absolutely it’ll melt. But water within the plastic bottle will prevent melting. And as you can see, it’s boiling, which is a good sign. The rule is, cleanish water should boil for about five minutes—then all the nasty bacteria should be dead. Dirtier water should be let to boil for ten minutes, just in case. Boiling doesn’t improve the taste, unfortunately. Though that shouldn’t be a problem here.”
“And what happens if you don’t let it boil?”
“Sometimes nothing. If you’re lucky and have no fire, maybe nothing. But animal waste, not to mention a great deal of other things, create E. coli and other such bacteria, which will give you the Aztec shuffle real quick. It’ll also make you really sick or could kill you, so you should always boil the water.”
“Aztec shuffle…”
“Diarrhea.”
“Ew. Got it.”
Mike nodded and transferred the bottle to the side to let the water cool, his tongue feeling three times too big and his head pounding. He’d almost risk choking down scalding water to get one taste.
Equally ignoring his pinched stomach, well beyond hunger, he turned back to the evenly broken branches. He allowed himself one sigh to steady his head, focusing on the goal. If he let hunger and thirst rush his thoughts in the wild, he’d make a mistake that could cost a life. He had to stay strong, keep focused, and stick to the plan.
If only it was that easy. “Okay, while the water cools, let’s get this trap in place.”
Without asking what he was talking about or why they couldn’t just wait for the water—something he’d probably do if he’d had her inexperience—she nodded and immediately bent to pick up some branches.
Warmth filled his chest as he walked upstream to the location he’d scouted earlier. Her unquestioning willingness to put her life in his hands showed a deep trust. That wasn’t something she’d have in a guy she’d met a month ago. Or even the guy she’d spent half her life with. Regardless of what she said, or how she tried to reconcile her confused feelings for him, the solidity of their bond was true, and it was forged with skinned knees and skipping rocks. Now they were just building on it. Relearning each other after all this time. With the fundamentals so firm, everything else was just gloss and shine.
A high gloss, and a shine so bright it reflected…
He cleared his thoughts as he reached the location of, hopefully, a good meal.
“Okay, what I’m doing here is creating a fish trap,” he explained as he stepped toward the center of the stream, fairly shallow through this area. The icy water rolled over his shoe and attacked his ankle with a searing bite. Not fun. “This stream should be full of trout. I’ll put the branches like a gate, bracing on rocks, and make it so they can’t sneak through with the water. So they’ll come down the stream, see a branch, try to go around, see a different branch, and then just get confused and hang out.”
“How do we get them out?”
“Grab them, smash their head with a rock, gut, and eat. Hopefully. It doesn’t always work if the stream doesn’t have many fish or the trap doesn’t hold.”
“It’ll work.”
Mike smiled at the conviction in her voice. It was always nice when someone had your back.
He finished sticking the branches in the water, creating something that should hold. Should being the operative word. That done, and his insides starting to tingle with the thought of water waiting for them, they turned to head back.
“I want to be done with the pain. I do. I want to move on,” she said softly, trailing behind him. “It’s just so deep. It’s like a fishhook caught on a rib. I try to pull it up and it yanks at my core.”
Mike stayed silent as they got to their home base, hoping she was about to purge a little of the pain. This was an important step in getting over her loss, and she needed to let it happen at her own pace. He picked up the bottle and turned to her. She barely refrained from snatching it, taking it down in panicked, thirsty gulps. Halfway finished, she abruptly pulled it away, panting. “Here.”
“You can take it. I’ll get another.”
“No. Drink. We’ll go back and get it together. Here.” She pushed the bottle at him again, not making eye contact.
The second the wetness hit his tongue, his eyes closed in sweet, pure bliss.
“Water has never tasted so