by Mia Sheridan
At least the girl didn’t seem to. Harper.
He wondered what other people would say if they knew what he was thinking about her. That he wanted to mate with her. Not just once, but over and over again until he was full and satisfied like the days when he stole a hive from the bees and stuffed himself with golden honey, his lips sweet and his fingers sticky.
Would they call him a beast?
Or did other men have these same feelings? Did other men, ones who’d lived in civilization, picture mating with the woman they wanted to claim? Bright, clear pictures that filled their minds and tightened their bodies? Was that normal?
He couldn’t make himself care.
Those feelings were part of the deep-down whispers. The scents that moved from her to him and back again. And, his thoughts were his own. They belonged to him. They were the only thing that hadn’t been stolen.
He coughed loudly and her big eyes opened slowly. She blinked for a minute and then sat straight up, moving her hair out of her face, and wiping the trail of drool on her bottom lip. “Oh, I must have . . . just . . . dozed off for a second.” Her eyes darted away like she knew she was lying. That need to smile came again and as she started to stand, he turned away, grabbing his bag.
“Is there, ah, somewhere I can clean up?” she asked.
He turned back to where she stood, moving from one foot to the other. “There’s a shower out back. And whatever else you might need.”
“Out back?” She glanced out the window and then met his eyes again, telling him with her expression that he was definitely not giving her what she “might need.”
He felt ashamed. Heat moved up his neck, but he nodded. “There’s a bucket hanging on the water pump.” He knew she was used to inside bathrooms. He’d been used to that once too. In the long-ago time. Now he could barely remember what hot water felt like. He wished he could give her hot water.
Her eyes widened, but she set her shoulders straight. “Then I’ll just . . . freshen up . . . out back.” Her cheeks turned light pink, and it made his stomach muscles jump. She gave him one last big-eyed look and then turned, grabbing her gun and rushing out the front door.
He watched her close the door behind her, collected the small bag he’d packed, and then he left his house too.
She walked from around the corner a few minutes later, her hair stuck up on top of her head. She looked pretty in the morning light, wrinkled and fresh at the same time, and his blood started doing strange things inside his veins again, rushing quickly, and then slowing, making his brain feel sleepy. He turned his back on her and started walking. She could follow, or not. He heard her truck door opening and closing and then her quick footsteps.
She looked at the knife strapped to his hip. “Expecting trouble?”
“No,” he said quietly. “Expecting dinner. If I’m going to be out today, I want to bring back something to eat.”
“Oh. Right. Yes, of course,” she said. “So, you’ll just use that to . . .” She paused for a long time before finally saying, “Get dinner.”
He squinted ahead, then glanced down at her. Her expression made it look like she had a small, pointy rock in her shoe, and it made him feel like maybe he did too. She didn’t like him, thought he was different . . . strange. He didn’t like it. But it wasn’t her fault. He was different, and strange, and the loneliness opened inside him, widening like a black hole.
Yes, he was different, but that wasn’t the worst of it.
They came out of the trees on the far side of his house, and the open field stretched before them, the sky glowing shiny silver and copper gold. The sight of the early morning sky calmed him, and he was able to move his mind away from the emptiness that would forever be a part of who he was. He could hate it if he wanted—and he did—but he could not change it.
“Thank you, by the way. I’m sure you have other things you could be doing. Especially considering the weather. I really do appreciate it.”
Harper’s words snapped Lucas from his thoughts and he nodded. He didn’t have much else he needed to do. He had a supply of food for winter that he could use if he needed to. He’d learned how important that was to survival many winters ago, and now he knew what to do long before the first snowflake fell. Now all there was to do was wait and worry about his future. He could do that as well out here as he could sitting in front of his fire alone. Although he would be out of matches soon, and he hadn’t worked out how he was going to deal with that.
The way you did before you had them.
He could go to Driscoll’s house and steal matches if he wanted. But he didn’t. He didn’t want to ever go in that cabin again, not even for a box of matches.
