Page 17 of Wandering Wild
A scream leaves me as the forest floor gives way, sending me plummeting down the steep slope of the mountain on the world’s muddiest waterslide. I was closest to the edge, so I’m leading the fall, but I can hear Zander, Hawke, and Bentley all tumbling with me, none of us having realized that the deluge from last night must have carved a channel for the rain to flow through—a channel that was beneath us. We’re entirely at the mercy of Mother Nature as we plunge downward, zigzagging around roots and boulders and trees and shrubs, having no control over the direction we move or the speed at which we fall.
I expect to break my neck any second now, my life flashing before my eyes. There’s so much more I want to do, so much more I want to see, so much more I want to experience, all of which I’ve only just begun to acknowledge over the last few days. But now?—
Another scream leaves me as I suddenly lift off the ground and fly through the air. It feels like I’m suspended for years before I land unceremoniously in a pool of deep, muddy water. The sole thought in my mind—other than to marvel that I’m still alive—is that I need to get out of the way before three large male bodies crush me, so I half-swim, half-scramble through the sludge, barely making it a few feet before the others splash into the pool behind me.
I’m covered in so much mud that it takes three swipes at my face before I can clear my eyes enough to see properly. I’m also trembling fiercely and struggling to believe I’m not dead, but I force my incredulity aside to do a quick inventory of all my new aches and pains. Miraculously, apart from some light grazes and numerous bruises, I’m unharmed.
“Is everyone all right?” Hawke asks from the middle of the pool, swiping mud from his own face.
Zander is equally filthy and only manages to nod along with me, both of us too shaken for words.
Bentley’s glasses are gone, his camera has disappeared, and he’s pressing a hand to his head while looking dazed, but he also confirms he’s fine.
Hawke glances up at the chute we all just slid down—which is still flowing in a sludgy cascade—and there’s a thoughtful look on his face as he murmurs, “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
I have to bite my cheek to keep from screaming, WELL, OBVIOUSLY! and instead lead the way toward the edge of the pool, slushing into the shallows and crawling on my hands and knees until I’m free of the squelching mud. It’s almost worse to be back on solid land, because now sodden leaves and forest gunk stick to the grime covering us, making us look like swamp creatures straight out of a low-budget horror film.
I clean myself as best as I can, wiping my clothes and skin and grimacing at how much muck is wedged in places that will make hiking a special kind of unpleasant. But then I realize we have bigger problems than my physical discomfort.
Zander, also wiping away mud, comes to the same realization, his eyes widening in alarm as he says, “All our gear is back in the cave.”
There’s not so much as a backpack between us, and given how rain-soaked the slope is, there’s no immediate means for us to hike back upward, especially without any proper climbing equipment other than Hawke’s rope.
“That’s actually the least of our worries,” Hawke says, his voice uncharacteristically strained.
I belatedly notice that he hasn’t risen to his feet like the rest of us. Instead, he’s sitting against a tree, holding his leg.
No—not holding it.
Cradling it.
“You’re hurt!” I cry in dismay, squelching my way over to him.
Bentley curses under his breath and reaches Hawke first, kneeling down to check the damage. They share a loaded look, and I instinctively know I’m not going to like whatever they say next.
“Your ankle?” Bentley asks, carefully rotating the muddy boot.
Hawke nods. “I landed badly when we fell—I’m pretty sure it’s broken.” His voice is still strained, but it’s also level enough to hide the extent of the pain he’s undoubtedly feeling. He’s clearly in survivor-mode, his mind jumping to solutions rather than dwelling on problems. A broken bone is nothing compared to a lion attack, but even so, I’m amazed by his composure—at least until he adds, “But that’s still not our biggest concern.”
“ How is that not our biggest concern?” I demand, panic welling in me as I wonder what could possibly be worse than him—our leader and guide—having a broken foot.
There’s a look of apology on Hawke’s face, as if he’s dreading what he’s about to share. “I’m not sure if you were paying attention during our unscheduled mudslide, but we... got tossed around quite a bit.”
That’s the understatement of the century.
“And we’re now way off course,” Hawke continues. “As in, way off course.” My stomach hollows out at the grim look in his eyes, a feeling that grows exponentially when he adds, his voice full of regret, “And I can’t walk.”
I swallow back my fear and say, “We’ll take turns carrying you. And we’ll get back on course.”
It seems like an easy answer to me, and I’m the least survival-y of us all, so I’m certain Hawke will agree. Carrying him will be difficult—he’s not a small man—but between Zander, Bentley, and me, we’ll make it work.
