Page 21 of Wandering Wild

I wake up with the rising sun—and with Charlie tangled in my arms.

For a moment, I just lie there, holding her, and thinking over everything she told me under the star-strewn sky. I’m both humbled and honored by how much she trusted me with the deepest, most painful parts of herself. I also feel as if a weight has lifted from my own shoulders after everything I shared in this cave, almost as if I can suddenly breathe again. I didn’t realize how much guilt I was carrying until I was finally able to speak about what happened with Maddox, and even with Summer. But now Charlie knows everything—and she doesn’t hate me. Not anymore. If anything, the way she clung to me last night, and the way she’s snuggling into me even now...

My heart skips a beat as I look at her, her features soft with sleep. She’s always been beautiful, but now that she’s lowered her defenses and allowed me to see who she truly is, I have no way to describe everything I feel as I hold her close.

Try not to fall in love with your stalker-fan, or I’ll never let you live it down.

I smile as I remember Summer’s threat, and how ridiculous I thought her words were at the time. Now, however...

As if sensing my gaze, Charlie stirs in my arms, her eyelids fluttering open. For a moment, she’s disoriented, blinking around the dawn-lit cave until she finally manages to focus on me.

“Hey,” she whispers.

“Hey,” I whisper back.

A soft, contented sound leaves her, and she presses deeper into me. Her next words come out muffled against my shirt, so I have to ask her to repeat them.

She pulls away slightly to ask, “Did I drool on you?”

I bite back a laugh, since she absolutely did. Like a lake. “No.”

She drops her head onto my chest again. “Phew.”

My grin is wide, but only because I know she can’t see it. I run my fingers through her hair, enjoying this sleepy, cuddly version of her, and I musingly ask, “What color is this? Purple? Blue? I can’t figure it out.”

“It’s called ‘galaxy,’” Charlie answers. She goes on to tell me about a pact she made with Ember years ago when Ember first started her medical treatments and her hair fell out, making my heart warm all the more toward Charlie and the depth of care she has for her friend. She finishes by muttering, “We can’t all have interesting natural hair, Mister Anime Character.”

A startled laugh leaves me. “Mister what?”

Charlie freezes, as if she didn’t intend to say that out loud, and she quickly covers, “Ember has a good eye with picking colors for me, but I like this one the most since it makes my eyes look violet.”

“Mmm, I’ve noticed that,” I say, pushing her hair back from her face to look into those ethereal eyes.

“They’re normally a much more boring bluish-gray,” Charlie states, her breathing picking up speed as she stares right back at me, a blush staining her cheeks as she notes how close we are. But she doesn’t pull away.

My voice is husky as I say, “I have trouble believing anything about you could be boring, Charlie Hart.”

She sucks in a quick, surprised breath, and her blush deepens. Her gaze flicks to my lips, and I shift ever so slowly toward her, waiting to see how she’ll react. But again, she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she moves closer.

Until—

A loud, gurgling sound rumbles from her stomach, and she slams her eyes shut, her blush becoming red paint splashed across her face. “That’s embarrassing,” she mumbles.

I try to hold back my mirth, but it’s impossible, especially when she cracks one eyelid open to shoot a glare at me.

Our intimate moment is effectively—and regrettably—broken, so I rise to my feet and pull her up with me, saying, “Let’s get you fed.”

There are a few sandpaper figs left on the branch she brought in for us last night, so we finish those off, before checking the status of our clothes. My hiking pants and fleece pullover are dry enough for me to tug them on over my thermals, but my coat is still soaked from the river. When I peek out of the cave, the sky is clear, just like when we were stargazing, so both Charlie and I decide to risk leaving our heavier outerwear behind. If all goes to plan, we’ll be back in civilization before the temperature drops again tonight anyway.

My stomach swoops at the thought of our imminent rescue, anticipation swirling within me—not just for us, but for Hawke and Bentley, too. I know they have plenty of experience surviving in the wild and there’s no logical reason to be concerned about them, but I can’t help wondering how they fared overnight, stranded at the base of the mountain. Hawke’s injury means they have no choice but to sit and wait for us, which only heightens my sense of urgency to get them help. And we will, later today. Because if we don’t...

No. Positive thoughts only.

