“I abandoned them!” I scream, struggling to get up.
“No, you didn’t, Karma. You went for help. We’re going to get help.”
But I hardly hear him. I lash out, kicking and flailing, needing to get up, to do something. My injured arm connects with Cooper’s jaw, and the instant pain is like a white bolt of lightning shooting through the center of me. It knocks me back, breathless.
Cooper holds me while our dimming rock cave spins around my head. The pain engulfs me. I welcome it. I’m wrapped up as it pushes out every other thought in my head. Finally it subsides to a pounding pulse reaching to my elbow. By the time I can sit up, I feel more like myself and look around the tiny space we’re in.
“Shhh, be calm. Be calm.” Cooper’s words register deep inside me. I wipe my face, shaky and ashamed.
Cooper loosens his grip. “You good?”
“No,” I whisper.
“Can you move off my foot a little? It’s asleep.”
“Oh.” I shift and we find our spots, with me leaning my back into him. We brace the jacket again. My heart still pounds from my panic. I swallow and close my eyes. I need to think about something else.
“If my friends could see me now.” Cooper snorts. “I’m a long way from Salt Lake City,” he says, as if he knows I need a distraction. “I miss the city. My dad still lives there.”
Another fury of hail gusts against the jacket, and Cooper braces again.
“And my mom, well, she’s in jail,” he barely whispers.
“Why is your mom…?” It’s beyond my comprehension that his mom would be in jail. “What did she do? I thought you said she was a doctor.”
“Yup, ’til she hit someone while driving when she was wasted. Or was she stoned? Stoned and wasted? The details are murky.”
I turn my head toward Cooper. I can see him in the dim light as he stares ahead. His bottom lip quivers, but his expression is hard.
“Cooper.” It’s all I can manage to say.
Cooper makes an impatient gesture with his hand. The jacket flicks up at the motion. “The stupid thing was, she’s not in for the accident, but for stealing stuff.”
“You mean, like stealing phones and dirt bikes? That sort of thing?”
Cooper goes very still. The silence stretches for a long time, but I don’t give in to fill it.
Finally he says, so softly I can barely hear, “Yeah.”
The storm continues to rage outside our little crevice. Cooper and I take turns holding up the jacket against the wind. We huddle together on the cold rock and count the minutes until it ends.
There are many minutes in a hailstorm.
The summit is just ahead. We’ve been climbing this ice-covered rock since it was light enough to see, and we’re almost there. Puffs of vapor hang in front of my face each time I breathe. The temperature has plummeted since the storm blew through. I’m glad for the exercise of the climb to keep me warm, but my fingers are freezing. My stomach pinches, and I glance at Cooper. He seems even worse off than me.
We drank the water that was left in the bottle, then poured the water from the Ziploc bag to refill it. Now we’ve almost finished that too. Collecting the hail hadn’t given us nearly as much water as I’d thought.
The rim is just a few more steps away. Then we’ll be able to see over this mountain. We’ll be able to see for miles in every direction. Surely we’ll see the highway from here. I keep thinking back to the GPS when Dad showed me the map. I glanced at it quickly. I trusted him when he said the highway was not far, and I’ve been stubbornly fixated on it ever since.
Gavin must’ve been terrified during the storm. I know he hates thunder, though lately he hasn’t wanted to admit it. At home, Mom takes out her fiddle during storms, and we clap and stomp around the house, trying to make more noise than the thunder. But Mom wasn’t there with her fiddle, so I don’t think much would’ve distracted Gavin.
I slip off a rock. The abrupt movement sears down my arm. I suck in a breath and focus back to where we are. Almost there.
Cooper scrambles up before me and stops suddenly. His shoulders sag, and my heart sinks to my toes.
“What? What do you see? Is it the highway?”
I climb up beside him, and then I’m staring across a flat, open field. I suck in a breath. We still can’t see the other side. We have to get across the mountaintop first. I try to choke down the bitter frustration.
