Falcon Wild

by Terry Lynn Johnson

  My heart thumps at the thought of leaving them. I can’t abandon them. But I have to.

  I nod. “Yeah, I can do that.”

  Animated by the fact that we now have a plan, I bustle around the van. Gavin finds a backpack and brushes the glass off it. We sort out what I should bring with me. There are three water bottles in the van from the gas station. I take one and leave the other two for Gavin and Dad.

  “Make sure Dad gets enough to drink while I’m gone.” I’m all business as I look at him. “I won’t be long. But don’t drink yours all at once.”

  “They don’t call me a camel for nothing,” he says.

  “I’ve never heard anyone call you that.”

  “It’s a figure of speech.” His face is tight as he tries to smile. I notice how he holds his head a little higher. He has to watch out for Dad. His brave act makes me want to be braver and stronger too.

  I stuff the water bottle in the pack along with a hat, my hoodie, some matches, Dad’s wallet, and a small baggie with some leftover gummies. I leave my jacket because it’s warm out today and I’ll be moving fast.

  “Karma,” Gavin whispers. “I’m sorry about Stark.”

  Just hearing her name sends a stab of pain through me, and I almost lose my breath. I feel exposed and raw. Stark is gone.

  But Gavin doesn’t need to feel worse. “It’s okay,” I say.

  He wants to say something else, so I don’t meet his eyes. I feel him wanting more from me, but I’m afraid I’m going to lose my nerve to leave. I wipe my nose and swing the backpack on.

  When I crouch to Dad’s level, he kisses my forehead and smooths my hair back. “I know you’ll do it,” he says. “You’re so brave. We’ll see you back here in no time.”

  I watch his face as he tries to find a more comfortable position. My insides clench with the need to get him out of here. Abruptly I rise and dash out the door, heading up the scree-covered slope toward the road.

  Gavin’s voice follows me. “Watch out for snakes!”

  That little turd.

  Once on the road, I look back in the direction we came from and listen, straining to hear any sound of oncoming traffic. There’s nothing out here but us. I look up at the sky, searching for a flash of white.

  I’m on my own.

  Hitching up my pack, I swallow down the lump in my throat and turn to head down the road, toward the unknown.

  Water is an issue. I wish I could take a full drink and slake my thirst, but I only sip from the small water bottle, trying to save the rest. I close the cap tightly and slip it back into my pack. The sun burns down on the land around me. Is it really the end of October?

  Brown rolling hills sprawl out in front of me. I can’t see past the next hill. A blunt-topped mountain on my right is dotted with patches of pine and Douglas fir trees. Sagebrush hugs the road. And the endless larger peaks in the distance don’t seem to be getting any closer. I’ve been walking for hours on a road with no name and no end.

  I take off my hat and fan my face. I wish I weren’t wearing black. Then I pull my hat back down again and keep walking. Exactly how far away were we from the highway? The sun has moved across the sky. I didn’t think I’d get caught out here in the dark. I can’t be gone so long. My feet move faster.

  The ticking stopwatch inside my head is counting the minutes that Dad remains trapped in the van, unable to shift or get comfortable. What if his legs are crushed, and he’s paralyzed and doesn’t even know it? Maybe he does know but didn’t tell me. That’s why he wasn’t screaming in pain. He couldn’t feel anything. What if he can never walk again? What if he’ll have to live the rest of his life in a wheelchair? We’ll have to build a ramp into the house. Will Dad be able to fly birds if he’s in a chair? The questions increase all because our stupid tire blew up. How does that happen, anyway?

  If we had our phone, maybe I would’ve found coverage. I wouldn’t be walking by myself in the middle of nowhere, trying to get to the highway. If I ever see that thieving Cooper again, I’m going to kill him myself. But I’m the one who made Dad pick him up. The thought makes me ill.

  I stop when I hear something. It sounds like something is scuffling behind the red rock ridges along the road. I look behind me. My skin prickles as if I’m being watched. But I don’t see anything except empty road. I turn back and walk faster.

