essentials:
Water.
Matches.
Food.
Clothing.
Signal flag.
Whistle.
Compass.
Map.
Flashlight.
Batteries.
Knife.
Sunscreen.
First-aid kit.
He had broken the rules, and now he no longer had a single one of the essentials. Compass broken. Penlight dead. Water gone.
He had been merely going to take some pictures, check his traps, and be out by a little past dark.
Always, always, always carry the essentials.
Always.
Rule number one.
Lost.
What do you do if you get lost? Stay put. Don’t move around. Then, make yourself seen and heard.
He had to move, to find the river, and the only people out here he could make himself seen and heard to wanted to kill him.
Maybe I should try to circle back to the four-wheeler. Maybe I could outrun them, make it back to my truck, then to town before they did.
If he knew where the other men were … but he doesn’t. He could walk right into them. And if they’ve seen his four-wheeler and truck, they’ve probably disabled them. Or might have a man watching them.
No, the river is his best hope. His only.
W aiting to make sure the big man is far enough away not to see or hear him when he moves again, he occupies his racing mind with thoughts of Heather.
For their last anniversary and as a last stand to save their marriage, she had dragged him on a Carribean cruise. Not wanting to go and not hiding the fact, he had tried to talk her out of it in the weeks leading up to it as well as on the short drive from Orlando over to Cape Canaveral, but she had remained steadfast in her conviction that it would be, if not exactly what they needed, at least a hell of a lot of fun, and therefore, good for them.
She had been right.
Not that it had ultimately saved their marriage, but it seemed to at the time—and who knew, maybe he would make it out of here, they’d get back together, and the cruise would be a contributing factor.
The short cruise took them to Freeport, then Nassau, before a full day at sea on their return home.
In Freeport, they had rented a Moped, and she had held onto him as he drove around the island. He had been lost then, too. First, driving on the wrong side of the street, then failing to find much of anything in the way of sights or shops, but it had been a lot of fun. Her arms around him, the sun on his face, the tropical environs—it all conspired, like the rest of the cruise itself, to make her as amorous as him. Pressing her body, particularly her breasts, against his back, her mouth at his ear, she made his body respond—especially the times she slipped her had into his shorts and took him in her hand.
Food and sex. Sex and food.
Sunshine.
Reading.
Swimming.
Dancing.
Sex.
Food.
Up late.
Sleeping in.
Drinking A Kiss on the Lips on deck, the sweet frozen peach bursting in their mouths, the liquor flushing their faces.
Cuban cigars in a quiet corner bar before bed.
Bed.
They made love more in those five days than in the two weeks leading up to them.
His favorite times were when out at sea, they’d open the curtains to their cabin and stand at the window, him taking her from behind, pressing her against the glass, both of them taking in the vast, endless ocean.
It was the most transcendent sexual experience he’d ever had.
At night, their breaths showing on the glass, the moon cutting a shimmering path across the Atlantic for what looked like infinity, it was as if they were the only two people in the dark, wet world.
He’d give anything—anything in that world—to be inside her right now.
Would he ever be again? Would he even see her?
M oss on the north sides of trees, spiders’ webs on the south.
Vertical stick in the ground, movement of the shadows caused by the sun.
The sun. Tracking east to west.
Most of the things he’s read about finding north when lost in the woods worked more easily during the day. Supposed to stay put at night. But he can’t. He’s got to find north so he can find east so he can find the