The Secret Path Karen Swan (book recommendations based on other books TXT) 📖

Grylls. When she had given him the nod for continuing the expedition into the hills, Alex had gone into the station’s Lost Property trunk and found her a belt (thank God!) and some walking boots in her size. He’d then disappeared into the stores, below the deck, and emerged forty minutes later with two huge rucksacks almost as big as her. They now had sleeping hammocks and tarps, camping towels, a camping stove, fire-starter kits, torches and head torches, water purifier tablets, and a selection of knives including some for her, ‘in case we’re separated’ – the look he’d given her as he’d said that had suggested he half expected her to run off again. Now all they had to do was carry it all for thirty miles there and thirty miles back again. It was beginning to feel a little daunting.

Alex shrugged his pack on like he was a cool uncle giving a piggyback. Tara grappled with hers, almost toppling backwards when she straightened up too quickly without planting her feet square first. Alex laughed, but didn’t offer to help.

‘Uh – what about that?’ she asked, pointing to the microlight as he went to set off.

Alex looked at it. ‘What about it?’

‘Surely we’re not just going to leave it here?’

‘What else would we do with it? I’ve got the keys. It’s locked up so the monkeys can’t get in and use it.’

He was being sarcastic. She exhaled impatiently. ‘I meant, how will you ever find it again?’

He blinked. ‘The same way I found it just now. This park is my playground, Tara. I know it pretty well.’

She glowered at him, hating his cockiness. He was always so sure of himself, he never felt any self-doubt.

They set off, Tara two steps behind again, her gaze on his heels, but unlike with Jed, they barely spoke. She wanted it to be very clear they weren’t friends, this wasn’t social. Also, Alex was a lot fitter than Jed and he walked at a pace that would have been tiring going downhill, carrying nothing at all, much less uphill with a small house on her back. Talking wasn’t really an option at this speed. But her pride meant she refused to ask him to slow down and in spite of the inclines and humidity, she kept up, the sweat pouring down her cheeks, her back, her legs, in her hair, which was now roughly tied back in a ponytail.

She didn’t know how much ground they were covering. It was hard going, having to fight back, with every step, the tangle of plants that might sting or scratch her, drop a heavy branch or be hiding something with teeth. The heavy morning rain had suffused an already saturated landscape, making their feet slide even in their big boots, and he kept stopping every so often to drink from the large, waxy leaves that had bellied out, collecting rainwater.

Without a word, she copied him. It was vital, she knew, to remain hydrated, especially as the last of the afternoon heat was making them steam like puddings. Dusk was already approaching and they would soon need to set up camp for the night before it grew dark. Sunsets were always fast here, with none of the lingering, bleeding skies of home. Within a space of minutes the sky would just ripen and bruise, and the day would die.

For the first time, she thought about the reality of sleeping out here. Everything had been so spur-of-the-moment, sitting in the hammocks with Holly that morning – had it really only been this morning? – that she’d considered only the steps they would take once the Awa’s treatments failed. She’d thought ahead to the contacts she had in central America, and whether it would be better to fly the boy to Miami instead. Not once had she given any thought to what she actually had to go through first – sleeping on a hammock, in an open space with no walls, no roof, nothing to stop the monkeys crawling down the trees, tails curled in curiosity; nothing to stop the snakes slithering and spiders skittering along the rope ties . . .

‘This is a good spot,’ Alex said finally. She looked up to find him standing ahead of her, scanning an area that looked identical to every other patch of land they had just passed through. They’d been walking for ninety minutes or so, she guessed, and the light was already fading.

‘The river’s just over there and running quickly. Hear it?’ he asked, but it wasn’t really a question. He was just thinking out loud, his gaze on the ground, in the trees. ‘No standing water nearby that I can see, so the mozzies won’t murder us.’ He turned slowly on the spot. ‘And those trees look a good distance for the hammocks.’ His eyes narrowed as he looked more closely at the leaves. ‘I don’t think it rained here earlier either, which would be a result.’ He reached out a hand and rubbed some leaves between his fingers. ‘Should hopefully mean we’ll be able to get a fire going more easily.’

Tara wanted to unbuckle her backpack. She desperately wanted to take the weight off her shoulders, lie down sprawled on some fresh soft English grass, feel a breeze on her face, listen to some cows munching nearby . . . She swatted at a mosquito instead that kept bothering her, waiting for Alex’s cue. She refused to let him see that she was struggling with this, to know that it had been a terrible idea to even think of doing this, much less to continue it when she’d had every excuse – every possible justification – to abandon the cause and go back to the beach. And her friends. And Rory.

Rory!

She realized she could have called him from the rangers’ station to explain her plan; he would be up by now (surely) and she could have promised him a picnic at the waterfalls on her return, or a day on a chartered boat, just the