by Carrie Mac
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says with a weak grin. “I don’t pee in a bag. That’s for people with tubes up their dicks.”
“Of course. You don’t pee in a bag. Which is why I haven’t managed to find you two more to not pee in. Do yourself a favor, okay? Try to do up the bags that you’re not peeing into.”
“Got it.”
He leans against me, heavy and so hot. His shirt is soaked with sweat. “Please, Pete. Please, please, please let me try the stretcher. Come with me.” My cheek against his back as I cry.
I need him.
I need him.
“You know what I was thinking?” Forget about the stretcher. There is no time. It won’t work because we are not even on a real trail. “I owe Preet an apology about that bear she was trying to feed. Because how many times did we hang up our food this trip?”
“None.”
“Right. We’re the idiots, I’ll tell her so. Okay?”
He nods, his eyes squeezed shut. “Tell her I’m sorry.”
“Tell her yourself.”
“You tell her.”
“You tell her! Don’t be an ass, Pete! If you have something to say to her, then you can tell her yourself. That guy didn’t die! That guy didn’t die.”
Please, God.
If you let him live, I will believe in you.
“You have the compass,” he says. “You have the map, if it can help. Get to the PNT and you’ll find someone. Even if you never find the trail, you’ll hit the big river, you’ll find a road. There has to be someone. Loggers, cattlemen, homesteaders. Fishermen. Hunters.”
“It’s June, Pete.”
“No it’s not.” He shakes his head. “It’s September. Otis Creek.” He opens the tin of talismans. He picks out a perfect cube of pyrite. “You found this today. Otis Creek.”
“We’re not that close to home.” I lift out the crystal. “We found this a few days ago. We met Ty and Paola.”
“I like them. We should go to their shop.” He remembers that detail, that they have a tiny rock and gem shop in Sedro-Woolley. That’s good. “I know where we are, Annie. Who is the better navigator?”
“Neither of us,” I say. “Because here we are.”
Otis Creek, and home, is hundreds of miles from here. That much I know for sure. I wish we were there too, because then I would know exactly how to get help.
* * *
—
Later, when the moon is rising and I have werewolves on my mind, he has a seizure and spills my talismans all over the dirt and then kicks them out into the great who-knows-where of the very nearby woods. When I pull him back into the tent, I glance away into the dark where the talismans went, but instead of any familiar glint, there is the orange glow of flames simmering lower on the ridge. Heading toward us.
Never mind the talismans. They don’t matter now. I try to make my voice light, and I think I do a pretty good job of it as I listen to myself make words come out of my mouth.
“I will permit one more seizure,” I say. “Got it, Mr. Unicorn Pete Alvarez Bonner? But you are not allowed to die here.”
His lips are dry again, so I find his lip balm in his pocket and put some on. Unicorn Poo lip balm, sparkly, vanilla-sweet.
“Have some water, and then we’ll make a plan.”
There are only two possible plans. I stay, or I go.
“This is not the way that you die, Pete.” The water dripping off the towel is warm. He’s not opening his mouth, but I manage to get enough in that he swallows. Or tries to swallow. He ends up coughing, and his already flushed face turns nearly purple. “We’re alive today, right? Just think of all the times that you didn’t die. That we didn’t die. We can put this in our Notebook of Doom as soon as we get home.”
* * *
—
Stay, Annie. Go. Stay. Go. What would Pete do? For a long while after the seizure, he’s just mumbling and stretching and chewing the air like it’s a big raw carrot, then he slowly becomes more alert, which surprises me.
“Do you know where we are, Pete?”
“Lost, mostly.”
“But where?”
“South of the PNT. The fire is close,” he says. “To the east.”
West.
“Too close.”
Stay with him, Annie.
We’ve used the last of the antibiotics; all we have left is Tylenol. I put two in his hand and then tip the pot of water to his lips. He swallows with a cough.
“Go,” he says. “Why should two of us get engulfed?”
“Because we stick together.”
“That’s stupid.” Pete shakes his head. “Besides, Gigi and your dad would kill me.”
Does he think Gigi is still alive?
“Go, Annie.” He takes my hand. His is clammy and cold, the tips of his fingers gray. “If you stay, it’ll be like I killed you.”
“No one is getting killed.”
“Go,” he says. “While you’re gone, I’ll try to find your talismans.”
I tip the pot to his lips and help him drink.
“I found them all.” Not even one. “When you were sleeping. Besides, you seem a bit better right now.”
“I’m glad that you found them.” He struggles to finish the water, but he does. I run down to the creek one last time, coming back with a full pot.
“I won’t knock it over,” he laughs. “And I won’t get confused and pee in it. I won’t drink my pee, even if it’s the last thing I do.”
“You’re not going to die.” I sit behind him, my legs on either side. I hug him, but he winces, so I just put my cheek to his sweaty back. “We’ve almost died before, and we never did. Right?”
“This is different.”
“You’ll turn a corner.”
