Escape Under the Forever Sky by Eve Yohalen Page A

how filthy it was, I wrapped the cloth tightly around my foot and knotted it, hoping the pressure would stop the bleeding. I put my shirt back on—luckily there was still enough left to cover me.
    Standing was okay, but walking hurt like crazy. I spotted a long, strong branch on the ground and pulled off the little twiggy parts so I could use it as a walking stick. Then I checked my compass and began limping northeast.
    And here’s the crazy thing: The forest was beautiful. More than beautiful—it was peaceful and quiet, as if nothing had disturbed it in a million years. There must have been animals around, but they were all hidden in the brush. If it weren’t for the chorus of birds squawking and chirping, I would swear I had the whole place to myself. The trees made a lush canopy overhead, protecting my skin from the sun and mybody from the worst of the heat. I thought I could smell fruit trees, and my mouth started to water like Pavlov’s dog.
    I was starving, but there was no time for a mango hunt. Instead, I let myself eat a small piece of the
injera
while I walked. I felt like Gretel, desperately trying to escape the clutches of the evil witch and find her way home. What would she have done without Hansel? Nobody can survive alone. Come to think of it, Jane Goodall had brought her mother with her to Africa; Biruté Galdikas had brought her husband to Borneo. And Dian Fossey went alone and got kidnapped.
Gee, there’s a lesson in there somewhere
.
    I knew I had better find water soon because I was so thirsty I was sure I was about to start hallucinating. And even though I had just eaten, my stomach was killing me. I paused for what Americans call a bathroom break and the Ethiopians call a bush stop.
    It seemed the parasites had finally made themselves at home. Between the heat and my new digestion problems, dehydration was probably minutes away—if I wasn’t dehydrated already.
    The monkeys were nowhere to be found, but I hadnoticed that a lot of the birds seemed to be flying in the same direction that I was walking. I crossed my fingers and continued northeast.
    I kept my head down as I walked, looking for tracks, even as I kept my ears open, listening for Markos and the others. The ground was uneven, with lots of hidden rocks and scrubby brush. If I got hungry enough, would I be willing to turn over one of those rocks and eat whatever happened to be crawling underneath?
    I turned a corner around a pretty sizable boulder and spotted what could have been animal tracks in the earth: oval-shaped indentations that could have been made by the hooves of some deerlike creature. I kept walking, and there were more. Now I was pretty sure they must be tracks. I picked up my pace even though my foot was killing me. Just the possibility of a drink—not to mention being able to wash my cut—made the pain bearable.
    The tracks led back through some trees, and before too much longer, there it was: a stream! My very own stream that I had found all by myself. It was trickly and meager, and maybe it was raging with parasites, but I didn’t care—it was wet. I leaned down and beganscooping mouthfuls of water as fast as I could. It was warm and muddy and tasted like clay, but has anything ever been sweeter? I actually laughed as I drank, I was so relieved. Finding this stream felt like the biggest accomplishment of my entire life.
    After I finished drinking, I carefully unwrapped my foot and inspected the damage. Thankfully, it didn’t look infected—yet. I dabbed my foot in the water and used my hand and the bandage to clean the cut as best I could, grinding my teeth against the sting. Then I swished the bandage around in the stream and rubbed it against a rock to get as much dirt out as possible. When I was finished, my foot actually looked clean and the bandage looked a bit better too. I wrung the extra water out of the bandage and let my foot air-dry before wrapping it up