Page 122 of Mountain Grump
After powering off the phone, I secure it in the front pouch of the backpack.
I checked everything before we left this morning, but I do another once-over to make sure it’s all here.
First aid. Bag of protein bars. Two empty water bottles with attached filters. The flare kit. An emergency blanket.
I attach the holster to my belt and secure my handgun.
Then I lock the doors of the plane.
Tilda is already looking my way when I round the tail. “Everything okay?”
I nod. “Come here. We’re going to fill the water bottles.”
She glances at the river just yards away. “Handy there’s water here.”
“It’s pretty fresh, but the filters will still be good.” I pull the extra bottles out of my backpack as we walk toward the river’s edge.
“You’ve been here?” She shakes her head before she’s even done asking. “Never mind. You already said we’re going to a cabin nearby.”
I crouch on a large flat rock and place the bottle into the stream. “I usually come in from a different direction. And by land. But I’ve utilized this river before.” I hand her the bottle and the cap, and she twists the top on as I fill up the second bottle. “There’s a well at the cabin, so we’ll be fine. But first rule of being in the wilderness, fill up on water whenever it’s available.”
Tilda gives me a soft smile. “First rule? Will there be a test at the end of the stranding?”
“Yeah but don’t worry, I grade on a curve.” I pull the extra flannel out of my backpack. “Put this on.”
Vegas was hot. Here, it’s not.
Tilda shrugs her backpack off and takes the flannel.
And while she’s putting the shirt on, I grab her tiny bag and shove it into my larger one.
“Ethan,” she sighs.
“Button up,” I tell her, while I pull the zipper closed on my backpack.
Along with providing warmth, the sleeves will help protect her from the sun and tree branches.
Tilda pulls in a sharp inhale, and I jerk my gaze up to her, wondering if she somehow hurt herself.
But she’s not looking at herself.
Or at me.
She’s looking across the river.
“Ethan.”
I’ve seen enough people reacting to wildlife, so I keep my movements slow as I turn, still crouched low.
I expect a bear.
There are lots of black bears out here.
But it’s not a bear.
“Cat,” Tilda whispers, just as I see it.
The mountain lion.