“How far is it to the car?” she asked, coming up beside him. He suddenly noticed she didn’t have her gun with her—that must have been what she was putting away when he’d heard her truck door opening and closing—and he wondered what it was that made her decide to leave it behind. Had she decided she wasn’t afraid of him anymore? Or that it would be too hard to travel while carrying a big gun? It didn’t matter, he told himself. He wouldn’t think about the way the thought of her trusting him—the girl whose picture he’d worn around his neck for years, the girl who’d been with him during so many times of struggle and pain and loneliness, made him feel . . . good.
He realized she was glancing up at him and remembered she’d asked him a question. How far to the location? He paused again. He didn’t know how to describe near and far and he knew by the look the sheriff man had given him the day before, he’d done it wrong when he’d told him how many steps were between Driscoll’s and his cabin. “Not long now,” he finally settled on.
They came over a hill, and a valley stretched before them. In the summertime, it was filled with flowers—red and purple and yellow, all melting together and sending the breeze back with their sweetness.
They walked in silence for a little while, just the sounds of their footsteps filling the air around them. It was cold, but not as cold as the day before, and the sun had broken through the clouds so it was warm on his back. Harper picked up a long stick and stopped to break a piece of it off, coming up beside him again and using it to tell the places that were safe to step and the ones that were not. He’d done that once, before he’d memorized every hole and rock of the land around him. “I know every step of this ground,” he told her. “Just follow me.”
She paused, but then tossed the stick to the side. More trust. He picked up his speed, and she did too, keeping up with him even though his legs were much longer. “You bring people out here for your . . . job?” He wanted to know about her—he couldn’t help it—and he also wanted to know about the world, about the ways people lived, the things they did. He wanted to know if any of it would be familiar to him anymore, or if he was too different now to live among others.
He wanted to know whether he even wanted that.
“Oh. You remember that. Yes. Mostly in the spring, summertime, and fall. I take people out to hunt, or to camp, or just to hike for the day. There are fewer customers during the cold months, but I do take some ice-fishers out, skiers, things of that nature. But I save my money so I’m fine working less in the winter. Eventually, I’ll take some classes. But . . . oh, you didn’t ask about that. So, yes, I bring people out here for my job. To, um, enjoy the soul-filling beauty of nature,” she finished, a tilt to her lips. There was a word for that kind of lip tilt . . . what was it? Some kind of smile that was . . . she was trying to be funny in a sort of way? Was that right?
She talked a lot and moved from one subject to the next. Keeping up with her was hard. He had to go back over what she’d said in his mind in order to understand what to respond to.
“You don’t believe the beauty of nature fills a person’s soul?” he finally asked.
She gave him a surprised look. “Oh. I mean, no. I mean, yes, I do. It just sounded like a cheesy thing to say. But . . . being in the wilderness, it’s brought me peace on occasion when I needed
it.” She gave him a quick look before stepping over a rock sticking out of the snow. “What about you? Does the beauty of nature fill your soul?” She smiled at him—so pretty—and all thoughts left his head. He looked away so he could think again.
He thought about the things he loved best about nature, about home . . . the long days of summer when his belly was full of fresh fish and sweet berries, and his skin was warm. The way the fireflies flashed in the wavy blue of not-yet night, the way the wolves sang love songs to their mates, their voices rising high and clear to the full yellow moon, so beautiful the whole forest stopped to listen. The way the gophers laughed with their big-toothed grins as they made trouble and played tricks on each other, and the way the birds greeted the morning light, glad and thankful for another day.
But he also thought of the cold that stabbed his bones, the loneliness that felt like a dark pit of sadness yawning wide, the wild pigs with their crazy eyes and blood-chilling shrieks, and the terrible pain of being hunger-sick. “Fill?” he finally said, his voice low and quiet. “No. But it’s saved me. And . . . punished me. If there are things that might fill my soul, I haven’t found them yet.”
