Now, as she stepped out of the forest and onto the banks of a churning, swollen river, its water frothy and white even in the blackness of the night, she was overcome with thirst-quenching joy.
But was it safe to drink?
Given both the dangers she’d already survived and the ones that lay ahead, she really didn’t want to die from diarrhea, immortalized in an obituary headlined:Cara Campbell, 38, Couldn’t Outrun the Trots.
The best chance for the cleanest water, she decided, was in the middle of the river, where the current was too fast and cold for parasites to thrive.
Using the phone’s flashlight, Cara worked her way up the bank, scanning for a narrow chute or rocky outcropping, but there was no way to reach the middle. After painstakingly traveling a hundred yards or more, she finally came upon an inlet formed by two water-snagged logs and closely spaced rocks where, assuming she didn’t slip and fall in, she could get far enough out into the water for a theoretically safe drink.
Water is good . . .
She needed the light, but it was more critical to keep her balance, so she tucked the cell phone back into her bra. The logs and rocks were too slippery to cross in bare feet, so she pulled her pant legs out of her shoes, rolled them up above her knees, as far up her thighs as they would go, then tightened and double-knotted her shoelaces.
Water is life . . .
She stepped out onto the first log, wobbled, and then steadied herself.
Yes.
The second log bobbed, but somehow, she didn’t.
You.
She leaped onto a big rock half submerged in rushing water.
Can.
With each step, the air got colder and the rumble of the rushing water grew more thunderous.
She took a final hop onto a flat-topped boulder that was as near to the middle as she dared to go. Kneeling, she dipped her cupped hands into the icy current and brought them to her mouth.
The first sip was so deliciously frigid it stung her teeth.
So was the next.
Cara gulped as much as she could hold, then washed her dusty face, even though it made her shiver. She felt like she could live indefinitely on nothing but fresh, clean water.
Hydration: achieved.
She would shelter for the night in a bush away from the river’s coldness but close enough that she could drink again before daybreak. From there she planned to head away from the fire, figuring out what to do next as she went along.
She made it almost back to the bank before she slipped off the log, landing calf-deep in the current. At least she hadn’t fallen in.
Then a blinding light made everything go white. She squinted in confusion as a deep male voice called out.
“Put your hands up and turn around slowly!”
EIGHTEEN
JORDAN
$50 that dumb b*tch don’t make it thru the nite.
—@gamblinman69
Jordan turned on his headlamp, racked his shotgun, and leveled it at Cara Campbell.
The tunnel of white light was so bright it hurt his eyes—outside it, the soft shadows of the forest disappeared into darkness. Moths made dizzying circles as the fugitive stood unsteadily in the rushing water.
