The Wild Lands Page 4

  Jess sticks her face into my side and puts her arm over my chest. She was running alongside the river with Sara and Molly just a little while ago, laughing and shrieking, her hair flying behind her. I don’t know what the fight was about, but it saved her life.

  As I lie there with her snuggled up against me, I catch a glimpse of an arm in a red shirt and the top of a head floating by, then the river claims them and they are gone. I feel vomit in the back of my throat and swallow it down. Dad, my mind screams. Dad. I pull Jess closer and keep peering into the river with my good eye, imagining all the bodies being sucked downriver. I feel my heart thumping through my wet shirt and Jess’s heart pounding on my side.

  Every so often another shot splits the air. Then it’s quiet for a while, and then we hear another one.

  We are going to need to move soon. But to where?

  CHAPTER

  8

  “I’M HUNGRY,” JESS SAYS. THE whine in her voice causes the hairs on the back of my neck to lift.

  The sun is in the northwest sky. It goes around in a circle this time of year this far north, rising in the northeast and twenty-two hours later setting in the northwest, but it never dips too far below the surface. That’s why it never gets dark in the summer.

  I remember the bag Dad insisted I bury. “We’ll be able to get some food soon. But we’ve got to be careful.” I hope whoever ambushed us didn’t also find the bag. I still can’t believe that Dad is gone. I mean, I’m pretty sure that was Dad’s body I’d seen floating by. And Mom, I don’t know for sure. But if she’s alive, then where is she? She knew I’d followed Jess downriver.

  I peek over the bank. My right eye throbs some, but at least I can use it now. There’s still smoke coming from our camp. And by the raft I count four people total. All men with beards. And they’re wearing blue jackets, just like the guy who tried to jump me at the creek crossing.

  I crawl back down the bank. “Jess, we’re gonna have to wait here a little longer and stay real still.”

  I thought it couldn’t get any worse after the fires last summer.

  * * *

  A yellow-black smoke had covered the land. And the air was pasty-hot. The kind of hot where every time you took a breath your mouth dried out.

  “Unnatural,” Dad said. “Something about this isn’t right. The color, the taste.”

  Back in the day we would’ve turned on the radio or TV or got on the internet and found out what was going on. Or made a call. But since the buses had left last summer and the fires had burned the town, everything had jumped back a couple of clicks. No power. No communication beyond talking to someone face-to-face. No transportation beyond where your feet could carry you or a bicycle could pedal you. Occasionally, you saw someone driving a car who’d either hoarded some gas or found a vehicle with some gas in it, but that was the exception. And of course there were no firefighters and nothing to fight fires with.

  “Get your mother and your sister,” Dad said. “They’re in the garden.”

  Once we were together, Dad told us we were heading to the river to wait this out. That he had a bad feeling about the fires.

  We packed up the food we had. We still had some powdered milk and tea and some pasta, remnants from before the buses pulled out and we were left to fend for ourselves—or rather decided to stay and fend for ourselves. We also had the food we’d gotten from the land, salmon and moose that Mom had pressure-canned in quart jars. Some of it we took with us, but most of it we hid in the back of the crawl space under our house.

  I could tell that Mom was holding back from saying, I told you so.

  Dad focused on what to put in the packs, barking orders at me, Mom, and Jess. He was relentless, wouldn’t rest or stop, except to glance out the window. The smoke forced its way into the house, between the logs and around the windows, and soon all we saw was sulfur-yellow air. My eyes burned and my throat was raw. We tied wet bandannas around our mouths and noses.

  We went down to the Tanana River and, using a big piece of Styrofoam, floated our supplies out to a gravel bar. During the worst of it, we just lay in the water to stay cool and brushed hot cinders off our skin as they landed on us.

  Afterward, when the houses in the hills were just memories, and charred bodies—people who hadn’t made it to a river or a lake—dotted the landscape, the few people we ran into talked about how the fires were hotter than any fires they could remember, like they were burning tall and deep, like the soil itself was getting scorched.

