Wilder Boys

by Brandon Wallace

  “Making a bow is harder,” Skeet told them. “To make a proper bow, you have to cut the right length of wood, shape it, and dry it—a process that can take weeks or months. You haven’t got time for that.”

  Instead Skeet showed them how to cut a fresh five-foot-long sapling about two inches in diameter. “Stay away from pine, poplar, and willow trees,” he told them. “Those’ll usually break. But almost anything else that’s strong and springy will work.”

  The boys cut their own bows and strung them using some elk sinew cord Skeet had made. Skeet gave them a couple of factory-made arrows to test out their new weapons, and in no time, Taylor could hit a paper-plate target from twenty-five feet away. Jake struggled, sending most of his arrows well wide of the target.

  Seeing Jake’s frustration, Skeet put his hand on the older boy’s shoulder. “Don’t be hard on yourself. We all have different talents. It takes brains and brawn to survive out here. Never forget that patience and practice are the most important survival tools.”

  Over the next few days, Skeet continued preparing the boys for living in the wilderness. He gave them each larger backpacks to carry, and a variety of extra equipment, including a pot and frying pan, a rain tarp, a trenching tool, and a couple of old musty sleeping bags. He showed them different ways of making shelters to live under, and how to start a fire using a magnesium flint. Mostly, he showed them how to find and follow game, and work on perfecting their hunting skills.

  After three days Taylor could hit a paper plate from forty feet away with his bow or slingshot, and had already killed some squirrels and a snowshoe hare. Jake still struggled. However, on the fourth day, Jake and Cody got up early to check on some deadfall traps when Cody suddenly froze. Jake followed the dog’s gaze. About fifteen feet away, he spotted a gray bird almost perfectly camouflaged under a sage bush. Jake wasn’t sure what the bird was, but it looked like some kind of wild chicken.

  Slowly, Jake removed his bow from his shoulder and pulled an arrow from a quiver Skeet had shown him how to make. He nocked the arrow, pulled back the string, aimed, and fired.

  A spray of feathers flew from the bird, and at first Jake felt sure he’d missed his shot again. As he and Cody sprinted forward, though, Jake saw the bird pinned to the ground, the arrow piercing its chest. Cody barked, and Jake grinned.

  “Sorry, bird,” he muttered, kneeling next to the dead animal. “But thank you.”

  Jake and Cody carried the bird triumphantly back to the cabin, and seeing it, Skeet and Taylor both whooped.

  “Whoa! Way to go, brother!” Taylor exclaimed.

  “Nice blue grouse,” Skeet said, admiring the bird. “How you going to cook her?”

  Jake had been pondering that on the way back to the cabin. “I was thinking about roasting it over some coals—you know, like those rotisserie things in the grocery stores.”

  Skeet’s eyebrows scrunched, and he nodded. “Yep, that’d work. You’ll lose most of the juices and a lot of the nutrients, though. You feel like learning a tastier method?”

  “Sure.”

  “Okay, but first, you gotta clean her.”

  It took Jake what felt like an age to remove the hundreds of dense feathers covering the animal. After opening up and rinsing out the bird, Skeet showed the boys how to dig a pit about two feet square and eighteen inches deep. The boys lined the pit with flat rocks and then built a fire down in it. When the rocks glowed red-hot, Skeet instructed them to scrape out the fire and coals, and line the bottom with grass. Onto this grass bed, they laid the grouse, some root vegetables, and two squirrels Taylor had killed with his slingshot.

  “Now add another layer of grass and cover that all up with dirt,” said Skeet.

  “But there’s no fire,” Taylor objected. “How’s it going to cook?”

  “The heat from the rocks will cook it slowly, but we gotta leave it for a few hours.”

  Jake was skeptical, but while the food cooked, Skeet suggested that they practice making arrows to pass the time, now that they had plenty of feathers.

  Two days earlier, the boys had cut some straight alder shoots, each about two feet long. Now they used their pocketknives to whittle the ends of the shoots into sharp points and cut nocks into the opposite ends. They hardened the shafts—especially the points—in the coals of the fire they’d used to boil water. When they’d done that, they selected the best tail feathers from the grouse, peeled the barbs from one side of each shaft, and glued three of the shafts to the nock end of each arrow.

