The Wild Lands Page 11

  Dylan nods and says okay. Which surprises the hell out of me. And no one else says anything. Not even Tam.

  I tighten the waist strap on my pack, hoping it’ll ease the pressure on my shoulders.

  The sun is finally breaking through the clouds, yellow rays cutting through the moisture in the air and stretching across the land. A little dry ground will do us all some good.

  We start walking single file on the lakeshore—Dylan in front, me in back. But it’s Max who stops us all with her shout.

  The bear is crawling out of the lake right at our feet.

  CHAPTER

  26

  I GRAB JESS AND PULL her away from the grizzly. It’s moving pretty slowly but it’s still moving, the arrow shaft sticking out from its snout. How long was it underwater? Maybe its nose was breaking the surface the whole time and we didn’t see it because we were too busy arguing.

  It’s dragging its belly through the water toward us. Two slugs and an arrow, and it just keeps coming. We’re all backing away from the bear, even Dylan.

  Max has the pistol, but I’m not sure if she’d use it on the bear, and Tam has just one arrow. My shotgun would be good to use as a club. Mike has his spear.

  The bear stops and opens its mouth and lets out a garbled growl, its four canine teeth challenging us to come closer.

  “I wonder what it’s trying to say,” Max says. She has the pistol in her hand but isn’t pointing it at the bear, which is only about ten feet away from us.

  I say, “Maybe it’ll be too weak to follow for long.”

  “It’s suffering,” Dylan says. “This wouldn’t have happened if you’d let me do it my way.”

  “You didn’t even have a way.” I shake my head. “You would’ve been bear food if I hadn’t stepped in.”

  “Big man with the shotgun,” Dylan says. “What’s stopping you from shooting again? Bang. Bang. Bang.”

  “No more ammo,” I say. “I wasted it saving your crazy ass again.”

  The bear is lying down on its belly now, its snout with the arrow shaft sticking out just above the water.

  “Quit arguing,” Max says. “We just need to get through this.”

  I imagine swinging the gun and nailing Dylan on the side of his head. I take a deep breath and say, “Okay, let’s keep walking the shore. Maybe we can outdistance the bear.”

  “We should end its pain.” Dylan looks at me. “You started the job. You finish it.” Then he laughs.

  We all keep walking the shore. I wish Mike would say something to his brother. Anything. He said he would handle him but hasn’t said a word since Dylan accused him of wrecking their lives.

  The bear follows us like it has nothing to lose. I trade guns with Max. I want to end the bear’s pain, but I also want some ammo in case we have a run-in with some people.

  We start jogging, sloshing through the water, and put more space between us and the bear, but then it powers forward and closes the distance. We must have rounded a tip of the oxbow lake, because the lakeshore is starting to bend south toward the hills we agreed to rest upon.

  I wish I could know what the bear is thinking. What it thought it might gain by attacking us. It is so seriously injured that it can’t even walk right. I’d hate for one of us to get injured or killed by a bear today that’ll probably be dead by tomorrow. I don’t even wish that on Dylan. At least not all the time. Yeah, he’s pretty deranged, believing that torching the land would cleanse it, but his parents are both dead, like mine. We share that. I’ll have to get Mike alone and learn his version of what happened.

  But right now we need to do something about this bear that’s dogging us.

  “Faster,” I yell. “Pick up the pace.”

  We gain some ground, putting fifty yards between us and the bear as we reach the hills and pass the first few. Really, they’re just a series of ridges poking four or five feet above the swamp, but a couple hundred feet beyond the ridges is the actual hill we are aiming for. It rises maybe twenty feet above this ash-slurry wasteland. A place where we can spread our stuff out to dry and have a look around.

  “Keep going,” I say, waving the pistol. “I’m going to finish this.” I want Jess as far away as possible. “Max, take Jess up the hill.”

  Max and Jess follow Dylan and Mike through the rest of the ridges toward the hill, but Tam stays put, drops her pack, and nocks her last arrow.

  I nod at her and wonder if she’d really put an arrow into Dylan if she had an unlimited supply. I remember the arrows she put in the guy at the basement and how fast he fell, and I shudder. I’m glad she’s here with me.

