The Wild Lands Page 3

  CHAPTER

  5

  “DAD, HOW LONG ARE WE gonna just watch?” We’ve been on this hill for at least half a day watching smoke rise from that clump of trees at the bend, so we know people are down there, but that’s where we need to be, too.

  “Can’t be too careful,” Dad says.

  And I think, Yeah, you can. You can be so careful that moss will mistake your boots for tree roots and start colonizing.

  “We just need to go down there,” I say. “They’ve got to be doing the same thing we’re doing. We can help each other.”

  Mom is inside the tent with Jess. I can hear her voice, telling Jess a story, probably. Mom tries her best to keep things normal for Jess. To make sure she has some playtime or story time even though we are struggling to survive.

  “Trav, your optimism is gonna kill you,” Dad says. “Who have you run into in the last year who’s helped us?”

  I shake my head. “You’ve kept us so isolated the only people we’ve run into have been out scavenging. There’s gotta be other people like us. But if we don’t look, we’ll never find them.”

  “What if they’re short of food?” Dad says. “We can’t afford to give them any.”

  “But if we just sit here, then we’ll be short of food.” I know there’s no easy answer. That it’s risky either way. I step closer to him and speak softly. “You wanna see Jess going hungry? That’s what’ll happen if we just sit here.”

  “The threat of starvation changes people,” Dad says. “What if they’ve got guns and take our food? You wanna deal with that?” He takes a breath. “We plan for the worst and go from there. That’s how we’ve made it this far.”

  I sigh, but my blood is boiling inside. “Then maybe we need to sneak down there and spy on them. See just who these people are who’ve made it as far as us, instead of sitting here and watching our food supply shrink.”

  * * *

  I’m surprised when Dad agrees to let me go alone, insisting I carry the hatchet for protection in addition to my knife. He would’ve given me the shotgun if we had another. But I don’t want to look dangerous if they spot me. If they have guns, they might shoot first and ask questions later.

  “Travis,” Dad says, “at the first sign of trouble, you get yourself out of there.”

  Mom steps forward and hugs me. “You be careful,” she whispers into my ear. And then she lets me go.

  I point to the tent where Jess is sleeping and ask, “What are you going to tell her about where I went?”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Mom says. “I’ll think of something.”

  Now, I’m at the edge of the trees. Just like Dad thought, the trees are on this side of the river.

  How the fires bypassed this spot, I don’t know. That next summer after the buses left, some people said the government intentionally started the second round of fires but I don’t know if there’s any truth to that rumor. I mean, why would they come back to torch a place again? But if the government could abandon a state, well, who knows what else they might do and why.

  I stand flush with the biggest spruce I can find and just listen. I hear the plunge of an axe into wet wood, and the back-and-forth grinding of a handsaw. I peek from behind a tree but only see more trees. I take a breath. I need to move closer, but now that I’m here I’m thinking about what Dad said. How can I really know if these people are friendly?

  When people kick into survival mode, they change. Dad’s a gentle person, but he shot two people in the last couple of weeks. If he could pull the trigger, then just about anyone could.

  I take a few steps around the tree and a squirrel starts chattering. I haven’t heard one in a couple of years. The chopping and sawing stops. No way can they see me, but they know that squirrel isn’t chattering for nothing. I feel my heart pounding in my ears, my stomach cramping up. Maybe Dad’s right. Maybe this is a stupid idea. But then why did he let me try it?

  Maybe he knows there’s no other option if we want to cross the river.

  I think about turning around, creeping out of the woods, and beating it back through the ash to the top of the hill, but that’d just reinforce that I was up to no good. I’m pretty sure Dad watched me enter the trees. I wonder what he’s thinking now. And I wonder what he’d do if he was in my position. I wish he was here with me.

  “You just turn around real slow now, and drop that hatchet,” a deep voice says from behind me. “Unless you want some lead in your skull.”

  My heart jumps into my throat and I try to swallow it down. I let the hatchet fall, turn, and see a man holding a pistol, a beard flowing halfway down his chest, white hair pulled back in a ponytail and stretched tight.

