Charlie is clearly suffering from PTSD or something. He kept flinching and shrieking at every sound or sudden movement, till finally Penelope suggested he take some pictures to soothe himself — although, truth be told, I think she just wanted to shut him up. Still, the photography therapy appears to be working, as Charlie seems to have slipped into a sort of meditative state, his camera glued to his glasses. I’ve drifted to the back of the pack. I need to clear my head too — to shake off the remnants of the bear attacks and also rethink my plans for scaring off Hank, now that Charlie is dazed and my supplies are lost and this trip has suddenly become much more life-threatening. Another hour or so goes by, and Charlie slows and joins me at the back of the pack. “How you doing?” I ask. “Better,” he says. “Now that I’ve refocused.” “Refocused?” “Yes. On us. Our situation. And Hank.” He caps the lens on his camera. “I believe that we’re going to have to go back to basics here.