  Where was I? Oh, yes. Cooper. Maybe I won’t kill him. Perhaps I’ll just maim him. I wish I had talons—long, sharp talons. I’d rip them up his arm, sink them into his flesh. Leave memories all over. Let him remember that taking things that don’t belong to him can put people in danger. I can’t believe I felt bad for ditching him.

  I keep walking, seething more with every step. Until the road simply ends. It stops at a berm. The pile of dirt is as high as my chest, as if someone forgot to roll it out to form the rest of the road.

  I drop my pack and slowly turn in a circle. There are no signs. No highway.

  “Bird turds!” I kick savagely at my pack. It feels good, so I keep kicking it, then kick the berm. I scream into the empty space around me.

  Why would someone build a road only partway? I raise my gaze straight ahead to the horizon. I can’t go back; the van is at least five miles away. And from there it’s a two-day walk or more to cover the forty-plus miles past the van to the highway we came from.

  The GPS was wrong about this road. But maybe it’s right about Highway 287 being close. It has to be right about something as major as a highway. What if the highway is just over the next hill?

  But what if it isn’t? Should I go back and ask Dad what to do? I stare at the vista ahead of me, debating. Forested ridges of mountain rise to the sky on my right. Flat prairie, sagebrush, and low buttes spread out on my left. Without a road ahead of me, I’ll have to cut cross-country to find this highway. On blind faith in a GPS that was already wrong about this road. I almost turn back, but then I stop.

  Turning back would be wasted time. And I can’t face walking all that way again without anything to show for it. I have to find help. If I go back without it, we’ll be right back where we started.

  Glancing at the tops of the pines on the mountain, I search for white dots. Stark’s absence is like a wound in my heart. I hope she’s okay.

  I pick up my pack and scramble over the berm. I head straight through the wilderness, directly toward the red rocks climbing to the setting sun.

  My water bottle is half empty.

  Half full, that’s what I should be thinking. Positive. The bottle is half full. And I’m about to walk onto the highway, and there will be a nice family resting on the side at a picnic stop. They’ll hand me an ice-cold Coke and let me borrow their phone to call Mom, and then we’ll drive around to our van. Yes, that’s what’s going to happen as soon as I crest that ridge.

  I’ve been telling myself this ever since I climbed over the berm at the end of the road. The highway has to be there, because I don’t have much daylight left. I hold my hand up to the sun, closing one eye to count how many fingers between the sun and the horizon. Three fingers. Dad taught us it’s roughly fifteen minutes per finger before sunset, so I know I have less than an hour.

  The air has changed around me. The smells of cooling earth are lifting with the approaching dusk. The red color of the rock seems more vivid, less washed by the bright sun. I wish I could get a bird’s-eye view of this area. The walking wouldn’t be so bad if I knew how much longer I had to go. I glance up at the mountain again. Maybe I should climb it to get a look at where I am? No, it looks impossible to climb, and the last thing I need is another accident.

  My tongue is thick in my parched throat. As I think of it, my stomach growls. I shrug off my pack and search for my gummies. I need something to suck on. My hoodie takes up too much room in the pack, so I tie it around my waist.

  I throw the pack back on and then climb the rock ridge in front of me, panting with the exertion. Rivulets of sweat run down my temples. My shirt is damp. I finally crest the top a
nd pull off a shoe to empty the rocks. The sun is directly in my eyes, but I shield them and peer down at something in the distance that looks like a dark line. Is that a road or a line of antelope? I wish I could see past the rolling hills.

  Just as I’m about to continue down the other side of the rocky ridge, I get that prickly feeling as if I’m being watched again. I spin around. A few ring-necked pheasants flush up and fly toward the forest. I hold my breath, listening. There’s nothing unusual out there. Still looking behind me, I take another step. My foot rolls on some rocks and starts a landslide. Spinning around, I try to balance in the debris. The landslide picks up speed. Loose gravel and large rocks skitter down the scree. I gasp as I see an open crevice directly in my path.

  Rolling with the loose rocks, I scramble to stop, but I slide right off the edge.

  I start to scream. My fall is suddenly cut short. I’m caught in midair when my pack snags on something along the inside of the rock crevice where I’ve fallen. I’m dangling above a dark hole. The falcon-like part of my brain kicks in. My eyes dart, searching for a solution.

