Chapter Five
Abby walked as best she could with her sore knee.
Thankfully, it wasn’t as painful as it had been the day before, but she was still bruised and scraped up in other places from the accident, so moving in general was not fun.
But at the moment, she’d move even if her leg was broken.
Anything to get away from whoever it was that had come into their campsite and stolen their food.
She kept checking behind her, convinced that whoever it was, was following them.
She imagined him to be lurking like a blood-crazed killer, drooling and maniacal as he grew closer.
She saw no one, but it did little to ease her qualms.
She followed Whit for what felt like hours, with Whit keeping at a pace she could handle, which was nice of her.
After all, Whit could just up and leave her behind if she so chose.
Abby was grateful that she was still remaining by her side, trying to help them both escape this unexpected predicament.
Abby forced herself onward, determined to keep up her end of the deal by staying right behind her and not complaining about the pain or the fatigue she felt.
They both had other things on their mind.
Way more important things. Like how they were going to survive and get away from whatever creep might be after them.
By the time Whit eventually slowed, and Abby heard the rush of water, her lips were dry and her mouth parched. Her knee throbbed and she felt like collapsing. She nearly did onto a large rock next to the amber-colored creek. “What time is it?” she asked as she massaged her knee.
Whit didn’t even have to glance at her watch. “Close to three.”
“We have been walking for hours,” Abby said, mostly to herself.
She went limp on the rock, thinking how much a hard, cold surface had never felt so good on her backside.
And her feet. God, her feet. She swore she had blisters on her toes and heels.
Big, full blisters that were torn open and raw.
She unlaced her hiking boots and gently pulled them off expecting to see bloody socks.
But her socks were still white, edged with dirt around the ankles.
She peeled them off. She definitely had some blisters.
Big, red, full ones. And they were so sore. She winced as she touched them.
“Soak them in the water for a while,” Whit said nonchalantly. “The cold will help the pain and swelling.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep.”
Abby walked carefully to another rock, this one close to the water. She sat and submerged her feet in the water, crying out at the shock of the cold. Whit laughed.
“It’s freezing,” Abby said, lifting her feet out to hover above the creek surface.
“That’s why it’ll help.”
Abby lowered her feet back into the water and clenched her teeth. “This better work.”
“Pretty soon you’ll be so numb you won’t feel a thing.”
Whit walked upstream from Abby and filled the filtering water bottle.
It took a while before the filtering was complete, but once it was, she brought the bottle to Abby and encouraged her to drink.
Still parched, Abby clenched the container and began to gulp, her thirst overwhelming.
The cold water flooded her mouth and throat, and a bit dribbled down her chin. Whit gently tugged on the bottle.
“Not so much,” she said. “Just sip it. You don’t want to get sick.”
Abby wanted to groan in protest, but instead she listened and sipped the cold water slowly before setting it down next to her. “So, what now?” she asked.
Please tell me we’re stopping for the day.
“We set up camp,” Whit said glancing around. “We’ve got water to drink here and we can fish.”
“We’re going to fish? With what?”
Whit only smiled. “First we build a fire, then the shelter, and then we fish.”
Abby removed her feet from the water, having gone pleasantly numb.
She took off her jacket and used it to pat them dry and then pulled her socks on before stepping back into her boots.
After lacing them up, she stood and followed Whit, who was gathering firewood.
Abby helped, bringing a few armloads to the pile Whit was making not far from the water.
She didn’t realize how tender her hands were until she handled the dead tree limbs and rough bark. When she had to break the wood, like Whit was doing using her foot and hands, Abby winced as the bark scraped her palms.
“You should wear gloves,” Whit said, noticing. “Do you have some?”
“They were in the car.”
Whit moved on and kept working, now making another stack close to a set of trees, presumably for the shelter. Abby paused and examined her hands. They were cold and red, and now sore from work. But she refused to complain and instead, held her hand out to Whit expectantly.
“You hurt?” Whit tried to look at her palm, but Abby retreated.
“I want the fire starter kit,” Abby said.
“Oh?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“Okay. But don’t use the fire plugs. The dry brush should be good enough to get it started.”
Abby took the kit and arranged wood and brush just as she’d seen Whit do the day before.
She struck the ferro rod. Sparks flew and several embedded in the ball of brush.
She quickly leaned in and blew lightly, encouraging a flame.
At last, one came to life and she placed it beneath the pile of wood and nestled it into another, larger collection of dried brush and weeds where it caught with a whoosh and began to grow.
Proud of herself, Abby angled back on her haunches and watched the flames, loving the popping and snapping sounds.
She turned to search for Whit, to show her what she’d done, and she found her standing nearby watching her intently.
“I did it,” Abby said, hoping it was sufficient. She never had had much confidence in her abilities, especially when it came to doing new things. She was always worried her efforts weren’t good enough.
“Yes, you did.” Whit continued to kick at a fallen tree, trying to break up the trunk. Abby waited to see if she’d say more. She didn’t. Abby stoked the fire, concerned that maybe Whit wasn’t happy with the job she’d done. If she was she would’ve said so, right?
Abby stood and added more wood to the flames.
Whit had crossed to the shelter pile with the dead tree trunk in tow.
