That doesn’t change the fact that I want him.
Seven feverishly scribbled pages later, I look up in a daze. My hand is cramping, my coffee’s long gone, and my left foot has started to fall asleep.
Time for a walk.
I scoot off the boulder, not at all gracefully, and tuck everything into the tote bag I brought along.
The nature path is beautiful and serene, following the curve of the brook all the way down to Sparrow Valley Falls, the crash of the waterfall louder by the minute. All sorts of vibrant things poke out amid the green: brightly colored mushrooms, wildflowers, berries, and birds.
Before coming on this trip, I assumed all places in nature looked more or less the same. Now, though, it’s easier to spot the differences: all the variations of plants and rocks and trees, the way some spots are more rugged than others, how the sunlight bends throughout the day, how the stars and the moon make their way across the night sky.
At the moment, I’m fascinated by the berries; I pull outA Hiker Girl’s Guide to Bugs & Berriesto see if I can find a match for the ones right in front of me. As I crack the book open, something small and rectangular flutters down to the ground, the distinct size and shape of a mini Polaroid picture.
Sure enough, when I inspect it, that’s exactly what it is: a candid of Abby making a heart with her hands.
I flip it over and find a note scrawled in thin silver Sharpie ink.
So, so proud of you, Sadie! You’re doing this! YOU ARE A HIKER GIRL!! Hope this little book comes in handy…I *cannot* have you eating any poisonous berries out there, okay? We can get raspberry crème brûlées once you’re back! —Abby
I love Abby for this thoughtful gift, and it’s good to see her face. This must be what it feels like to get a letter from home onSurvivorafter being out in the wild for so long: a much-needed boost of encouragement, a rekindling of energy. I miss her so much—and crème brûlée, too—but I’m on the home stretch out here. I’ve made it this far, and I can make it to the end.
I fish around in my tote for my disposable camera. Abby will get a kick out of me taking a picture of her Polaroid and the book next to some actual berries.
I snap the photo and move on; I’d really like to get a nice shot of the waterfall while I’m down this way. Even from here, it’s surprisingly loud.
When I emerge from the nature path, the waterfall comes into full, majestic view: it’s bigger in every way than the first two we encountered on this trip—higher, wider, faster, fuller, the pool at the bottom frothing with whitewater.
I’ve just framed the perfect shot through my disposable camera’s viewfinder when I notice Zoe in the lower-left corner. She’s no longer merely loungingnearthe waterfall—she’s climbed up on a wide, flat rock right at the edge of the pool, doing yoga like always.
She’s perfectly balanced, holding one of the warrior positions she taught us before shifting out of it again. A bird swoops low into the frame, the perfect shot—
I click the shutter at the exact moment Zoe jumps in.
33SADIE
“Zoe!” I call out, but of course I’m too far away to cut through the crash of the waterfall.
This is not good, not good at all.
This is not a waterfall any of us should be swimming in: not only did Thorn specifically warn us about it, but there was a whole section about dangerous water in the Henry Herrington handbook I studied before coming on this trip—from the frothing whitewater alone, it’s obvious this falls into that category.
“Thorn!” I shout, hoping he’s within earshot as I rush over to help—we can’t afford silenceorsolitude right now. “Zoe, get out of there!”
But she still doesn’t hear me over the waterfall.
I’m at the edge of the plunge pool in no time. Zoe waves, smiling and oblivious, completely unaware of everything that could go wrong. It would only take a heartbeat for her to be swept up in the turbulent water and pinned into the narrow gap between boulders.
I don’t even want to think about how bad that could be. She could get stuck from the suction—
She coulddrown.
“You have to get out of the water!” I shout again.
This time, she hears me.
Her smile disappears as she registers my panic. She attempts to swim closer to the bank so I can reach out and help from where I am, but the water is unpredictable, pulling her farther away instead—into rougher water, straight toward the boulders.
“Sadie!” she cries, flailing, barely keeping her head above the frothy bubbles.
