The Appalachian backcountry was greener than they had imagined.
Thick oaks and maples closed above the trail, sunlight breaking through in restless patches. Birds whistled unseen. The four friends—Jake, Tyler, Emily, and Chris—had set out full of energy, laughing, tossing jokes back and forth.
It was Jake’s idea. “One last hike before graduation. No phones, no distractions. Just us and the mountains.”
Emily had raised an eyebrow. “No phones? What if we get lost?”
“We won’t,” Jake said with his easy grin. “I’ve got the map. It’s a loop. Two days in, two days out. Easy.”
By the second day, “easy” wasn’t the word any of them would’ve chosen. The trail wound farther than expected, packs bit into their shoulders, and the water bottles were running low.
Tyler kicked a rock down the path. “We should’ve brought that filter pump from your dad’s garage, Jake.”
Jake waved him off. “We don’t need it. There’s streams everywhere. Fresh mountain water. People drink this stuff bottled.”
Emily frowned but said nothing. The others followed Jake off the trail, down a slope where they could hear water rushing. At the bottom, a narrow creek cut through the forest, tumbling over stones. The water sparkled clear in the sun.
Chris dropped to his knees at once, cupping handfuls to his mouth. “God, that’s good.”
Tyler followed, then Jake.
Emily hesitated. “Shouldn’t we at least boil it?”
Jake rolled his eyes. “Emily, it’s mountain water. Straight out of the earth. You think bears are back there bottling Giardia for us?”
The boys laughed. Emily sighed and finally drank too, the cold water sliding down her throat, sweet and pure.
None of them knew it yet, but that shortcut—trusting what looked safe—was about to be the most dangerous choice of their trip.
By the third morning, the trail wasn’t fun anymore.
Jake walked slower than usual, his usual jokes drying up. His stomach growled loudly, then cramped so hard he had to stop and bend double.
“Dude, you okay?” Tyler asked, shifting his pack.
Jake waved a hand. “Just hungry, man. That freeze-dried chili last night didn’t sit right.” He forced a grin, but his face was pale.
Emily frowned. “It’s not just hunger, Jake. You’ve been stopping every hour.”
“It’s nothing,” he snapped, then softened when he saw her expression. “I’ll walk it off.”
But an hour later, Chris dropped his pack suddenly and stumbled off the trail toward the bushes. His retching carried through the trees. When he returned, he was sweating despite the cool morning air.
Tyler raised his brows. “Guess it’s not just the chili.”
Emily crossed her arms. “I told you guys—water needs to be boiled. You don’t know what’s in it.”
Jake straightened up defensively. “It looked fine. Clear as glass. Better than tap back home.”
“Yeah?” Emily shot back. “Then why do you both look like you lost a fight with Taco Bell?”
The group went quiet. Even Tyler, who had been laughing earlier, shifted uneasily. His own stomach had started to feel… wrong.
By afternoon, all three guys were moving slower. Cramping, sweating, running for the trees every half hour. Only Emily seemed untouched. She chewed an energy bar silently, her eyes sharp, worried.
Jake tried to keep up his leader act, but his voice was weak. “We’ll push through. We’ve just got… food poisoning. Happens. We’ll be fine.”
Emily shook her head. “It’s not food poisoning. It’s the water.”
Chris groaned, leaning against a tree. “So what? We’re screwed?”
Emily looked at each of them, then at the trail winding into more wilderness. She felt the weight of being the only one still strong.
“No,” she said firmly. “But we have to be smart. Or this hike’s going to end with a rescue chopper—or worse.”
By evening, the hike had turned into a crawl.
Jake, who usually led the group, was stumbling behind, his face gray, shirt plastered with sweat. Every few minutes he leaned on a tree, wincing as cramps tore through his stomach. Chris wasn’t much better, moving with his arms wrapped tight across his belly. Even Tyler, who’d tried to laugh it off, was pale and glassy-eyed.
Emily was the only one still steady, but the fear in her chest grew heavier with each step.
When Jake collapsed onto a fallen log, she dropped her pack and crouched in front of him.
“Jake, you need to admit it. This isn’t just bad chili. It’s the water—you’ve all got something from that creek.”
Jake tried to wave her off but could barely lift his hand. “We just need rest. Tomorrow we’ll be fine.”
Chris let out a harsh laugh that turned into a cough. “Tomorrow? I don’t think my stomach’s got another hour.”
Emily looked around. The sun was sinking fast. They weren’t near a campsite, and the trail ahead only grew darker. Panic threatened to break her resolve, but she forced her voice calm.
