Two hours had passed without a sign of human life. Michael was beginning to regret taking Stuart's advice. He'd insisted they should completely disregard Christine's directions. "She works in the offices. She cannot be trusted." He'd repeated until Michael agreed to walk the opposite direction.
Michael had worked up a sweat as he hurried through the shaded forest. Stuart lugged several meters behind him, hauling with the pack strapped tight around his shoulders and the hip belt clasped in place. When Michael had asked what was inside, Stuart responded, "A sleeping system. For me. Christine said it's mine, so you'll have to sleep outside."
Pine needles were scattered in every which direction across the gritty dirt. How long does a few miles take to walk? The trees had all began to look the same.
Michael had a terrible feeling that he'd somehow got turned around during the hike. He thought it was possible, maybe even probably, that they were currently walking in the entirely wrong direction. He stopped where he was. There had to be a better way to find the town. He looked through the thick of the forest squinting, trying to see something in the distance, anything that might hint he was heading in the right direction. He turned in every direction finding nothing suggesting, "Town this way."
He looked up to the sky, peering through the gaps between the branches. It was a long shot, but if he could find a trail of smoke, he could possibly follow it to a human. He continued forward and saw a small opening where there was a brief clearance. The sky was empty except a few thin, faded white clouds. He looked through the air, then jolted his head back to the faded white.
Contrails from the jet were barely visible, but there. The time and wind had broken up the streak, but if Michael drew a line through the mess, it gave him a broad direction of the jet's path. It was challenging to approximate where the exact streaks had started, but at least it was something. A soft breeze was drifting to his right. Michael stared at the white mesh, trying to estimate how far the clouds had strayed from their original path.
He turned and headed back towards Stuart, who was sweating like a pig. "We're going back," Michael said as he brushed by him.
"We're going what?" Stuart whined, "No, it's been hours, we can't go back. Why?"
"There's nothing this way. We saw them fly past the strip where she told us to go. The clouds are from the jet, we'll follow them back. There's nothing ahead of us."
"We've been hiking for hours. Those are just clouds."
Michael picked up his pace, "We have to stay within two hundred meters of each other, right? I've got a hit on me. If you don't want one on you, you need to follow me." Michael brushed past Stuart.
"I'm not going to die for you!" Stuart shouted as he hustled after Michael shuffling his feet. "Like if Claude pulls a gun on me and says 'tell me where Harvey Sinclair is,' I'll point to your location in a split second."
The sun had barely moved since he'd landed. The Alaskan sun only set for six hours a night. He had plenty of daylight left. He didn't have water. For the next hour, he hurried through the forest, following his approximation of where the streak had drifted. He thought about Stuart's claim that they were just clouds, felt that was reasonable, even likely, but he didn't have any other options.
Michael's tongue felt like sandpaper scratching the roof of his mouth. His clothes began to stick to his body due to his salty sweat. He'd find a spot in the distance and tell himself, once I get there, the town will show in the clearing. When no city appeared, he'd set another destination. "Just over the ridge." He kept telling himself.
The forest seemed to grow bigger, the brush seemed thicker. The noises of wild animals echoing in the distance of the woods seemed louder. Michael felt his body begin to cramp, not wanting to go much further. He turned to see a deadbeat Stuart trudging behind him.
Michael thought about the jet. Maybe they'd run into it. They should have just stayed with the plane, waited for Christine to leave, smashed a window and waited for Claude there. That would've been a great plan four hours ago.
Prioritize. Michael needed to decide what was most important and work back from there. Claude was coming, he had to, but the tracker still had him idle in Maine. They were safe from Claude for at least another twelve hours, probably more. He'd eventually need shelter, but still had at least six hours of light before the sun would set close to midnight. His most urgent need was water. His legs were fully cramping as the last bits of hydration poured down his glossy forehead.
They'd flown over a river and turned right. If Michael had been following the clouds correctly, the river would be somewhere to his left.
He had to gamble. There was still the possibility a town was somewhere in front of him. It could be even just a few hundred meters straight ahead. But could he trust Christine? Could he trust his own sense of direction?
Michael turned to the left and trudged toward what he hoped would be a river. Step by step, he fought through the cramps and a headache. He lifted his shirt to his mouth and tried to suck the sweat only to find the salt burning his lips.
Then the most glorious sound sang in the distance. The faint whisper of rushing water echoed. He continued at the same pace, telling himself just one more step, only one more step.
Michael's head was spinning. He didn't think about Claude or Stuart, or the children. He took the camera, tracking device, and phone out of his pocket and clutched the them in his hands.
The forest broke open to a river with a small rocky bank pushing out over the edge . Michael sat the objects on the shore and trudged into the water. He collapsed to the ground. The small rocks pushed into his hands and knees, but Michael hardly noticed the discomfort. He lowered his head towards the stream. When his face got close, he closed his eyes and sipped the sour liquid. His stomach churned as the water seemed to nip his throat with each swallow.
A hand grabbed the back of Michael's shirt and pulled his head from the river. "What..are..you doing?" Stuart said between breaths. His face was flushed as he continued to pant, "That's …going..to make you sick."
"It's the only option." Michael turned back to the river.
"For heaven's sake," Stuart rolled his eyes. He lifted a hand to his mouth like he was about to tell him a secret, "I have water," he said slowly in a hushed voice. Stuart scanned the scenery, "They gave me water."
Michael looked up, dazed, but furious. Stuart subtly waved a tube by his hip that connected to the pack. "You son of a—"
Stuart pulled the hose to Michael's mouth, and he immediately began to guzzle.
"Easy, don't drink all of it," Stuart complained as he sat flat on the ground, resting his back on a tree.
"You had this," Michael paused to pour more water into his mouth, "You had this the whole time?"
"It was very heavy," Stuart complained.
Michael unzipped the pack and found a sleeping bag rolled up on top. When he took off the bag, he found three zipped pockets of dry food and a sizeable two-gallon water pack nearly depleted. He looked back to Stuart in astonishment.
"Like I said, it was heavy." Stuart replied, rubbing his shoulders. "Don't mind saying thank you. I only shared with you and possibly saved you from whatever stuff was floating around in there."
"From now on, we work together," Michael sat down next to Stuart, "We can take turns carrying the pack. We need to find civilization. Or at least somewhere Claude can find me."
"How do you plan to kill him?" Stuart asked.
"I'm not sure if I'm going to." Michael looked away. "There's got to be another way."
"Yeah, he kills you," Stuart replied.
"I mean a way out of this. Where neither of us has to die." Michael looked down the river.
"This is why your device is still inside your skin. You still think there's a way out. There's not. It's you or him."
Michael stood to his feet, "We need to get going. Let's follow the river so we know we're going in one direction." He leaned down to grab the pack, but Stuart pushed his hand aside.
"I have to carry the pack." Stuart slung his shoulder through the straps. "If The Company sees you wearing it… well, there's no point in both of us dying."