  We watch the bear enter the ridges. We’ve crossed six or seven of them, about ten feet of swamp separating each one.

  I drop my pack, bend my knees, and hold the pistol in both hands like Dad taught me. The bear is still dragging its belly, but its legs move like they’re part of a machine, a relentless killing machine set on automatic pilot.

  I glance behind me and see Jess and the others on the hill, watching the show. Tam is several yards off to my right and just behind me.

  Can I wait until the bear is only ten feet away? Or maybe eight feet? “I’m gonna let the bear get close before I shoot,” I say. “Make sure I hit it.”

  Out of the corner of my eye I see Tam nod.

  My heart is pulsing in my throat, pounding in my ears. I wish I had five or six shots to empty into the bear’s face while Tam strums endless arrows into its torso. But all we have is one tiny bullet and one arrow.

  “Three more ridges,” I say, “and I’m shooting.”

  “Okay,” Tam says. Her voice sounds tiny and far away.

  The bear lets out a grunt as it crawls over the first of three ridges and then splashes back into the water, the arrow still protruding from its snout.

  On the second ridge the bear opens its mouth wide and I see its sharp, bone-crushing teeth, made for ripping through moose hide and cracking bones as big around as my head.

  I take a breath.

  The bear slops back into the water. The pistol feels like a toy compared to the shotgun. I keep my feet spread apart, trying to stand as still as a statue, but feel my legs shaking. I can see Tam off to the side.

  First, one front paw reaches for purchase on the third ridge. Then another. Long claws sink into the wet ash. Claws that can slash through skin and muscle all the way to the bone—the way a knife cuts through butter. Claws that can wipe all the skin off your face with one swipe.

  The bear is halfway across the final ridge, slithering, dragging its belly the same way it has since it emerged from the lake. Relentless.

  I focus on the bear’s head. Ten feet of water separate me from the bear. I can almost smell its breath. I pull the trigger and the bear’s head bounces back. Then there’s an arrow in its neck. The bear puts a paw forward. Then another.

  “Run,” Tam yells.

  I grab my pack and scramble across a few more ridges, following Tam. Then I stop. I wait for maybe thirty seconds. I’m waiting to see the beast haul itself up on the next ridge, but it doesn’t come.

  I turn toward Tam, who is halfway up the hill where the others are waiting. We’ve turned back this bear, but we’re out of bullets and arrows. What if we run into another bear? Or some other dangerous animal?

  Like a wolverine.

  Or a pack of wolves.

  Or people.

  CHAPTER

  27

  “IT MIGHT BE DEAD, BUT it might not be.” I’m kicked back in the sun on top of the hill with everyone else. Jess has her shoes and socks off and is lying on her side, using her pack as a pillow. She’s breathing the even breaths of sleep. I put my hand on her back and a little gurgle of sound escapes her lips, but she keeps sleeping.

  “It’s bad luck to kill an animal and let it go to waste,” Max says.

  Tam unties her boots and pulls them off. “Like we had a choice. And that bear might not be dead. If it is, it’s underwater.”

  I want to hug this tin
y oasis of dry ground and never let go. I rub Jess’s back, dreading having to wake her up to go south, where the swamp continues. Once we get into the foothills of the Alaska Range, the walking will be drier but steeper. Maybe another sixty miles, but I can’t be sure.

  “I think the bear’s dead,” Dylan says. “I can’t feel its energy anymore.”

  I keep my hand on Jess’s back and just let that comment float past.

  Dylan stands up and pulls a knife out of his pack. “I’m going to look for it.” He turns to Mike. “Let me have your spear, just in case.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Max says.

  Dylan smiles. “Cool. Maybe we can salvage some of it.” He turns to me. “Instead of letting it all go to waste.”

  In my head, I cuss Dylan out, then say, softly so I won’t wake Jess, “I did my job. Go do yours.” I look at Max. “Just be careful.” I wish she wasn’t going down there, but I’m too beat to argue.

  “Mom,” Jess says. “Mom.”

  I let my hand travel up to her shoulder. I press gently and say, “It’s okay,” because I don’t know what else to say. I don’t know how to fill the void. Jess keeps her eyes closed and gets back to her even breathing.