“Okay. We stop here. No one moves until morning.”
She gathered wood, struck the firestarter, and built a small flame. The warmth gave her something to focus on. But the sound of the guys shuffling into the bushes, over and over again, kept her nerves raw.
When they finally collapsed into their sleeping bags, groaning, Emily boiled water from her own bottle in their one small pot. The clear steam rose into the night. She poured it into a cup and drank, slowly, making sure the others saw.
“This is how you drink out here,” she said, voice sharp. “Not from a creek. Not because it looks clean. Boiled. Always.”
No one argued. Jake just lay still, eyes half-shut, his usual cocky grin gone.
Emily stared into the fire, the crackle loud in the quiet woods. She felt alone, even with three friends only a few feet away.
If they get worse, she thought, I’ll have to figure this out myself. Or one of them isn’t making it back.
The night was endless.
Every hour, Emily woke to the sound of someone groaning or stumbling away into the trees. The fire burned low, then out, and she had to rebuild it twice with trembling hands.
By dawn, she was exhausted but still the only one moving with strength. Jake lay pale, lips cracked, barely able to sit up. Chris had dark circles under his eyes, his voice faint when he tried to joke. Tyler just muttered, “I can’t… I can’t keep going,” before curling tighter in his sleeping bag.
Emily boiled the last of the water in her bottle, rationing it into three cups. “Small sips,” she ordered, crouching over them like a drill sergeant. “You gulp, you’ll throw it all up again.”
Jake tried to argue—then gave up, obeying like a child.
They sat in silence, steam curling into the cool morning air. For the first time, no one mocked, no one boasted. They just drank, slow, shaking, desperate.
Emily stood, tightening her boots. “I’m going ahead. There’s supposed to be a ranger station down the ridge, maybe six miles. If I find it, I’ll send help.”
Jake struggled upright. “No. We stick together.” His voice cracked. “I’m not letting you go out there alone.”
She met his eyes, anger and fear battling inside her. “You can’t even walk twenty steps without collapsing. Don’t you get it? If we all stay here, waiting, you might not wake up at all.”
Chris croaked a laugh. “She’s right, man. Let the stubborn one save us.”
Jake clenched his jaw but didn’t argue further. Instead, he reached into his pack with shaking hands and pulled out the folded map. He pressed it into hers. “Then you’d better come back. With water. Real water.”
Emily shoved the map into her jacket and slung her pack over her shoulders. “I will.”
She looked at the three of them—her friends, cocky and loud just two days ago, now reduced to shivering wrecks. It was like watching the wilderness peel away their pride, leaving only the truth: survival wasn’t about strength or swagger. It was about respect.
With one last glance, she turned and started down the trail, heart pounding.
Behind her, Jake’s weak voice carried faintly:
“Don’t let the mountain win, Em.”
Emily stumbled into the ranger station just past noon, mud streaked across her jeans, lips cracked from thirst. The wooden building looked like salvation: an American flag snapping in the wind, a radio antenna stretching into the sky.
A ranger in a green uniform rushed out as she collapsed onto the steps. “Hey! You okay?”
She shook her head. “My friends—three of them—back on the loop trail. They’re sick. Bad. We drank from a creek.”
The ranger’s expression tightened. “Giardia. Maybe worse. You did the right thing coming here.”
Within minutes, two more rangers were loading packs with first aid kits and water jugs. They helped Emily onto a bench, pressed a bottle of clear water into her hands. She clutched it like treasure, sipping slowly, remembering her own words: Small sips. Don’t waste it.
By evening, the rangers had carried Jake, Tyler, and Chris out on stretchers. IV bags dripped clear fluid into their veins. The boys were weak but alive, cracking shaky jokes as the medics worked.
“You saved us,” Jake muttered hoarsely, gripping Emily’s hand. His old grin was gone, replaced by something rawer. “Guess I wasn’t the tough guy after all.”
Emily squeezed his hand back. “Tough isn’t about pretending nothing can hurt you. It’s knowing what can—and respecting it.”
Chris groaned from his stretcher. “Yeah, yeah. Next trip we bring the filter. Or Emily. Or both.”
Even Tyler managed a tired laugh.
Days later, when they were home and recovering, the memory of the creek still clung to Emily. She couldn’t forget how clear the water had looked, how sweet it had tasted—and how it had almost killed them.
Every time she filled a glass at the kitchen sink, she caught herself whispering the truth the mountain had carved into her:
Never trust water just because it looks clean. Purify it, protect it, or pay the price.
And she knew none of them would ever forget it.