  As I swing my arms back, I feel the graze of the hard rock, but there’s nothing to grab hold of. My pack begins to rip.

  “Don’t you dare!”

  I try to turn and get my arms out of the straps so I can climb. The crevice rim is just above my head. I slip one arm out but feel myself falling backward. Clawing at the rock, I gain hold of a smooth root. Such a tiny root. When I try to pull myself up, I feel the root tear, and I scramble for a different hold. My fingers slip, peeling off the thin coating of the root.

  “No! Come on!”

  The root breaks. I plummet into the dark abyss.

  Before the landing comes, I have a brief moment to hate myself for failing Dad and Gavin. And then I smash into the ground, all the wind rushing out of my lungs. I lie gasping, trying to find my breath. When I take a painful gulp of air, the sound of it echoes off the walls around me.

  I try to sit up, but I’m tangled in something. Whatever has broken my fall creaks and shifts underneath me. I roll and come face-to-face with a gaping jaw.

  “Wha—!”

  I kick and try to jump back, but something has a grip on my hoodie. I fight it off. The jaw sags toward me. Frantic, I thrash and punch, trying to hold my breath. I’m in a nightmare.

  Finally I break free and roll off, scrambling as far away as I can. My heart skitters in my chest. My limbs shake. I don’t want to, but I peek at the thing. I clutch my stomach when I see the rest of the skull, which is attached to a body of long, white bones. Bits of cloth cling to a full skeleton.

  After my ten-point freak-out, I get ahold of myself and rise shakily to my feet. I’m in a rock crevice about seven feet wide and as long as my kitchen. I look up at the rim and see that I fell nearly fifteen feet. It’s amazing I didn’t break a bone. I shoot a glance at the skeleton and choke down a hysterical giggle.

  “Keep it together, Karma,” I say.

  The bottom of the crevice is made up of rock and dirt. Dry as death. Now that my eyes adjust, it’s not as dark as I feared.

  I have no idea how a skeleton got down here or how long it’s been here. Or where I am. Or, most importantly, how I’m going to get out.

  “Help!” I scream.

  I lunge, reach for the light above the crevice, and scream over and over, until I realize that isn’t going to help. Focus.

  I shake my head and then start a grid-pattern search for fissures to grab in the wall. I feel across every single part of the sheer rock. Not a single spot to grab. I do it again, moving around and around.

  My hands are claws, raking across the cold, rough stone. I rake harder, faster. There has to be a way. I jump and scream and claw some more. My knees make a dull thud every time they smash into the solid wall, but I hardly feel it. My breath comes in short, rapid pants. I keep trying to climb until I’m dizzy and exhausted.

  When I finally stop, standing with my head down, I notice I’ve ripped my nails. I hold my hands out, watching the blood mix with the dirt around my nail beds. They throb with each beat of my heart.

  My pack still hangs on the broken root. My water. I have no water, or matches, or food. At least I have my hoodie still wrapped around my waist, which is a good thing because it is cold down here. The simple, familiar motion of pulling on my hoodie helps ground me. I take a deep breath and try to think.

  How am I going to get out of here? Rope? I need someone on the other end for that. A ladder? Yes, that would do. But I don’t have either of those things. A raw and terrible sadness bubbles in my chest. Deep breath.

  “Think. Think. Think.” I knock my forehead with a fist.

  The answer to my question is plain. You can’t get yourself out of a hole that you can’t climb out of. I rub my hands over my jeans and then remember something I have in my back pocket. I pull it out and stare at the folded paper fortune teller. Gavin.

  And then you die. My brother’s words bounce in my brain.

  No, no, not like this. I’d prefer getting hit by the turnip truck to dying in this place all alone.

  Keep breathing. If I concentrate on breathing, I won’t have to dwell on what I’ve done. But I can’t escape it. I’m trapped, and Dad and Gavin are sitting in the van, waiting for me.

  As the sun sets, the cold seeps in from the rock. My throat is flayed from calling out for help. No one is coming. The only thing that I’m aware of is Mr. Bones over there, way over in that place that I’m not going near. It’s not so awful if I give it a name.