I turn my mind to Charlie, pondering what our rescue will mean for the two of us beyond getting the hell out of this forest. We haven’t had a chance to talk about what will happen once we’re no longer relying on each other to survive, and until last night, she made it clear she was eager to be rid of me. But now... I’m hoping that’s changed, even if it does create a whole new set of problems, given how vastly different our worlds are—not to mention that we live on opposite sides of the globe. The thought of flying back to LA tomorrow and leaving her behind prompts a tight feeling in my chest, but it eases slightly when I remember what she said about how she’s ready to dream again, to see the world, to live . Because that more than anything gives me hope that we’ll be able to work something out—assuming she feels the same way.

“Ready to go?” Charlie asks, breaking into my thoughts.

I smother the dying embers of the fire. “Ready.”

Together we leave the cave, blinking against the early-morning sunlight filtering through the trees. I’m thankful we won’t have to deal with the rain again today—especially since Hawke warned about another slot canyon coming up—but even without having to battle the elements, we still have hours of hiking ahead, plus two more of his aptly named “obstacles.”

I wince as I consider how much more damage my body will sustain before we’re done with this trip. As it is, I feel as if I’ve been trampled by a herd of elephants, and while my pain isn’t as severe as when I first coughed up all the river water, my chest, lungs, and throat are still sore from my near-drowning. Or actual drowning, really. I’m going to need time to process what happened—how I stopped breathing, how Charlie brought me back to life. It hasn’t sunk in yet, how close I came to dying. All I know is that I’m immensely grateful to still be here, even if we have a long way to go until we can be considered safe.

Fortunately—or unfortunately, given how it came about—our trip down the river yesterday worked in our favor, since the twists and turns of the rapids sent us roughly in a northwestern direction. According to the map, it hasn’t shaved much time off our hike, but it also hasn’t added to it, so we consider that a win as we head back to the river and follow the bank, squelching through mud and jumping over roots and saplings the whole way.

The water eventually narrows enough that we’re able to use a fallen tree trunk to cross over to the other side—a harrowing experience, and yet nothing compared to what we’ve faced during the last few days. Charlie even grins as she balances her way along the log, loving every second of her rediscovered thirst for adventure.

Onward we hike, and unlike the discomforting silence of yesterday, today we converse freely. Charlie tells me more about her childhood, both before and after Ember came into her life, giving me deeper insight into her family and her world. I learn how she never knew her biological father but she doesn’t feel like she missed out on anything because her stepfather, Jerry, is amazing—when he’s not struggling with grief over her mother, that is. I hear how she and Ember wanted to take a gap year after school to go backpacking, but that was derailed by Ember’s sickness and then, later, Charlie’s sorrow. I also discover that their original plan included them returning from their travels only to move away to university, but when I ask Charlie what she’d intended to study, she admits that she was never able to decide on anything, and she was going to wait to see what course she was accepted into.

To me, it’s even more evidence that what she realized last night is what she needs the most right now—to explore the world and find her place in it. When I tentatively mention as much, I’m worried about her response, but she only agrees, shyly at first, before a steely, even excited, determination comes over her.

Back and forth we talk, learning more about each other. She asks about my early years in Montana and California, curious about my life before stardom. I tell her things she’ll never find in any online interview, anecdotes I prefer to keep private because of how impacting they were in shaping who I am today—like how my third-grade teacher heard I was getting bullied so she gave me the first book in the Lost Heirs series, along with a note that said: Whenever you need an escape—the Enchanted Vale awaits .

“In hindsight, she really should have done more about the bullying,” I say with a thoughtful frown as I help Charlie over a rotten log. “But I guess she didn’t want to inflame the situation, especially since I was so lost in my grief that I wasn’t reacting to it anyway.”

We continue talking about anything and everything, the floodgates opening when Charlie realizes I don’t mind her asking about the movies, at which point she unleashes her inner fangirl. It’s cute, something I didn’t expect from her, especially given how much she was holding back from me before. I love that she’s comfortable being herself now, because that makes it easier for me to be the same in return.

The hours pass quickly as we press on toward our extraction point, both of us aware of the time ticking down, though we’re still careful to stop regularly to rest our tired legs and munch on whatever we can forage to keep up our strength.