  CHAPTER

  9

  I CAN HEAR THEM YELLING, but don’t know what they’re saying. I see Jess’s eyes go wide and put a finger to my lips. I’m pretty sure they don’t have a clue we even exist, and I want to keep it that way.

  A big splash and more yelling.

  “Jess,” I whisper. “We can’t let them know we’re here.”

  “Where are Mom and Dad?”

  What am I supposed to say? I can’t just tell her about Dad. But I have to tell her. “Jess,” I say. “You saved my life by storming off and having a tantrum. If I hadn’t followed you, I’d be dead.”

  Jess tilts her head and keeps her eyes on mine. I look away and then make eye contact again. I put my hand on her arm. “I’m … I’m pretty sure they’re gone. Dead. But I’m not one hundred percent certain.”

  Jess just keeps those big blue eyes trained on mine, and it’s all I can do to keep from breaking down and crying.

  “Those voices. Those are the killers,” I whisper. “We can’t let them find us.”

  I hear another splash, then more yelling. And then a bunch more splashing. And laughter. Those murdering assholes. I feel my teeth grinding.

  Their voices sound louder, like they’re coming down the shore. I grab a rock and get ready to stand up. “If they see us, just stay behind me.”

  Jess just nods. Then she reaches for a rock.

  The sun has set and it is as dark as it’s going to get, which isn’t dark at all.

  I hear more splashes, but they sound farther away now. And more shouting, but it’s distant. Then we see them, four men crowded on the raft, with a pile of gear lashed down in the center, even with us, and about a quarter of the way across the river.

  “The raft,” Jess says. “Clint’s raft. Our raft.”

  I hope they flip. Flip and drown.

  I nudge Jess. “We’ve got to be extremely careful. Someone—one of the bad men—might still be left onshore.”

  “But we’ve got to see if anyone is alive,” Jess says. “Maybe someone is hurt and not dead. Like that guy Dad found last winter. He wasn’t dead yet.”

  Dad had come across someone who’d been shot. He rigged up a sled and dragged him home, but the guy didn’t make it. He died the next day.

  “You’re right,” I say. “Maybe Mom or some of the others are still alive.”

  “And Dad,” Jess says.

  I look away and say, “Maybe.”

  The raft shrinks in the distance as they work it toward the other side while drifting downstream. Maybe they’ll ditch the raft and head north. Or maybe they’re planning on going downriver like Clint. I don’t care just as long as they don’t come back here.

  I turn toward the trees and pull Jess down.

  “Smoke,” I say. “From our camp.” I don’t know if it’s just left over or if someone is tending it.

  “My feet are cold,” Jess says. “And I’m hungry.” She stares right into my face. “What happened to your eye? It’s all black and blue.”

  I don’t want to give her one more thing to worry about so I say, “Must’ve slammed into a rock when we were crawling out of the river.”

  She wipes her nose on her sleeve. “Does it hurt?”

  “A little.” I remember she’s hungry and say, “We’re going back to that rock where I buried the bag, but we’ll have to circle around in case someone is at the camp.”

  “But what if that someone is Mom or Dad?” Jess scrunches her face. “I want Mom.”


  “Okay,” I say. “We’ll check the camp first.” She’s not the only one who hopes to find Mom.

  We circle around a good distance from the river and stand at the edge of the trees and can smell the smoke. Jess is just a step behind me, stopping when I stop, going when I go. I cup my hands behind my ears but hear only the flow of the river muted by the trees.

  I take a step forward and Jess follows. We baby-step our way from tree to tree, pausing often to look and listen. I wipe mosquitoes from my face and neck and the back of my hands. The sun pokes up again, and long golden rays filter through the spruce.

  We step to the edge of the trees and spot drag marks on the shore where the raft had been. I’m scanning for bodies, hoping to steer Jess away from any I see. We haven’t spoken since we entered the woods, but now Jess nudges me and points. I follow her finger and see the outline of a person sitting against a tree facing the river and smoke rising from the firepit in front of him.