  I want to cry. Or laugh hysterically. Or screech like Chaos. I want to curl up and wait for my dad to come. Tears threaten, but I begin to talk to myself. Don’t give in to that. You’re not going to get yourself out of this mess if you give up. You are calm, you are not afraid, you are safety.

  There’s a pile of rock sitting at one end of the crevice. My landslide brought part of the ridge down here with it. I try piling some of it like a stepladder to reach my pack, but I still can’t. Kicking at the dirt of the floor, I wonder if I can dig and follow the fault line to a way out. But once I start to claw at the ground, I realize it’s only dirt covering more rock. The entire crevice is a big rock tub. There’s no hope of digging anywhere.

  The fact that I’m going to die of thirst with my water hanging just over my head would actually be kind of funny if it weren’t so deadly serious.

  Deadly.

  Keep it together, Karma.

  My mind has gone numb. I feel a bit off-kilter, as if I’m underwater or watching this happen to someone else.

  The sky is deep red now. The setting sun casts loud colors across the rock. It’s going to get pitch-dark in here soon, and I’ll be alone with crevice ghosts, and I can’t bear it. I squeeze my eyes shut, but that doesn’t help, because as soon as I do, I see Dad stuck in the van. Waiting. I’ve never felt so alone and so useless.

  “I’m trying!” I scream at the rim above me.

  I’m staring up at the disappearing light when I see a shadow fly by. I sit straighter, my breath catching. Please, please, please, let that be what I think it is.

  Then I hear a distinct sound I know so well.

  Kek, kek, kek.

  Adrenaline jolts me upright. I whistle as loudly as I can, and I see a shape fly overhead. A flash of white. A burst of joy almost bowls me over.

  “Stark! Down here, Stark.” I whistle again. Will she come? I don’t even have a lure.

  Stark soars lazily above the hole. She’s free now. Free to fly anywhere she chooses. Free like the wind. And I’m so far from free that I might as well be wearing jesses connecting me to this crevice. I watch with a tight throat as she pivots and disappears from view. The next moment she’s above me again, hovering there. I hold my breath as I watch her fold her wings and drop.

  She lands on my outstretched fist.

  Her toes clutch carefully on my hand. There’s only one layer of cotton between us, so her black talons poke through the hoodie, but they’ve
never felt so good. The feel of them, real and sharp and alive, has a deep effect on me. The tension I’ve held in has cracked a percussive fault line inside my heart. Tears perch on my lashes. I blink furiously and start to shake.

  “You came,” I croak.

  Everything has slowed to a sharp focus. My blood pumps in my ears. I stare at the commissure at the corner of Stark’s mouth, so delicate and perfect. The small notch on the end of her beak, ideal for neck snapping. I smell the dryness of the crevice and feel the ache of my arm.

  I can’t believe it. Stark found me. She must’ve followed me on my trek along the road and now has come to my hand. It seems impossible, but yet here she is. It’s as if we’re both lost out here and cling to each other, desperate for something familiar. She shakes her head and, to my delight, signals she’s okay by ruffling her feathers out.

  “Your feather is still bent,” I say. “But I don’t have any water or a crimper to fix it for you.”

  Stark shuffles, clamping on my arm, and I bite my lip, trying not to jerk. I place her on the rocks. She’s come in for the night. Falcons don’t fly in the dark. She’s going to keep me company down here.

  “Thank you,” I whisper.

  At my voice, she turns her head until she’s peering upside down at me. This signature silly habit always makes me laugh. I almost think she’s trying to cheer me up.

  “Yes, I noticed Mr. Bones too,” I say, tilting my head sideways to look back at her. “But let’s not stare at him. I think he’s a bit shy.”

  She straightens and then begins to preen her feathers. The accident didn’t permanently damage her, which makes the tangle of emotions inside me loosen. Stark is feeling comfortable enough to preen. I glance up at the hanging pack.

  “I sure wish you could bring my pack to me, Stark. Just fly up there and knock it off, will you? That’s all it needs, just a tap. Wouldn’t that be a cool trick? We need to start training you to do helpful things like that.” I talk to her like we’ll always be together. Like we’re not in the middle of nowhere.