“And die.”
“Pete! Stop saying that!” But he is so hot and sweaty that I can’t imagine him being well anytime, and his wound is oozing pus, with bright red streaks like a starburst all around.
He’s fallen asleep again. I tuck him into his bag, with the top wide open because it’s still warm. I write him a note and leave it on the pot.
Dear Pete. I’ll be back with help and a big iced tea and a bag of barbecue chips. Drink water. Eat if you can. I love you, my person.
PS. Please, please, please be careful with the water.
I’m ready to go.
“See you later, Unicorn Pete. I love you.”
I follow his arm to his wrist. Strong radial pulse. Blood pressure is still okay. I remember the wilderness first-aid instructor telling us to always check the pulse at the wrist first, because if that’s gone, but there’s a strong pulse at the neck, the person is starting to circle the drain.
“You’re good, Pete.” I kiss him on the cheek. “I should be back by morning. With help! You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.” I kiss him on the other cheek, and then his forehead, and his lips too. I pull away suddenly. Every part of him is hot, but not his lips. They are cold. As cold as my hands, and as pale.
This is not happening.
None of this is really happening, which is why it’s going to be easy.
We used to say that to each other if we got scared.
This isn’t really happening. Something else is. We just don’t know what yet.
* * *
—
Out of the tent, with my pack strapped on my back, I’m struck by two thoughts at the same time.
The smoke is even thicker than it was hours ago.
And what about the bear?
Ignore the thoughts, Annie. I check the compass and head north. As fast as I can with the forest floor tripping me up.
Don’t think about the fire. Don’t think about the bear.
We saw wolves once, in the distance. I’ve l
ost count of how many black bear encounters we’ve had. A cougar tracked us all the way to the top of a mountain once, and Pete’s dad shot it. We’ve seen a badger, a porcupine, a lynx, a bobcat, and different kinds of raptors. Even the tail end of a rattlesnake slithering away between two sun-hot rocks above Ellensburg when we were looking for blue agates and I found an arrowhead instead.
But I have never seen a grizzly before today. Even if it was a cub.
Will it come for Pete?
Can it smell that he’s weak?
Or what if the grizzly follows me?
Annie, Annie, Annie, Annie, shut up and keep going. Just go.
The trees thin, so now I can run, my headlamp bouncing as I jump over logs and rocks, heading steadily north.
It’s harder to see because of all the smoke, but the small circle of light I do have is enough. Once I find the trail, I will run faster, even though my lungs are already burning. Last year the newspaper said the smoke was so bad that it was like everyone was smoking eleven cigarettes a day, even babies. This smoke is even worse.
North to the Pacific Northwest Trail, where there will be someone to help. I am sure of it.
* * *
—
My lungs feel like they’re being scorched from the inside out. I can’t catch a full breath, and so after a while—who knows how long—I get dizzy, and then all of a sudden I trip on a root and go down hard, my head knocking a mossy log, a hot, searing pain filling my head, pushing behind my eyes. I am flat on my back, panting, as the forest spins around me. My head pounds. There’s a terrible ringing in my ears. Everything is foggy, like the smoke is right in my face, even though I know it’s not. I reach up and feel damp on my temple. My fingers come away with blood. A lot of it.
This is stupid.
I should’ve never left him.
I don’t know where I am.
I don’t know where the trail is.
I won’t know where he is, pretty soon.
Before I lose him, I have to try to take him with me. That way, whatever happens, we’ll be together. He’s rested for, what, over a day now? This is the most energy he’ll have.
Don’t kid yourself, Annie. He’s not going anywhere.
Okay, then. Okay. Okay…
Then I’ll bring help to him.
I’ll set a fire on the other side of the creek, and someone on the PNT will report it, and then a fire crew will come, and that is how we will go together.
By doing the worst thing, I will save the best thing.
The ringing in my ears is so loud now, it sounds like a machine is making the noise somewhere nearby in the forest.
My heartbeat has slowed, but now each pulse ricochets in my head like a gunshot, and my lungs refuse to fill with any more smoke, no matter how hard I try to control my breathing, catch enough breath to keep going. I need to keep going. I roll onto my knees to push myself up, but as soon as I’m on two feet, I tip over, and everything goes black.
* * *
—
When I come to, my lungs still hurt, but I’m not as dizzy. If I’ve ever needed something to play out with a Hollywood ending, this is it. And it’s not happening. I reverse my bearing and head south, back to Pete. I walk fast, but I don’t run. I cannot afford to pass out again. I am unraveling, but even as I do, I can’t let myself fall apart until I fix this.
When I think about Pete, I cannot breathe in. When I question whether I should’ve left him, I can’t breathe out. I try not to think about it, or else I get dizzy with not being able to breathe, and my head gets light and the air in front of me sparkles and I feel like I’ll fall. I can’t think about the wildfires either, because that makes me think of Pete. I can’t think about the grizzly, because that makes me think of Pete.