Yet. A hopeful word, he thought. And it surprised him to know he still had some. Even a little.
She was silent for a long while and when he glanced at her, she was staring at him with the strangest look on her face. A new and different one he couldn’t put a word to. He’d said too much . . . in a way others did not. Maybe. But she didn’t look upset with him just . . . surprised and . . . something else that he also didn’t have a word to describe. He looked away, pretending to think about which direction to go in, even though he knew exactly where to go.
“Well, I . . . hope you find it. The thing that fills your soul.”
Or maybe most of my soul is dead. He didn’t say that, though. It was the thing he wondered about in his most private self. The thing he was afraid of. Another part that had been stolen from him that he could never get back.
“Anyway,” she went on, after he’d stayed silent, “you’re right. Nature can be beautiful, but cruel. I know that too.”
He thought maybe she did. “You look for the car then? Is that why you come here? Is that why you do your job?” I would, he thought. If my family was out here somewhere—dead or alive—I’d look for them too.
She stopped and so did he, turning to her. Her eyes were wide, and her mouth was twisted in a weird shape. She looked off to the side and then back at him. “Mostly,” she said, very softly, a quick stop in the middle of the word that made it sound like she had something in her throat. He thought he saw tears in her eyes, and the speed of his heartbeat picked up. Don’t cry. Don’t look sad.
“I never really . . . I guess I never really admitted that to myself, but . . . yes. I’ve been looking for the wreck since I was old enough to come here on my own. The job is just . . . a way to make money at the same time so I can still eat.” She paused. “I’ve needed to move on, to figure out what to do with my life, but I’m . . . stuck.” She laughed softly, but it didn’t sound like a regular laugh. It sounded more sad than anything else.
He watched her pretty face and exhaled slowly. He could suddenly understand this woman in a small way and it made him feel . . . human. Like a man. “I know what it’s like to be lost,” he said. It was the thing that made him different from all the animals. The reason this place would never really be his home the way it was to them.
She met his eyes and it felt like sunlight filled the space between them. Invisible, but bright and warm and real. The whispers grew so they were almost . . . singing inside him. He’d never felt that before. He didn’t know what to think, but he liked it. He liked her.
Leaves crackled around them and a hawk spotted a mouse below him and called out his attack, dipping low and then streaking back into the sky. The hawk cried out again, different hawk words this time. Anger. His lunch had gotten away. “How old were you when you came to live here alone, Lucas?” she asked.
He stared at her, his instinct to ignore the question, lie maybe. Protect himself. He knew now that was because he had been taught to do that, using fear and lies. Did it matter if he answered her? Before he could think any more about it, he said, “Almost eight, I think.”
Her mouth fell open. “Almost eight?” She shook her head. “That’s not possible. Lucas, that’s . . . that’s illegal. It’s abandonment. Someone needs to answer for that.”
“It’s too late now. It won’t change anything.” I’m guilty too.
She looked like she was thinking about that and then shook her head. “I guess not, but it just seems . . . wrong not to do anything at all. Even if you’re not going to involve the law . . . you should . . .”
“What? What should I do? What would you do?”
She glanced at him, biting at her lip. Finally, she sighed. “Well, you could curse God, I guess. That’s usually my best solution. Do it really loudly, and with great outrage.” She shot him a quick smile that was also somehow sad.
He turned her words over in his head, figuring out the ones he didn’t know, his mind working quickly.
Great outrage. Rage. Anger. Big Anger. Very angry.
He squinted off into the place where the earth and the sky met. “Does it work?”
“Not generally. All it does is make me feel really small and useless.”
“An ant, cursing God from the summit of a blade of grass,” he quoted from memory, the words rolling off his tongue before he could stop them. He bit down, grimacing as he drew a small amount of blood.
She shot him a surprised smile that turned into a chuckle. “Basically.” She was quiet for a moment. “What will you do? Now that Driscoll is gone? I understand you used to trade with him?”