  I think about my stringy long blond hair and scraggly beard combined with the hatchet I’m carrying, and I know I must look like an axe murderer. I wait for him to say something else, but when he doesn’t, I say, “Me and my family want to cross the river. We knew someone was down here. Saw your smoke.”

  The man glances around. “Where are they? How many?”

  “Upriver, on top of a hill. Four, including me. My mom and dad, and my little sister.” I wish he’d quit pointing that gun at me.

  “We’ve got nothing to spare,” the man says. “How come you’re snooping around like a thief and carrying that hatchet like you’re looking to use it on someone?”

  I feel my legs shaking. “I didn’t know if you’d be friendly. We’ve run into a lot of people trying to rob us lately.”

  “We don’t take anything that’s not ours,” the man says, still pointing the pistol at my chest. “But we’ll protect what we’ve got. Just turn around and walk toward the river. We’ll see what Clint says.”

  There are three green dome tents tucked into the woods facing the river. I count six people including the guy with the gun to my back. The river is rushing by, an endless yellow-brown barrier.

  “Clint,” the man behind me calls out.

  A short guy with a salt-and-pepper beard down to his belly, his eyes coming up to my chin, approaches me. “So you’re the disturbance.”

  “Like I told your friend,” I say, “me and my family just want to cross the river.”

  Clint spits on the ground. “The last person who said that tried to kill me.”

  * * *

  “Travis,” Clint says, “I don’t know why but I trust you. Maybe because I told you to sit down by that tree and you did it. Maybe it’s just something about your eyes that tells me you’re not lying. Or maybe I’m just stupid.”

  Mark, the one with the pistol, keeps an eye on me while the others work on the raft, and now we’re all talking. There are two women. I guess one is Clint’s wife and the other is Mark’s, but I’m not sure. And there are two girls a little taller than Jess, their daughters, maybe, but I don’t really know.

  One change that I like since all the fires is that there are a lot fewer mosquitoes. I remember reading that if a female mosquito has an unlimited supply of blood it can lay a couple hundred eggs every few days, but with no blood it can only lay about ten eggs every two weeks. But sitting under this tree is like old times. I’m slapping them left and right.

  “I took a chance coming down here,” I say. “A chance that I’d meet some people who at the very least wouldn’t try to hurt me.” I tell Clint about the guys with the rocks and the guy who tried to grab me at the creek crossing. And I tell him again that we’re not after their food.

  Clint nods. “Sounds like you’ve had to fight some battles. You march back up that hill and bring your family down here. Make a raven call when you get to the edge of the forest, and wait.”

  “Okay,” I say. Ravens are one bird that we still see. Not many but they’re scrappers. If anything can survive in the Sacrifice Area, they can. Back in the day, ravens used to fly to town and feed around dumpsters and then roost at night out in the forest. We used to see them flying over our house, going to and from.

  On the way back through the forest, I grab my hatchet. My feet fe
el light with possibility. Jess can play with the two girls. Maybe Mom will make friends with the women, and Dad with Clint and Mark. And me, I’ll take any company I can get as long as it’s friendly and moves us in the right direction. I hope Dad will agree to the plan.

  CHAPTER

  6

  WE’RE STILL A HALF MILE from the edge of the trees when Dad makes us stop for a conference and says, “I don’t want anyone making any noise.”

  “But Dad,” I say. “I told Clint we’d make a raven call, then wait. If we don’t do that, how’s he gonna trust us?”

  “But why should we trust him?” Dad asks.

  “They could’ve killed me. Had a gun to my back.”

  “It could still be a trap. Thanks to you, they know we have food.”

  Mom looks at him and shakes her head. She puts one arm around Jess. “We have to cross the Yukon. Soon. Or else we won’t have enough food for the rest of the journey. We’ve got two weeks’ worth left.” She grinds one of her feet into the ashy ground.

  The sun is peeking through some thin clouds. It’s one of those hot, muggy days. Once we get to the trees—if we get to the trees—there’ll be mosquitoes.