“As grateful as I am that they’ve kept us alive, I never want to see another lilly pilly in my life,” Charlie declares, glaring at a bush full of pink berries as if they’ve personally offended her.

Eventually, the trees begin to thin and the ground turns more gravelly and less muddy, before the foliage gives way to a rising rock wall stretching out before us.

“Here we go,” Charlie says with a resigned exhale.

“Hawke did say it’s a dry canyon,” I remind her. “And he promised no crawling this time.”

“Hawke also said the river yesterday would be ‘small’ and the waterfall ‘narrow,’” Charlie returns, scowling at the sandstone structure before us, “so forgive me if I have trust issues toward him now.”

I turn away to hide my grin, even though I wholeheartedly agree with her.

We have to walk for some time before our map leads us to a crack in the rock large enough to step through, but then we both sigh with relief upon discovering Hawke was right about it being a quick-draining canyon—the ground is damp but nothing worse than that. I’m a little concerned about us getting lost when I see how high the sandstone walls rise above us, creating an open-roofed labyrinth, but the deeper we move into the canyon, there’s only one obvious path to take. It almost seems too easy, considering the other tasks Hawke made us suffer through.

“I don’t like it,” Charlie murmurs suspiciously as we wind our way through the yellow-hued stone. “There’s a distinct lack of danger. Are you sure this is the correct route?”

“You’re the one holding the map,” I point out, though I’m also on edge. “And to be fair, there was no real danger with the first slot canyon Hawke made us go through—aside from falling rocks and flash floods and snakes and all the rest.”

“Excuse me, but did you somehow forget how we both got stuck in that crawl space?” Charlie states incredulously. “How was that not ‘real danger’?”

“Come to think of it, I do remember risking my life to come back for you.” I send her a wide smile. “You’re still welcome for that.”

Charlie scoffs. “Risking your life? Hardly. And if we’re keeping score, I think there’s a firm winner on the scale of who’s been saving whom the most.”

“‘Whom’?” I chuckle. “What are we, the grammar police?”

She opens her mouth to respond, then snaps it shut, before narrowing her eyes and saying, “I know what you’re doing. It won’t work.”

I look at her innocently as we turn around another bend, moving deeper into the canyon. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You’re trying to distract me,” Charlie says, kicking a rock out of her way. “But the joke’s on you, because clearly there’s some kind of Indiana Jones–style mortal peril coming up, and when it appears?—”

We both come to an abrupt halt at the sight before us.

Charlie groans. “I hate it when I’m right.”

In this case, I hate it when she’s right, too. Because it looks like we’ve reached a dead end, the sandstone rising up above us—and that would be okay, if it were true. But there’s a narrow opening at the base of the rock near our feet, a swift descent into a hollowed-out tunnel, belatedly reminding me that Hawke said this was an old mining route. What he didn’t say was how all the rain might have collected in the tunnel, siphoning down the canyon walls to fill the dark, narrow space with water.

“Hard pass,” Charlie says, her voice sounding strained. There’s a rustle of paper as she pulls the map from her pocket, followed by a quiet curse that tells me what I already know: there’s no other way around the canyon if we want to reach the extraction point on time.

I crouch down to get a closer look at where the ground drops away, wondering how deep and long the tunnel is. There’s a small gap between the surface of the water and its jagged, rocky ceiling, offering a reasonable breathing space, but I can’t tell if it continues the whole way through, since the canyon’s limited light only allows me to see a few feet ahead before everything is swallowed by darkness.

I’m not ashamed to admit how much I don’t want to swim through an underground tunnel of indeterminate length and depth, with limited room to keep our heads above water, all while being unable to see anything. But then I catch sight of Charlie’s watch and remember that it has a built-in light. Mine, too. They’re not bright, but since our only other option is to make a torch and somehow keep it dry—while also avoiding smoke inhalation in the restricted breathing space—then I can accept that weak light is better than no light.

“That’s not your best argument,” Charlie says warily as I press the button on my watch to show her the blueish glow it creates. “You can’t seriously be considering this.”

It’s a statement, not a question, but I still reply, “We have less than four hours until the helicopter arrives, and the map doesn’t offer any alternative routes. I don’t see another choice.”

“But it’s—it’s—” Charlie gives up mid-sentence and glances fearfully at the black water, holding her elbows. Finally, she says, her voice grumbling but only to hide how tremulous it is, “We only just got our clothes dry.”

