Frantically, you scramble to the front of the Land Rover, starting the vehicle and flipping on the headlights as the tires grind against the gravel and mud of the
campsite. Reaching the road out, you pray that whatever Zoë has become is wrong, that you actually can leave.
Reaching the bridge across the creek you used to drive in shows that she's not.
It's washed out.
Completely.
Swollen with rain, the creek is swift and deep. As rugged as the Land Rover is, driving across doesn't seem like an option.
Just your luck.