  “If you don’t have any glue, you can also use tree sap,” Skeet told them.

  Taylor hurried to try out the new arrows. He hung a plate from a string about twenty feet away and let three of the arrows fly. The first two missed, but he impaled the plate with the third arrow.

  “They don’t fly as straight as the store-bought ones,” he said, “but they’re better than I thought.”

  By the time they finished archery practice, it was time to check the meat. Jake scraped away the soil and grass layer to reveal their meal. The rich scents of the wild game, potatoes, and carrots filled the air.

  “Oh, man, that smells good!” Taylor enthused. “Let’s eat!”

  The meal proved to be as delicious as it smelled. The blue grouse tasted a bit like chicken, but richer and more flavorful.

  “I think this is the best food I’ve ever eaten,” Jake said.

  “That’s, like, the third time you’ve said that in the past week.” Taylor laughed.

  “That’s because it’s true!”

  Skeet grinned. “That’s because you caught it and cooked it yourself. Nothin’ else like it, is there?”

  The boys nodded.

  As it began to grow dark, Skeet lit a couple of kerosene lanterns, and the boys went into the cabin for their next lesson—sewing. By now, the boys had collected enough furs that they could make some primitive protection from the elements, and Skeet even taught them a bit of hand-stitching. After about an hour, though, Taylor had had enough, and announced he was off to stretch his legs. Jake watched him go. He’d noticed that his brother had been acting jumpy all day, but he hadn’t thought much of it.

  Probably just impatient to get looking for Dad, he thought. Even though Jake felt much better prepared for the wild after their time with Skeet, he knew they’d have to get going soon.

  Jake busied himself stitching together two rabbit pelts, until he realized that Taylor had been gone for ages, and it was seriously dark outside. Putting his things to one side, he went out to check on his brother.

  Skeet grunted, busily bent over his wolverine notebooks and maps at the wooden table, while Cody happily gnawed on an old elk leg bone.

  Jake left the cabin, closing the door behind him, and walked to the outhouse.

  “Hello?” he called, but the outhouse was empty. Jake stood under the night sky, perplexed. Then he thought he heard a voice up the hill. He climbed toward it, and as he approached, he could see the silhouette of his brother against the night sky above him. It sounded like Taylor was talking to someone.

  That’s weird, Jake thought. Is he talking to himself?

  As he drew closer, however, Jake saw Taylor holding their cell phone—the one Jake had taken from the drawer back in Pennsylvania.

  “Taylor, what are you doing?” Jake exclaimed, rushing up and wresting the phone from him. He quickly punched the phone’s end button.

  “I wasn’t doing anything,” Taylor said defensively.

  “Who were you talking to?” Jake demanded.

  “I, uh . . .”

  “Did you call Pennsylvania? Did you tell anyone where we are?” Jake’s pulse pounded in his ears.

  “No! Course not! I was just trying to call the hospital to find out if Mom’s okay! I’ve been worried about her, Jake.”

  “What did they say?” Jake asked. He was still angry, but more than that he suddenly needed to know.

  “I don’t know, but I don’t think she’s in the hospital anymore.”
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br />   Jake let out an exasperated sigh. “Taylor, how could you be so stupid? If they trace this call, the police will know exactly where we are. Maybe even Bull will find out!”

  “But it’s one of those disposable phones, isn’t it? They can’t trace those, can they?”

  “Taylor, I don’t know, but if you keep doing things without thinking, we’re going to end up back in Pittsburgh and we’ll never find Dad!”

  Now Taylor got angry. “Maybe that’s true, Jake, but you don’t even seem to care about Mom. She could still be hurt. She might even be dead for all we know, and you don’t care! Sometimes you’re as bad as Bull!”

  With that, a new surge of anger filled Jake. Didn’t Taylor realize how much pressure he was under to take care of everyone? Of course he cared about Mom. He was just doing what he thought was best. He lifted up the phone and dashed it against a nearby granite rock, shattering it into a dozen pieces.

  Taylor and Jake just stared at each other. Even in the starlight, their eyes blazed.

  “Now who’s being the idiot?” Taylor brushed past his brother and started back down the mountain. “I’m done taking orders from you, Jake. I’m going to find Dad on my own!”

