by Amy Briant
For fish, we’d need to find some water. San Tomas had been a beach town Before, but nowadays, most people avoided the water. The tides and currents were just too strong, and unpredictable to boot. The sea floor was constantly shifting due to underwater earthquakes, they told us in science class. The Bad Times had taught a lot of people to fear nature. I guess there was a lot to be afraid of, if you thought of it that way: storms, earthquakes, floods, animals. But Gran pointed out that an earthquake could just as easily strike the Settlement as it could our cabin in the woods. It was important to respect nature, she taught me and Gabriel, and to try and understand it as best we could—but fear was just not an asset in our lives. We’re all going to die anyhow, she would cackle. Might as well enjoy the fresh air while we can.
So while other kids stayed with their families within the confines of the Settlement on what had previously been the university campus, we went back to living in the woods after the worst of the attacks stopped, in the cabin Gran had built for her retirement Before. Strangers passing through San Tomas found the Settlement easily enough. None of them ever stumbled across our off-the-beaten-path cabin deep in the forest. Maybe we were lucky. I knew they were—Gran was armed to the teeth. She built some wicked booby traps too.
As a little kid, I slowly came to understand the adults weren’t entirely clear on who the enemy was. The drone planes that terrorized us were unmarked. Were they from a foreign invader? From those homegrown terrorists, the Shiprights? Could they have been a mistake, a misguided assault by our own government? We never saw the face of our attacker—just the bloody aftermath of his bombs.
My memories of those childhood years were murky and piecemeal, which was probably for the best. I remembered all of us from the Settlement huddled together in the darkness of the bomb shelter, which was the basement of the campus bookstore. I remembered the acidic smell of the grownups’ sweat, a smell I still associated with fear. I remembered the group getting smaller as the months went by. I felt jealous of the ones who had left us because they got to be with my parents. I remember Gabriel holding me as we sat together on the gritty concrete floor while Gran conferred with the other adults, making decisions that would enable the group to survive.
I brought my mind back to the present. I couldn’t waste my time on memories—most of which weren’t even that great—when the here and now demanded one hundred percent of my focus. Water was uppermost on my mind as we continued hiking down the hill from the summit. By my best guess, we’d gone about ten miles the day before. Only ninety more to go, I told my smartass self. Less, in fact, since the bus ride to the observatory gave us a head start. The slope was flattening out as we neared the bottom of the hill. What lay ahead of us, according to Gabriel’s hazy knowledge of the terrain from her Pioneer training, was several miles of flatland along the side of San Francisco Bay, then a gentle ascent to the northeast to the spot where they planned to build Segundo. If everything had gone as planned. If they hadn’t been eaten by mountain lions. If they hadn’t gotten lost and ended up far from the planned spot. If they hadn’t decided the hell with it and moved to Nevada.
I shrugged those thoughts off. “No point in worrying about what you can’t control” was another one of Gran’s favorites. I missed her. I missed Gabriel. But I was used to being lonely.
We stopped for a break mid-morning. A massive sequoia had fallen alongside the freeway, providing us with a place to sit while we drank the last few drops of our water. East took a sip, then held out her silver water bottle, turning it upside down to demonstrate its complete emptiness. Her expression would have been comical under different circumstances.
“We’ll find a creek or a pond sooner or later,” I told her. “Especially now that we’re off the hill.”
“What does that mean?” Hunter said crossly. He never spoke to me except to argue or attack. Very tiresome. I considered him for a moment before I answered. I saw East flick me a glance out of the corner of my eye.
“It means water runs downhill,” I said neutrally, although I knew he would find a way to be antagonized no matter what tone I employed. “You’ll find water in a valley.”
Having no answer for that, he made a scornful face.
“Just listen for the sound of running water, okay?” I told them both. “We need to find some today.”
“But we’re still going to follow the highway, right?” East asked. She seemed to find some comfort in clinging to 17, the artifact of our former life. Actually of our former former life.
“As best as we can,” I answered. “It’s supposed to form a ‘V’ pretty soon.” I showed them with my hands how the highway supposedly forked—the left side running up the west side of the Bay and the right side the east.
“And we want east?” East said, then smiled for just a second at her east/East statement. It was the first time I’d seen her smile since the explosion. Which was less than twenty-four hours prior, but in a weird way seemed already far distant. Probably because I didn’t want to think about it, even though in the back of my mind, the images and sounds from the day before continued replaying. The screaming. The explosion. The bodies…
I gave myself a little shake, physically willing those thoughts away.
“Yes, East, we want east,” I told her, which sounded funnier than it was. She and I shared a small smile. Hunter noticed. I could tell he didn’t like it. He narrowed his eyes and looked at her and then me. I wiped all expression from my face and got to my feet. “Let’s go find some water,” I said.
I figured he had to agree with that. Plus, I wanted to distract him before he could come up with another reason to pound on me. They reluctantly stood and followed me back to the road.