I can’t believe I have to fight a laugh right now. But I do fight it, since I can see the terror on her face. I step closer and take her hands in mine. “We’ll be quick, in and out,” I say, having no idea if that’s true, but needing to believe it as much as she does. “It’ll be like we’re walking, just... wet.”

She gapes at me. “That’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve said—and you’ve said a lot of ridiculous things.” She shakes her head disbelievingly. “Wet walking? Are you kidding me with that?” Tugging one hand free, she jabs a finger toward the submerged tunnel. “We have to swim through a canyon , Zander! Swim! Canyon! Dark! Deep!” She leans into me, her hysteria clear. “Did I mention dark and deep ?”

“There was heavy emphasis on both, yes,” I reply mildly, having to repress my laughter all over again, and wondering if she knows how adorable she is. “But just to say, it might not be deep. We won’t know until we get in it.”

“It’s deep,” she says with grim certainty. “ Of course it’s deep. It’d be too simple if it wasn’t.”

I don’t utter my agreement, and instead say, “Where’s your unfailing optimism, Charlie Hart?”

Her tone is deadpan when she answers, “It’s back at the hotel with my sense of adventure. They’re vacationing together, having a grand old time without me.”

This time, I can’t repress my chuckle, but my humor flees when I see her trembling. I draw her close, wrapping her tight in my arms as I say, “I know it’s scary—I’m scared, too. But we’ll do it together, like everything else. We’ve made it this far, haven’t we? Nothing can stop us now.”

Instead of being emboldened, she groans against my chest. “Don’t jinx us! Couldn’t you have said that after we’re out the other side?”

I pull back so I can grin down at her. “Don’t worry, I’ll say it again then, along with ‘I told you so.’”

She wrinkles her nose and makes a huffing sound. “No one likes a smug know-it-all, especially before they have a reason to be smug.”

“Then let’s give me a reason,” I say, turning her toward the tunnel and moving us both closer to it.

She doesn’t resist, though I know every part of her wants to. Instead, she declares, “You’re going first. I don’t care if I have to push you—I’ll do it. Consider it payback for the skydiving.”

I was planning to go first regardless, if only so I can help Charlie if she freezes up again like she did during our first slot canyon experience. This one is different, since we won’t be wedged between any rock walls— hopefully . But it’s a new kind of claustrophobia we’ll be dealing with, having the added element of water. I’m trying not to think about what happened with the river yesterday, since I know my mind will run away from me if I do. As it is, my heart is beginning to hammer behind my bruised ribcage, a painful reminder that no matter how careful we are, things can always go wrong.

But there’s nothing for it, and I need to keep outwardly calm for Charlie’s sake, so I draw on my acting skills to appear as unruffled as I can while I lower myself into the water.

A hiss leaves me at the cool temperature, but I can at least say, “It’s not as icy as the river.” That’s one of the benefits of it being rainwater, rather than mountain runoff. A small mercy.

“Oh, good,” Charlie mutters, “we can scratch hypothermia off the list. Just three million other things for us to worry about.”

I don’t respond since I’m concentrating on easing myself down, while silently praying I’ll be able to reach the bottom. But the water keeps rising above my hips, my waist, my chest and then to my neck before I resign myself to not knowing the depth.

“Please tell me you can touch the ground?” Charlie begs, watching me with an anxious expression.

I tread water, deciding honesty is best—with a dash of hope. “Not quite, but we’ll likely be able to once we’re further along.” It makes sense, since the tunnel surely has to slant upward again for us to exit it on the other side.

Charlie isn’t reassured, but she gathers her courage and crouches on the canyon floor before sliding into the water, yelping quietly at the cold.

“You good?” I ask.

“Far from it,” she grits out. “Just go before I change my mind.”

Heeding her request, I turn toward the darkness and swim slowly into it, careful to keep my head above the surface. All too soon the sunlight trickling into the canyon fades, leaving us surrounded by blackness, with only the faint glow from our wristwatches offering any reprieve.

“For the record, I hate this,” Charlie whimpers behind me, her words hoarse around her panted breaths. Our paddling isn’t overly strenuous, so I know it’s terror that’s constricting her lungs.

