by Mia Sheridan
No, she wouldn’t sleep, but thank God she was warm. Content. And there were only a handful of hours until dawn.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Ribbons of powder. Puffs of wind. Both dancing across the frosty field. Jak stepped through it, moving around the buried rocks and hidden holes he knew by memory.
Driscoll’s house came into view, smoke trailing from the chimney, and Jak picked up his pace, moving quickly through the falling snow. He didn’t like visiting Driscoll. He did it as little as possible, but there were some things he didn’t want to do without, now that winter had arrived.
Especially matches.
He could cook now but chose not to. When he did that, he couldn’t taste the life in it anymore. He remembered his baka had talked about vitamins and minerals, and maybe those were the same thing. Now that words were hardly ever in his mouth, Jak had learned that pictures in his head explained things better. He saw vitamins and minerals like tiny grains of life that flowed through the living being and when you ate them, you could taste all the things that animal had experienced. Its life flowed into you and in that way, never really stopped living. Life went on and on and on. Never stopping.
But he didn’t want to go back to a winter without the warmth of fire, even though he now had a roof over his head, a blanket, and Pup’s body heat. Warmth was worth the walk—and worth a few minutes with Driscoll. Jak didn’t like him though. He got a cold, sweaty feeling whenever he was around him. He hated how Driscoll’s eyes got all squirrely and the way he watched Jak’s every move. Jak had learned to tell when there was a predator nearby, not just by the snapping of a twig under its step, or the stink of its fur as it drew close. He knew from the whispery feeling inside and the way the small hairs on the back of his neck stood up when something dangerous was stalking him.
He got that feeling when he was around Driscoll.
The man had never done anything other than trade supplies with him, and yet . . . that feeling stayed. Jak figured that whatever Driscoll did in town to get supplies, it was probably sneaky and full of lies.
But Jak wasn’t going to think too hard about that. His baka once explained that people did what they had to do to survive during wars. And he needed matches. That was all.
Jak had let Pup out of the house at first sunlight and he still hadn’t been back when Jak left, so he was alone on this trip. He wanted it that way, though, and always went alone to Driscoll’s. Pup was loyal and faithful to him, and he didn’t fear him in the least, but Jak had no idea what he’d do if he saw a stranger. Especially one that put off the stink of a predator the way Driscoll did.
The few times that Jak heard a car on the road in the near faraway, or what might be people walking in the wilderness around him, he turned in the other direction, and moved away, quiet as a wolf. Quiet as Pup. He figured doing that had taught Pup to fear humans other than Jak. And besides that, he didn’t know how Driscoll would act if he saw a giant wolf approaching him, whether he looked nice or not.
Driscoll opened the door before Jak had even knocked, like he’d been watching for him, which made those tiny hairs stand up on Jak’s neck.
“Jak. How are you? Come in. Get warm.”
Jak went inside the small room, thinking as he always did, how much he wanted to leave, just as he was getting there.
He reached in the bag he’d made by stitching together two rabbit skins with long pieces of thick grass. It wasn’t very strong and couldn’t hold anything too heavy, but it worked for his needs, and it’d kept him busy for three full days. Jak pulled out the fish packed in snow and wrapped in another skin. He’d caught the fish that morning by banging a rock through the ice and dangling small pieces of rabbit meat into the hole. It’d taken him all morning, but he’d caught four. Two to trade, one for himself, and one for Pup.
When he looked up, Driscoll’s squirrely eyes were moving between the fish and the bag, a small smile turning his thick lips up. “You’ve been working hard. Figuring out how to survive with what’s available to you.”
“What other choice do we have?” he asked. “Until the war’s over.”
“Yes. What are you looking to trade for?”
“Matches.”
“Ah.” He sighed. “Matches are a precious commodity.”
Precious commodity. His mind whirred, working quickly through the meaning of those words. He remembered precious. Important. Matches were an important thing? A commodity was a thing. An important thing.
