Chapter 6

Today's the day. I'm packed and ready, sitting on the edge of the couch in my hotel room. My leg won't stop bouncing, and I've all but chewed my nails to nubs.

When the knock comes, I know it's Amy. Come to take me to the helicopter. It's the sound I've been dreading.

After a stressful ride over, one where Amy talked, and I didn't listen, we arrived at the helicopter, which is a random field in the middle of nowhere. I'm sure it's going to drop me off somewhere equally desolate.

"Good luck!" These are Amy's last words.

My entire life until this point is flashing through my mind. None of what my dad's videos taught me, or what Arsenio has beaten into my head over the last four days, is at the forefront. All I can think about is starving.

About withering away as I try to do my father proud and win enough money to be on my own with no more worries.

"Ready, Ma'am?" The pilot asks inside my headphones, and all I give is an answering nod.

As I'll ever be.

The ride takes less than an hour, and the longer we fly, the more nervous I grow because I'm worrying about what the hell I got myself into.

Where Vancouver doesn't get too much snowfall, other than the random freak storms, every island we've passed recently has been covered in fluffy white flakes.

"We're going to land you a little further from where we planned. Conditions are deteriorating. But we'll adjust your map for you before you set off," the copilot says. He's obviously a part of the show.

The pilot gives an awkward glance back, telling me he's merely the vessel to get me into the wild. He doesn't seem too comfortable with the prospect of leaving me there.

"Alright," I reply solemnly.

The land below is nothing like I'm used to. Florida has thick portions, sure, where the wilderness is untouched, and protected by the government. Oaks and palms mingle together back home, creating almost the effect of what I'm seeing as I peer out of the helicopter window. But nothing Florida has can touch what's below.

Tall pines and redwood trees jut up toward the clouds as far as the eye can see, snow falling onto their branches softly. There's a fog in the air that seems to float almost picturesquely. It gives the appearance that it's not real at all. Like it's a painting.

When the pilots announce we're landing, I come back to reality. But it was too late. The wilderness I was staring at had already lulled me into a peaceful state. One that has me thinking I'll be just fine.

Though, I'm sure that's naivety.

"Bedhim Island, Ma'am," the pilot tells me in my headphones.

I eye him. "Bedhim Island," I repeat softly, looking back out the window wistfully.

"It means overcloud. You'll find that when it's not freezing, it'll be raining. The sun rarely shows itself."

Great.

One would think that I love the sun, being from Florida, but my apartment has blackout curtains on every window. I love to swim before the world is up in the warmer months, but other than that, I loathe the sun and the heat. I live for when the weather is gray and dull, rain falling from clouds overburdened with it.

The helicopter finally touches down in the middle of a snow-covered field, and I wait as the copilot hops out, ducking instinctively. He opens the door for me, and I grab my bag and the heavy box with all the equipment I'll need to film with.

He hands over my map. "Here you go. I've already adjusted your course. You have your emergency radio, right? We're set up on an island not too far from here. We'll arrive by boat quickly if we're needed."

I nod. I'd tested my radio with Amy on the way to the helicopter, so I know it works. It's the only peace of mind I have. Knowing that someone, somewhere, is waiting for my call if it's necessary.

"Good luck!" he shouts.

Before I know it, the helicopter and its noise is a thing of the past. Gone from the skies above. I'm left with a ringing silence.

Looking around, I absorb the vast forest before taking in a breath of crisp, cool air. The most unpolluted I've ever breathed.

This won't be so bad.

Looking at the map, I know I need to move. I've got miles to trek toward what looks like a stream. I hope it's freshwater, so I don't have to figure out another water source.

It would be nice to have fresh water before bed tonight. And have a camp built, or at least a crude shelter. It's going to be below freezing, judging by how the snow is sticking heavily to the ground.

I strap on my massive pack, hefting the camera box into my right hand, keeping the map in my left as I head into the thick forest in front of me.

"Here goes nothing."

* * *

I'm halfway through my journey when I stop to strap a go-pro on my head to capture some of my journey inland from the drop point. I should've been filming the entire time, probably, but I'd wanted to get on the move before conditions got worse.

My fears are realized after I begin the second half of my journey. Because it's white-out conditions now, and I'm certain I've veered so far off the path that I no longer am even using my map.

Now I'm looking for a place to hunker down while this weather evens out some. I'm going to have to regroup.

