She sat down halfway to rest. She felt truly awful. Her head was pounding and spinning, her mouth dry, legs wobbly. It was like the world’s most evil hangover, except she hadn’t drunken any alcohol at all the night before. With dizzy dread she knew that her time was quickly running out. When she made it to the bottom of the stairs, she was greeted by an overwhelming collection of gear piled up beside the front door. Van stomped up the outside steps a few seconds later. He threw two sleeping bags on top of the heap and leaned the shotgun against the side. ‘Do we really need all of this?’ Sophia asked, rubbing her temples and frowning. ‘Yes. This is everything we’ll need if we’re going to spend time outdoors when winter’s approaching,’ he replied busily. ‘A four-season tent and sleeping bags, snow coats and pants, camping supplies including food… Seeing as we’re driving we might as well take everything we need.’ The night before they’d decided that they’d take Van’s truck on the five hundred mile journey to Weiser State Forest rather than flying to the nearest town, mainly because they wanted to take the shotgun with the silver bullets with them and there was no way they’d be able to sneak it onto a flight.