Yes, yes, they were. Jak knew that better than anyone. What was more precious than life-giving heat? “I can bring you more fish. How many?”
Driscoll ran his fingers down the sides of his mouth and over his beard, eyeing Jak in a way that made his muscles tense. “Bring me a pair of boots. These ones I’m wearing are old and worn, and I could use something warmer and lined with fur.”
Boots? He looked down at the boots he’d made for himself using pieces of his old shoes, skins and fur, stitched and wrapped together with long blades of grass. They did the job and kept his feet warm, but they were hardly something to trade. He looked at Driscoll’s boots. They looked fine to him. Jak wished he had boots like those instead of the ones he’d made using whatever he could find—boots that fell apart so often, he was always fixing something on them, or leaving one behind as he took a step in the deep piles of snow.
“If you bring me a pair of boots that I approve of, I’ll give you two boxes of matches.”
Jak’s heart picked up speed. Two boxes. That would get him through the winter and into spring. He’d come up with better ways to make boots. His mind started buzzing like cricket song, thinking about all the items that might work better than the ones he was using. He had the pocketknife that he used to make small holes, but using grass as thread wasn’t the best. It dried out and broke. He was always having to fix pieces that came apart. “Okay,” he said, before he could talk himself out of it. The worst that could happen was that Driscoll didn’t like his work and didn’t give him the matches.
Driscoll looked pleased. “Good boy. Come with me and I’ll get you five matches for the fish.”
Jak paused before following Driscoll into the room next to the main one that he figured was where he slept. He stayed in the doorway as Driscoll walked to a dresser, opened the top drawer, and counted out five matches. He tried to block the drawer with his body, but when he moved just a little bit, Jak was able to see that there were two rows of large matchboxes inside. He had enough matches for ten winters. Jak tried not to feel angry. They were Driscoll’s matches and Jak was lucky the man was trading with him for five.
He moved his gaze from the closing drawer to the picture above the dresser. It was a drawing of men fighting and Jak stared at it for a minute. He’d played war with his toy soldiers when he lived with Baka, but the men in the picture were dressed in weird clothes nothing like the military gear his action figures had worn.
“The Battle of Thermopylae,” Driscoll said, stopping beside him in the doorway and looking back at the picture. “One of the most famous battles of all time. The Spartans held Thermopylae against invaders, a mountain pass of extreme strategic importance, for three days with a mere three hundred men.”
Driscoll had just said several words Jak didn’t know. He’d like to go over them—collect them—but he also wanted to leave. “The Spartans?” Jak glanced at Driscoll and his eyes were shiny like he might be about to cry. But happy tears. Maybe he liked fighting. Maybe he liked war. Maybe he liked living this way. Maybe that’s why Jak felt so funny around him all the time. Jak backed up two steps, putting more space between them.
Driscoll didn’t seem to notice as he nodded his head up and down, up and down. “The greatest warriors of all time,” he said. “They were bred for battle. Tested to know they were men who would never give up, despite the most dire odds. It’s said that the only time a spartan soldier got a break from training was during a war.” Driscoll laughed, and Jak gave a tight smile, though he didn’t really u
nderstand the joke.
“But see, survival is the greatest training of all. It’s that inexplicable something that makes a man keep going despite the obstacles before him, despite miserable conditions, or impossible feats. That’s the thing that makes the most fearsome of all warriors. Any strong, dexterous man can learn to wield a weapon, but it’s an extraordinary soldier who never gives up. Ever.”
Jak backed up a few more steps into the main room and Driscoll followed him, his eyes still shiny. “We must study history to forge the future. Ancient people understood war so much better than we do today. They . . . they . . .” His hands flew around for a few seconds like he was trying to grab the right words from the air. His eyes met Jak’s. “They understood that sacrifices must always be made for the common good of society. They knew that without sacrifice, humanity would fall to selfishness, greed, and ruin. One is never as important as all. That’s what’s brought us to this point, you see?”