“Come on!” Cooper kicks a rock back down the slope we’ve just climbed up. “Will this never end? I’m so hungry! My stomach feels like it’s being twisted in a vise. I’d give anything for some fries right now.”
A familiar feeling of being watched goes through me, and I look up. Stark flies overhead, circling and soaring effortlessly. I pull out the lure and swing it high. Even though it only has the leftover foot from the grouse tied to it, she goes for it immediately.
“You missed the party,” I tell her as she lands. “There was music and dancing and quail; you would have loved it.”
The pinch from her talons as I get her to step onto my sleeve-covered fist makes me sigh with relief. Of course she found me.
“Yeah, and we had fries and bacon cheeseburgers,” Cooper tells Stark.
Stark rouses as if to say we’re both nuts. “I wish you could tell me how far we are from the highway,” I say.
Cooper watches her with interest. “You think she wants to hunt again?”
“Yes, of course. See how tense she is, and her expression? She’s all business. She wants to fly.”
“How can you even tell? She always has the same expression. She’s got that mad face like she’s always glaring at me,” Cooper says.
I study Stark and notice how her mouth at the corner is set slightly downward, as if she’s frowning. Her dark eyes, under heavy brows, are deep in thought. She shoots out a mute, and suddenly I’m wearing the same worried frown as her.
“Let’s try to flush something out as we cross the mountaintop,” I say. “Her mute—I mean, her poop—is dark green. She needs to eat.”
“She needs to?”
“Stay on my right as we look for a slip for her,” I say, hoping for this hunting opportunity.
We head across, eyes down, focused on finding grouse, pheasants, or other game birds—anything that we can eat. I don’t see anything but golden grasses, lichen, some erratic boulders strewn here and there, and a ridge on the right with red sediments layered in the rock.
We wander in slightly different directions through the grass. Every fiber in my body is screaming to hurry up and find the highway, but I also realize we need to eat. From the corner of my eye, I see Cooper suddenly freeze. He thrusts his fist in the air. Even though I don’t see what he sees, I notice Stark tense as well. She leaps off my fist and begins to pump her wings.
“Wait for her to get higher,” I call to Cooper.
I glance at Stark circling above, watching my every move, and I let myself forget about all the bad things that have happened until now. She came to me again, and she’s going to help us eat, if we can find her some prey.
I feel so much emotion. Out here, everything feels like more.
When she’s near a thousand feet, I nod at Cooper. He lunges toward a thicket and disappears. I hear splashes and cursing. He’s found a pond.
I race toward him to see him flapping at two stubborn pintails refusing to lift. They glance nervously at the sky. At the predator above that is more dangerous than the two of us. We whoop at them, but it takes Cooper charging into the icy water before they flush.
“Ho, ho, ho!” I yell, my eyes to the sky.
My stomach is in knots as I imagine Stark chasing these ducks for a long way off. This is why falconers use telemetry to track gyrfalcons. They usually chase prey for miles. This was a bad idea. What am I even doing, pretending to know how to hunt with such an intelligent raptor as a gyr when I don’t even have my own redtail yet? Red-tailed hawks are much easier to train and less complicated for a beginner like me.
Stark turns and plunges into a magnificent stoop. There’s no way she’s going to catch a pintail on her first try. She misses, wheels with incredible speed, and gets above the pintails again. She dives diagonally, directly at the drake—the larger pintail. Cooper gasps when we hear the whack of impact.
The drake tumbles.
Cooper cheers.
I pump my fist in the air in answer, and we grin at each other across the shrubs. It’s even more thrilling sharing this with Cooper. To see him so excited by the hunt.
I race to where Stark is rolling on the ground, panting, battling the drake. Dread fills me. This is where falcons get damaged. But Stark remembers what I did last time and is waiting for me to fix it again.
I reach in like I’ve watched Aunt Amy do so many times and grasp the beautiful, slender, long neck of the pintail. “Thank you,” I say, giving the neck a quick jerk. The drake stops struggling.
I’m tense as I make the trade, offering Stark a leg as I smoothly move the duck away from her view. Only then can I relax and think about what we’ve just accomplished.
