Chapter Forty-Two
It’s funny the things that go through your head when you’re in freefall. The way my mom stands on one foot, like a flamingo, when she washes dishes. The squeak of cheese curds between my teeth on a childhood trip to Montreal. The softness of my grandmother’s hands.
Soft, floaty memories that don’t prepare me for the bone crush of my body making brief but decisive contact.
My shoulder crashes into the hard edge of the earth, sending my feet over my head as I bounce like a ball down the side of the cliff.
Or maybe it’s just a hill, but it doesn’t really matter, as my body crashing into the rocks yields the same level of pain no matter what the geographical feature.
I brace my head and neck with my hands, trying to angle my body so my legs take as much impact as possible, which I realize may not be a good idea when a hot slice of pain rips through my foot.
The foot that I need to walk. The walk that I need to do to get myself and everyone else out of these woods.
Finally—mercifully—the momentum of my fall slows and I land with one final thud on my back.
I open my eyes, or rather, the one that’s not swollen shut, and see nothing but the canopy of trees looming high above me.
I’ve had the wind knocked out of me, and so I spend several minutes just gasping for breath, waiting for my lungs to return to their full capacity.
When I can breathe normally again, I take stock of my injuries.
I wiggle my fingers and toes, roll my wrists and ankles.
I shake my head from side to side, then nod up and down.
Thankfully, nothing appears to be broken.
The most urgent pain is coming from my left foot.
I bend my knee, groaning from the effort, and pull my foot toward my chest with my hand.
It’s covered in blood and dirt and bits of forest debris.
I wipe away what I can, and though I can’t tell exactly what is what, I can surmise that there’s a big gash there, one that will most certainly need stitches.
The best I can do for now is to try to wrap it up, stem the bleeding.
The realization that, in my fall, I lost what was left of my water, should bring me to a panic, but I can only regard this fact with a detached disappointment, like when a restaurant has run out of the dish you were going to order.
What I do have is the plastic bag, still looped around my wrist, tattered and torn, but just fine for wrapping up my foot.
I hoist myself up to a sitting position and carefully wind the plastic around my foot, securing it by tucking it into itself. The pressure helps with the pain, but not enough that I feel confident to try to stand.
I need to get going, but everything hurts so much, and I’m so tired.
Maybe I’ll just have a little sleep. I lower myself down on my side, letting myself sink into the soft forest floor.
I gather myself into a tight ball. I feel the weight of my head sink into my ear, and my ear into the ground.
My heavy eyes start to droop. I listen to the rumble of the forest floor, letting the low hum lull me. I feel the world recede.
When I wake, who knows how much later, I’m staring into the brown eyes of the bear, just inches from my face.
Wait, no, it’s not the bear, it’s Sue-Ellen.
Wrong again—how could I not recognize the golden amber flecks of Kei’s eyes?
“Hey.” He strokes my face, trailing his fingers over my many stings. I wince, anticipating the pain, but it doesn’t come.
“How did you find me?”
He smiles his kind smile. “I went west.”
“Me too,” I say, pushing myself up onto my elbows. “Or at least, I tried. And then I got into a fight with some wasps.”
He sucks in air through his teeth. “Looks like they won.”
“I was outnumbered.”
He smiles again and picks up my arm. He kisses each one of my stings, his lips like a balm for the pain.
His tenderness is overwhelming. I realize I’m crying, bawling, my bathing suit is soaked with my tears. Or maybe it’s my sweat. But I’m shivering.
“Don’t cry,” Kei says. He pulls me into him, and I let my body melt into his. “You’re so close. You’re going to get us all out of here.”
This makes me cry even harder. “I’m not. I’m lost. I tried to go west but it only got me here.” I sob into his chest.
“Shhh,” he says, stroking my hair. Then he says it again, this time more forcefully. “Shhh.”
“What?”
“Do you hear that?”
“What?”
“Close your eyes. Listen.”
But I can’t hear anything, just the rumble of the forest floor.
Wait a minute.
My eyes snap open. The forest floor doesn’t rumble, that’s not a thing.
I don’t know shit about nature, but I can categorically say that the forest floor does not rumble.
I sit up, straining my ears to listen. At first, there is nothing, just the occasional forest noise—rustling branches, a distant owl, normal stuff. But then I hear it.
The unmistakable drone of an engine. And then another one. It’s a faraway sound, but it’s there.
“Cars!” I exclaim. But Kei is gone. I spin around, pain shooting up my leg, but he’s gone.
I scramble to my feet. All the places where my body hurts register, but I am anaesthetized by adrenaline.
I start to hobble in the direction of the sound, stopping periodically to make sure I can still hear it.
It gets a little louder, a little closer each time.
The progress propels me forward. I’m getting light-headed.
Stars streak in front of my eyes, and everything in my field of vision is getting lighter, brighter.
I stop, crouching down to put my head between my knees. The world swirls around me.
The noises are so close now that I can identify individual vehicles as they pass by. I lift my head, but I’m so dizzy. I kneel on the ground until it passes.
After a long moment, I lift my head. No stars, but the brightness is still there. I squint, the sharp lines of trees coming into focus.
Oh. Now I understand.
The brightness is coming from lights. Man-made lights, shining just past those trees.
I bring myself up to standing one more time, my legs threatening to collapse beneath me.
I stumble forward, grasping at tree branches to keep me upright.
I hear a voice, a man laughing, the sweetest sound I have ever heard. I burst through the tree line.
I am somewhere. A parking lot. A gas station.
A man is leaning against his car, sipping coffee and looking at his phone.
“Hello,” I try to say, but it comes out as a strangled wheeze.
The man looks up, sees me. His mouth opens and his hand drops, spilling his coffee.
Is he scared? This bikini-clad creature wandering out of the forest, filthy, swollen, bloody.
I bare my teeth, trying to smile, to show I’m friendly. He takes a step toward me.
Lights out.