Hawke, however, doesn’t agree. Instead, he shakes his head, his apologetic look returning. “You’re not understanding me. When I say we’re off course, what I mean is that we’re at the base of the mountain, but on the wrong side of the mountain. No one knows where we are, and even if they did, you heard Scarlett last night—the support team has to wait for any flooding to clear before they can return. Not to mention, more rain is coming, which will only lengthen the delay.” He points up through the tree canopy to the approaching clouds. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they call off any attempt—but even if they do risk it later today, they’re still not going to know where to find us.”
My throat turns dry. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying we’re on our own.” Hawke glances down at his leg, before amending, “Or rather, you’re on your own.”
Zander squelches up beside me, his voice tight. “What do you mean by that?”
Hawke shares another loaded look with Bentley, then pulls his park map from his pocket and lays the waterlogged paper over his lap.
“We’re due at our extraction point tomorrow afternoon at five o’clock.” He points to a circle marked in black ink. “There’s a chopper arriving then, and you two”—he eyes Zander and me—“will need to be there in time so you can tell them where we are and have them send a rescue.”
I turn solid as the words repeat in my mind.
Zander, too, is frozen beside me, and he slowly says, “ Us two?”
“I can’t walk,” Hawke states again, matter-of-factly. “And to reach the extraction point, there are obstacles on the path that you won’t be able to carry me over.”
I’m about to ask what kind of obstacles, though I’m guessing they’re similar to those we’ve already navigated—climbing and rappelling and God knows what other horrors, all of which would be impossible with a broken ankle. But Zander speaks before I can find out for sure.
“There has to be another way,” he says, his muddy brow furrowed. He wipes gunk from his watch and holds out his wrist. “What about the GPS trackers in these?”
It’s Bentley who shakes his head. “They only work when synced up to the nano drones.”
“Which Scarlett deactivated last night,” Hawke reminds us, unnecessarily. “So they’re only good for telling the time, and using as a compass or light.”
“All our trackable gear is back in the cave, including my cameras and our sat phone,” Bentley says. “So electronically speaking, there’s no way for anyone to find us.”
If there’s one upside to all this, it’s that we’re no longer being filmed, so we can be as candid as we want without having to worry about a global audience. But I would take all the cameras in the world if it meant we weren’t facing an actual survival situation.
“You both look scared,” Hawke observes.
An incredulous laugh leaves me. “What do you expect after you just told us we have to leave you here and—” I stop, my eyes flicking to Bentley, then back to Hawke. “Wait, why did you say only Zander and I need to head to the extraction point?”
“Someone has to stay with Rykon,” Bentley answers for him. I’m about to point out that perhaps it shouldn’t be the only other person who has any real survival experience, but he continues before I can, “And I’m not leaving my husband behind.”
My shoulders fall at the unyielding set of his features.
Zander must see it too, because he sighs from beside me and asks, “What do we need to do?”
Hawke motions for us to come closer, then presses his finger to the map. “At my guess, I think we’re about here. You’ll need to share this location with the rescue team, so take a good look.”
Peering down at the paper, I notice a dotted line marked from where I assume we started, leading directly to the circled extraction point. To my untrained eye, the place Hawke is now pointing to doesn’t seem as off course as he implied, only a slight distance away from the inked route.
When I mention this, he nods and says, “That’s my hope, since you’ll need to get back on track as quickly as possible if you’re to have any chance of reaching the extraction point in time.”
I wonder why he made such a fuss about us being “way off course” earlier, but then I recall that the support team won’t be returning if it’s too wet, so it ultimately doesn’t matter how close—or not—we are to where we should be. We’re still lost, Hawke still has a broken ankle, and even if we find our way back onto the prearranged route, there’s no guarantee anyone will come for us. The only guarantee we do have is the helicopter arriving at five o’clock tomorrow.
“What happens if we don’t make it there in time?” Zander asks.
“The chopper will leave, and when they can’t get in touch with us, they’ll send out a search party,” Hawke answers.
Relief hits me. “Why don’t we all just wait together, then? It’s only one more day. Better safety in numbers than us splitting up—isn’t that the first rule of survival?”
But again, Hawke shakes his head. “Do you remember when I told you how big the park is? The Greater Blue Mountains Area is over one million hectares. Even if they narrow that down based on the route we’re supposed to take, it could still take days for them to find us without any of our tracking gear. Weeks, maybe. Possibly months.”
“But you’re a survivalist ,” I say. “You can keep us alive out here.”
