Page 38 of Bitter Truth
When my grandfather promised me a break from the endless work at the sanctuary before school started, this wasn’t what I had in mind. I thought he was going to take me shopping, or maybe even to a movie.
Instead, while the rest of the girls entering the freshman class with me are probably painting their nails and deciding how to wear their hair, I’m here, somewhere in the middle of the woods, with no trail in sight. Drenched in sweat, covered in a thick coat of grime that’s probably going to make me break out for the first day of class, and being crushed under the weight of the pack strapped to my back.
I raise an eyebrow as I notice that Butch isn’t carrying any supplies. Apparently, I’ve graduated from granddaughter to pack mule.
“How are you going to find your way back to the car?” he asks me.
“I’m going to follow you.”
He shakes his head. “It’s up to you to get us out of here. How are you going to do it?”
I sigh. Glare up at the sky, where the sun is to my left.
It was early when we set out. The day was still breaking, but when we left the car, the soft light chasing away the fading grey of dawn was to my right. Though we hiked for hours, it still has to be morning.
Pointing at the blinding brightness, I say, “We go that way. East.”
Butch nods his approval. “Good. Now what is the most pressing need you’re going to have to satisfy?”
“Getting this pack off my back, followed by emptying my bladder.”
“Cassidy.”
“Fine. Water.”
“And how are you going to get it?”
“I’m guessing you mean other than grabbing a bottle out of the bag?”
“Yes.”
“What can I use?”
“Anything in your pack other than the bottled water.”
I grumble as I slide the rucksack off and squat beside it. Rummage around, then pull out the plastic grocery bag I keep in it to carry out any trash I make. I give Butch a look, aware that he’s going to want a demonstration, so without waiting for instructions, I pick up a small, smooth rock and wipe it clean on my pants.
Placing the rock in the corner of the bag, I spin slowly in a circle until I spot a plant I recognize. Covering a patch of star grass with the bag, I loop one of the handles tightly around the opening. Turning backto Butch, I smirk and say, “Water vapor from plants.”
“Why’d you choose that plant in particular?”
“Because I recognize it and know it’s not toxic.”
“Excellent. What would you do if you didn’t recognize any of the plants?”
“Find some grass to lay the plastic out on.”
That hadn’t been the only time Butch took me out into the woods for survival training. By the time I graduated from high school, he could drop me off in the middle of nowhere and I could find my way back. Sometimes, he’d simulate injury situations, a broken femur, a head wound, and have me administer first aid before crafting a way to get the injured party back to safety.
Though at the time it had seemed unnecessary and excessive, I’m grateful for every second he spent training me now. Because if the missing girls are still out here, something happened to them. If one or both of them is hurt, they’ve been that way for days. Being able to administer proper care could mean the difference between life and death.
I remind myself of this each time I think about stashing some of my supplies to lighten the load, though there is one thing I can do to make myself more comfortable. As much as I’ve been fighting it, the time has come to empty my bladder. Apparently, my needs while hiking haven’t changed much.
Slowing my pace, I start looking for a spot, searching for any little alcove off the trail. My hands wrap around the straps of my pack in anticipation of slipping it off, if only for a few minutes. They curl tighter as something catches my attention.
Coming to a stop in the middle of the path, I continue to stare. As I do, a ripple of unease spreadsthrough me. My skin pricks uncomfortably, the hair on the back of my neck bristling as I take a step closer.
There, gathered in a heap, is a collection of branches. It’s not something that could have happened naturally. In fact, as I tear my gaze away to look at the canopy above me, I note that there are none of a similar size overhead. They don’t even belong to the same type of tree.
