Tuck hadn’t managed to retrieve all of our luggage from the plane, but he’d tossed out two of my pieces, and two of Charlie’s as well. We’d both condensed those into one small rolling suitcase each. However, the “rolling” part didn’t exactly work in our current terrain. So, while Charlie was strong enough to hold his piece of luggage in one hand—while switching it back and forth—I was carrying mine in two arms against my stomach, making sure to avoid the spot on my hip that still burned. When I’d put on my jacket and then removed my shorts, I’d noticed that blood had seeped through the material at my flank where the seat belt had cut into my skin. I’d used a pair of my undies as a makeshift bandage to stop the bleeding. It would work for now and then I’d have it looked at when we got back to civilization.

Please let that be soon. An hour, hopefully less. I didn’t think I could take any more than that.

Ahead of us, Tuck stopped suddenly. For a moment, we did too, then with a burst of hopeful excitement, rushed ahead. Had he spotted something? We came to stand on either side of him, looking out to the valley below, bathed in a magnificent sunset.

The peachy waves stretched over…absolutely nothing.

“It’s…woods,” Charlie said.

“Fuck,” Tuck swore.

“Oh,” I breathed in disappointment.

Tuck glanced over at me, his eyes moving from my face to the suitcase in my arms, his lips thinning. Instead of commenting, he turned around, stepped forward and looked in each direction from our higher vantage point.

“Well, this is fucking great,” Charlie muttered. He dropped his suitcase and sat on it before removing the water bottle from his pocket that he’d been drinking as we walked. He downed the rest of it before setting it on the ground and then leaning his elbows on his knees and letting out a long-suffering sigh. I felt a burst of annoyance. But that wasn’t fair. This was just a really shitty situation.

Beyond shitty.

The shittiest.

For a moment, my mind spun. How had I ended up here, standing in the middle of nowhere in a pair of leather pants and slippers, holding a carry-on suitcase like it was my baby? It felt surreal. Maybe I’d fallen asleep on the plane and the combination of altitude and the turbulent emotions from the fight we’d had with Tuck had tossed me into a strange dream I was finding it hard to wake from.

I set my own suitcase down and then pinched my wrist. Ouch. No, it was real. We had survived a plane crash. How? I couldn’t say. I knew I should feel thankful, but I was still shocked and terrified. And cold, so, so cold.