He tried not to think about it. Instead he tried to recapture the feelings he’d had the night before—
the inexplicable feeling of happiness, the sense of destiny.
But those feelings didn’t return. He just felt scared. The next morning they headed down the mountain.
They’d dunked their caps in the water hole before putting them on their heads.
Zero held the shovel, and Stanley carried the sack, which was crammed with onions and the three jars of water.
They left the pieces of the broken jar on the mountain. “This is where I found the shovel,” Stanley said, pointing out a patch of weeds.
Zero turned and looked up toward the top of the mountain. “That’s a long way.”
“You were light,” Stanley said. “You’d already thrown up everything that was inside your stomach.”
He shifted the sack from one shoulder to the other. It was heavy.
He stepped on a loose rock, slipped, then fell hard. The next thing he knew he was sliding down the steep side of the mountain.
He dropped the sack, and onions spilled around him. He slid into a patch of weeds and grabbed onto a thorny vine.
The vine ripped out of the earth, but slowed him enough so that he was able to stop himself.
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