Disclaimer: As much as I wish I did, I didn't make up the majority of the characters or the show, they all belong to WB and whoever else is involved. Only Jane and the guides are my own. No infringement intended, so don't sue me.
Colorado
Chapter 9
Before long, the last scraps of dinner were being packed away and the small band of resolute campers returned to their upturned boats. Despite her best efforts, Rory hadn't managed to convince Jane to come along. Though she claimed she needed a break from – socializing – the bags under her eyes spoke differently, and the last Rory had seen of Jane was her retreating form slinking wearily toward their tent. In a way, it was a relief. There was no way Jane would be up for another bout of girl talk that night and Rory desperately need a break from the soul searching. Just a quiet night and some star gazing, that's all she wanted. Well, that and a question-free tent to come back to. It wasn't so much to ask.
Everything started off well enough. The mornings practice had paid off, for within minutes and without incident all the boats were launched and gliding silently down the river, the murmur of oars slipping through the currents the only interruption. Every so often Eric or Summer, who shared the lead boat, would point out a constellation over head: here the bright belt of Orion, there in the distance the North Star, and just above those ridges you could see the beginnings of the big dipper.
But the group, so compact to begin with, soon spread out, having grown confidant with their abilities and bored with their leader's narrative. Conversations sprang up within the confines of the boats, hushed whispers blending into the sounds of the night's breeze through the reeds that lined the riverbed until they became indistinguishable from one another. Occasionally, a sharp laugh would burst forth from the darkness, only to be stifled and disappear before the disrupter of the peace could be identified.
One boat, however, was eerily devoid of such chatter. Perched at the brow, Rory fought to stay away, while Tristan, who had taken his position in back, diligently and silently kept them on their course. It seemed odd to Rory, this newfound stoicism, and it had come at the most inopportune time. The day's events and her dire lack of caffeine intake had finally taken their toll. She had already almost dropped her paddle twice, and as it was her rowing contributions were nearly nonexistent. She had to break the monotony or she would pass out then and there. Stifling another yawn, she blurted out the one thought that had plagued her since dinner.
"I would kill for some coffee." Without looking, she could feel his attention shift to her. His reply came easily, a hint of amusement in his voice.
"Tired already Mary? And here I thought you were supposed to be tough, what with keeping me out of trouble and all..."
"And under normal circumstances, that would be true. But this is anything but normal." She slid into the banter easily; glad to return to familiar territory. The silence had been unnerving, and it had been lending far too much weight to Jane's comments from earlier. Tristan staring daggers? Tristan acting, what, jealous? Probably just upset that he had lost the spotlight for a second. "I don't think you realize what a large role coffee plays in my life." She added for good measure.
"Well, for one so, ah, devoted, I'm surprised you didn't notice the big silver dispenser filled with steaming hot coffee they had out at dinner. In fact, if memory serves, it even had a sign. You know, Mar, I think you're losing your touch."
"Oh, silly, silly boy. Of course I saw the sign. I even believed the sign. But there's a limit to how much battery acid I can take with my coffee before I cease to call it coffee. It just crossed the line."
"So, how exactly do you plan to make it the rest of the week, oh wise one. I mean, sure Starbucks is taking over the world one block at a time, but somehow I don't think they've branched out to campsites just yet." This was met with a pitiful groan, and in the dim light he could just make out the small figure in front of him slump down a bit in dejection. Head in hands, her paddle lay forgotten in the bottom of the boat. "But hey, you never know," he tried, adopting a tone of hopeful seriousness, "they build them next door to each other, so obviously there's some level of insanity in their master plan. Why not the middle of nowhere too? Say just over there, behind those…uh…Rory?"
The shift in tone was enough to break through the haze of sleep that had encircled her. Glancing back questioningly, Rory was met with a look equal parts sheepish embarrassment and genuine puzzlement.
"Tristan? What is it?"
"Where the hell are we?" The words were quiet, but rang clear in the sudden silence. For the first time, in dawned on them both that the hum of the others had long since died away, and the only creaking boat to be heard was their own. What's more, the river around them had shrunk to no more then a finger of water, overgrown with thick reeds – reeds that had finally drawn attention to themselves by catching hold of Tristan's paddle in a stubbornly vice-like grip.
It was clear to both teens that somewhere along the line they had strayed from main path. The river's edge was littered with little inlets and tributaries, but most were too small or overgrown to venture into. A select few, however, were not so forbidding – at least, not at first. This one, for instance, had turned rather inhospitable all at once. Several test prods of Rory's paddle revealed that the tangled oar was the least of their problems. Somehow, in the confusion of the dark, the boat itself had become lodged in the mud and reeds of the bank.
"Hello! Anyone? Help!" Rory's plaintive cries echoed across the still waters, but to no avail. No answering calls could be heard and nothing beyond their copse of reeds gave any indication of help on the way.
Suddenly, a splash of icy river water hit Rory's back with a shock, followed shortly by a stream of rambling expletives.
"What do you think you're doing?" she shot out, as Tristan surfaced next to her spitting profusely.
"I thought it was a nice night for a dip," he retorted dryly, "what do you think? We're stuck and there's no way I'm spending the night on this boat. But the damn bank was a little further then I thought."
"Spend the night? You're nuts. We aren't spending the night here. We can't." There was a touch of panic in her reply, still to faint to blunt Tristan's cutting words. He had been exhausted to start, cold since they left, and now the biting ice of the water had set him on edge.
"So you have a better idea, then? Because the way I see it, we are stuck, it is night, and we don't even have a flashlight. So unless you've got another boat or a flare gun stashed somewhere, I really don't see another way out of this." By this time, Tristan had edged his way to the nearest bank, and with once strong push, he heaved himself out of the current to sit shivering amid the reeds, waiting for Rory to reach a decision.
"But they can't just leave us here all night. I mean, they'll see we're missing; they'll come looking for us. They have to." The words came out with less conviction then she had intended, for as she uttered them it dawned on her, the truth of their situation. No one had noticed them fall behind or take the wrong turn. No one had made a list of who was even out there or who had stayed back. And the sleep-tinged enthusiasm of earlier in both campers and leaders made Rory doubt their attentiveness upon returning to camp. Even Jane, her tent mate, wouldn't notice her absence till morning, when she woke to an empty sleeping bag. No, no one was going to find them, not till daybreak at least.
Grumbling, and loath to admit her acceptance, Rory began to follow Tristan's example and prepared to make a leap for the elusive land hidden among the reeds.
"Wait." His voice was calmer then before, though not without a bit of regret. He had watched her, biting his tongue at her optimistic charge and waiting for reality to kick in, as it soon did. Now, wincing slightly, Tristan once again slipped into the water. Slowly, he moved to the prow of the boat, only his shoulders and head still visible above the murky depths. "No reason for both of us to get soaked. It's too far to jump. Here."
Using his shoulder as a step and a hand for balance, Rory managed to make it to the other side dry, followed by a once more drenched and shivering Tristan.
"So what now?" No wit, just an honest question.
"Try to get some sleep, I guess. And wait for morning."