The temperature rose as the sun climbed higher in the sky. It had been in the fifties the day before, but it was starting to feel more like seventy. Gran had told me the weather used to be much more predictable, with cool falls, cooler winters, a mix of sun and rain in the spring and sunny, moderate summers in our region. That, like so much else, had changed in the last few decades. Although the adults hated the uncertainty of the weather, I knew it might help us on our trek. Hot spells were confusing to the plants and animals too, sometimes tricking them into thinking it was an early spring. Even though the calendar said October, with a little luck, we might find some fruit or birds’ eggs to eat. You never knew.
Chapter Seven
The Apple Tree
It was birds that led us to the water, late that afternoon. I had maybe an ounce left in my canteen. I could tell East was hurting for a drink and considered offering her a sip, but the practical part of me was thinking she had to learn to manage her water better. She’d given Hunter some of hers the day before—liquid she could have sorely used now. It had been a long, hot, dry hike that day. We needed to stop and make camp soon. I wasn’t looking forward to hearing their complaining if we had no water overnight, not to mention first thing in the morning.
East was walking slower and slower. I lessened my pace to accommodate her. Hunter trudged along in front. We still hadn’t come to the V in the highway. I wasn’t sure whether or not to be worried about that yet. This section of the highway had been carved out between two plump hills. The one to the west was smaller with a steep grassy slope. A single tree punctuated the ridgeline. A hundred feet ahead of us, Hunter stopped, staring up at the tree and shading his eyes with one hand.
“What?” I called to him.
He pointed up at the tree. As we got closer, we could hear the raucous chatter of birds coming from it. It was an apple tree. The birds were feasting on the fruit, zipping in and out of the branches with abandon. The sun was low in the sky, shining through the leaves and limbs, illuminating the tree with a golden glow.
Hunter started up the hill without waiting for us. The ground was soft and a bit muddy due to recent rains. Slipping occasionally and falling once, he persisted until he reached the top, one hand resting on the trunk of the tree while he caught his breath. It wasn’t a ver
y big tree. It looked young and alone, standing all by itself, a few feet below the summit. East and I had followed Hunter up the slope, but I didn’t like it—it felt much too exposed. If anyone was watching.
But the apples sure looked good. My stomach grumbled in agreement. The birds ignored us, continuing to squawk away, enraptured with the bounty. A few rotten, much pecked fruits littered the ground. Hunter gave the trunk an experimental shake to see if any of the apples would fall to the ground. Nope. He dropped his pack, then went down on one knee.
“Come on, East,” he wheedled. “I’ll give you a boost.”
He held out his interlaced fingers.
“No way,” she said.
“Well, then, you give me a boost.”
While they bickered about it, I checked out the ridgeline. If we were going to be up there, I might as well have a look at the view. The hillside was so steep, I couldn’t see anything until I was right at the top. Once there, I found that the ground fell away sharply, almost vertically—clearly, a landslide had happened not long ago. The raw earth was rain-soaked and dark. Down at the bottom—a long way down—a creek rushed and foamed. Boulders and smaller rocks dotted the hillside, dislodged by the slide. The sound of the creek, which cut northeast through the landscape, was drowned out by the birds’ frenzy. I felt elated, but cautious. The ground beneath my feet was soft and yielding. Too soft. I could feel it wanting to give way and slide down to the bottom. I carefully edged back from the lip, then turned to tell my companions the good news.
Hunter was up in the branches. He tossed some apples down for East to gather. There weren’t that many whole ones left—the birds had beaten us to it. The slender bole of the tree quivered under his weight. The branch he had a foot on made a creaking noise.
“Take it easy,” East said anxiously. He laughed, tossing her another apple. Then aimed one not so gently at my head—which I managed to catch.
In the soft earth, the young tree was definitely listing to one side under the burden of his bulk. He set his sights on the one remaining full apple still hanging. The birds were cawing and shrieking, scolding him for interrupting their dinner. With one hand holding on to the trunk, he reached for the dangling red fruit. He was about two feet short.
“Hunter…” East said warningly.
He grunted, shifting his weight while stretching six more inches toward the apple. The tree creaked again, more loudly.
“Just come down, all right?” East pleaded. “We already have some apples.”
“Yeah and I see one more,” he said, precariously leaning forward. Which forced him to loosen his grip on the trunk.
The tree was tilting even farther off its axis in the soft loamy ground.
“Look,” East said, trying to be reasonable, “if you fall and break something, it’s not going to be good.”
“No worries, babe,” he told her with a nauseating smirk, “I got it under control.” He sidled another few inches forward on the branch, which bowed under his weight.
“This is stupid,” I said. “There’s a creek down below. Let’s just go get some water, okay?”
“Shut up, faggot,” was his not unexpected reply. “I’m getting this apple.”
The fingertips of his right hand were now just barely brushing the trunk. His left hand was outstretched as he slid his foot one more inch down the branch. The birds, which had grown quieter and quieter as we squabbled, suddenly all took flight as if there’d been a silent signal. I think we all jumped. Hunter yelped and flailed, then there was an almighty CRACK as the branch he was standing on broke clean off the tree. It was only about eight feet off the ground, so the fall itself wasn’t too bad, but it pitched him forward, up the slope, right up to and onto the lip of the cliff overlooking the creek.
“Hunter!” East screamed.
He was motionless for a long moment, then slowly rolled over onto his back.
