Getting him to my camp was ugly.
“I’m Claire,” I told him. “And you’re coming with me.”
His eyes filled.
“Am I gonna die?” he asked.
My stomach dropped.
I forced my voice steady.
“No,” I said. “Not today.”
“Where’s your group?”
Getting him to my camp was ugly.
Mud. Wind. Dusk.
He slipped. I caught him.
“Hold my hand,” I ordered.
He grabbed on like I was a rope over a cliff.
“Where’s your group?” I shouted.
He stared like his brain had stalled.
“School,” he cried. “We were hiking. I got turned around.”
Thunder cracked. Andrew yelped.
“Eyes on me,” I said. “Just me.”
He nodded fast.
In my tent, I moved fast.
“Boots off,” I said.
His hands shook too much to untie laces.
He stared like his brain had stalled.
“Boots. Off,” I repeated.
He obeyed.
His socks were drenched.
His hands shook too much to untie his laces.
I did it for him.
I poured tea from my thermos.
I shoved dry clothes at him.
“Put these on. Behind the sleeping bag.”
He changed with his back turned, trembling.
I poured tea from my thermos.
“Small sips,” I warned. “Hot.”
He took it with both hands.
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