Page 51 of Final Approach

Fuck. This was no longer the beautiful reprieve to get clean and refreshed. The rain was an assault with the potential to ruin everything we’d just built.

“We should get to higher ground,” I shouted to Nikki over the pounding crackle of the rain, which now nearly covered the tops of my feet. Our sanctuary was only a few inches higher than where I stood.

“What?” Nikki shouted back—at least, I think he did—he was a blur of color behind a water shield as I blindly made my way in the direction I’d last seen him.

The water now covered my ankles, slick and cool against my skin. We would lose everything if it rose any higher. Our food would be contaminated and any chance at saving our electronics when we were rescued would be gone.

“We need to get to higher ground,” I repeated, every part of me now so saturated, my cotton shorts sagged down my thighs and hung at my knees. I stumbled into a body, and barely caught myself from falling right into the microorganism soup at my feet before two powerful hands gripped my biceps, holding me up.

“Jesus, Marley,” Ambrose whispered into my ear—or it was a scream. It was impossible to tell in this maelstrom.

I dug my nails into his skin and shouted into his face. “We have to save our stuff!”

Panic threatened to drown me if this vertical sheet of water didn’t. I shook free from his grip and waded to the greenery at the edge of my vision.

We wouldn’t survive without the first-aid kit. Without the boiled water.

We had to save our stuff.

With an almost abrupt flourish, the skies closed the faucet. A cloudburst, not a monsoon. My relief was delayed while I shivered through the adrenaline still coursing through my veins.

We’re okay, Marley. We’re okay.

Running my hands through my sopping hair and wiping away the water from my eyelids, I scanned our outpost just a few feet away. The rain had saturated most of our things and the single flimsy canopy, but nothing sat in stagnant water. Our things were safe.

The humidity that remained was somewhat suffocating, like breathing through a wet cloth.

Shaking off my shoes, I pulled them onto somewhat dirty feet and strode back toward the shelter, all whimsy of the moment stolen by another potential source of death. As if on cue, the members of our group followed suit to inspect their belongings.

There was no point in starting a fire now. I’d have to find something dry enough to start it with later. Grimacing, I remembered Tessa still had another paperback in her bag. It looked like we’d have to burn another book.

Ambrose made a beeline for his carry-on and frantically unzipped his military-grade, apparently life-proof case to check on his laptop. I was far more concerned about the first-aid supplies, and was relieved to find the gauze and tape had remained dry in its plastic protective shell.

“Thank fuck!” Ambrose proclaimed and shook the case in his hands as if his Excel spreadsheets could save him. “Thank fuck!”

I stifled my eye roll and continued repacking the first-aid kit before tucking it away on higher ground. The man had a watch that cost more than every single thing I owned combined. He could buy a new one when rescue came.

The rain was enough of an incentive to get everyone involved in building the small overhangs, a task that took the better part of the afternoon. I insisted we move our setup closer to the river’s edge. It wasn’t much higher, but the power of the rain and how quickly it had fallen made me nervous.

By evening, we had five four-by-six rectangular shelters, each with four posts and a woven roof. Tessa and Vanessa took one. Brooks opted to stay close to Danny, who had barely woken for the rest of the day, and no one volunteered to share one with Diaz.

Madman opted for none, stating he’d rather sleep under the stars. Ambrose took his own, having already laid down for bed after popping an ibuprofen. Nikki and I had the last one to share.

We sat around the small fire I’d managed to get going with the remains of a popular romantasy—RIP, beautiful book—in stilted silence. We had shelter for the night and protection from the fire, but rescue hadn’t come.

Swarming bees of anxiety buzzed in my belly.

It’s only day two, Marley. You said so yourself it could be five days.

I had. But I’d also held onto some semblance of naïve hope it would be sooner, even if it had been buried under layers of training. We only had a day's worth of water left. A few days’ worth of medication.

We were literally sleeping in a flood zone.

My clothes were still damp, but my mat had dried. I ate my protein bar in silence, having already eaten an avocado for lunch.

The last time I’d been forced to survive, I had virtually no provisions, and a single water bottle. My father hadn’t even left me with a single tube of antibiotic cream. In the November weather, he’d intentionally set me up to fail.

“You moved in circles for days before finding the right path. I taught you better than that,” he’d chided when I made it to the forestry road four days later, with a fever of 104 degrees from an infected wound, And I’d been so dehydrated I’d required two IVs.