Rushing water sounds ahead, and I've been following it for a while now, hoping to find a good place to bunk. If anything, I have a tarp the show had given me, so I can make some semblance of a lean-to. I don't know how the hell I'll survive if I can't find anything to burn.

Finally reaching the water, I dropped the camera case, huffing and telling the camera every move as they instructed me.

"Now, I'm going to find some firewood before I do anything else. I'm going to lose the light soon, and I'd rather have fire than shelter," I tell the camera.

Dropping my pack onto the ground, I strap my crossbow onto my back just in case and trek around, looking for anything remotely useful.

I find a couple of arm-loads of fallen branches and break them into firewood. Luckily, it looks like this island is well on its way to winter, the wood seemingly dry instead of wet like Vancouver's was.

I explain to the camera how I'm going to make my crude shelter to get me through the night. My stomach is growling, but food is the last of my worries right now.

Shelter, water, and fire are what I'm worried about.

I find a massive fallen tree only a few paces from the water, and I tie my tarp to it with a paracord, securing the other end of my lean-to with rocks I scavenged. It's not much, but it's something.

I plop down for the first time since the drop, letting myself sigh as my body sags in relief.

Beginning to make a fire, I chatter away at the camera, feeling awkward as I do so. The filming is the strangest part so far.

"Now, my fire starter should get this going pretty quickly," I say, demonstrating how to use it. As it throws fiery sparks into the wood, one of them catches. I lean in, blowing on it to feed the flame. As it rises, I throw more wood on it.

I've made the fire at one end of the shelter, hoping the heat will funnel through, even though it's not inside of it.

"You know, everyone who knows me and is watching this might think I'm insane." I sniff. The cold makes my nose run. I rub my nose against my jacket, something my mother would scorn me for if she was here. "But there's a peacefulness to the wilderness here. If only you at home could feel it, rather than see it. The smells, the quiet, the feel of the unpolluted air in your lungs. Maybe my dad had a point when he said being out in nature gave his soul a spark it was missing. I feel different here. I feel alive," I say into the camera I have turned around in my hand. The only light illuminating my face is that of the night vision infrared.

The day is fading into night, and it brings dangers. Bears are the most prominent, but I can hope that they've all gone to ground for the winter. Those that haven't are a massive threat, though. So I have to keep my ears open.

I set the water I collected in my deep pot onto the fire, letting it begin its boiling process. Even though the show said the water, if it was rushing over rock beds and was fresh, is safe to drink, I'd rather boil it and know I've taken the extra step.

Getting an illness out here is risky.

Part of me wonders, as I watch the water bubble, if that's what happened to my dad. If something unforeseen occurred on his last expedition. Something he couldn't come back from. They didn"t find any of his party. He went out with a newlywed couple, starting in Vancouver and moving over to the wildness of an undisclosed island—which I always thought was the oddest of the entire story of my father's disappearance. All three of them have been missing ever since.

The search for them ended almost a year to the day after they'd gone missing.

The wind picks this exact moment to breeze past, causing the fire to flicker up and caress it.

"I miss you, Dad," I tell it as if the breeze is his doing.

Every time Alyssa and I watch a season, it astounds us how quickly people unravel and put their lives into perspective. I think it's the enormity of being a human in a land that's so foreign to us.

I feel so small amongst the snow-covered pines. Such a tiny piece of a world that has existed long before I was alive and will be here long after I'm gone.

I close my eyes as the breeze kicks up again, snow fluttering on my eyelashes, some of it catching.

But when the hairs on the back of my neck raise, I know I'm not alone. My hackles are what Arsenio said to pay attention to. It's also what Dad said to keep wary of. Let my senses guide me, they'd both said, because even though we're far different from any species out here, we still have instincts that'll keep us alive.

That'll keep us from becoming prey.

A twig snaps as my water boils, and I slowly remove it from the fire and set it down in the snow, putting the lid on it so I don't lose even a drop.

Mechanically, I nock an arrow into my crossbow, eyeing the tree line. None of the hairs on my neck have lain back down, and it's how I know to keep on high alert.

My heart races in my chest. "Hey, bear!" I shout continuously to let the predator know I'm here. To scare it off. I don't have food in camp, luckily, so it should move on.

But if it doesn't, and it's starving, I might become the meal.

Another twig snaps. This one is closer to camp.

It's now I resign to the idea that I'm being hunted. Something has me in its sights, and I'll need to stay on my toes tonight, so I don't become an easier target than I already am.