The Disillusionists cont'd...

May filled her cupped hands at the edge of a stream. She held the water up to the light and looked at the brownish, organism-rich soup. She sniffed it's earthy bouquet and took a sip. Not bad. Cold. Kind of tangy. It probably wasn't a good idea to drink the stuff. She had heard somewhere, sometime, that cedar trees pass toxins into runoff. The stream was so low it looked almost still. She slurped up a dozen more handfuls and then leaned back on her heels.

Her lips were chapped and blistered. Her shoes were ruined, caked in dried mud, torn, one sole beginning to seperate. She sat back and grimaced through the throbbing in her head as she reached to untie them. She took off her sweaty socks and lay them in a sunny spot to dry and then immersed her feet in the stream. They soon felt like blocks of ice. Strangely, it was good to be there and she felt like she could stay like that all day. The breeze above her did funny things to the trees and sounds like the ones in the city drifted through her ears.

"Roots and berries." She had eaten nothing but roots and berries and her guts were tied up in knots.

May pulled her feet out of the water and tried to wiggle her toes. They were stiff but it felt too good for words. Her entire body was cool and she could feel the tingle of blood returning to her feet. The socks were crisp and dry. She took another guzzle from the stream and then sat back down, wondering if Salal was edible. Every year there was a story about some kid suffering complete renal failure because of trying the wrong mushroom. She spat the bitter mash out and wiped her mouth. Salal probably needed to be boiled first.

She slipped her crinkled socks back on and then her shoes, turned and climbed up the short embankment to survey the vast plateau of bleached stumps, Fireweed and Alder saplings. Had she really come all the way across that? May climbed a teetering log for a better look. The road was no longer visible. She should have stayed on it... She turned back towards the stream, trying to get her bearings. (Which way was the sun going?) The road must be in that direction because there, in the distance, was a road cut on a hill. She felt a wave of nausea as the knowledge that she was well and truly lost came over her.