“Yes. But not much in the last few . . . years. I don’t need Driscoll to survive.” He paused for a minute. “I’ll miss the things he got for me, but I survived for winters . . . years, without him. I can do it again if I have to.”
She didn’t say anything and when he gave her a quick look, he saw that her brows were close together and she was biting at her lip again the way she seemed to do right before she began asking lots of questions all in a row.
“What happened to your parents?” he asked, trying to move her thoughts from him to anything else. “How did the wreck happen?”
Her chest went up and down as she took in a big breath. “I was young like you, too, when my whole world ended.” She smiled but it was quickly gone. “Or at least, that’s how it felt.” He again felt understanding. The way she’d said her whole world ended; that’s exactly what he thought had happened to him once, twice. The whole world had ended.
There’s a war.
“We were on our way back from dinner in Missoula. I fell asleep.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what happened. That’s one of the worst parts about it. I remember the crash, I think, very vaguely. I remember falling. I remember being wet and freezing. It was winter. But then the next thing I remember is waking up in the hospital. I’ve tried to piece it all together, but there are just . . . hazy flashes that I can’t put into context.”
I can’t put into context . . . context. Understanding? I can’t . . . can’t make fit? Come together. Yes. Like a puzzle. That’s what she meant. Context. He stored the word away. A new one among so many new ones in the last few days. “How were you found but not the car?”
“Lost hikers found me.”
“Out here?” He’d never seen anyone. He’d thought he’d heard people a few times. But that had meant danger to him, so he’d hidden until he was sure he was safe.
They’re killing the children.
She shot him a glance. “Yes. They were out snow hiking, looking for caves friends had told them about. Two college guys. It was suggested they might have gotten lost because they had smoked a copious amount of marijuana. Apparently, they reeked of it, but no one was very concerned about that, considering the circumstances. It’s surprising they got us back to t
own at all.”
That was a lot of words he didn’t know. He only understood half a language, he realized. Maybe less. His head ached.
“Anyway, they left a statement but didn’t know where they’d found me, or any other details. The authorities in the area formed a search party, mostly based on the roads my dad would have likely been driving, but without any landmarks, they didn’t really know where to specifically direct it. I was in the hospital for a long time and when I woke up, I could barely remember anything.”
“You were lucky,” was all he had to say to that long string of words.
She squinted into the faraway for a minute. “I guess I was.”
Lucas stopped and so did Harper. He dug in his bag, bringing out a piece of wrapped fish and handing it to her. “Hungry?”
She took it, though she looked unsure. “Starving. What is it?”
“Smoked red-throat fish.” He only ate smoked fish in the winter, because he’d found that that made it last longer and he could store it. He liked fresh, raw fish better, but he’d brought the smoked kind because he thought Harper might like that kind more.
She gave him a strange look but unwrapped it and broke off a piece, putting it in her mouth and chewing. Her eyes widened and she chewed some more, talking around the food. “This is good.”
He smiled, pride filling his chest. He liked the sight of her eating the food he’d caught, cleaned, and smoked. He liked the look of the pleasure in her eyes and the way the oil from the food made her lips look shiny. He thought about licking her lips, tasting the oily salt on her skin.
He thought about hunting and fishing for her, bringing her things to eat, and keeping her warm and safe. He thought about her looking to him to do those things. He liked the picture in his mind, but it confused him. She couldn’t live there.
“Ready?” he asked, dropping the rest of the wrapped food into his bag and turning away from her. She said something around another bite, and he heard her footsteps behind him.
As they moved, he took some fish out and ate it quickly, watching the sky as it changed from lonesome gray to blue, the fiery sun burning away the morning clouds, the mist in the treetops fading. Dripping sounds were all around them, the snow turning to water that would freeze again tonight, making silvery waterfalls of every size and shape, and long, sharp icicles.