Page 51 of Wandering Wild

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 oftendogo 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, “Howshort?”

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 hadanyconfidence 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.”

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