“You’re doing great,” I say, before wincing at how much I sound like Hawke. I try to take her mind off her fear by asking something I’ve wondered since I first met her. “Why Charlie Bear?”

I sense her confusion even in the darkness. “Why what?”

“Charlie Bear,” I repeat. “Ember’s nickname for you—where did it come from?”

“Oh.” Charlie releases an embarrassed laugh. The sound eases something in me, since it means my diversion is working. I continue swimming forward, listening as she begins her explanation, and hoping she’ll remain distracted enough not to notice that the tunnel ceiling seems to be lowering.

“You remember last night when I said I used to dream about going on adventures and exploring the world?” she asks.

I make a sound of confirmation.

“Well, I went through an arctic stage,” Charlie admits, still sounding embarrassed. “And during it, I was maybe a little obsessed with polar bears.”

I smile even though she can’t see it. “How obsessed?”

“Obsessed enough to want one for a pet,” she answers. “And obsessed enough to cry for days when I kept being told it would never happen. Something about the whole slice-your-throat-open savagery was apparently a red flag. Go figure.”

“Shocker,” I say dryly.

“Anyway,” Charlie continues, “Ember thought the whole thing was hilarious, and somewhere in there she started calling me Charlie Bear as a joke, but it ended up sticking. Just for her, though—no one else calls me that.” I hear a splashing sound before she asks, “Did you have any nicknames when you were a kid?”

“Maddox used to try out different names for me,” I answer, casting my mind back. “He was big on rhyming, so things like Commander Zander and Zander Panda stuck for a while. But the one that lasted the longest came when we went through our wizards stage—much like your arctic stage, but instead of me daydreaming about a pet polar bear, I daydreamed about having magic.”

“We all did that,” Charlie says, so matter-of-factly that I snort.

“True,” I agree, before continuing, “Maddox was still doing his rhyming thing, and he was testing out Zander Salamander, but somehow it morphed into Salazander. We both thought it sounded epic, so it became my official wizard name.” As an aside, I add, “Maddox’s was Magic Maddox, shortened to Magidox. So together, we were?—”

“Salazander and Magidox.” Charlie snickers. “What nerds.”

“And proud of it.” I grin into the dark. “There’s no shame in loving what you love.”

Before I can say more, or think of a new distraction, Charlie makes a startled noise that tells me she’s finally realized the space between our heads and the tunnel ceiling is considerably less than when we entered the water. However, what she can’t yet see is the shadow of something up ahead that has my insides twisting with apprehension.

A few more swim strokes bring us right to it, revealing a sudden drop in the rocky ceiling, effectively blocking our path—or at least, blocking the empty space where our heads are bobbing. When I reach out with my hands, I can feel that the new tunnel ceiling is only a few inches beneath the surface of the water, but it might as well be miles given that no space means no air, and no air means?—

“Please tell me that’s not what I think it is,” Charlie breathes, paddling up beside me.

“Don’t panic,” I tell her—and myself. “Just... wait here, and let me check it out.”

“ What? ” she cries, grabbing my arm, and nearly pulling us both under. “ No , Zander. You?—”

“We can’t tread water forever,” I interrupt, gently but firmly. I’m already feeling fatigued, and I know she must be as well. Soon enough our muscles will start protesting in a way we can’t ignore. “I’ll swim a little ahead, see where the ceiling rises again, and come straight back. That’s all.”

“Need I remind you that you drowned yesterday?” Her fingers are like a vice. “Tell me honestly that your lungs aren’t still sore from that, and you’re happy to dive full-body into a dark passage with no air?” She shakes her head wildly, her face as blue as her hair thanks to the glow of our watches. “You’re crazy if you want to do this.”

“I don’t want to do it,” I state. “But sometimes you have to do things in life that you don’t want, so that you can achieve the things you do want.”

She blinks and stutters, “Did you—Did you just Hallmark-quote me?”

My lips twitch despite myself. “No, I made it up on the fly.” I pause. “Or maybe I read it in a fortune cookie. Either way, it’s good advice.” I hold her gaze and say quietly, and with meaning, “I’ll be back before you know it.”

I can see she wants to keep fighting me on this, that she’s concerned after what happened to me yesterday, and because of that, I know she’s about to insist she goes instead, regardless of her own fear. So before she can make that offer, I unlatch her fingers from my arm, take a deep breath, and dive beneath the surface.

