Free Fleeced by Hazel Edwards

will lead.’
    Amy knew she must be alert. Just ahead on the steep path, was the third cross on that map. Who would be paying special attention to that place? The Freedom Walker, Stan, Zoe , Big Jon or no-one?

Chapter 9
Photo Opportunity
    Mist separated walkers and Amy found herself alone. She stopped and listened. Boots were hitting the track somewhere behind her. Crack! A branch broke as a boot landed. Someone was moving faster than her. Someone was catching up.
    Panting, Amy stood at the edge of the track. Ahead was a steep drop. Water streamed down between the rough rocks of the path. It was like climbing down a rocky waterfall.
    Amy paused, working out the best way to go. She took one step. Her left foot slipped. She grasped at the overhanging branch. She fell. Her side hit a slippery rock. Her ankle twisted. Firmly grabbing a branch, she hauled herself up. Her feet slithered. But she was back on the flat.
    The rain was getting heavier. From a sprinkle on her face, the rain was now like a tap full-on. Amy looked down. There was a log across a deep ravine. The log wobbled as she put her weight on.
    She couldn’t go back. She had to go forward. It was the only way across. From the muddy foot prints, other people must have gone over safely. She took another step.
    The wood was slippery, damp and rotten in parts. A hand wire had been tied around the tree. She grasped it.
    With her left hand on the hand-wire , she looked over the edge. Frothy water boiled on the rocks beneath.
    If she did fall in, head first, the rocks would split her head open. She wouldn’t know anything after that, so why worry? The power of the water fascinated her. The water tumbled like a living thing. She was just a visitor. The water and the trees belonged to this place. They were the forest.
    An intruder was coming at a steady pace. Big boots hit the rocks, the water or the muddy ferns. Someone just kept going. Amy liked to pick her way between the slippery rocks. Because her head was down, working out the next rock big enough to hold her weight, she banged her head against an overhanging branch.
    Crack! Aw!
    â€˜Are you okay? Just look at that!’
    Bent under her full pack, Bertha waved in the direction of the mountain on the other side of the pass.
    â€˜See those birds.’ Her arm swept across.
    â€˜Why are you here?’ asked Amy. ‘Shouldn’t you be on further?’
    Below them was the steep slope. Rubble had closed the other track. Although Amy could hear occasional sounds of the other walkers, she was alone with Big Bertha whose woollen scarf wound around where her neck should have been. Bertha’s upper arms bulged , placing a strain on her oilskin sleeves. Her tin billy tied to the bottom of the rucksack frame, tinkled as she moved.
    â€˜Look!’ They were both standing on the edge of a steep drop. Bertha swung around.
    So did her pack! Suddenly Amy felt a heavy blow to her head. She fell forward. She fell over the edge, sideways.
    Her arm hit a rock in passing. She tumbled. The weight of her backpack kept her off balance. She stuck out at the back. Her shoulders were pinned by the weight. She was out of control. She heard a scream. But was that only in her head?
    â€˜Hang on!’ screamed Bertha.
    What does she think I’m doing? Amy hung grimly to a stubby bush. Her left foot found something. But it was slippery rock. Her boot started to slide. Her weight was off balance. The backpack was too heavy. She couldn’t swing herself back over the ledge.
    Mounds of slippery rock were between her and the ledge above. She put out her hand to grip something. More slippery rock. She couldn’t get a hand hold.
    â€˜Help!’ she yelled. This time she knew she screamed it aloud.
    The giant face of Big Bertha loomed over the edge.
    â€˜Are you all right?’
    â€˜NO!’ She was falling down the side of a mountain and the person who pushed her was Big Bertha.
    Deliberate push or an