Page 66 of Wandering Wild
I don’t utter my agreement, and instead say, “Where’s your unfailing optimism, Charlie Hart?”
Her tone is deadpan when she answers, “It’s back at the hotel with my sense of adventure. They’re vacationing together, having a grand old time without me.”
This time, I can’t repress my chuckle, but my humor flees when I see her trembling. I draw her close, wrapping her tight in my arms as I say, “I know it’s scary—I’m scared, too. But we’ll do it together, like everything else. We’ve made it this far, haven’t we? Nothing can stop us now.”
Instead of being emboldened, she groans against my chest. “Don’t jinx us! Couldn’t you have said thatafterwe’re out the other side?”
I pull back so I can grin down at her. “Don’t worry, I’ll say it again then, along with ‘I told you so.’”
She wrinkles her nose and makes a huffing sound. “No one likes a smug know-it-all,especiallybefore they have a reason to be smug.”
“Then let’s give me a reason,” I say, turning her toward the tunnel and moving us both closer to it.
She doesn’t resist, though I know every part of her wants to. Instead, she declares, “You’re going first. I don’t care if I have to push you—I’ll do it. Consider it payback for the skydiving.”
I was planning to go first regardless, if only so I can help Charlie if she freezes up again like she did during our first slot canyon experience. This one is different, since we won’t be wedged between any rock walls—hopefully. But it’s a new kind of claustrophobia we’ll be dealing with, having the added element of water. I’m trying not to think about what happened with the river yesterday, since I know my mind will run away from me if I do. As it is, my heart is beginning to hammer behind my bruised ribcage, a painful reminder that no matter how careful we are, things can always go wrong.
But there’s nothing for it, and I need to keep outwardly calm for Charlie’s sake, so I draw on my acting skills to appear as unruffled as I can while I lower myself into the water.
A hiss leaves me at the cool temperature, but I can at least say, “It’s not as icy as the river.” That’s one of the benefits of it being rainwater, rather than mountain runoff. A small mercy.
“Oh, good,” Charlie mutters, “we can scratch hypothermia off the list. Just three million other things for us to worry about.”
I don’t respond since I’m concentrating on easing myself down, while silently praying I’ll be able to reach the bottom. But the water keeps rising above my hips, my waist, my chest and then to my neck before I resign myself to not knowing the depth.
“Please tell me you can touch the ground?” Charlie begs, watching me with an anxious expression.
I tread water, deciding honesty is best—with a dash of hope. “Not quite, but we’ll likely be able to once we’re further along.” It makes sense, since the tunnel surely has to slant upward again for us to exit it on the other side.
Charlie isn’t reassured, but she gathers her courage and crouches on the canyon floor before sliding into the water, yelping quietly at the cold.
“You good?” I ask.
“Far from it,” she grits out. “Just go before I change my mind.”
Heeding her request, I turn toward the darkness and swim slowly into it, careful to keep my head above the surface. All too soon the sunlight trickling into the canyon fades, leaving us surrounded by blackness, with only the faint glow from our wristwatches offering any reprieve.
“For the record, I hate this,” Charlie whimpers behind me, her words hoarse around her panted breaths. Our paddling isn’t overly strenuous, so I know it’s terror that’s constricting her lungs.
“You’re doing great,” I say, before wincing at how much I sound like Hawke. I try to take her mind off her fear by asking something I’ve wondered since I first met her. “Why Charlie Bear?”
I sense her confusion even in the darkness. “Why what?”
“Charlie Bear,” I repeat. “Ember’s nickname for you—where did it come from?”
“Oh.” Charlie releases an embarrassed laugh. The sound eases something in me, since it means my diversion is working. I continue swimming forward, listening as she begins her explanation, and hoping she’ll remain distracted enough not to notice that the tunnel ceiling seems to be lowering.
“You remember last night when I said I used to dream about going on adventures and exploring the world?” she asks.
I make a sound of confirmation.
“Well, I went through an arctic stage,” Charlie admits, still sounding embarrassed. “And during it, I was maybe alittleobsessed with polar bears.”
I smile even though she can’t see it. “How obsessed?”
“Obsessed enough to want one for a pet,” she answers. “And obsessed enough to cry for days when I kept being told it would never happen. Something about the whole slice-your-throat-open savagery was apparently a red flag. Go figure.”
“Shocker,” I say dryly.