  “Dad,” I say. “What else are you going to do? What can you do?”

  He looks at me, then at Mom, then at the trees in the distance. He huffs. “I don’t know.”

  “These people seem different to me,” I say. “Trustworthy.”

  “It could all be an act,” Dad says. “Just like the guy with the knife.”

  Dad had met this guy who seemed friendly. He’d even offered my dad food and some of his matches, which we were in need of. Said he’d come from down the Tanana River. He’d been checking for salmon and had a place like ours, only farther out. His wife had left him when he refused to take the bus north with her. We don’t know if the whole thing was a story. All we know is that he tried to kill Dad after appearing generous.

  “Have you lost all faith in humanity?” Mom asks. “Look at us.” She sweeps her arm in an arc. “We’re not looking to hurt anyone. Why can’t you believe that there are at least some other people left in this disaster area you wanted to live in who feel the same way?” Mom returns to stroking Jess’s hair. Jess’s eyes are closed and she’s leaning her head against Mom’s side. “Did you listen to what Trav said? They’ve got two little girls, just like Jess.”

  Jess opens her eyes and pushes away from her. “I’m not little.”

  Mom squats beside Jess. “Oh, Jess. That’s not what I meant. Of course you’re not little. I’m sorry.”

  Jess says, “I’m tired of standing here. It’s too hot.” Tears form in her eyes and she wipes them away before they have a chance to run down her cheeks.

  I see Dad grinding his teeth together. He takes a breath and sets his pack on the ground. “You three stay here. Even if you see me wave, stay until I come back.”

  I nod once. At least he’s going to do something.

  “One more thing, Travis,” Dad says. “Inside my pack is a green stuff sack with some food and a fire starter.” He glances at Mom, but she looks away. “Take it out and bury it by those rocks.” Dad points to some chest-high rocks set back from the river a quarter mile or so.

  “Okay,” I say. Bury this. Bury that. He always has to make things more complicated than they are. I’m about to ask why, but I don’t want to slow him down, because he might change his mind about approaching Clint at all.

  Then Dad hands me the gun. “Only one slug, remember.”

  I consider saluting him but don’t think he’d appreciate the humor right now. Instead, I look him in the eye and say, “You can count on me.”

  He touches my shoulder and replies, “I know I can.” Then he leans in close and whispers so only I can hear. “You see any other men while I’m gone, you protect your mother and sister.”

  “I will,” I say.

  Dad gives Mom and Jess hugs, then turns and walks away. I swing my foot and kick a fist-sized loose rock. It plows through the ash for several feet and then stops. I can’t remember the last time he’s hugged me.

  If we cross the Yukon, maybe we’ll find a moose or a caribou. Or maybe the whole place has been hunted out by all the people who headed north before us, and all the people who turned toward the land when the food shipments from the south dried up.

  I watch Dad walking toward the trees, unarmed and alone. Maybe heading north was a mistake. Maybe it’s just all one big sacrifice area.

  * * *

  “There’s no guarantee that anyone is going to be at the coast,” Clint says. “You might walk all that way for nothing. And then have to walk back, because you sure as hell don’t want to spend the winter up there.”

  “Staying in Fairbanks is a death wish,” Dad says. “I thought we could make it work. But after the second fire, there wasn’t much left. And it seemed like the longer we stayed the only people we ran into were so desperate they’d do anything. We couldn’t trust anyone. I should have listened to my wife and left on the buses.”

  And you should have listened to me when I told you these people were nice, I think, then I wouldn’t have had to bury some of our supplies, which I’m sure I’ll be told to dig up later before we leave.

  Dad peels off his outer shirt so he just has his red long underwear shirt on, and then tells Clint about the guys with the rocks, and the guy with the knife, and the guy in the light blue jacket he shot who tried to grab me at the creek crossing, and Clint tells him about the guy that tried to kill him at this very spot about a week ago. He’s somewhere downriver, probably dead.