“Ignoring my current injured state, yes, you’re right,” Hawke says. His eyes are serious as he adds, “But if you have the choice of going home tomorrow, or staying out here living off whatever food and water we can find—bearing in mind that we no longer have access to our water bottles or sleeping bags or clothes or shelter or anything —then would you really choose not to be rescued at the first possible opportunity?”
I clench my jaw, conceding his point. He didn’t even have to bring up how much I hate eating the wildlife, and how I definitely don’t want to do that for days, weeks, or months on end.
Months— God , the thought of being stuck out here for that long...
I’m sure it wouldn’t be months. Hawke’s team are professionals; they would use every available resource to find us as quickly as possible. And Zander is an international celebrity—his entire fanbase would come searching for him if they learned he was missing. Millions of people would descend upon the park.
But still... it would take longer than tomorrow.
Hawke sees the resignation in my eyes, and his own features soften as he says, in a voice full of wisdom, “It doesn’t matter how well planned your journey might be, things can still go wrong. Things often do go wrong. That’s what survival is about—being able to adapt when the ground falls out from beneath you. Literally , in our case.” He holds my gaze, then looks to Zander. “You two need to adapt now. You need to survive. Because we’re counting on you.”
I hate everything about this, but I make myself nod, seeing Zander do the same from the corner of my eye.
Hawke sends us both approving looks, before gesturing to the map once more. “The main thing you need to remember is to keep heading northwest. Even if I’m wrong about where we are now, that will eventually get you back to where you need to be. You’ll know for sure that you’re on the right track when you reach here”—he taps a spot on the paper—“and with any luck, you’ll manage that around mid-to-late afternoon today.”
Outside of the route marked in black ink, the topographical details are too complicated for me to understand, so I squint at where he’s pointing and ask, “What’s there?”
“Prior to last night, I would have told you it’s a small creek leading to a narrow waterfall,” Hawke says. “But after all the rain we had... it might not be so small anymore.”
Zander’s face is pinched in concentration. “Do we have to cross it?”
“Ah, no. You’re going to need this.” Being mindful of his injured foot, Hawke shifts against the tree and carefully removes the rope from around his shoulders.
The hollow feeling in my stomach returns as dread ices my veins.
“To stay on course, you’ll need to rappel down the side of the waterfall,” Hawke tells us. I have a full-body reaction to those words, but he isn’t done. “Our scouts who chose the path said there’s plenty of room on the vertical rock face, so even if the creek is swollen from the rain, you should still be able to stay perfectly dry during your descent. And you’ve both rappelled now, so you know what you’re doing. This is nothing new.”
“But—But we don’t have our harnesses,” I stammer, feeling light-headed at the mere thought of what we’ll have to do.
“It’s not ideal,” Hawke says, his tone deliberately calming, “but you can still rappel safely without being clipped onto anything. Ben?”
Bentley takes the rope and winds it between his legs, across his hip, and up over one shoulder, explaining his actions and showing us how the resistance works.
Hawke catches Zander’s eyes and says, “Fair warning, it’s a real nut cracker, but it’ll keep you secure.”
“You just may never be able to reproduce,” Bentley murmurs, untangling himself from the rope once his demonstration is complete. Seeing the look on Zander’s face, the cameraman flashes a grin. “Kidding. It’s not that bad, promise.”
At any other time, I might laugh at Zander’s expression. But the last thing I feel right now is amusement.
“The waterfall is about three hundred feet high, so it’s a big one, but it’s also less than what we rappelled on our first day. You’re both more than capable of handling it,” Hawke says, trying to reassure us. He then clears his throat. “There’s just one slight problem.”
Something in his tone has me bracing. Zander, too, is brimming with tension beside me.
“All my longer ropes are back with our gear,” Hawke reveals, before nodding to the coil Bentley is holding out for Zander to take. “This one is better than nothing, but it’s still a little short.”
When he doesn’t elaborate, I press, “ How short?”
Hawke looks like he’d rather slide down the mountain again than answer my question. “About two hundred feet.”
A wave of dizziness hits me, and I half-wheeze, half-shriek, “ What? ”
“Breathe, Charlie,” Hawke says, raising his muddy palms in the air. “I know it sounds bad, but the geography of that area should be mostly sandstone. That means there will be plenty of hand- and footholds for you to use to climb down the remaining distance. Take your time and be careful, and before you know it, you’ll be safely back on the ground.”
I wish I had his confidence. I wish I had any confidence about what’s ahead. But before I can properly sink into my ever-growing fears, Hawke continues his instructions.
“After the waterfall, find some shelter for the night. A cave would be best, especially if the weather remains unpredictable, but make sure it’s clear of snakes and bats first. And here, take this.” He pulls his flint from his pocket and hands it to me.
