Page 80 of Remade
I remembered running down this hill two weeks ago, how easy it’d been.
Uphill, not so much.
I’d spent three hours last night preparing a decent camp, not to mention a solid supply of water, and I’d actually gotten four hours of sleep for my trouble. Now I wanted to shower. I wanted an actual toilet. I wanted proper food. I wanted clean water that came from a faucet or a bottle.
I whimpered and wiped at my muddy fucking face. My heart rate was through the roof, but I couldn’t stop running. I’d been running since I’d woken up. My water was gone. My food was gone. Some part of me had been damp with sweat and humidity for two goddamn weeks. I was so done. I cried and laughed and panted and cursed and shouted. I hated trees. I never wanted to see the color green again. My feet hurt. I had blisters and rashes and a handful of bites from creepy-crawlies.
I’d legit pulled my gun on a centipede yesterday. I’d blown it to fragments.
Never before had my mind been so frazzled, so chaotic, and so desperate.
With my gloves on, I used my hands as much as my feet to climb higher on the mountain. Over boulders and rocks, up a small cliffside trapped behind thick root systems. I pulled myself up, grunting and weeping, hating everything, at the same time as I finally saw the light at the end of the tunnel.
I was gonna make it.
In half an hour or so, I’d see the training facility.
My heart might explode from the adrenaline rush, and it was the only fuel I had left in my body.
Water.
Water.
Please give me water.
Fresh, clean water. Not from a stream where I’d encountered that caiman, not from the waterfall where the water had been too yellow, not from the lake where the water had been too still to be anywhere near drinkable even after boiling, not from theswampy puddles in which I’d become a feast for leeches, and not from condensation pools in big-ass leaves.
I never wanted to see another spider or snake for as long as I lived. And the moths, the lizards, the bugs—oh, the squishy bugs filled with slime that were nothing like in theLion King. Roaches, nymphs, vicious tiger beetles, ants, all the fucking ants.
Ironically, my one and only encounter with an anaconda had been more fascinating than anything else. It’d been fairly small, maybe twelve feet, and it’d slithered away from me.
No jaguars, no Fer-de-lance snakes, no bullet ants—thank fuck. I would’ve expired. What I’d suffered through was enough.
More tears rolled down my cheeks, and I felt legit crazy. Angry, murderous. Fucking plants. I hoped every goddamn tree here became furniture. Cut the whole fucking forest down. Set the global corporations loose and burn the motherfucker to the ground.
I scratched my arm and accidentally glanced down, just to see red streaks of blood from my scratching.
That was great. Exposed wounds—highly recommended.
While we were at it, throw every bird on the grill, and we could have a party. I was sick of their constant cawing and chirping.
I forced myself to stop and have another look at the map. And to calm down a little. My heart kept thundering, and my mouth was too dry.
Okay. I was on the right mountain, at least. That was nice.
I brushed some dirt away from the map and looked up the hill.
Almost there, right? Maybe ten minutes to go?
I hoped I wasn’t the last one to return.
Did anyone quit?
Shit. The thought hadn’t occurred to me a single time so far, but chances were at least one recruit was out.
As long as I wasn’t the last one to get back, I’d be thrilled. Miguel had probably been back for hours already, and Tanner had scored really well during field exercises in the Shenandoah. I could accept Shawn finishing before me too. He was extremely resilient.
With my heart rate down to 150, I picked up the pace again and ran upward as fast as I could.
