Page 43 of Wandering Wild

Before I know what’s happening, Hawke is safely on our side, telling us to enjoy a well-deserved water and berry break. We don’t linger—within minutes we’re up and hiking again, like we didn’t just drag ourselves over a massive crack in the earth.

I have to remind myself that this isn’t anything new to Hawke and Bentley—they do things like this every other week forHawke’s Wild World, and Hawke did it for years before that during his park ranger and camp founder days. I wonder what that must be like, living so much of their lives among nature and experiencing such adventures. My heart soars at the idea, but I don’t understand why—or maybe I just don’t want to consider it. Fear has held me back for so long that it’s habit now to yield to it, to stay firmly in my comfort zone.

Or... that’s what I thought. But after what I’ve overcome in the last thirty-six hours... I’m not so sure anymore. All I know is that, once this trip is over, there are things I’ll need to reflect on, things I’ll need to face. My own personal Pandora’s box is waiting, the key already in the lock, urging me to turn it.

The problem is, I have no idea what will happen if I do—and I’m not yet convinced that I want to find out.

So for now, I ignore it, and concentrate only on putting one foot in front of the other as I trail after Hawke, telling myself that anything—and everything—else can wait.

* * *

Our hike continues through the forest, the trees denser here than they were earlier, with the earth covered in raised roots, innumerable plants, and bush scrub—all of which snag around our ankles and make the simple act of walking difficult. Finally, the ground clears again, but only because we reach a cluster of large boulders blocking our path.

“Let me guess, we can’t go around these, either?” I ask Hawke on a sigh.

“Up and over,” he confirms. “But watch your step—the moss will be slippery, and some of them may not be as stable as they look.”

He leads the way, moving easily from rock to rock, his footwork sure. I tread more carefully as I follow directly behind him, then Zander behind me, and Bentley at the rear. My legs are cramping by the time I step off the final boulder back onto the forest floor, and I’m so focused on shaking them out that I’m not paying attention to the path before me.

Or what just slithered across it.

The moment I see the massive brown snake—startling it as much as it startles me—it’s too late to do anything other than freeze, my fight-or-flight response nonexistent.

But then, just as it hisses and strikes out at me, Zander’s arms wrap around my waist like steel bands, hauling me backward, right as Hawke’s hunting knife flies through the air.

I’m still frozen as the survivalist unpins the now-dead snake from his blade and quickly drags it away. “That was close,” he says. “Nice reflexes, Zander.”

“You okay, Charlie?” Bentley asks, his brown eyes concerned behind his glasses, though his camera remains trained on me.

I am absolutely not okay, so much so that I don’t even care that I’m still held tight in Zander’s arms, trembling like a leaf.

I press back into him when Hawke picks the snake up by its tail, letting it dangle like a six-foot rope. My pulse is thundering so loudly that I can hardly hear him as he goes into narrator-mode, sharing, “This is one of the deadliest snakes in existence: the eastern brown snake. It’s said to have the quickest-killing venom in the world, and an untreated bite can cause death in as little as thirty minutes.”

A whimper leaves me without my permission, my legs so wobbly that I can barely hold myself up. Zander notices and pulls me closer, all while Hawke explains how snakes are more afraid of us than we are of them, and generally only attack when threatened or startled—which is unfortunately what just happened.

“It’s illegal to kill snakes in Australia, unless they pose a threat to human life,” he continues, lowering the snake back to the ground. “So while I can see this has shaken you, Charlie, and while it’s a shame to have ended the life of such a noble creature, this encounter is also fortuitous, since it means we’ve found our lunch.”

Before I can process his words, there’s another flash of his hunting knife, a quick, downward swipe, and then?—

I gag and shove my face to the side, unconsciously turning into Zander’s chest. His arms wrap even tighter around me, one hand cupping my head to keep my cheek pressed against him so I don’t have to see the grisly scene before us.

“Hawke,” he snaps, his voice sharper than I’ve ever heard it. “A little warning wouldn’t hurt.”

“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: survival is about opportunity,” Hawke states unapologetically.

“I get that,” Zander grinds out. “But you could have?—”

“It’s fine,” I rasp, finally pulling away from him. “I’m fine.” My words are shaky and I likely look as ill as I feel, but I inhale deeply and keep my eyes on Hawke andnotthe beheaded snake at his feet as I repeat, “Really, I’m fine.”

“Snake meat is an excellent source of lean protein,” Hawke says. “So as much as it might turn your stomach, this is one meal that’s just too good to pass up.”

I don’t need an explanation. I don’t evenwantan explanation. What I want is for us to leave the area in case the snake has friends or family nearby.

Thankfully, Hawke reads that in my eyes, and we move out again, but only until we find a flat, clear space where we can safely light a fire.

For the sake of self-preservation, I tune out everything Hawke says as he prepares the snake for cooking, keeping my focus entirely on Bentley as he replaces his camera battery with a fresh one. It’s only when the “meal” is roasted nearly to charcoal that both Zander and I are willing to move anywhere near it, and even then, that’s because Hawke threatens to force-feed it to us otherwise. I would rather attempt the world’s longest Tyrolean traverse than put the snake meat anywhere near my mouth, but I watch as Zander reluctantly does so, and somehow summon the courage to try it myself.

The first thing I notice is how bony it is. And the second?—

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