The terrain changes under my soles as I leave the pebble shore to walk between well-spaced spruces, which is worse on my skin. Twigs and debris make me stop every few steps from rubbing them off and 'ssss' through my teeth at the blood from being stabbed. I wipe down my already filthy and sodden pale pink camisole dress and keep moving. I don't feel right, barely holding it together, and I might have survived that ordeal, but I could still die of exposure or may be wounded in ways I'm not even aware of. I know I have to find help soon, or I won't last much longer.

I...