I turn it in my fingers. “Won’t you need it?”
Bentley jumps in to answer, “There are plenty of ways we can light a fire without it. You’ll need it more.”
Since I don’t want to waste time arguing, I shove it into my mud-encrusted pocket, struggling with the grubby zipper before it finally seals.
“Take this as well, just in case,” Hawke says, holding out his hunting knife.
I balk, having last seen it used to decapitate the snake, but Zander doesn’t hesitate to strap it onto his belt as he asks, “What happens tomorrow? I assume it’s not a straight shot to the extraction point?”
“Your morning will be pretty easy,” Hawke says, his finger back on the map, tracing the dotted line. “Keep going northwest, and you’ll find another slot canyon. It’s a dry one this time—part of an abandoned mining route.” He pauses. “I mean, it should be dry. After all the rain...” His brow furrows, before it smooths again. “It’s naturally eroded for quick drainage, so as long as there have been a few hours since the last downpour, you’ll be able to pass through it without problem. Just remember what I said about flash floods, and if it starts raining while you’re in there, get out, fast.” He looks at me and adds, “There are no crawl spaces this time. Some small caves and narrow walls, but nothing that’ll traumatize you.”
“I’m holding you to that,” I mumble.
His mouth quirks, but then he goes on, “After the canyon, you’ll have another few hours of hiking before you reach this: your last obstacle.”
Zander and I both lean in, and despite my inability to read the map, not even I can miss the line squiggling across the land.
“Is that a river?” Zander asks, frowning.
“Sort of,” Hawke says cagily. He doesn’t expand, though, only says, “There’s a suspension bridge already in place, but it’s old— really old. There’s no telling how long ago it was used. So to be safe, my team has gone ahead of us and rigged some ropes into place that’ll keep you secure while crossing it.”
I remember Hux mentioning something about that yesterday. At least one of our upcoming tasks will be safe—relatively speaking.
“Once you’re free of the bridge, head straight through the trees and you’ll see a small clearing where the chopper will land.” Hawke taps the map one final time, right where the circle is. “And that’s it, adventure over.”
Silence falls as everything he told us settles and processes. I can’t believe we’re going to do this—I can’t believe we have to do this. I want to argue that we can wait for the earth to dry out and then find a way back up to the cave without risking another mudslide, but the weak spring sunshine isn’t going to make quick work of that, and with more rain coming, there’s no way to know how many days it would take. I also can’t forget how we had to climb a sheer cliff during our hike up the mountain yesterday, and we no longer have long enough ropes to do that again, let alone a grappling hook and jumar. The cave simply isn’t a feasible option. But that leaves us having to do this —Zander and me taking off on our own in search of a rescue.
My eyes unconsciously slide to him only to find him already looking at me. After what he said last night, and what he now knows about my own tragic past, he’s the last person in the world who I want to be stuck with while Hawke and Bentley rely on us to get help. I don’t care that he sought me out this morning, that he has some explanation for his decision to drive while intoxicated—there’s nothing he can say that will justify what he did. But even though the cameras are gone and I no longer have to keep up a pleasant charade for the sake of our bargain, our new circumstances mean that I still have to set my resentment aside, if only so we can survive what’s ahead.
I did not sign up for this.
Not even Ember in all her fangirling excitement would have signed up for this.
And yet, here I am.
Here we are.
All I can do is make the most of it and try my hardest to avoid dying. If that means I have to grit my teeth and partner with Zander for the next thirty-four hours, then so be it.
My face is hard as our eyes remain locked, and I wonder if he can read what I’m thinking in my expression—and how much he’s experiencing for himself. Is he as frustrated as I am? As nervous? As determined to survive so we can get the hell out of here and never see each other again? I can’t tell. All I know is that this rescue mission is resting squarely on our shoulders, and no matter what, we can’t fail.
On that thought, I turn back to Hawke and Bentley, offering my quiet but firm vow: “We won’t let you down.”
Equally solemn, Bentley says, “We know you won’t.”
Hawke refolds his map and hands it to me. “Remember, five o’clock tomorrow. If you’re not there in time?—”
“We’ll be there,” Zander says, his voice so full of confidence that even I believe him.
Hawke looks proudly at us both. “You have everything you need within you to make it through all that’s ahead. Believe in yourselves. Trust yourselves.” He pauses. “And trust each other. You’re stronger together than you are apart. Don’t forget that.”
Neither Zander nor I look directly at each other, though we both nod our agreement.
And then, with a final promise that they can count on us, we leave Hawke and Bentley behind as we wander off into the wild, with nothing but uncertainty ahead.