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Kat hates camping with a passion but agrees to head off into Tasmania’s wilderness with her husband in an effort to save their marriage. Matt, a fan of truly roughing it, chooses to pitch their tent away from the designated areas, well off the established walking tracks. As darkness descends, the night creatures make their presence known, and not all of them are friendly.
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Copyright © 2017 by Angela J. Maher
Cover image © Pixabay
Interior design by Pronoun
Distribution by Pronoun
About The Author
Also By Angela J. Maher
WHEN MATT SAID HE WANTED to go off the beaten track for a few days, this wasn’t quite what I was expecting. Camping, probably, but not this. We were in the middle of a pristine patch of wilderness where we weren’t meant to be walking, let alone pitching a tent. I winced as I helped bang in the tent pegs, sure we were damaging some ultra-rare species, maybe even destroying a key component of a delicate ecosystem. He looked up and noticed my expression.
“Oh, cheer up, will you Kat? Just think, nobody has ever camped here. This is really roughing it. Camping in the designated areas is just mass tourism in disguise,” he said, laughing.
I didn’t bother to reply. He knew I hated camping under the best of circumstances. My heart had dropped when I’d seen him drag the tent out of our storage shed. I had been hoping with a silent desperation that we would stay at a small motel somewhere, or at the very least rent a cabin. My mouth had itched to pour forth venomous complaints, but we were supposed to be working on our marriage and giving each other slack. I was doing my bit and hoping to find some positive in the whole horrid situation.
“I’ll set up the sleeping bags and mats,” I said, crawling into the tent.
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