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Jackson’s heart hurt.

He took a few more steps and his eyes blurred. He drew a ragged breath as he tried not to cry. He couldn’t cry. Not here.

Jackson stood there for a long time, turning the stone over and over in his hands.

It was time to go back. But how could this be the end? This wasn’t what the Author wanted for him, was it?

His satchel was getting very heavy now. Jackson readjusted the strap, but it was still uncomfortable. And he was thirsty. What if he drank from the stream? He looked down, but the water was murky. He couldn’t drink that. His gaze shifted to the river’s edge. The forest was no longer familiar.

Instead of lush willows there were scraggly black spruce (Picea mariana), their thick, dry, scrubby branches unmoving in the sun’s glare. No breeze, no clouds in the sky. It was a wasteland. A bleak, deserted wasteland.

Just like his dreams.

Just like him.

Jackson sighed heavily. He studied the stone he held, unable to move. The murkiness of the river shifted and Jackson saw another etched stone. He picked it up with a little hope in his heart. It had to be better.

You are not worth loving.

Hot, heavy tears fell from Jackson’s eyes. He was so tired, so sad, so lonely.

He wasn’t good at anything.

He was bad at baseball.

No one cared about his stories.

He had no friends.

He was alone.

Jackson’s shoulders slumped and the satchel fell off. It splashed into the water, speckling Jackson’s face with mud. He didn’t care. He watched the satchel float slowly away. What did it matter? It was just a bag, a bag of no importance, belonging to a boy of no importance. He wiped his face with his sleeve. Yes, of course it was gross, but what else was he going to do? He hadn’t perfected the art of a snot rocket.

“Help!”

Chapter 51

In Which a Hero Is Needed

Help me! Please!”

Jackson jammed the stones into his pajama pockets and ran down the river. He slipped and fell. The river’s thin, drippy mud soaked his face, but Jackson got up and kept running. He heard a loud gurgling and followed the sound, his blood running cold at the sight ahead.

A waterfall!

Jackson ran down the river’s edge, trying desperately to keep his balance. He ducked and dodged the branches as they scratched him, pulling at his shirt and hair.

“Hello? Where are you?”

“I’m up here! I mean, down here! Just help me!” the voice squeaked.

“Meeka!”

Chapter 52

In Which Steps Are Taken to Become a Hero

Jackson scrambled to the riverbank, his feet slipping in the shifting sand. He seized the dried prickly shrubs and pulled himself out. He ran down the riverbank, leaping over rocks and clumps of dead branches that were scattered about the forest floor. The dead trees sliced his bare arms with their little stiff twigs as he pushed through. A branch slashed his cheek and a searing white pain burned his face. But he kept running.

Jackson reached the edge of a cliff, his chest pounding, his breath ragged from running. He looked over the side.

Chapter 53

A Chapter that Is a Little Scary

Meeka was stuck in a tree. A dead tree. A dead tree that was lying on its side, hanging over the edge of the cliff. Meeka clung desperately to something hanging in its brittle branches.

Jackson’s satchel!

Meeka’s long hair plastered her wet face, her little body soaked from the waterfall splashing ten feet away from her. Her big eyes bore into Jackson, who stared at her in disbelief and shock.

“Jackson! Help me, please!” she screamed.

Jackson snapped, “Meeka! Don’t move!”

She cried, her sobs barely heard over the pounding and splashing of the waterfall.

“Don’t cry! Be brave! Just hold on tight!” Jackson scrambled down the side of the cliff, and then his feet slipped and he landed hard on his back. He scrambled up quickly, ignoring the pain in his shoulder blades. He stepped carefully, holding onto the dead branches of the fallen tree, making sure every step held while he walked the precarious trunk. (Precarious in this case means the tree might break at any moment, so why are you even walking