Take that, world! I own this place!
The rest of the leg as almost an anticlimax after that. The expected stake was maybe 250 meters from the top of the cliff, just where my map said it would be; I dutifully copied down the number ’31’.
The map suggested that reaching the fourth control point would involve going through some fairly low ground. It looked like some curved trails through the woods, then an arrow-straight road across a field with a few scattered trees. Once I’d finished all that, there’d be a few hundred meters’ stroll through what looked like fairly level forest to another pond, on the east side of which would — I hoped — be my last control point. From there, it would be no more than half an hour’s easy walk to the finish point.
Piece of cake.
I finished the one bottle of water, gulped down a granola bar and got moving.
+
I sagged a moment, standing by the side of the road, looking at the map in frustration.
So far, so good, but that long straight road across an open field? It had turned out to be a raised causeway maybe 800 meters long, running across a flat marsh. Oh, and the expected trees were all dead, probably killed when the water level rose. Now, there were only bare white trunks and a few equally bare branches. How old was this map?
I stared at it, wondered if taking the control points in a different order might have helped before putting that thought aside as a definite Too Late.
+
“Has anybody every been arrested on one of these, Erin?”
“I don’t think anybody’s ever gone to jail, if that’s what you mean.”
“Which means yes, somebody has been arrested.”
There were times that her grin could be annoying.
+
Standing by the side of the road, just short of the causeway, I took another look, scowled. I could see patches of open water and a lot of soggy-looking spots between those. Not only are swamps treacherous, but I’d be as visible wading through that slop as I would be walking along the road. The map suggested other routes, to be sure, but, I was again faced with either taking a long detour or committing myself a route offering no more cover than a football field if somebody came along.
I sighed, scratched my head, tried to think. I put my hands on my hips and leaned ‘waay back. I felt my breasts shift as my chest turned up to the sky overhead. I ran my hands down my bum, straightened up. My back felt better, even if my mood hadn’t improved.
A flash of light from the far end of the causeway had me jumping, almost levitating, off the road. I got the impression of sunlight on glass, but I wasn’t going to stick around to be sure. There was a ditch, with some bushes beyond it and Mom’s little girl was heading for those in one leap.
I didn’t make it. The slope down into the ditch was steep and I started to skid a little. I tried not to fall, my feet scrabbling in the loose rock. I yelped in surprise when a strong hand caught me by my upper arm and held me upright.
“Careful!” a masculine voice warned from behind me. “It’s slippery.”
With that, I felt my feet slide completely out from under me. I was falling for real when a second hand caught my other arm, gave me a chance to find my footing.
It was him. The guy on the bus. Of course it was.
His hands released me the instant I’d regained my balance.
“Thanks,” I muttered automatically.
I looked up at him. OK, my examination started low and worked its way upward. Muscular legs, a flat stomach, good pecs. And a nice smile.
I needed that smile right then. After my clumsiness almost sending me head over heels into the ditch, he could have destroyed me with a chuckle, let alone a smirk.
It wasn’t as if he wasn’t checking me out, either. Guys always check you out when they think you aren’t looking; it’s almost a dance, with them pretending not to and you pretending you don’t notice them trying. In this case, he couldn’t even pretend all that hard.
Seeing his eyes moving over me, my eyes dropped to something I’d let my eyes skim over all too briefly. OK, properly equipped — dark, circumcised, of a promising size and with a heavy, low-hanging sac.
I thought I was entitled to notice.
I was in any case hardly in a position to object, even when his eyes began wandering through Boobtown like he was a real estate speculator.
I was about to say something when I remembered the flash of light. I turned, stretched my neck to look down the causeway. My head was just above the road’s surface, but I couldn’t see anything at the far end.
“I think it’s wardens,” he commented. “I got here maybe twenty minutes ago. I started, got fifty yards down the road and had to scamper back here when I first saw them.”
So, he’d been ahead of me in any case. Oh, well.
“I’m Dale,” he said, holding his hand out.
“Kathrine. Call me Kat.” His hand was strong and calloused with hard work and virtually swallowed mine in long, thick fingers, but his grip was careful, gentle.
“Hello, Kathrine-call-me-Kat. Nice to meet you.”
He let my hand go, motioned towards a bare log a few steps past the bushes.
“Care to join me in my office?”
I giggled, sat down, waited while he joined me.
He spread out his map on his knees, his forefinger moving across it.
“So, we’re here. My next point is here.”
“Oh!” I said, a bit surprised. I showed him my own map. It was clear we both had the same fourth control point. He grunted.
We sat quietly for a moment, both lost in thought.
“There isn’t,” Dale said presently.
“Isn’t what?”
“Another route, not one that wouldn’t take us too far out of our way.” His jaw pointed out along the causeway. “Looks like it’s walk or swim.”
He’d come to the same conclusion, then. Glumly, I looked at the dot of a vehicle in the distance, then down at the map again as if my irritation would change things.
I nodded.
“Looks like.”
I tried to relax. I didn’t have much choice. The truck would leave, sooner or later. In the meantime, we talked.
Dale was 25, two years older than me. He was a carpenter, had spent the past year working for a roof-and-siding company repairing damage from that major hailstorm two years ago. He liked the job — it got him outside, paid well enough and he could get as many hours as he wanted. I was surprised that he thought my being an accountant was cool. We both had a liking for classic sci-fi films and agreed that Lang’s Metropolis had been just about the best. He had an older sister, a lawyer; I was an only child. This was the first Sun-Chaser event for both of us. Asides from sun-chasing and orienteering, he liked role-playing games and Thai cooking. My breath caught when he said liked ballroom dancing.
I loved ballroom dancing! I had a sudden image of us together on a dance floor, my head against his chest.
His bare chest.
Oh.
Oh, my!
That just about did it for me. My lady lust level has been screaming up and down all day as I charged around the forest in the buff, felt wind and sun on my whole body, performed lap dances for invisible admirers, done mile-high twerking. I’d been so totally in the Hot Zone for hours. And now I was sitting next to this naked, drop-dead gorgeous boy who seemed, in most ways, absolutely perfect.