Like an answer to Hank, I hear the sound of rain hitting the sea in the distance, and my stomach sinks.
“What do we do?” I ask, my thoughts disintegrating. “Do we cover it with leaves or something?”
Distressed, Hank shakes his head. “We need cover from the storm for ourselves.” A sudden gust of wind shakes the trees. “Damn it! I should have insisted on finding shelter earlier.”
My brain races. “There was a cliff. A little overhang. I saw it near one of my poop spots.”
Hank wrinkles his nose.
“It’s not at the poop spot,” I insist. “It’s just near the poop spot.”
The first sheet of rain arrives, and we both jump into action. “Take us to the cliff!” Hank says, and we’re off.
We scurry back toward the pyramids of wood, and I search my memory, trying to recall exactly where to go. Hank was right; we should have found shelter earlier. Once again, we should have listened to him, and everything is my fault.
I stumble, and Hank grabs my side with his good hand, supporting me as we scurry down the incline and rain begins to fall.
We come to the spot I noticed. There’s a jagged crag, and beneath, enough space to crouch under the mossy rock.
“Thank god,” Hank says as he releases me. We stumble underneath, and I lean against the rocky wall, catching my breath.
Wind whips through the air as the rain picks up, but only a rare spritz of water makes it to us. Unfortunately, we’re both soaked through already, and darkness has arrived with the storm.
“At least we have somewhere dry,” I say, fighting a shiver. “Sorry I made us prioritize the fire.”
Hank gives me a tired look. His brain is obviously sayingI told you so,but he’s kind enough to keep it to himself. He sits back against the rock, gently shaking his bit hand. “Why wouldn’t there be another storm?” he grumbles.
I get down beside him, frustrated with myself and the situation. “Looks like a big one.”
Thunder crashes again, and lightning illuminates the forest, making me wonder what else is out there tonight, what creatures stirring.
Hank swallows, and a chill goes down my spine. “What do we do?” I ask, eager to defer to his expertise. “Hide? Do we need to treat your hand?”
Hank looks at his hand, and I see that it’s puffing up, the bite inflamed.
“Typically, I’d want to wash this and take an antihistamine, but that’s clearly out of the picture.” He closes his eyes. “My heartbeat is normal. That’s good.” When he opens his eyes again, he looks at me, and some concern softens his expression. “How are you feeling? Your stomach any better?”
I put my hand on my belly. “A little. But I’m scared because an invisible mystery creature attacked you, and I’m also starving and freezing to death, so it’s hard to tell.”
Hank strokes the back of his hand. “Best we can both do now is stay calm and wait the storm out.”
I nod, trying to take his advice, although another rumble of thunder reminds me of nearly dying on the raft, inspiring a fresh wave of fear.
When I look at Hank, I see that there’s a drop of water on the tip of his nose. He’s haggard and terrified, but something about the drop of water helps me feel a little bit better.
“Yeah,” I agree softly. “We should try to rest.”
Hank doesn’t relax at all, and neither do I. I see him shiver, and I shiver, too.
“We need to get out of our wet clothes,” Hank murmurs, but he doesn’t move.
I don’t wait in pulling off my t-shirt.
He still doesn’t move.
“Hank?” I ask.
He blinks like he’s coming back to reality. “Right. What?”