  And while we talk, we work at notching logs so they’ll fit together to make a solid raft. Another half day of work and Clint thinks we’ll be ready to float.

  Jess is a little ways away, playing with Clint’s twin daughters, Sara and Molly. And Mom is with Clint’s and Mark’s wives, cooking something up in a big pot over an open fire.

  Clint’s plan is to float down the Yukon until he finds a suitable spot and then build a cabin. Just like the old days, he says. Nature’s turned back the clock.

  I get what he’s saying, but I don’t want to live that way. I want to go where people are, not just live in some cabin in the middle of nowhere. Plus, the reason we’re leaving, at least according to Dad, is that he doesn’t think we can make it living off the land. The land is too tired, too abused, too burnt. It’s been mistreated for so long he thinks it may never heal.

  Clint is more hopeful. He thinks there’s big pockets that survived the burns, and in those pockets there’ll be enough fish and game and berries to support a few people who don’t mind hard work and simple living. And that over time the burnt land will heal, and the moose will move in to feed on the new growth. He has some seeds for a garden, too. And Clint welcomes anyone who shares his vision and work ethic. I can tell Dad is considering it, but I know Mom would never go for it, even though Jess would have some playmates. Dad had his chance and failed. Now we’re giving Mom’s plan a try.

  Clint can just drop us on the other side and we’ll keep walking.

  CHAPTER

  7

  IT’S JUST BLIND LUCK THAT Jess and I are downriver when the shooting starts. Jess had a little tiff with Molly and Sara and stormed off, and at Dad’s request, I followed her.

  Now, I grab Jess and pull her into the river. If whoever is shooting doesn’t know the two of us exist, I want to keep it that way.

  I try to stay by the shore as the current sweeps us away and the bottom drops out from under me. I have one arm encircled across Jess’s chest and am paddling with my other arm while kicking with my legs, just trying to keep our heads above the surface. The water is knife-stabbing cold, pricking me everywhere. I hear more shots and just keep paddling and kicking.

  Jess starts to squirm and I tighten my grip. I tilt my head and speak softly into her ear. “Be still. And don’t talk.” She stops moving for a moment but then starts squirming again and my head goes under. I come up choking, river wate
r spewing from my mouth. Jess coughs up some water right into my ear. At least I know she’s still breathing. She’s flailing her arms and I catch a pointy elbow in the eye. I turn my head and use my good eye to focus on the shore. I need to get her out of the water before she kills me.

  We round a tiny bend and I kick toward shore, hoping the bank will hide us.

  Jess is shivering as I pull her out of the water.

  My teeth knock together and my eye burns. “We’ve got to stay here and stay quiet and stay down.”

  “Trav,” Jess says, “are Mom and Dad dead?” She shivers. “Are they?”

  I pull her close and say into her ear, “I don’t know.” But in my mind I know. Somehow I know.

  I feel the sun on my back and shift, exposing Jess to some of the warmth. “We’re gonna be okay,” I say, trying to make myself believe it. And then I repeat it over and over in my mind.

  We’re probably a half mile away from the patch of trees on the river. If I stand up, I’ll be the tallest thing around. All I can hear is the rush of the river and Jess’s soft weeping. I wonder if any of the shots were from our guns, if anyone even had a chance to shoot. And why didn’t Mark detect their presence and sound a warning? I wonder how many there are. The shots came so fast. There had to be more than one shooter.

  I flip onto my stomach. I rub my eye and keep opening and closing it until I can see out of it.

  “Jess,” I say. “You stay here. I’m going to scoot my head above the bank and see if I can see anything.” She doesn’t respond, just keeps crying softly. I touch her arm, and then crawl up on my elbows.

  I poke my head over the riverbank. My right eye goes blurry again so I close it and just look with my left. I can see smoke rising from the patch of trees but that’s all. No movement by the river. I make out the raft on the shore but can’t tell if there are bodies lying beside it. I can’t see the tents from this angle either. And all I hear is the river.

  I scoot back down and put my arm around Jess. “We’re gonna stay right here for now. The sun should help dry us.”