  I watch Max and Dylan walk down the hill, then scoot closer to Mike. “I think your brother hates me more than I hate him.”

  Mike smiles. “Dylan’s pretty intense, but when he senses something, he’s usually right.”

  I search his eyes. “What he said, about you killing your dad, and what you said happened to your mom, that was all pretty intense.”

  Mike looks at me, then at Tam, and says, “It was intense. But it’s not the way Dylan thinks it happened.”

  I keep looking at him and say, “If we’re going to be traveling together, we need to know. It might help me—help everyone—know how to deal with Dylan.”

  “Okay.” Mike rubs his wrist. “I’ll tell you guys, but you can’t tell Dylan.”

  Tam and I agree, and Mike starts talking.

  “Dad was going crazy long before he set the fires. Mom just kept praying for him. And she’d tell me not to give up on him. Dylan idolized him. Wanted to do everything Dad did. Wanted Dad to think he was the best. So I was kind of on the outside, except that when me and Dylan were alone, we got along. Then, he wasn’t trying to impress Dad, and Dad wasn’t using Dylan to try to get to me. Dad knew I didn’t buy his vision, but he also knew I cared about Dylan enough that I’d do anything for him. Anything to keep him safe or happy or whatever.

  “Mom, she tried to just stay out of it. She believed she could pray her way out of any situation.

  “But after Dad torched the land, he became crazier. He started talking in his sleep. And when he was awake, he’d talk to imaginary people, like there were voices in his head.

  “Then he started seeing people who weren’t there, who were the enemy. He’d step outside the cave and just start shooting. Me and Dylan and Mom didn’t know what to do. When was he gonna think we were the enemy and shoot us? But he seemed to know who we were and thought we were on his team. I was too scared to disagree with him. So was Mom.

  “One day Dad sent me and Dylan on an expedition downriver to check on one of our shelters. We still had a canoe, so it wasn’t that bad of a trip, but when we got back, Mom was gone.

  “All Dad said was that she stepped out for a while. Like it was the most natural thing in the world for her to all of a sudden not be here.

  “There were a couple of boards missing from the countertop in the very back of the cave. I asked Dad about the boards because he was particular about keeping the counters in good shape. So proud of his design. So where’d they go? I needed them, he said, for something else.

  “Dylan went kind of crazy looking for Mom, but eventually my dad won him over. Convinced him that she’d run away and joined up with some religious group.

  “But I didn’t believe him, so I used every spare moment I had to search for her, on the outside chance that he hadn’t just killed her and tossed her in the river. Maybe he’d tied her up somewhere and she was still alive.

  “I found Mom nailed to a cross in a fold just beyond the coal cave. I tossed her body in the river. At first I was kind of amazed that Dylan hadn’t found her, but most of his vision involves sensing the presence of living things. Or seeing the landscape in ways that other people can’t.

  “I couldn’t tell Dylan. He was already on the edge. I knew I had to do something, and I knew it’d be hard on him, but the alternative was to lose Dylan like I’d lost my mom.

  “At the same time, Dad got on this basic kick. He threw all the guns and ammo in the river, set the canoe on fire, and tossed most of the store-bought food he’d stockpiled over the years. Thousands of pounds of food. Into the river. Gone.

  “‘Basic,’ he kept saying. If you can survive basic, you can survive anything. Luckily, we had lots of salmon—some canned and some dried—and berries.

  “One day he came at me with a knife. And whatever voices were talking to him, he was talking back. Near as I can tell from just hearing my dad’s part of the conversation, they were deciding whether to cut me up. He’d come at me and I’d dodge him and then he’d respond to whatever the voices were saying. It was terrifying. There was no way to live safely with him anymore. And I knew that Dylan would never leave him.

  “So, when he got distracted by one of the voices, I grabbed a shovel and hit him in the head. Slammed it like there was no tomorrow. I knew if I didn’t kill him that there’d be no tomorrow for me or Dylan.

  “Dylan took it hard. He’d gotten so swept up in Dad’s vision of cleansing the land that he was sure something pure would follow all the death. And, yeah, he still feels that way.