No, Jak didn’t see. Not at all. But he nodded to make it seem as if he got what Driscoll was going on about. He thought it must be about the war. Driscoll knew much more about what was happening in town, in the USA, in . . . That’s all Jak knew of the world, other than it was round and people talked in different languages if you traveled far enough to find them.
“People are so bad, Jak. So bad and selfish and immoral. They don’t learn. They never learn, and we all pay for their mistakes.”
Jak stared at him. Was that true? Were people bad? Some were, he knew that. People had taken his baka away. Tried to kill him. Made it so he had to live in the faraway woods by himself. But some were good, weren’t they? His baka had been good. She’d tried to pretend she didn’t like him all the time, but he could tell she did anyway. She’d cared for him and taught him things, and looked proud when he did a good job at something or another. She’d given him books, and words, and numbers, and orange drinks with fizzy bubbles. But now, he was confused and wanted to go. “Okay. I’ll be back then with the boots.”
Driscoll blinked, then his eyes moved over Jak’s head, his brow scrunching. “What?” He gave his head a shake. “Yes. Boots. Right. Yes, bring me a pair of boots. And I’ll give you a box of matches.”
“Two boxes,” Jak corrected. “You said you’d give me two boxes.”
Driscoll waved his hand as though there was no difference between one or two. But he couldn’t mean that. The difference between plenty of matches and not enough was life . . . or death. “Two boxes. Yes, fine.”
Jak nodded, already turning toward the door. “Bye,” he said as he slipped outside into the snow. He turned his face, small bullets of icy hail hitting his cheek. A whipping wind had picked up. He should ask Driscoll if he could stay for a while instead of making the walk home. His face already hurt and his boots were coming loose, he could feel it with each step. He didn’t want to let Driscoll know that though or he might back out of their trade. And anyway, even as the thought of staying drifted through his mind, the whispery feelings were telling him to go, and he was moving away from the house. Away from Driscoll and his wild eyes. Away from the man who made him feel like prey, even though he didn’t know why.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The girl named Harper was snoring. Loudly.
Lucas watched her where she was sitting on his floor, her head leaned forward, and her mouth wide open. He took the moment to stare at her without her knowing, to let his eyes travel free.
It’s you, he thought. It felt like a bee was trapped in his chest.
She was the baby in the photo he’d worn around his neck for so long. Was that why the low-down whispers stirred whenever she was around? Why he felt like he knew her? He reached for the necklace out of habit, his hand falling away. Empty. Still staring. She was the small smiling girl with the pink bow in her brown curls.
How could it be? It shocked him. Although so much shocked him. Why wouldn’t it? A jolt of unhappiness went through him, but he pushed it down. For now. While she was there. The girl made him jumpy. Or . . . no, not jumpy. It was the opposite. What is the opposite of jumpy? She made him still. Like he wanted to stop and wait and watch until he could understand her.
Still wasn’t the right word either, and he thought about that for a minute as he put his jacket on, trying to be loud so she would wake. She let out another snore, which almost made him smile, except he was too tense to smile.
He turned away for a minute, but couldn’t help turning back. He wanted to look at her. She’s beautiful. But could he trust her? He rubbed his head. The woman with red hair, who had taken her clothes off for him and kissed his mouth, had been beautiful too. Not as beautiful as the girl drooling in her sleep on his floor, but still beautiful. But anyway, they were different, right? He knew this woman. Didn’t he? He sort of felt like he did.
A piece of her dark hair fell over her face. The color of chestnuts in the sunshine. Deep shiny brown. His hand itched to push it back, to run his fingers through it and find out if it was as silky as it looked. To touch. To smell. Her eyes were closed now, but he could picture them open and staring at him like she didn’t know what he might do next.
What did she think? What did she see when she looked at him? An animal or a man? Something to fear? Yes, he knew that answer, or she wouldn’t have brought a gun with her.
