Page 91 of One Step Too Far

I recover Josh’s stash of chocolate candies and start doling them out. We each get three mini peanut butter cups, though Bob tries to wave his off.

“I’m not that into chocolate.”

“Everyone’s into chocolate. Come on, we all need each other to remain as strong as possible. Take them.”

Bob eyes the gold foil with longing, then caves with a sigh, snatching up the candies and cradling them like precious gems. I understand. I can’t decide whether to eat mine or simply inhale the intoxicating scent over and over.

Just yesterday, I promised myself that if I survived this expedition, I’d never eat granola again. Now, I think if I just survive this trip, I’ll never complain about granola again.

One by one, we polish off our treats. Scott produces two PowerBars. We break them into thirds, creating six shares for five people. Scott hands the extra share to Bob. “Because you’re, like, twice our size.”

Bob looks tempted to argue again, but Scott’s voice is firm, his logic sound.

We finish dinner, such as it is, and return to staring at the sky.

“Time?” Neil asks quietly. So far, he’s managed not to vomit up dinner. More signs of progress.

“Nine thirty,” Miggy supplies.

“How long, do you think...” Scott, glancing at Bob.

“Not sure. I’ve never been medevaced before. They gotta locate an available chopper, summon the volunteers, arrange some supplies. Might be closer to midnight. Or”—he hesitates—“they’ll launch first thing in the morning.”

“Nemeth will push them to come sooner versus later,” Miggy murmurs.

We all nod. What Nemeth wants, Nemeth gets. Finally, we’re grateful he’s such a stubborn ass.

“Either way, we have a few more hours to kill.” Bob pauses, clearly regretting his word choice. Then Neil starts chuckling and Scott starts laughing and next thing, we’re all rolling on the ground like punch-drunk hyenas because he said kill and that’s probably exactly what’s going to happen next.

Bob manages to pull it together first. “Sorry.”

I giggle again, slap a hand over my mouth. Hiccup.

“Guard shifts,” Bob manages this time. “Watch duties.”

Miggy glances around our encampment, then back at Bob. “We could set up an overwatch position. One of us in a tree, with the rifle. Better line of sight, not to mention better angle for shooting.”

Bob looks around. “Um, yeah. Is now the time to say I don’t do trees? Or trees don’t tolerate me? Something like that.”

I raise a hand. “I can climb.” More advantages of a youth spent running wild.

“Can you shoot?” Miggy asks.

“No. Can you?”

“I know how to load a gun and pull the trigger.”

“In other words, you can’t hit bupkes.”

“Is bupkes a big-ass target? Because if so, you’re right.”

I’m feeling stronger now. I prefer doing to waiting, participating to watching. This is something I can offer.

“You’re in luck,” I volunteer. “Monkeying up trees and staying awake all night happen to be two of my core strengths. I’ll take overwatch, but I don’t want the gun. I have my whistle. First sign of approach, I’ll signal. Those of you who can handle a rifle, have at it.”

“I have a handgun in my pack,” Miggy says, opening it up. Well, well, the man is full of surprises. “Not so great for stopping grizzly bears, but... other kinds of predators.”

He gives us all a look.

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