I’ve always been a strong swimmer—aside from yesterday, but that doesn’t count since I was unconscious—so I propel my body through the passage with ease, using the glow of my watch to light the way. I keep reaching above my head for any hint of air, but there’s nothing beyond solid rock, making my blood pressure skyrocket. If we can’t find a way through this tunnel, then we’ll have to go back to the canyon, and then... what? Search for a way around it? That could take hours. Days . There’s no way we’d make it to our extraction point on time. This is the path Hawke told us to take, and we need to take it. For his and Bentley’s sakes as much as ours.

I’m about to admit defeat and turn around when I finally feel a gap above me, and I shoot upward, sucking in a lungful of oxygen. The space is small, only a few feet of somewhat-stale air before the rock dips down again, but it’ll work as a place to rest and catch our breath before we continue on.

I debate swimming ahead to find the end of the tunnel, but I know Charlie will worry if I don’t return soon, so I inhale deeply again and swim back to her, coughing slightly upon my arrival thanks to my decidedly tender lungs.

I’m barely above the surface when she lunges for me, touching my face, my arms, my chest, as if to make sure I’m truly all right.

“I think I hate you again,” she says shakily. “God, you scared me.”

“Sorry,” I croak out, trapping her still-frantic hand against my heart. “I’m okay. And I found us an air pocket.”

“An air pocket?” she repeats dubiously. “Not an exit?”

“I’m sure that’s close as well,” I lie.

Her lips tighten, but she only nods and says, “Lead the way.”

I don’t need any more encouragement than that, so I tell her, “Deep breath,” and dive under yet again, making sure she’s at my heels as I guide her through the tunnel.

Three times we do this, with me swimming ahead to find new air pockets, then returning to lead Charlie to them, moving us ever-deeper into the tunnel. Each time we surface again, Charlie is a little paler, and a lot more shaken—and I am, too. We still can’t touch the bottom, but our legs are now cramping enough that we have to rest them by gripping the rock with our fingertips, making our arms ache all the more. I’m increasingly aware that we can’t keep this up for much longer.

Finally— finally —I see a hint of light ahead during my next scouting swim, and I push myself further than ever to reach it, coughing and spluttering when my head breaks through the surface. I’m so winded that it takes me a moment to get my bearings, but when I do, I find myself in a large pool beneath an open-roofed cavern, the sun beaming down from the gaping hole in the rock, like light from heaven. It’s unimaginably beautiful, but my attention is on something much better: the dry ground at the edge of the water, and how it meets a fissure in the canyon wall—one that leads straight outside.

Euphoria fills me, but I only let myself enjoy it for long enough to catch my breath before I dive back under and return to Charlie.

Once again, I have to cough when I reach her in the air pocket, this final leg of the swim so much further than any of the others.

“What happened? Are you okay?” she asks anxiously, while trying to help keep me above the waterline. “You were gone a lot longer this time. Did you?—”

“I found the end of the tunnel,” I rasp out around my coughs.

The look on her face—I can’t tell if she’s about to cry with relief, or kiss me. As much as I want the latter, what I want more is for us to be free of this underwater prison.

“Are you sure?” she asks, as if she can’t believe it.

“I’m sure.” My chest is on fire and my muscles are screaming, but at least now I know the end is in sight. “It’s an uncomfortable distance, so you’ll need to take your deepest breath yet and swim as fast as you can. And be careful—there are rocks or stalagmites or something rising up from the ground partway along, so don’t swim too low or you could hurt yourself.”

There’s worry in her eyes, but resolve as well. “I’ll keep a close watch. Now let’s get the hell out of here.”

I draw in as much air as I can while Charlie follows my lead, and when we’re both ready, I dive under the surface one last time.

My fatigue and pain are becoming an increasing worry the further I propel myself through the tunnel, but I’m more concerned about Charlie. There are no more air pockets between us and the end of the passage, and if she can’t hold her breath for long enough, or if she can’t swim fast enough...

She’s fine , I tell myself as I hurtle through the water. She’s right at my heels.

But when I finally reach the end of the tunnel for the second time, gasping in lungfuls of air, I know within seconds that something is wrong.

Because there’s no sign of Charlie behind me.