Silently he moved closer. Silent as a wolf. Trying to catch her scent from where he stood. There. He closed his eyes, drawing it in, holding it. It was earthier this morning, like he’d taken an entire flower and crushed it in his hands and then brought it to his nose, all the parts of it blending together. Sweet and not sweet. He didn’t have the words for her scent, only pictures. Feelings. Low-down whispers. But it moved him. It made his body react, made him want her.
He peered closer, studying. Learning. Her mouth was wide, the top lip thinner than the bottom, and when her lips were parted—like right then—he could see her two top teeth. Pearly, smooth.
When he’d first seen her, he’d thought she looked like a fawn—fresh and young, her large brown eyes blinking at him with curiosity. He’d never seen anything prettier. Not even the almost-night when the colors of the bleeding sun filled the sky and came down to kiss the earth.
She moved in her sleep and he took a quick, silent step back, but still she did not wake. He had hardly slept at all, so aware of her under his roof that he couldn’t get his mind to quiet. Maybe she wasn’t as scared of him as he thought if she was able to sleep that way. She let out another grumbly snore and tipped forward. His lips did turn up then, into an actual smile that felt strange on his lips. He reached up to feel it, his fingers running over the curved shape of his mouth.
He hadn’t wanted her to stay there. He’d wanted her to leave so he could stop questioning everything, feeling things he didn’t know what to do about. He needed time to think, to figure out what he was going to do now that Driscoll was dead and his tie to the outside world was gone. He had to figure out what he was going to do about a lot of things, and he had no idea where to start.
He remembered the night before when he’d looked out his window and had seen her crying near the den of baby foxes. At first, he’d thought it was because their mother hadn’t returned, but when he understood that it was because their mother was there, keeping them warm and dry and fed, he felt something twist in his chest that he’d never felt before.
She’d lost her mother too. He knew that now.
It’s you, he thought again. You.
He watched her for another minute, trying to figure the best way to wake her up since noise wasn’t working. Should he shake her awake? Or would she shoot him with that gun of hers? She could try. But he could overpower her in a second—weapon or no weapon—and if she didn’t know that, she should. At the picture that formed in his mind—his body coming over hers as she looked up at him with her round, brown, deer-like eyes—his skin flushed, and he felt dizzy.
Be still.
Wait.
She confused him the way all people did,
but even . . . more. He didn’t understand the way she talked or the expressions that changed from one moment to the next and without any warning. He didn’t know how she laughed so easily one minute and then tears filled her eyes the next. He couldn’t follow what she was saying half the time, because she jumped between topics so quickly and for no reason that he could understand.
He knew her . . . sort of, but . . . she was a mystery.
Did other women act that way? Or was it only her? He didn’t know. But he knew one thing: he liked the way she looked.
He liked her face and body. Her hair. He liked the way she moved and the way she smelled—especially that. Deep and rich and sweet. Something he wanted to bury his nose in, letting it overpower his brain. It spoke to him.
He wondered what she’d taste like, and it caused his muscles to tense so he was both uncomfortable and not. He’d seen a few other females when he’d gone into town—and he’d seen a lot of the woman with the red hair—but the minute he laid his eyes on Harper, he felt different. Like a fire had lit inside of him, the blue part of the flame licking at his bones and making them melt to liquid.
The feeling was so strong, that if the rules of nature were the rules of humans, he would have claimed her right that minute, fought a battle against other males for her. And won. Whatever he needed to do so he could call her his. She’s the one I choose, he wanted to tell all the other males. That one. But he knew there was far more to it than that. His instincts, though—the ones that had been sharpened so he was more animal than man—were strong and needy. Because his instincts had meant his survival. And to push them aside felt like a kind of giving up he was not used to or ready for.
He had no idea what the rules of town life were, no idea how to live by them, or if he even wanted to. That was the thing about nature—there were . . . patterns. He wondered if people had patterns too and thought they probably did not.