  “That cave was my dad’s life’s work, so staying there afterward was hard. I mean, I felt guilty for killing him. But I felt like I’d evened the score for my mom even though she was dead, and I helped make it possible for Dylan to survive.

  “I’m glad I convinced Dylan to head south. Maybe the farther he gets from the cave, from his old life, the more he’ll heal. He inherited an amazing gift from my dad, but I’m hoping he can put it to good use, instead of evil. If I can just get him out of this wasteland alive.”

  Mike glances at Tam and then at me. Before I can say anything, he gets up and walks a little ways away and stares off into the distance.

  * * *

  “That’s how we decided to split up our supplies,” Tam says. “We wanted to be in this together and not wish we had something that the other person had. Except for common items, which we took turns carrying, everything else in each pack was the same, or as close to the same as we could make it.”

  We’ve taken all our stuff out of our packs to let the sun dry it all out. In my pack, besides some jars of salmon, the rope from the cache, the fire-starting tool, and my knife, were a pair of insulated green coveralls, a green knit cap, green mittens, a green T-shirt, and one pair of thick green socks. Jess, Tam, and Max had identical clothes in their packs.

  “Jason and Patrick,” Max says, “we’ve got them to thank for the packs and the clothes.”

  “And my bow,” Tam says. “I wish I had more arrows.” She glances at Dylan but doesn’t say anything.

  Max is carrying the stone spearheads from the museum, a fire starter, and a small pot. Jess has a small folding shovel.

  Dylan and Mike have some interesting stuff. Besides jars of salmon, they each have some wool pants, puffy down jackets, some T-shirts and socks, wool hats, and gloves.

  They also have a hammer, a couple of pocketknives, a blue plastic trowel, some rolled-up fishnet, and a fire starter like the one I have. Then there are two blue stuff sacks, each about as big as a loaf of bread, but neither Mike nor Dylan makes a move to empty them, saying it’s just their personal stuff. I think about asking what that means, but I don’t want to upset Dylan.

  “Our dad tossed most of the good stuff into the river,” Mike says. “But I managed to hide a few things behind
the coal under the counter.”

  “None of this stuff matters anyway,” Dylan says. “If we live, we live. If we die, we die. Look around. We’re tiny.”

  “But don’t you want to survive?” I ask. “You sure looked like you did when you were carrying that beaver. And then running from those guys that took it from you. And hoping to salvage the bear. Even after Max came back saying she couldn’t find it, you kept searching on your own for a few more hours. And showing off the shelters your dad built, those were all about survival.”

  Dylan stares straight into my eyes. I wait for him to speak but he doesn’t. He just keeps staring.

  Finally, I turn away, but I can still feel his eyes on me. I want to get along with him and I think maybe if we just get to know each other, if we could break the ice, it’d make things easier, because crossing the land is going to be hard enough as it is. We have to work together.

  The shove comes hard and quick, and I go down. Instantly, Dylan is on my back, grinding my face into the ash. The back of my nose is on fire. I hear shouts and try to turn my head sideways to keep the ash out of my mouth and eyes and to take the pressure off my nose.

  I feel my cheek getting hot, like maybe the skin is being scraped off on the jagged ground under the ash. Wet sticky blood from my nose runs over the corner of my mouth. I kick my legs and try to rotate my hips, but it feels like I’m pinned under a pile of rocks.

  “Get off him,” Jess screams.

  I wiggle one arm free, reach up and grab Dylan’s thick hair, and pull. And I just keep on pulling until I feel his face next to mine. Then I blow air from my mouth as hard as I can, hoping the ash will go into his eyes and nose and mouth. I can’t see anything because my eyes are closed. I know that when I finally open them, they’ll be burning and itching.

  “Let go, Travis,” Mike says. “We’ve got him.”

  “It’s okay,” Max says.

  I crack one eye open and see their feet around me, but I keep my grip on Dylan’s hair. I’d love to pull his head right off his body, then drop-kick it into the swamp. I can’t tell if my blood is flowing from one nostril or both, but I can feel it running down my cheek. And something is grinding into my spine between my shoulder blades. Dylan’s elbow, probably.