  21 Jake stormed back to the cabin, furious with his brother. How could he be so stupid? he thought. It’s like he wants us to get caught! But as he replayed the conversation in his head, something struck a chord. Taylor’s words about being like Bull echoed in his skull. Why had he thrown the phone against the rocks? Losing his temper like that was just like Bull.

  By the time Jake reached the cabin door, his anger had been replaced by guilt—and worry. He was meant to look after Taylor; they were meant to stick together.

  As Jake pushed through the cabin door, Skeet looked up in surprise.

  “Did Taylor come back?” Jake asked, glancing around the small room.

  “He did,” said Skeet. “He rushed in here and grabbed his old day pack and said he wanted to show you something. Isn’t he with you?”

  For a moment Jake didn’t answer, the gears spinning in his head. Then he said, “He was, but . . .”

  Now Skeet pushed his chair back from the table. “He what?”

  “We had a fight. I . . . said some things I shouldn’t have, and Taylor said he was going to go look for our dad by himself.”

  Skeet stood now, concern deepening the lines on his face. “Do you think that’s what he did?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. I need to go look for him.”

  Jake reached for his own pack, but Skeet held up his hand. “Now hold on. Let’s think this through, Jake. Has Taylor ever run off like this before?”

  “Well, yeah. Sometimes, back in Pennsylvania,” Jake remembered.

  “And did he always come back?” Skeet asked.

  “After a while,” Jake admitted.

  “So maybe he just needs time.”

  “We haven’t got time—we’ve got to go look for him now!” Jake cried.

  “Okay, okay,” Skeet said. “I just thought it might be safer to wait than rush off into the dark, but you’re right. We can go; but we have to be prepared!”

  Jake knew Skeet was right, so he quickly began preparing his pack. Besides food, he filled it with the items Skeet had given him, including matches and the magnesium fire starter, a trenching tool, a cooking pot, a first aid kit, their father’s journal, a rain tarp, and one of the sleeping bags. Jake also slung his bow and quiver over his shoulder, and stuffed the slingshot into his pack.

  “Can that dog of yours do any tracking?” Skeet asked. “His nose might be a lot better than your eyes.”

  Jake looked down at Cody. “I think so.”

  Skeet handed him one of Taylor’s shirts. “Take this. It might help Cody key in on Taylor’s scent. While you look for him, I’ll keep an eye out around here. I’ll cover all the places we set traps and look for any other signs. If you don’t find him by tomorrow, you better get back here so we can launch a real search party.”

  Jake let out a deep breath. “Okay.”

  Skeet patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t waste energy worrying. That’ll only tire you out. And remember, there’s still a good chance he’ll come back on his own—another reason for you to check back in here tomorrow.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  Jake and Cody left the cabin right as the dark shades of night began to soften. Jake squatted down next to Cody and held the shirt to the dog’s nose.

  “Cody, go find Taylor.”

  The dog seemed to understand. He began rushing around the ground near the cabin.

  Taylor’s scent must be everywhere around here, Jake realized. After just a minute, though, Cody barked and began heading north, away from the cabin.

  “Good dog, Cody,” Jake told him, hurrying to catch up.

  Sweeping the ground with his torch, Jake could just make out some footprints, and he knelt down beside them. Jake was no expert, but Skeet had taught him a few clues for telling how old a track might be, and these seemed like they could be Taylor’s.

  “These look pretty fresh,” Jake muttered. The edges of the prints were still sharp.

  Cody looked back at Jake impatiently, and the two continued, climbing over mountain ridges and down into rugged valleys.

  Where was Taylor going? Jake wondered. He guessed his brother had gotten turned around or lost, but he also thought maybe Taylor had something else in mind that he hadn’t told Jake about. Every once in a while Jake thought he and Cody had lost the trail, but the terrier rarely waivered, and sure enough Jake would soon find new tracks.

  When the sun had climbed halfway up into the sky, Jake and Cody found a makeshift lean-to with a fresh bed of pine needles under it. They paused to examine it, and Jake felt sure it was Taylor’s work. Jake sat down only long enough for a drink of water and to give Cody a piece of Skeet’s elk jerky, before carrying on their search.

