Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 137131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Another little vampire comes for me, landing on my arm and instantly stabbing into my skin.
I never said I liked all bugs.
I grit my teeth and slap at it, but the momentum makes me wobble and I tumble back against a thick tree. Rugged bark scrapes my shoulder.
Ow.
I’m too old for this crap.
Or is it too young?
As the forest wakes up with ominous night sounds, I pause and think.
I am definitely too something for this adventure.
Too alive, maybe.
Too sheltered.
Definitely too soft.
My stomach cramps again, even worse this time. I heave from the sensation, bending over to cough up stomach bile into the brush next to me.
I haven’t eaten since last night, honestly.
There’s nothing left for me to throw up.
One more mistake among many.
I never should’ve left my nice, comfy sleeping bag and gotten more lost.
Instead of staying put and letting myself dehydrate like a normal person while I waited for another hiker to stumble across me, I just had to get thirsty. Then I had to go and drink from that little stream.
It looked clear enough, but what do I know?
Not much, apparently.
Now, my entire body rebels, determined to speed up my doom by dehydration.
God, this really might be the end.
I need to focus, though.
Just sit down. Relax. Breathe.
Doubled over, I walk over to the tree that scraped me and slump down against its trunk.
Civilization feels like a far-off dream. Did it ever exist at all?
I can’t remember what sleeping in a real bed feels like.
All I know is dizziness and pain and the never-ending chirps and humming of the forest.
My legs ache, demanding water and electrolytes, reminding me that all I’ve done today is float around in circles.
But… but if I stop now, if I shut my eyes too long and drift off, I’ll never find my way out.
I have to keep going.
Keep moving.
Keep—
My fingers dig into moss and I blink, trying to process the info relayed by my own senses.
Somehow, I’ve gone sideways without noticing, and now my nose is about two inches from the ground.
Oh, this is bad.
The kind of hanging over the edge of a cliff bad that has me scrubbing at my face to dislodge the fear, the confusion.
Even my breathing feels erratic.
I wince and clear my parched throat, wishing I had the words to curse the people who put me here.
Holden.
My stupid parents.
Archer.
No, not him. He might’ve trampled my heart, but at least he had reasons that aren’t completely selfish.
Mostly, I want to curse myself.
There’s a deep ringing in my ears, and I suck in a long breath. Then another. No matter how much I breathe, I can’t shake the weird buzzing sound that only amplifies.
Am I on the verge of passing out?
Groaning, I push myself up, hugging the tree for support.
Come on, one, two.
One, two.
One little step at a time.
I’m plodding along like a drunken camel, but at least I’m plodding.
If I just keep on going in one direction, one shaky step at a time, I should reach the edge of the forest eventually.
Logically, that makes sense.
A Hail Mary that gives me just enough hope to bargain with the universe.
“I don’t want to die,” I rasp. Ridiculous, sure, but I have this weird urge to hear my own voice. “How do you think Archer would feel?”
My heart twists, thinking about him and Colt both.
If I never make it out of here alive, they’ll beat themselves up forever.
Archer, he’ll blame himself for chasing me out here, an unforgivable failure when all he ever wanted was to protect me.
And Colt, being the sweetie that he is… he’ll never get over being the last person to talk to me. He’ll think he could have said something to put the brakes on my stupidity.
Even poor Lyssie, the unlucky recipient of my last dumb joke.
I can’t give up.
I can’t give up for them because fighting for myself isn’t enough.
I just wish my throat didn’t feel like I’ve gargled half the Sahara, but the pain screams I’m still in this.
“Come on, pick yourself up. You’re gonna live. You’re going to survive. You have to,” I whisper. My knees aren’t playing ball, so I crawl forward, falling over a few times until my nails dig into the dirt.
I’ll never clean it out at this rate, but they’re half-destroyed, anyway, chewed to bits.
Pain becomes my mantra with every step.
Guilt becomes my courage.
The evening gloom drapes over the trees, the late summer air hanging thick and stifling. Somehow, I’m still drenched in sweat after feeling like I’ve shed half my water weight.
That frenzied buzzing in my head gets louder, more insistent, more worrisome.
Sighing, I shake my head, but that won’t make it go away.
Something lands on my arm—thicker than the mosquitos that keep plaguing me.
I squint down.
“Work, brain,” I slur.
It’s amazing how everything can hurt and feel numb at the same time. None of my senses work.