Page 23 of Forced Proximity
We found several more bodies as we descended the hill. I checked them all for pulses because they looked like their limbs were still intact, but every last one of them were dead.
Movement to our left had us turning our heads, but a young doe was the only thing to make an appearance.
There were no people alive.
Not a single one.
We walked and we walked.
It felt like it was forever, but it was likely only a few minutes, until we got to our first stream.
Or, more accurately, a small river.
“Go downstream. Almost all rivers flow south,” he suggested.
I limped at his side, noticing that he didn’t limp at all.
“How do you think we survived that?” I asked him as another rumble of thunder shook the world around us.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I was wondering the same thing.”
I swallowed hard past the lump in my throat and whispered, “I’m scared.”
He squeezed my hand. “Me too.”
This time, we really did walk a long time.
The thunder continued to sound and the lightning kept brightening up the sky, but the rain held off.
“It’s getting dark,” I murmured. “Where do you think we are?”
“The flight is about three and a half hours or so. We were on that plane for a solid two before we crashed. Best guess, Arkansas or Tennessee,” he rumbled. “Look, there’s a shack up ahead.”
I limped next to him until we got to it, and he wrenched open the door.
There was nothing inside but a bunch of boating stuff. Some life jackets. A kayak. Some oars. A blow-up boat that was in need of a lot more air before I’d consider getting into it.
“I could get into that kayak and float until I see something,” I suggested.
“It’s a kid’s,” he said. “Rated for about a hundred pounds max. You won’t be able to float that anywhere. You weigh too much.”
I grimaced.
He was right.
It was very small, and although I was a woman, I wasn’t small enough to keep that kayak above the water.
He went through the stuff in the shack anyway and came up with a machete and some rope.
“That might come in handy,” I mused.
He grunted out a reply and backed out. “Come on.”
I “came on,” following him at a pace that I knew was overly slow for him.
“What’s your last name?” I asked when I saw a frog jump into the river.
I hated frogs.