Abby wrang her hands, unsure what to say.
Should she ask if the fire was good enough?
Or just move on? But what could she do next to help?
Fish? Yes, maybe she could try to fish. If so, with what?
What was Whit planning on using? Her bare hands?
Whit caught her staring and stopped what she was doing. “You need something?”
Abby stammered. “Just uh—wondered if—I should keep adding wood to the fire or—”
Whit’s gaze flicked to the fire. “It’s going pretty good right now.”
It’s good? I did well, then?
“Should I try and fish? While you work on the shelter?”
Whit slid her buck knife from her ankle sleeve and began hacking at the small offshoots of branches on the log. “Can’t. I haven’t made the spear yet.”
“Oh. Right.” She remained where she was, still feeling useless.
“If you want, you can gather some pine needles for the bedding.”
Abby perked up. “Okay.”
“And after that, I saw some mushrooms over in that thicket. They’re safe to eat if you want to collect them.”
“Sure.” She smiled, but Whit didn’t see her.
She was already focused back on the log.
Abby bent to gather big bunches of pine needles.
She brought them to Whit, who moved some of the wood so she could put them in the right place.
She once again felt good in helping, but as she smiled, she recalled sleeping in the shelter Whit had made the night before.
It had been warm and cozy until early morning, and at the time she’d felt relatively safe.
But now she knew differently. Now she knew they hadn’t been safe at all and she felt an anxiousness rise in her gut as she thought about nightfall and how they’d be exposed once again.
“Do you think we lost whoever it was?” she asked. Whit had no way of knowing for sure, but Abby was seeking comfort in any way she could find it. She prayed Whit would play along, even if it wasn’t really what she thought.
Whit paused, glanced at her, and then set the broken trunk against the tree next to Abby. “I’m sure they lost interest.”
Abby could’ve hugged her.
“We walked for hours, so I seriously doubt they followed us.”
“We would’ve noticed,” Abby said, looking back over her shoulder just for good measure.
But Whit didn’t respond. Her face merely clouded as if she didn’t agree with Abby’s statement. The stomach churning returned and Abby left the questions alone. She didn’t want to know what Whit was thinking now. She didn’t think she could handle it. She was worried enough.
Whit seemed to sense her concern. “How about those mushrooms?”
“Sure. I’m on it.”
“You want to pull the whole thing from the ground, but then cut away the bottom of the stem and roots.” She handed over the utility knife. “Take the pot to carry them in.”
But as Abby walked away, she wondered how many potfuls she should bring back.
She should’ve asked. Dang, why hadn’t she asked?
She walked into the patch of thick green and heavily shaded trees and saw the mushrooms growing in the mossy earth.
They were white-bodied with tan tops. Beautiful.
And there appeared to be enough for a couple of potfuls.
She decided she’d take one potful and tell Whit there was more if she wanted them.
She knelt and maneuvered the mushrooms from the ground.
She made a small pile and when she felt she had enough, she sat and began cutting off the stems. It was quiet, peaceful work and she hummed as she cut.
Soon, she had the pot full and she returned to camp to find Whit halfway finished with the shelter.
“Would you like me to help with that?” Abby asked, setting the pot of mushrooms near the fire.
“Actually,” Whit said. “It would be really great if you sliced up those mushrooms and sautéed them in a little water. I could use something to eat.”
Abby thought the idea sounded good, as her stomach was growling as well. So instead of being offended at being asked to cook, she simply nodded and cleaned the mushrooms and then sliced them up for the pot.
She’d never really tasted mushrooms before because the texture had always weirded her out. She wondered if she’d like these, knowing she’d definitely try them. Her protesting stomach wouldn’t allow her to turn her nose up this time.
Whit finished the shelter and sat near her on a fallen log. She had a heavy, long sapling in her hand, and she began sharpening the end.
Abby watched her when she could, quite curious. She stirred the mushrooms in the pot as she watched, and the smell was starting to add to her hunger.
“Those about done?” Whit asked.
“I think so.”
“Good.” She propped the stick up on the log and came over to the pot. “May I?” She took the utility knife from Abby and stabbed a hunk of mushroom. After she blew on it, she popped it in her mouth and chewed. “Oh, man, that’s good.”
Abby couldn’t help but grin. “Really?”
“Mm. You’ve got to try one.” She plucked another one for her and held her palm under it as she offered the bite to Abby. “Careful, it’s hot.”
Abby blew on the piece of mushroom and briefly, oh so briefly, got lost in Whit’s dark eyes. They were so much like the color of the beautiful flowing creek, she thought she could look into them forever.
“I think it’s cool now,” Whit said.
Abby blinked. “Oh.” She opened her mouth and took the bite. She chewed. It was pretty good. It had a nutty flavor and the texture was a little tough, but not too bad. She would definitely eat them.
“What did I tell you?” Whit said, now smiling.
“You were right.”
Whit returned the utility knife to her and fished out more mushroom with her own knife. Then they sat together and ate, staring at the hypnotizing fire and the beautiful whiskey-colored creek beyond that.
The moment was so nice, Abby almost forgot about the creep who’d snuck into their camp the night before. Almost.