When I’ve flown birds at home, it was always for them. It was exercise and for conditioning and training. Even out dogging with Aunt Amy and Tank, it was to watch the bird hunt. This is entirely different. Hunting with Stark—and how much hinges on her success—brings the whole thing into a different focus for me. It’s so primal. I have a fierce and completely free hunter perched on my fist, and it makes me feel savage with pride.
Cooper approaches, and we both watch Stark pluck and eat the piece I hold between my fingers. Once she’s finished, I wait for her rouse, and then I tilt my head at Cooper. “Do you want to hold her?”
With a dead-serious expression on his face, Cooper takes in a quick breath and nods.
“Take off your jacket and wrap it around your left hand. It’s my turn to make a fire. Don’t be afraid. You are safety.”
Cooper’s eyes widen as Stark hops onto his outstretched fist.
“And don’t stare directly at her. She’s a predator and prefers to do the looking.”
I’m more nervous than I let on, but I don’t want to freak him out by telling him to relax. I’m not sure why I try it, but the look on Cooper’s face makes me glad I did. Someone who is basically my own age understands this passion. It makes me feel less weird.
Despite my advice, boy and falcon stare at each other. It’s such an intense moment; I hold my breath so as not to disturb it. Maybe Stark senses Cooper was lost like she was. Either way, there is a kinship between them.
Then I notice Cooper nervously twitching. He’s not always the confident and bossy kid he tries to be. He moves to pet her but then hesitates, which is possibly the worst thing he could do.
“Cooper, don’t—”
Stark steps off the jacket and clutches his bare wrist with her talon.
“Don’t move!” I say.
And he doesn’t. Surprisingly, he doesn’t flinch or yell. He winces, and then a goofy smile breaks out on his face. Stark releases her clasp, bobs her head, and flies off. “Ow,” Cooper says. He looks at his wrist, still grinning like a madman. “That was sort of awesome.”
“Sorry, I forgot to mention she’s footed me a couple times. That’s from poor training. She still hasn’t kicked some bad manners. Raptors don’t like hesitation or sudden movements. If you’re going to do something, just do it,” I explain.
“Awe. Some.”
“I think you’re swelling, actually. Did she break skin?”
“Did you see that?” he continues. “I think she likes me.”
“Um, yeah. That’s definitely going to bruise,” I say.
“That’s what I call a grip. I have to try that again.”
“And you call me weird!” I give Cooper a look but then grin with him. “It’s pretty awesome, isn’t it?”
We stand, beaming at each other like Stark-loving lunatics.
“So you’ve been gripped with her claws before?” Cooper asks as we lick our fingers.
“All of us have at some point,” I admit. “Not with claws, though. Talons.”
The meat burns our fingers as we scarf it down, and the juice runs down our chins.
“It’s not fun getting footed,” I continue. “And it’s worse getting footed by a hawk. They have an even stronger grip that crushes and bruises for, like, a week. The key is to not react. You were perfect.”
Cooper’s eyes shine. “I feel sort of…I don’t know. Like she sees me. Like I’m worthy enough to be seen.” He shakes his head. “Ah, that sounds dumb. I can’t explain it.”
I watch him, feeling a little smug at the enlightened expression on his face. “I do know, Cooper. I’ve been around raptors all my life, and I’ve seen other people get introduced to birds of prey. For some, it’s just a cool thing to see a raptor so close, but for others, it changes them.”
We both glance at Stark, sitting on a log next to my pack, making contented little chip, chip, chip noises. She picks her toes clean, telling me how she feels about being here. As long as we keep hunting and she gets to eat, I bet she’d prefer to stay out here, roaming the mountains.
“Last time we did this, it attracted something I don’t want to see again,” Cooper says, looking around. “We should go before…you know, bears.”
Standing, I wipe my good hand on my pants. I’ve been cradling my left most of the day, and it pulses with my heartbeat. The skin is tight and hot.
“Yeah. Let’s get across so we can finally find where that highway is. We have to see something.”