  Soon Jake and Cody were on a kind of game trail going farther into the mountains. Jake made his way across the rocky land when suddenly both he and Cody froze. Up ahead, they heard a terrible whining cry like a banshee. The cry continued, rising and falling in pitch, and then it was followed by a deep growl.

  Jake shivered. “Stay!” he ordered Cody, and for one of the only times in his life, Cody looked happy to stop.

  Jake quickly unslung his bow and nocked an arrow. Then he walked past Cody and moved carefully forward.

  The cry continued, and then Jake heard a terrified human voice call: “Get back!”

  “Taylor!” Jake yelled, and ran forward, the bow still in his hands. Cody followed him, barking furiously.

  They came upon a scene out of a bad dream. Thirty feet away, Taylor sat trapped halfway back into a ten-foot-deep cave. At the far end of the cave cowered a bobcat kitten about the size of a housecat, but at the mouth of the cave snarled a full-grown mama bobcat.

  Jake immediately sized up the situation.

  Taylor’s trapped between the mother and her kitten!

  “Taylor, get out of there!” Jake shouted.

  “I can’t, Jake. My leg!”

  Jake saw blood oozing from Taylor’s ripped-open pant leg and realized that his brother couldn’t move. Cody growled and barked but stayed well away from the snarling cat.

  “Go away!” Taylor shouted at the mother bobcat, this time throwing a rock from the cave floor at the snarling animal. The bobcat barely flinched.

  Jake drew his bow and took aim. The mother cat turned her head and snarled at him, but she didn’t give up her position. Jake lowered his bow, realizing that with his poor aim, he’d probably shoot his brother instead of the bobcat.

  “Jake, do something!” Taylor shouted.

  Quickly dropping his pack, Jake pulled out his homemade slingshot. He selected a white piece of quartzite, drew back the surgical cord, and aimed. The rock flew with a hiss, striking the bobcat’s flank. Crying out, the cat leaped and spun to face Jake and Cody directly. For an instant Jake thought the cat would attack, but Cody
seemed to have found his courage and now stood barking fiercely between Jake and the cat.

  Jake picked up another rock and fired. This time he hit the bobcat squarely on the nose. The cat shrieked, and in the turmoil, the bobcat kitten streaked past Taylor, out of the cave, and up the rocky slope. The mother saw her kitten make its getaway, screamed at Jake one last time, and then turned to follow her young.

  Jake rushed to his brother.

  “Taylor, what happened? How badly are you hurt?”

  With his brother there, Taylor burst into sobs. “Jake, I’m sorry! I was such an idiot for leaving!”

  Jake hugged him. “No, it was my fault,” he said. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. You were right to try to find out about Mom.”

  He pulled himself away from Taylor’s arms to examine the wound on his leg. “Did the bobcat do this?”

  “Yeah,” Taylor said, snot running from his nose. “I . . . I crawled into the cave and didn’t see the baby in the back. I was trying to chase it out of the cave when the mother came back and attacked me. I held her off with rocks for a while, but she was about to attack again when you and Cody came.”

  Jake studied the wound. The bobcat had clawed Taylor’s calf, and the blood flowed freely. The wound looked angry, and the leg had already swollen, showing signs of infection. Taylor’s face was as pale as the quartzite that littered the cave floor.

  Jake gave Taylor a drink of water and then had him lie back on his pack. Taylor winced as Jake rinsed out the wound with fresh water and, using gauze from the first aid kit, tied a pressure band over the wound. He considered tying a tourniquet, but remembered that they should only be used to stop extreme bleeding.

  “I don’t feel so good, Jake.”

  Besides being pale, Taylor had started sweating profusely.

  That wound’s infected for sure, Jake thought to himself.

  “Do you think you can walk?”

  “I . . . I don’t think so.”

  Jake pondered his options. He rechecked the first aid kit, and though it held bandages, gauze, and a small tube of antibiotic, he didn’t see anything that would help Taylor right now. Next he turned to their father’s journal. Abe had reserved a whole section of it for notes on useful medicinal plants, and Jake had read it over many times. Skimming quickly through the pages, he spotted several plants that might help his brother.