The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur. Thorn and Trey and Matteo take turns carrying Brittany’s pack in addition to their own gear, trading off every fifteen minutes or so. And the rest of us? We just keep our heads down and try not to cause any more scares. I feel shaken by today’s events—I think we all do. It was a close call, like the day I almost slipped at the waterfall. I definitely didn’t realize just how exposed we’d all be when I signed up for this. Having Thorn and Matteo to guide us has always felt like a safety net—
But we’ve had two near-disastersdespitethat.
The stakes out here are more than just bug bites and sweat and rain and the utter absence of all but my most portable comforts; more than the massive headache I feel from today’s lack of coffee, and the way all of my muscles and blisters are screaming for rest.Everythinghurts.
At the same time, things could be so much worse right now. For Brittany—or me, or any of us if we’d stepped the wrong way.
The shock of it all lingers even after we get to Wild Gate.
5:45 P.M. • WILD GATE • SADIE’S JOURNAL
What did I expect from the wilderness? Wild comes with the territory. I shouldn’t be surprised that it isn’t a walk in the park…and yet.
I guess there’s a difference between knowing something and experiencing it: you don’t know what it feels like to be on a mountain just from looking at a postcard, in other words.
My body, right now, is screaming for the things it knows.
A soft bed. A gigantic bowl of mac and cheese with a side of mashed potatoes. Air conditioning. Abby sprawled out on my floor, painting her nails and telling me all about her date with Jonathan as the latest Gracie Abrams album plays in the background.
When I look down at my own mismatched nails, something in me settles. It’s the memory of Thorn’s hands on mine, the way he was so careful and focused…but it’s also the way I’m surprised to find I actually *like* the randomness of the colors. It’s so unlike me, honestly. I like neatness and order—and, yes, classic manicures—so it’s comforting to realize I can be okay without things being exactly as I planned. I like to be in control: to be prepared for every single situation that could possibly come up so I can conquer it with ease…or so I can know how to avoid anything too risky in the first place.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that, out here? You just can’t know every single thing that will come up. Sometimes it’s as small and inconsequential as a nail polish crisis, and sometimes it’s a girl nearly falling over the edge of a cliff.
I’m really glad Brittany is okay.
19THORN
I can’t get today out of my head.
I keep seeing what could have happened had Silas and I not gotten to Brittany in time—keep kicking myself for the fact that we had an incident at all. I saw that thick root, stepped carefully so my own shoes wouldn’t get caught.
Why didn’t I warn anyone? Isn’t that my job, to keep an eye out for the things that could trip people up? These are amateurs. They’re trusting me. And I let them down.
You didn’t letanyonedown, Danica’s voice echoes in my head.Your quick reaction timesavedher.
We had a long talk earlier; she was waiting at Wild Gate when we got there, a pair of crutches for Brittany in tow along with a couple of pepperoni pizzas for everyone to share. I couldn’t stomach any of it, and Danica had already eaten, so we headed over to the old wrought iron gazebo that probably looked really nice before the rust set in. The wood benches need maintenance—termites, from what I can tell—so we sat on the steps that lead out to the gravel walking path.
I’m still there now, even though Danica drove Brittany out of herea while ago. Matteo’s getting the others settled for camp tonight, their tents popping up one by one amid the sea of wildflowers.
“Knock, knock?”
I turn and see Sadie leaning against the gazebo, her long hair loose after being tied up all day. She gives a little wave.
“You okay?” she asks, then quickly adds, once she sees my face, “I can leave if you want to be alone.”
It’s only now that I realize I’m scowling. I try to relax a little, let the tension melt out of me.
“You can stay,” I say, shifting on the steps so she’ll have room to sit down.
When she does, something about her being this close—her body pressed right up next to mine, her soft curves and warm skin—finally puts me at ease. Her leggings are splattered with mud all the way up to her knees, with a few tiny holes in the fabric from the brush we hiked through today. There’s even a little mud on her cheek, I notice when I take in her face, and a splash of freckles she usually covers up with makeup. The hint of dark circles under her eyes, too.
“How areyou?” I ask, all too aware that I still haven’t answered her question—but I’m tired of thinking about me right now. I want to know about her.
“Other than the massive caffeine headache and how everything hurts and how I need a massage so badly I could cry?” she says, laughing, even though I sense it’s more a defense mechanism than anything. “Pretty good, actually. The pizza helped.”
My stomach growls at the mere mention of food, loudly enough that Sadie hears it, too.
“Guess my appetite is back,” I say, trying to crack a joke, but she just studies me.