“I’m okay,” he told us, still smirking as he started to sit up. He put his hands down on the ground to push himself up.
That was when the entire section of lip he had landed on collapsed and sent him headfirst over the precipice.
East screamed again, a scream that became a wail. She started to rush up to the edge, but I stopped her.
“The ground’s too soft. We can’t go running up there or we’re going over too.”
She struggled to free herself from my grasp, even as another big chunk of hillside broke off and went crashing down the hill. That got her attention.
“Look, I’m the smallest, so let me take a look. You stay here, okay?”
She nodded, eyes huge in her white face, tears somehow intensifying their hue. I let her go, then removed my pack. Picking a point several feet from where Hunter had fallen, I slowly belly-crawled up to the lip, sensitive to every tremor in the soil. I already knew it was a long, steep way down. I had no hope he had survived. He’d probably gone into the creek and been swept downstream. But when I finally, carefully popped my head over the edge, I was surprised to see him—crumpled up at an awkward angle by one of the big boulders about two-thirds of the way down the hill. I stared, looking for any signs of life, but he wasn’t moving. At all.
“Hunter!” I yelled. Nothing.
Well, shit. I belly-crawled back to safer ground, then got to my feet. My pants and hoodie were now grass-stained and caked with mud, but it’s not like it was ruining my look.
“Did you see him?” East asked in a quavering voice. She stood rigidly by the tree, her fists clenched. For a second, I wondered—was she hoping for a yes or a no?
“He’s about seventy feet down the slope, by a big rock. He’s not moving, though.”
“We’ve got to go down there then,” she said urgently.
I nodded. We had to go down there to get water anyhow. I seriously doubted he was alive. If he wasn’t dead, but badly injured, we would have a difficult decision to make. I blanked my mind to that, concentrating instead on how to get us down there without further disaster. The trick would be to descend safely without setting off another landslide. And/or killing the rest of us.
“Come on!” East commanded. She had donned Mr. Giovanni’s pack. I could see from the bulging pockets of her jean jacket where she’d stashed the apples. I mentally applauded her for having the sense to do that. Not to be cold-blooded, but whether Hunter was dead or alive, we still needed to eat.
I put on my own pack and picked up the two sleeping bags she’d been carrying before. I glanced back once as we walked away from that lone apple tree on the hill. The big broken-off branch lay at its base. The spot where it had so violently been severed looked like a wound in the red rays of the setting sun. Far above, hanging at the end of a slender branch was a single apple, bobbing gently in the breeze.
The safest way down was on our butts, inching warily along, abruptly halting at the first trickle of loose dirt. It was slow and painful and not pretty, but it got the job done.
Hunter was unequivocally dead. He must have smacked headfirst into the big boulder we’d found him by. Bashed-in skull, broken neck, no pulse. Boulder 1, Cohen 0. East made a choking sound in her throat as she knelt beside him.
She didn’t cry, though. That surprised me. Maybe she was feeling as numb as I was by the sudden advent of way too much death and destruction. She seemed to need to stare at him for a while, so I let her be. I kept an eye on our surroundings. Eternal vigilance and all that. As I turned to gaze back up the slope, a sudden movement at the top registered in the corner of my eye. I didn’t really see anything, just sensed some motion. A bird? A rabbit? I scanned the cliff’s edge for a while, but saw nothing moving.
“Kell.”
I glanced at East. She looked shaken, but like she was trying to hold it together.
“Will you help me bury him?” she said in a small voice.
Why did she have to be so damn beautiful? Making me want to help her do things I absolutely did not want to do? I didn’t give a rat’s ass about Hunter Cohen. Truth be told, I hat
ed the son of a bitch. Was I glad he was dead? Hell, yeah.
“Please,” she said faintly. Those remarkable navy blue eyes. What a sucker I am.
I said to her, “Let’s get some water first. And we’ll find some sticks or something to dig with.”
I held out a hand, which she took, and pulled her to her feet. Her hand felt soft and warm in mine. Not like gooey soft, or pillow soft. Firm and strong, but somehow delicate too…like a really good soft. I let her hand drop. Crushing on Elinor Eastman was not going to help me get to Segundo and that was all that mattered.
The creek was pretty, busily rushing along and sparkling in the waning light of the day. The water was clear and cool. Hunter lay dead on the hill. So strange how the world kept turning.
We had to walk upstream a ways before we found a good place to fill our containers. I warned East not to drink any until we had a chance to boil it. Down in the gorge, twilight was nearly upon us as the hill to the west blocked the setting sun. We had another hour, at best, before complete darkness fell. Having found the water, I was reluctant to leave its side. If we followed it northeast, we would reconnect with the highway in the morning. I turned to East to tell her we would camp in the gorge that night.
There was no warning. Simply an ominous rumble that seemed to pass under our feet like a wave, then a violent shaking as the San Andreas fault readjusted itself as it had so many times before. The whole thing took less than ten seconds. The quake was mild compared to some I’d been through, but it still knocked us both to the ground. Where we watched, open-mouthed, as the hillside above Hunter gave way yet again, burying him in a few tons of dirt and rock.