Joseph stopped dead in his tracks.
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That tree.
The one that had grown over the rock, swallowing it like a giant clam.
Had he seen it before?
Yes, he had.
When?
Not more than twenty minutes ago.
Where was he?
He had been wandering around aimlessly for hours.
He was hungry.
He was thirsty.
His body ached.
He was covered in scratches.
He had lost a father.
Again.
He wandered down an embankment and was surprised to spot the small creek he had found yesterday.
After the accident.
The one that he would never forget.
The... He shook his head to clear the memory. Approaching the river, he threw a stick in and watched as it drifted past him downstream.
That’s it!
He would follow the Campbell River, maybe it could take him back to civilization. And freedom.
Glorious freedom.
He sat on the ground and retrieved the map. He traced the river as it snaked southward through the trees heading towards the town they had stayed at.
He hoisted the pack on to his shoulders. His shoulders ached, and he would have to stop for a rest soon. But not now. He had to make some progress before it got dark.
He pushed his way through the dense forest, trying to keep his feet amid the protruding 24
tree roots and sharp jagged rocks, threatening to grab his feet from underneath him. He was surprised that he could follow the river without too much difficulty.
He stopped for a rest.
He only afforded himself a few mixed nuts and berries from his pack.
He had to keep moving.
The ground was pebbly and it stretched as far as he could see in either direction. It was the same on the other side. Casually he threw a flat stone and it skimmed across the river, falling just short of the bank on the other side.
He shivered and continued on.
It was 7:28. He was set up on the banks of the Campbell River and was safe.
For now.
Something crashed through the trees behind him.
What was it?
A Sasquatch?
Had the wolf tracked him, using his excellent sense of smell, stalking him, waiting till he was asleep?
He climbed into the tent and hid in his sleeping bag shivering uncontrollably, and it wasn't just the cold.
It was the unknown.
What was around him?
Where was he?
Would he survive?
Thoughts raced around his head, confusing him.
He shut his eyes to escape his mental anguish and drifted off to an uneasy sleep.
He dreamt of indians, out in the wild, hunting, feasting around a large bonfire, singing, and dancing the night away. The indian settlement they had stumbled upon seemed like years ago. Was it really only a couple of days?
He had seemed so happy, so full of life then.
He awoke early and was amazed at the hour; 10:30. He had slept in, in this wild and untamed land. He checked his supplies.
A day of food, if that.
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Beyond that was uncertainty.
The battery in his torch was low and he needed to conserve it.
He changed clothes and immediately felt refreshed. A quick breakfast of an egg, a small amount of bacon and one slice of toast had him in high spirits.
Home.
It seemed like a world away.
He packed up and headed off. Birds whistled and for a while, he forgot about his present situation as the sun worked its magic and warmed him up inside his battered and bruised body.
He stopped for lunch and got out his camera to take photos.
The river.
The trees.
The birds.
It all seemed so peaceful and innocent. He ducked his head to remove the camera from around his neck, but lost grip and the camera soared through the air and into the water about six feet out.
Instinctively he waded out.
The camera was waterproof and could take some damage so he knew it wasn't ruined but it had been a birthday present from Peter. A few feet out from the shore and he began to struggle against the current which was surprisingly strong, so close to the bank.
He knew the camera had to be nearby.
So near, and yet so far.
So elusive. It seemed to leer at him. Beckoning him to come closer. He was about waist deep but the current seemed to be getting stronger and he was struggling in the icy water.
He hit a deep hole and went under. With no resistance, he was carried swiftly downstream, and he came up spluttering, his mouth full of water. He managed to swim towards the shore and grab hold of a sturdy branch.
His savior.
As he hoisted himself towards safety, he heard the splitting of wood. Fully clothed and sopping wet, he was much heavier than usual. He dared not move in case the branch dumped him back in to the depths.
Suspended in the water, his fate literally hung in the balance. Around him the water flowed by, ignoring him.
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He made a last ditch dash for freedom, trying to hoist himself onto the thicker part of the branch. The splitting branch howled in protest.
Sink or swim.
The branch snapped.