
“It’s not raining yet,” Hawke says, “so what I said holds true: take your time.” He pauses. “That said, we don’t want to be halfway up this in a downpour, so let’s not linger longer than we have to.”
I don’t love the way he frowns at the clouds again, but he quickly clears his features and steps into the foot loop, using the jumar to pull himself up the rope and his free leg to grip hollows in the rock, explaining what he’s doing as he goes. He makes it seem easy, and is soon up and over the lip of the cliff, out of sight for only a few seconds before his head reappears and he calls down to us, “Who’s next?”
Charlie looks grimly at me. “Rock, paper, scissors?”
We play best of three and I end up winning, but I don’t know if that means I’m climbing next or she is until she nudges me forward—making me wonder if she would have done the same even if she’d won.
My first few attempts to climb are unsuccessful, leaving me swinging wildly and struggling to move the jumar upward, but I eventually get into a somewhat coordinated rhythm. It’s difficult work, my abdominal muscles burning and legs cramping, while my fingers turn numb from gripping the jumar and rope. I think my personal trainer must be lying about what good shape I’m in, since I’m a sweating, aching mess when I finally heave myself over the top and lay panting on the ledge, unable to move.
Charlie is the same when she arrives, hissing a colorful array of curse words around her gasping breaths as she rubs feeling back into her hands, glaring daggers at Hawke the whole time. But there’s also a spark in her violet eyes that wasn’t there when I first met her, something I’ve noticed growing over the last two days. It’s like she’s coming alive the longer we’re out here; like every challenge we overcome is transforming something inside of her, making her open up more with each new task we face.
When Bentley joins us—his ascent much faster than Charlie’s and mine—we take a few minutes to rest properly, rehydrating ourselves and snacking on some sandpaper figs Hawke found when we were hiking earlier. As I enjoy the sweet, juicy fruit, I find myself grateful that so many plants in the park are edible, and we don’t have to survive solely on dead animals. I’ve already had enough of those to last a lifetime.
We’re just getting ready to continue on our way when the bushes rustle and Scarlett emerges with the big, bald Hux by her side. They’re both carrying climbing gear, indicating that they, too, had to scale the mountain, since their vehicles would have been unable to navigate the vertical cliff face. Hux moves straight to Hawke and starts checking the rope we used, satisfied when he finds no evidence of tearing. But it’s not Hux I’m watching—it’s Scarlett. Because the look on her face...
“We have a problem,” she says, causing all of us to straighten.
“The weather?” Hawke guesses, his dark eyes flicking toward the now menacing-looking clouds coming ever closer.
“The wind changed direction, so we’re going to be hit head-on,” Scarlett reveals. “They’re saying it’ll be heavy, but it’ll also be fast. It should be clear again by morning.”
“That’s something, at least,” Hawke murmurs, his arms crossed, his gaze thoughtful. “We’ll be fine on our end—we’re only hiking for the rest of the afternoon, and once we’re further up the mountain, we’ll find a cave or an overhang for shelter. But I assume you need to pull the crew back?”
“If we don’t, we’re likely to get flooded in,” Scarlett confirms. “We’d be all right if the vehicles were handling the terrain better, but adding in the amount of water the forecast is predicting?” She shakes her auburn head. “We need to backtrack to find somewhere safe to wait it out. But that also means we’ll need extra time to reach you tomorrow once it clears, so you’ll be on your own for a while. Probably until late afternoon, maybe early evening. Worst case and the rain is heavier than expected, or it circles back, or the flooding doesn’t recede fast enough—if any of that happens, we might not be able to meet you until you reach your extraction point on Friday. If that’s the case, can you manage alone for the next two days?”
She’s looking at Hawke intently, as if communicating something silently to him, but all he says is, “We have everything we need, so focus on keeping the crew safe and don’t worry about us.” He wipes fig juice from his beard before adding, “You know we plan these trips so the support team is only there for emergencies—we’ll just make sure we don’t have any of those.”
Hearing his confidence, I wonder what constitutes an “emergency,” and whether nearly being bitten by one of the most venomous snakes in the world counts. Apparently not, since he doesn’t even mention it to Scarlett.
“Just take care of our guests,” the producer says, sending strained smiles to Charlie and me. “You two doing okay?”
Even with Charlie aware of the cameras on us, I’m a little worried about how she might respond, so I jump in first. “We’re tired and sore, but it’s also exhilarating. Right, Charlie?”
Her lips stretch into a bright—and painfully fake—smile as she chirps out, “ Super exhilarating. We’re having the time of our lives .”
I have to look at the ground to keep from laughing—or grimacing—but I glance up again when a freckled young man appears out of the trees, panting and red-faced and carrying his own climbing gear. But he’s also carting more than that, since he moves first to Bentley to hand him a new set of camera equipment—weatherproof, I assume—and then to Scarlett to give her a familiar silver box.
The man disappears again, leaving Scarlett to explain, “We’ve had to take the nano drones out of commission.” She indicates the box. “Remember how I said they’re prototypes? Well, they’re not waterproof yet, so with the coming weather, we can’t risk damaging them. But that’s fine—we’ll reactivate them when we meet up again after the rain clears. Until then, Ben will capture all the footage we need.”
“I haven’t seen the nano drones since we left,” Charlie muses, and I nod my agreement.
“Perfect—that means they’re doing their job.” Scarlett pockets the box, then looks at her watch and frowns. “We need to get back down the mountain. All set, Hux?”
“Good to go,” the safety checker confirms, returning Hawke’s pack after having examined its contents. “Everything important can get wet if needed.”
“And you’ve got your sat phone if there are any problems,” Scarlett reminds Hawke.
“There won’t be,” he says, making a shooing motion. “Now go find somewhere safe and dry. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
Scarlett and Hawke share a long look, one I can’t read, before the producer turns to Charlie and me, her smile still strained as she says, “A little bit of rain never hurt anyone. It’s all part of the experience, so live it up, and embrace the adventure.”
My brow furrows as she and Hux give us parting waves and disappear back into the trees. It’s a strange thing for her to have said, given that we’re already nearly halfway through our “adventure.” But I shake off my apprehension and hoist my pack over my shoulders in preparation to leave, trying not to think about how much rain might be heading our way—or how difficult it’s going to make our journey ahead.