The Mists

Chapter Five; Come Hell Or High Water

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"You know," Jameson said, turning his head to Tucker who stood besides him in the rain. "Camping out doesn't sound like such a bad idea. I would much rather die of hypothermia in the rain than getting my head bashed over and over."

Closer to the river and out of the tree's protection, the wind pulled at Tucker's already wild hair while Jameson held onto his beanie so the gale couldn't steal it. The rapids roared over the sound of the pounding rain.

The youth and the man could barely make out the shapes of huts across the river with the raging rainstorm. Jameson was shaking to the bone from the cold, though the sight of The Bows slightly warmed him internally. He was just glad his jacket was water proof, and that he had two instead of one. He'd even caught Tucker shivering a few times.

"Getting your head bashed would only take one stroke to kill you, half of one for you," Tuck replied wryly.

Jameson sneered. "Very funny."

Tucker stepped back into the thick forest. "We can sleep under the trees, unless you're really desperate to get to The Bows...then good luck crossing on your own." He started breaking off branches, shaking the water droplets off, and laying them on the wet ground.

Jameson walked into the trees, and immediately felt the difference of the crowded forest versus the open shore of the river. He marched over to Tucker, shuddering from the cold and pulling his beanie tighter over his head so it covered his ears too. He followed the man's actions of making a bed of sticks and leaves over the muddy ground, helping him in silence. After creating a "mattress," the pair settled down under the tree and pulled their blankets over themselves. Jameson kept his hood and beanie on even with the thick blanket pulled over his whole body.

From underneath his blanket, Jameson told Tuck, "You're taking first shift!"

Abruptly, a flash lit up the stormy night sky. With wide eyes, Jameson counted the passing seconds. Twenty-one seconds later, they heard a crackling pierce the air. The youth felt done with the expedition as more thunder and lightning rolled in. As he laid his head back against the bark, the aching and exhaustion hit him like a sack of rocks and sleep consumed him.

* * *

By the morning, the rain had faded away, the river had calmed down, and the birds were singing. Gray, gloomy clouds remained in the sky, and Jameson hoped they would disappear as suddenly as they had appeared-preferrably soon.

Tucker was looking out across the river, while Jameson finished packing up his things. His brunette hair looked like a rat's nest, and he had bags under his brown eyes. Despite his exhaustion, James was thrilled to be able to see The Bows clearly, finally. The huts looked strong and like it was made of various natural resources. They'd managed to survive the rainstorm last night, but the youth figured they'd surivived many rainstorms.

Compared to the angry river of the storm, the rapids Tucker and Jameson were about to challenge looked fairly easy to cross. The river wasn't churning up so much mud, and it looked much shallower.

As if reading Jameson's mind, Tucker said, "The rapids aren't just the problem. If you fall into the deeper waters, the tide will catch you and carry you away to much, much worse rapids. Rapids that will kill you."

"Anything else?" James challenged sarcastically.

"Watch out for any river snakes, and some of the fish jump." When Tucker saw Jameson's reaction expression, he said, "They don't do it to attack, just to get over the rocks."