Now it wasn’t even getting darker: Decker decided it was officially dark. He couldn’t see beyond his nose and he could see his nose only because it was good-sized. He turned on the flashlight, arcing its beam through the thicket. In front of him was an endless tangle of denuded brush.

There was no way for him to orient himself except by using the roadway. He’d have to wade through the mud to keep himself from getting lost. Carefully, while still holding on to a tree branch, he stuck his foot into the moving muck—colder and deeper than he thought. It grabbed him by the ankle and threatened to propel him forward while rocks and pebbles pelted his leg. He slid his foot about the ground—as greased as an oil slick. To keep his balance upright, he needed a wide surface area and traction.

It was going to be a breech delivery—legs and butt first. He opened the umbrella and laid it onto the rushing rill. Grimacing, he lowered his butt onto the canopy of nylon. Using the handle to steer and his feet for brakes, he prayed, then pushed off.

Decker was never big on sledding, probably because he grew up without snow, but he found out really quick that he had a good sense of balance. Once he moved beyond the “cold and wet factor,” he was able to concentrate on the mechanics of getting down without getting lost or hurt. It was stop and go as he forded the stream, not exactly Washington crossing the Delaware, but it did bring out Decker’s more rugged side.

It took around a half hour, and though his backside felt sandpaper sore, he made it to the highway without so much as a stubbed toe. The umbrella was lunched, about half the spokes broken and the nylon ripped beyond repair, but the flashlight still worked. He waved the flare end with enthusiasm when he saw an approaching set of headlights. The vehicle slowed. A Chevy truck.

The driver, covered by a caveman beard, lowered the passenger window. “Hop in.”

“It’s okay,” Decker said. “I’m waiting for someone.”

Several moments ticked away.

“Not a lotta cars, buddy.” He looked Decker up and down. “You sure?”

Decker smiled like the village idiot. “Yeah. I’m fine.” Nodding to convince him. No doubt it made him look even more ludicrous. “Just fine.”

The driver shook his head, rolled up the window, and left.

It seemed like an eternity, but it was probably only ten minutes before headlights came from the other side of the roadway. It had to be Jonathan because the illumination was creeping over the asphalt. Decker arced the blinking red light across the roadway. The van slowed, then pulled a U-turn, easing over onto what was once the shoulder of the road. Now it was a gurgling flow of mud.

Decker yanked the door open and hoisted himself inside. The two men looked at one another, water pouring down Decker’s face. He smiled. “Can I kiss your lips?”