Story: The Nile is just a river in Egypt!

A quick note: The following contains gratituous adjective use. I love me my adjectives.


The sun sank in a blaze of glorious orange and reds as the evening waves lapped at the soft white sands of the isolated beach. Four wicker beach chairs faced the ocean, the only objects for miles on the empty sands. The first chair was fully reclined for maximum power lounging. An average height blonde with long hair was flopped on top of it, taking her relaxation to such an extreme that at first glance she appeared to be dead. Only the small movements of her fashionable dark red bikini offered subtle signs of life. The second chair was half reclining and held a small blond whose pink paisley string bikini warred with the sun for eye searing brilliance. She was happily sipping cold fruity drinks with umbrellas in them as a flock of chocolate ice cream cones headed south in a ragged v. Some of the ice cream melted in the tropical sun, falling through the air to plop in the sand next to the third chair. “Well that was close,” said a very, very tall blond in a patriotic one piece. She looked relaxed in her upright chair, but was ready to burst into action as her eyes continuously scanned the surroundings for bad guys, hippies, and lemonade stands. She also had sand in her short cropped hair. She wasn’t sure how that happened, but was blaming TA for it anyway. The fourth chair was shrouded in shadow from an enormous beach umbrella. At first it appeared empty, but deep within the murky confines was a small ninja, in full ninja battle dress.
“You know” BSA remarked as she slurped the slushy remains of her second pina colada, “it wouldn’t kill you to wear a swimsuit to the beach.”
“Ninjas don’t do beachwear” came TA’s reply from deep within the chair, “where would I put my shuriken?”
“I thought ninja were supposed to blend in with the crowd” DFL drawled lazily.
“No, ninja are supposed to remain unseen until unleashed on are unsuspecting targets.” TA replied, pride in her voice at her un-alliteration.
Just then a flock of flamingoes landed, produced top hats and canes, and began a tap dance routine.
“You know” said WW, “This is getting really hard to be..”
“DON’T say it!!” demanded an alarmed DFL, propping up on her elbows, “I like this place. Just don’t look if it bothers you.”
BSA nodded in agreement as she grabbed a tiki cup from the sand. This one had two umbrellas and a fruit ka-bob. Excellent.
So the four girls continued to enjoy the peace, tranquility, and magic drink producing sands until a man in CSI coveralls wandered up and began collecting flamingo feathers into an evidence bag.
“Oh come on!” exclaimed TA “He’s doing that all wrong! Your hands aren’t even gloved you doofus!!”
There was a horrible tearing sound as reality reasserted itself and our heroes found themselves back in the cold wet snow: in a toga, a dog, jacketless and up a tree respectively.
“Bummer” stated WW.
“The AUTHOR!!” DFL shouted.
“Sorry!” TA called from her tree perch, “But he was doing it WRONG!”
“Great,” grumbled DFL, “now I’m cold and wet again and we don’t even have a fire”
“Well” TA mused aloud, “there’s this Jack London short story about a guy who tries to kill his dog so he can warm his hands inside its guts and keep from freezing to death.”
They all looked over at BSA, who flattened her ears and growled, showing all her teeth.
“Not that We would ever do such a thing” DFL remanded, throwing TA a dirty look.
“No no, of course not! I was only discussing literature.”
“We should really get going” WW said nervously. She definitely did not want her teammates to start fighting each other. “So, let’s head ..”

A. North
B. West
C. East
D. There is no South. Let’s say, oh I don’t know, let’s say it ends in a big cliff. Pick a different direction.