Free Freefall by Kristen Heitzmann Page A

rain would swell a cataract in minutes, turn even this stream into a force. Maybe she’d been caught in a flash flood, she and her companion.
    This area was broad enough to handle a swell in the stream without washing them away, flat enough for the two mats he had coiled in the side buckles, and he could stretch a nylon tarp to keep the rain off. “We’ll stop here.” He unfastened his pack.
    She pressed her hands to her waist, staring up at the falls. “I can keep going.”
    “We’ve lost the light.” He pointed to the falls. “That’s a major climb. And you don’t know how much farther past that.”
    “Really, I—”
    “Fatigue is when accidents happen.” It was already too dark to attempt the climb safely. No point pushing past their strength.
    She sat down on the boulder. “I didn’t think it was this far.”
    Not what he wanted to hear. “Are you sure we’ve come the right way?”
    “I’m sure I was here.” She looked up at the shallow falls. “The rest is fuzzy.”
    “Another night’s sleep might help.”
    “Another night.” Her stare lingered. “And it’s been four already.”
    At least. If she’d spent one night out, there could have been others. “We’re doing all we can.”
    She nodded, then sighed. “I guess the story’s run.”
    “Is that so bad?”
    “I really don’t know.” She unfastened her pack and pulled it from her back.
    “If TJ’s learned something, there might be help coming.”
    “That’s all I want.” She rested her face in her hands.
    He took out his cell phone, though as he’d guessed, there was no signal. “We’ll have to wait and see.” He removed his pack and set it on the ground.
    Jade turned. “What do you want me to do?”
    “Collect some driftwood and I’ll make a fire.”
    She moved away from the stream for dry wood while he fitted together the collapsible poles and attached the tarp, then unrolled the two mats that would keep the worst of the rocks from digging in. Unless something unseasonable happened, there’d be no need for blankets or—
    Jade shrieked.
    He lurched out from under the tarp and shouted, “Stop!” just as she flung off a five-inch centipede.
    He thrashed over and grabbed her arm. “Are you bitten?”
    She panted. “I don’t think so.”
    There was no think; she’d know. But he couldn’t believe it. He searched her arm for punctures and found it unscathed—impossible with the length of contact and her frantic motion. The things wrapped around and struck with the fangs on the tips of their front legs. But though he could miss marks in the failing light, she couldn’t miss the electrical socket experience of a centipede bite. The poison swelled, sickened, and disoriented bigger, stronger adults than she, and the pain was immediate.
    He ran his hand over her forearm, still not believing. But she had somehow tangled with a centipede and emerged unharmed. He looked into her face. Her hair had come loose, and he knew how it would feel. Her eyes were weary and frightened, but that only enhanced their luminous depths.
    Her body was fit and supple, and if she was a psychopathic murderer it could hardly be more dangerous than the effect she was already having. He let go. “Go sit under the tarp. I’ll get the wood.” He watched her creep beneath the sagging tent, his heart racing in a way it hadn’t for a long time. Get a grip, Kai .
    Jade shook all over. She hadn’t felt squeamish about the tropical forest until now. But the feel of the creature’s legs clinging to her wouldn’t go away. She tried not to show it when Cameron ducked back under the tarp and rummaged in his pack. He hardly looked at her anyway; just said, “I should have warned you about that, with the night coming on.”
    “Are they going to be crawling all over us?” She’d keep moving in the pitch-dark if that was the case.
    “We’re in their habitat.”
    She eyed the flimsy cover that might keep off the rain but offered no barriers whatsoever