The truth is that every single thought comes back to Pete.
This is as close as I’ve ever been to dying. And Pete is even closer than me. If I don’t find him help and get him out of here, this will be the end.
There is only one other time when I really thought we would die. We make fun of the other times, in our Notebook of Doom. But there is a story that we haven’t written in there yet, because it’s too dark to share the pages.
* * *
—
It was a brown car. Long and low. Not a gangster car. It was clean but pretty beat-up.
“Rust along the bottom of the doors.” I tell the story to the forest, to keep the bears and the cougars and wildfire away. “A cautionary tale!” I shout. “Don’t get into cars with strangers, kids!” I keep talking to myself. “Who does that? We knew better.” I tell the story to Pete too, even though he’s heard it a thousand times. He’s the only one, though. Not another soul knows what happened that day.
Except Mel.
* * *
—
Pete said, “Your mom hitchhiked all the time when she was younger.” Pete said that if she did it, then it wasn’t all that stupid, right? Pete said she’d hitchhiked all around America and Europe. Pete said, “No problem, Annie. Besides, how else can we get there? It’s not like we’re going to be a couple of kids standing on the highway with our thumbs out.”
And I wasn’t going to be the kid who mentioned that even though my mom did all those brave, exciting things, she still did the most cowardly thing of all.
So I just agreed, and we asked people at the gas station neither of our fathers ever went to instead.
“Excuse me, ma’am, we got the bus here to visit our grandpa, and now we need a ride back to Diablo Lake.”
Where my mom had been living, in a cabin just before the ecology center, where she’d been a cleaning lady, which was news to us until the police came to our door. We were going to find the cabin and see her things before my dad and Gigi went up the next day to clear it out.
The man who said yes told us to both ride in the back because it was safer. There was a Christian talk radio station on low, and even though he doesn’t believe in God, Pete said that meant he was a good man. My mom had never had any trouble, Pete said.
Never any trouble, I thought. Never any trouble.
“Melford Osmond,” he said. “Call me Mel.”
“Ron and Hermione,” I said.
Pete punched my arm.
Why I thought to give him the wrong names, I’m not sure. Likely, my twelve-year-old intuition, which should’ve given us a hint that something wasn’t quite right.
He stopped at the general store in Newhalem and let us out.
“Go ahead and pick a treat, Ron and Hermione.”
We each picked a Drumstick from the freezer, and the woman at the till said, “What nice kids,” and Mel put his hand on Pete’s head.
“I couldn’t ask for better grandkids,” Mel said. That’s when we knew, because our little name lie and his big lie added up to Pete and me sharing a look that said, What the heck are we going to do? He had a hand on each of our shoulders, and his fingers were digging in. “Get in the car, kids!” All happy, and waving to the woman inside as he got in and locked the doors.
When he drove off the highway onto a dirt road, we didn’t say anything, just held hands and watched the trees speeding by as our ice cream melted on the floor of the car.
“All the other times weren’t close, but that’s the day you almost died, Pete!” I scream it at the forest. “You and me both! For real!”
The other times are funny.
But that man who left finger marks on our shoulders, he was the devil who almost took us. He was the real boogeyman, because what other kind of monster would dare to come for a child just days after she lost her mother?
* * *
—
We came to a bridge over a deep, slow river, its surface so glassy and calm it looked like a lake. Just past that, a yellow gate across the road. When Mel stopped to unlock it, we d
idn’t even have to consult each other before we got out and ran back to the bridge and jumped off.
He was shouting, but he stayed up there on the bridge. He didn’t even get back into the car and try to track us along the road. He just shouted about how he was only going to show us a really amazing thing.
We held hands and floated on our backs, and I didn’t think of my mother for the rest of the day, which was the very definition of a miracle.
It was a hot day.
The water was deliciously cold, especially for two alive kids.
The sun burned our faces so bad that Pete’s dad put aloe vera all over, like a beauty mask. He had no idea that we’d even run away. We said we’d lost our backpacks in the bush when we went to pick mushrooms. Another lemonade stand to pay to replace them before school started. We were such happy kids after the bruises on our shoulders faded.
Such happy kids, for a while.
“Not today!” I screamed, the tall trees like silent sentinels all around. “You are not dying today, Pete Alvarez Bonner!”
It must be another hour or more before the black, smoky night sky slowly eases into pinks and purples. Birds start singing.
Finally, I see it. The bright orange of our little tent, the even brighter reflective tape we patched the side with last year after I snagged it on blackberry bushes when I was taking it down.
I run faster.
“Pete!” I’m leaping over logs and dodging big rocks like some kind of superhero. If only I’d been so agile and fast last night, I might’ve gotten to the trail. “Pete! I’m coming!”
I open the vestibule and crawl in. His back is to me. He’s taken his shirt off. His shoulders glisten with sweat.
“Pete?”
No answer. A few seconds pass, and then I hear him. “Drink some water. I bet you didn’t have any, did you?”