  CHAPTER

  10

  MY HEART POUNDS THROUGH MY shirt. From where we stand I can see an arm extended toward the firepit. We can’t see the person’s head because it’s blocked by the tree.

  I keep my hand on Jess’s arm and continue scanning the beach, searching for any sign of movement. I try to make out the tents in the trees off to the left, try to imagine where they are, but I can’t see them.

  I look Jess in the eye and point. We creep forward and to the right, toward a small clump of black spruce. Every little crunch under my feet booms in my ears like there are microphones attached to my shoes. I keep glancing toward the person by the fire ring, waiting for him to turn his head and pull out a gun.

  I let out a silent sigh as we reach the clump of small spruce trees, branches hanging down to the ground. At least we’ve got some cover. The mosquitoes are having a feast on the back of my neck and I let them.

  Then Jess grabs my arm, her nails biting through the thin fabric of my shirt. She puts her other hand over her mouth. And then I see it, see them.

  Four naked bodies lying on the forest floor, facedown. Even from here it’s easy to see that two are small. The other two have long brown hair; Mark’s and Clint’s wives. My eyes grow hot. Then my stomach constricts and I taste vomit in the back of my throat and swallow it down. I pull Jess toward me and hold her. She buries her face in my stomach and I can feel her whole body shaking. Why’d she have to see that? Why didn’t I see them first and steer her away? Why didn’t I leave her at the edge of the trees? But I just couldn’t leave her, not for a second. I want her with me—all the time.

  There has to be a better way than dragging her through all this death. But I don’t know what it is. I mean, we’re living in a time of death. After the second summer of fires, we all encountered burnt-up bodies. And then the following winter and spring, people who’d died of starvation. But there’s something different about finding bodies that died because of a natural disaster or starvation, and finding bodies that were murdered. Bodies of girls she was playing with just hours ago.

  I turn, keeping Jess pressed against me, and peer through the branches. I can see more of the man sitting by the fire, enough to know that he probably isn’t alive either.

  “Jess,” I whisper. “I’m sorry you had to see that.” My words feel so inadequate. How will I navigate her through this horror when I can barely keep it together myself?

  She keeps her head pressed against me.

  “I need to go look around,” I say. “The guy by the fire. It’s Clint. But he’s … just like the girls.”

  Jess pulls back and turns her face upward. “They wanted to follow me when I walked off, but I told them to just leave me alone. I was mad, but it was stupid. They called me little.” Jess buries her face in my stomach again.

  I put my hand on her head. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Nothing. You got that?”

  I can feel her shaking.

  “We can’t change what happened to them, or to anyone.” I think of Dad floating down the river. The only bodies unaccounted for are Mark’s and my mom’s. I blink back some tears. If anyone did anything wrong it was me. Didn’t finish the cache in time. Convinced Dad that it was safe to come down here. And now, I’ve got Jess’s life in my hands. Out here. With next to nothing.

  Like she can feel my thoughts, Jess scrunches in tighter. “I want Mom.”

  I say, “Look. I need to search this place some more. Do you want to stay here while I look around?”

  Jess takes a deep breath, then says softly, “I’m coming with you.”

  I’m pretty sure there’s no need to be quiet but can’t be absolutely certain. From our clump of trees we walk to the fire ring. Clint is bound to the tree. I don’t know if they shot him before or after, but he’s dead. My shoulders and head collapse forward, like something from above is pressing them toward the ground. I feel empty; I know it will all hit me later—and I dread that.

  All the tents—gone. Everything is gone.

  How will I ever feed her?

  I put my arm around Jess and turn her away from Clint and what used to be our camp.

  We find Mark’s blood-soaked body at the edge of the river, the water tugging at his feet. I can’t bear to look at him. I just want to erase everything that’s happened here, so I roll him the rest of the way in and watch the current take him.

  “Come on, Jess,” I say, pulling her along. “There’s nothing here for us.” I just want to dig up the stuff sack. At least that’s something I can do, instead of exposing my sister to any more of this death and destruction.

