NIGHT’S STARTING TO SET IN. It doesn’t feel to Dawn like a full day should have passed already, but it has, and they’re still on the ridge and still probably another day’s hike from headquarters.

Her feet ache so bad she would gladly cut them off. The blisters on the soles of her feet have blisters. Her knees are in pain from the constant up and down on the rocks, and her thighs burn.

She’s hungry. Starving. They’ve stopped a couple of times for handfuls of trail mix and rehydration candies, but it’s not nearly enough, and as Dawn walks she thinks about food and it’s torture.

She thinks about pizza and cheeseburgers and onion rings and Cherry Coke. About butter chicken and pad thai and sushi. A whole Italian feast: lasagna and spaghetti and fettuccine and chicken Parm. About hot bowls of ramen and pho and shepherd’s pie and pork chops and steak.

She thinks about restaurants. All of her favorites and how if she ever gets out of here she’s going to visit each and every one of them, one after the other.

McDonald’s.

In-N-Out.

The Cheesecake Factory.

Olive Garden.

P.F. Chang’s.

That little Indian joint down the street from her house that Cam and Wendy order takeout from.

Dawn is going to eat ALL of the things. And when she’s done, she’s going to march into a Dairy Queen and order a delicious Blizzard, a real Blizzard, and eat it and think about this stupid mountain and all the snow, and just be warm and enjoy her ice cream.

This is what Dawn thinks about, fantasizes about, the images she can’t chase from her head as she staggers across frozen rock and snow and feels her stomach gnawing at itself and how her whole body is getting weaker and weaker.

She needs to stop and rest and slow down and sleep and eat and change out of her wet clothes and just be warm and calm and not moving and not afraid for a while.

But none of this is a possibility.

There is only more hiking.

It’s getting dark outside, and Dawn’s hungry.

But there’s nothing on the ridge that can help her.