As we stand, a cold wind blows over the mountain. Up here, the air feels heavy with something. I can smell it: snow.
We hurry over the rocky terrain. The impending winter weather nips at our heels. I burrow into my hoodie. We could not have lasted this long if it had snowed before. So much for the warm spell.
We have no shelter, and no warm clothes. We’re completely unprepared for cold weather. Fall and winter storms in Montana are serious, especially out here in the mountains. If we’re still up here when it snows, we’re as good as dead. I try to turn my mind to something positive. I’m so tired of everything that I’ve carried with me for days.
“You have a great eye for hunting,” I tell Cooper. “You saw the grouse and the ducks and flushed them both. I didn’t even see them ’til you made them move.”
Cooper flushes crimson and looks down. He shrugs but remains silent.
“How did you see them?” I ask. “Have you hunted before?”
“No.” Cooper seems to be trying to look disinterested, but this time he’s failing. It’s the first time I’ve seen him walk with such smooth grace. His hair blows in the breeze over his collar. His little secret smile isn’t fooling anyone here. He’s pleased with the compliment.
“I’d never gone hunting before all this,” he continues, “but I think I could like it.”
As we make our way across the flat mountaintop, Stark perches on the shoulder pad of my backpack and pulls at my hair.
The closer we get to the rim, the more anxious I feel. Will we finally be able to see where we are, or will there be something else to block our view? Endless rock? Or maybe we’ll reach the ledge, look down, and see the highway just below, cars speeding along, people everywhere. Maybe there’s a store right beside the highway. We can make a phone call, buy food, buy all the water we want. I still have Dad’s wallet in the bottom of the pack.
Thoughts of Dad and Gavin overwhelm me. What has become of them while I’ve been out here? What is Gavin doing right now? When I think of calling Mom, the thought of hearing her voice and telling her I’m safe makes me dizzy.
In fact, as we speed up toward the rim, I notice it’s more than my thoughts that are swirling around. The ground seems to sway a little too. A swell of nausea rises in me. Feeling hot, I put a hand over my mouth. My steps are becoming uneven. My hair sticks to my head in damp strings. Cooper mentioned there could be a fever from my infection, and I think it
’s creeping up on me. My whole head feels like it’s on fire.
I have to keep going. I stand straighter and walk with new purpose.
Stark leaps off my shoulder and soars ahead. I think of the reason we took this trip. We’re taking Stark to her breeder. As hard as it was to imagine losing her before our trip, it now feels like a part of me will die inside. After all we’ve been through together, I can’t give her up. She saved my life. We have a bond that I didn’t fully recognize before. How am I going to leave her there and walk away from her? When I look for her again, Stark disappears over the ridge.
It’s just ahead now. I can see it drop off past that last rock as I break into a run. My arm is in agony. A fiery pain slices my skin with each movement.
But it doesn’t matter now. Finally, finally, we’re going to see where we are.
I crest the ridge a step before Cooper. I look down.
“There’s a road!” I yell, hopping up and down. I see Cooper’s eyes narrow, and I look more closely.
Studying the lay of the land, the road is somehow familiar. My gaze follows it until I see something glinting in the sun. When I realize what it is, my whole body deflates like I’ve been stuck with a knife.
“It’s your van,” Cooper says. “We’ve been walking in a circle.”
“What?” My mouth falls open as I stare at the road that I started on. “How did this happen? This is impossible.”
I’ve heard that people who are lost end up walking in circles, but I’ve never understood how someone does that. Can’t they see the sun? We’ve been walking west this whole time. And the mountain stayed at our right. There’s no way we could have gone in a circle. It felt straight to me. We were hiking straight to the highway.
But there is the van, in plain sight. We were not walking straight. The knowledge crushes me. I feel pressed into the rocks. I did not get help for Dad and Gavin. I’ve wasted all this time.
My gaze stays on the van. It’s too far to make anyone out. I don’t see Gavin’s slight form walking around. An intense fear stabs at my gut.
Falcon Wild Page 10