  “Wait!” Jess yells. “What about Mom and Dad?”

  I stop and face Jess. I take a breath. “I saw Dad when we were hiding downriver.”

  Jess scrunches up her face. “What do you mean?”

  I grind my foot into the ground and just say it. “He floated by. I saw the top of his head, and his arm. Wearing that red shirt. It had to be him. Then the current pulled him under.”

  “What else did you see?” Jess raises her voice. “What about Mom?”

  “I was gonna tell you about Dad, but I couldn’t. I just wasn’t ready, and we had enough to worry about with just hiding.”

  “What about Mom?” Jess repeats.

  “I didn’t see Mom.”

  “You’d tell me if you did?”

  “Yes,” I say. “I told you about Dad, didn’t I?”

  “Then she could still be alive.”

  “Jess, I don’t think—”

  “Why not? We survived.”

  “We got lucky. We were out of sight thanks to you, and then the river took us.”

  The sun breaks over the trees, bathing the beach in light, making this place look so inviting. It was the perfect place to build a raft.

  “Maybe the river took her, too,” she says.

  I don’t want to sound so negative but don’t want to give her false hope. “Mom was with the other women. She couldn’t—”

  “How do you know?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “All I know is that I don’t see her here.” And truth be told, I’m glad I don’t. If she’s dead, I don’t want Jess to see her like that.

  Jess folds her arms across her chest. “But don’t you think she would’ve been with the others if they’d caught her?”

  Jess has a point. It’s been hours since we hid and then worked our way back over here to check things out. She wasn’t on the raft. I don’t think it’s likely that she escaped, but it’s possible. It’s also possible that she tried to escape into the river and they shot her down and the river took her. I mean, if I hadn’t been looking at just the right place and at the right time I wouldn’t have seen Dad.

  “What do you want to do?” I ask.

  Jess just stands there. Then the tears start flowing down her cheeks. I try to hug her but she pushes me away.

  I turn to the massive river, and then to the empty forest stretching out on the other side. We’re just tiny specks, specks that don’t matter to the river or the
forest. Me and Jess, all we matter to are each other.

  CHAPTER

  11

  “JUST TELL ME IF YOU see anything,” I say. “Anything at all.” We’re at the rocks where I buried the bag.

  “Okay,” Jess says.

  We came here after scouring that patch of forest where we’d met Clint, searching for Mom, calling for Mom. Then we walked downriver, a couple miles past where we hid. We didn’t find her. We didn’t find anything else, either.

  I’m scooping dirt with my hands and it’s slow going. I used a trowel when I dug the hole, and I packed the dirt and ash back in tight.

  “Do you think Mom could be farther downriver?” Jess asks.

  I push some dirt and ash away from the hole so it won’t fall back in. “I think we would’ve seen her by now because she would’ve come back looking for us.”

  “So you think she’s dead?” Jess asks. “She can’t be.”

  “We didn’t find her.” I feel my stomach heave, but nothing comes up. I take a breath and shake my head. “We’ve been here for hours. She’s not here.”

  “But we never found her,” Jess says. “Maybe she got away. Like we did.”

  I look into her big blue eyes and want so much for her to be right. Mom was good at giving Jess what she needed. They were more than a mother and a daughter. I tried to make time to play with Jess, but Dad always had me helping him scrape together our life, so Mom and Jess—because we were so isolated—were like good friends. I was envious because I didn’t feel that with Dad. Whatever we were working on, there was always a push from him to do more and do it better. Like he was the boss and I was the worker. Now I’ll have to be here for Jess in every way I can. Brother, mother, father, friend. My chest tightens like there’s a rope around it and someone is cinching it down.

  “I’m sure she tried to survive.” I rub my bruised eye. “I just don’t think she made it. She knew about this bag buried by these rocks. She would’ve come here.”

  I finish digging in silence, trying to figure out what to do or say that will help Jess deal with our situation, but I come up empty. I start pulling jars out of the bag, thinking some food might help.