Nowhere Wild

by Joe Beernink

  Jake sat in silence as his brain organized the information into a picture that made sense.

  “Jake?”

  “Yes?”

  “Can I have some more tea? I’m still thirsty.”

  “Sure.” He grabbed the now-cool mug and the empty plate. Cool air spilled into the tent as he stumbled through the gap. Coals burned low in the fire, hissing and steaming as a spattering of rain fell on them. Jake refilled the pot with water, sliced off another hunk of the fish, and threw more wood on the fire. The forest was so peaceful, so quiet. His mind spun with noise and distraction. The flu? He’d had what his mom had called the flu a few times, but he had never heard of it killing anyone. There had been gangs at his high school—small, informal groups of kids who liked to pretend they were tougher than they were, but they never went farther than spraying graffiti on the walls of abandoned buildings, starting a few fistfights, or joyriding in a stolen car. The real gangs—the ones running guns and drugs on the news and the TV shows from the US—those just didn’t exist in Thompson. Thompson was a good town. With good people. The way she had described it, the good people were all gone, replaced by whacked-out nut jobs.

  Could what she had described actually have happened? Could everyone else he knew—his friends from school, his neighbors—all really be dead? Or had her hypothermia caused some kind of weird hallucination? Was this all some elaborate story cooked up by a damaged little girl who, only a few hours ago, had tried to kill herself? If it was a story, then how did they end up with Bill’s canoe? It made no sense.

  Jake filled the cup, pulled another piece off the fried fish, and brought it back into the tent. Izzy dozed, but woke long enough to drink the tea and eat a little more before falling back to sleep. Jake again swapped out the rocks keeping her warm and left her alone while he cooked more tea and fish for himself. He curled up under the overturned canoe by the fire for a miserable night. Not that he would have slept more had he been warm. There were too may thoughts in his head, still too many questions he couldn’t answer.

  The answers he could find didn’t help him sleep.

  CHAPTER 27

  Izzy

  Izzy clawed at the bedcovers, attempting to pull them closer. Cold air leaked around the edges in a dozen places where there shouldn’t have been edges. She coughed and shivered. The air drawn into her lungs tasted of mildew and lake water—nothing like the potpourri she kept next to her bed in her room. She shifted again. Something hard rubbed against her side. Nylon crinkled beneath her, breaking the final strands of the illusion that she was safe, at home, in her old bed.

  She opened her eyes and sat up. Her lower back throbbed in protest. Above her, the thin roof of a tent bloused as her hair brushed against it. She glanced left, then right. A rock wrapped in an old filthy sock lay against her back. She was alone. Alone, and where? The face of a boy came to her mind, along with a name. Jake. Where was he?

  She straightened her tunic and exited the tent. Jake lay on the ground, between a large log and a fire that burned low. The overturned canoe offered him little protection from the elements. His eyes were closed, his arms wrapped tightly around his chest. A backpack doubled as his pillow. Izzy did not disturb him.

  She crept into the forest a few meters and squatted behind a tree. Her urine burned as she peed. She winced. She recalled the ride across the lake and the vomiting that had accompanied it. The dry heaves had continued unabated, even when nothing remained in her stomach, as if her body was cleansing itself of everything related to Rick all at once. Her stomach rolled again from the very thought of it. Disjointed images of the previous day flashed in a blur. There were more memories than could possibly have fit into a single day: the wolverine; her ill-fated attempt at escape; Rick’s attack; her attempt to . . . put an end to it . . . Angie would have understood, right? The boy’s sudden appearance. She glanced up, toward the lake. They had crossed the lake, hadn’t they? Rick was on the far side now, wasn’t he? He had the other canoe, though, and he knew this area. He’d be coming, and coming soon. He wouldn’t let her go. Not that easily.

  She finished her business, wiped with a few leaves pulled from a nearby maple tree, grabbed an armload of sticks for the fire, and returned to the camp. Jake remained asleep.

  She set the sticks on the coals. The wet wood smoldered and smoked before finally catching. She held her hands close to the fire, till the heat from the flames went from comforting to searing. She moved backward a step and studied the boy.

  Bits of his story fluttered through her mind. He said he had been lost in the woods since before the flu. He hadn’t seemed to know anything about what had happened. How could he not know? Was that really possible? Or was he up to something? He had touched her the previous night. His hands had been on her legs. He said he was just trying to warm her up.

  Just like Rick.

  But she had been so cold—so very cold. After she had warmed up, he had slept outside, with no protection from the elements, while giving her the tent, despite there being more than enough room for both of them. Rick would never have done that.

  She turned her attention to his face, partially obscured by a tangle of thick, dark hair. Her rescuer. He had pulled her from the water . . . She could still feel the lake’s frigid fingers wrapping around her ankles, fighting him for her life. She could still remember the taste of the water as it pushed down her throat, into her lungs. The boy had saved her and gotten her away from Rick. For that, she was grateful. She wanted to trust him.

  The sun began to rise to her right, not to her left as it had been for all these months. They had crossed the lake. The boy had said Laroque wasn’t far from here. She glanced into the woods. She could head south and find her own way. Without supplies—no food, no slings, barely any clothes, no compass, no way to start a fire—the idea seemed ludicrous. But Rick was coming, and the boy had the things she needed. She could grab what she required and be long gone before he awoke. Now that she was across the lake, she could survive on her own out here, given the right tools. She had planned and trained for a moment just like this. She began to move.

  She stood and backtracked to the tent. Her “blankets” had been the boy’s extra clothes. He wouldn’t miss them. She grabbed the jacket and a pair of his pants. Both were far too big for her. The jacket sleeves extended past her fingertips. She could have fit two of herself into the waistband of the pants. She rolled up the pant legs till they only just brushed the ground when she stood. She’d find some way to make a belt later. For now, she’d simply hold on to a belt loop to keep them up. He had left a pair of old running shoes inside the tent as well. They fit like clown shoes on her tiny feet. She wrapped the laces around her ankles ballet-slipper style to keep the shoes on.

  She crawled out of the tent. The boy snored under the canoe. His food canister sat a short distance from the bow of the canoe. She crept toward it. He wouldn’t notice if she took a few small bits, she reckoned. Just enough for a couple of days—enough to get her through to Laroque. She grabbed the canister. Empty. Her heart sank. She set it back down.

  Fine. She’d have to find food on her own. Fish. Or plants. Rick had at least shown her some of what was edible, so she could add them to their diet without poisoning them both. Now that the snow was gone, surviving in the forest was so much easier than it had been in the winter. She could do this.

  She stole a look back at the woods. Without a compass and a map, she’d have no idea where she needed to go. In fact, she had no idea where she was now. What if Laroque was to the west, not the south? What if she wasn’t just two days from it? If she missed it altogether, how far was it to Thompson? Another week? There were roads, weren’t there?

  If she could just find a road and follow it, it’d take her home, right?

  If she could hold a straight line south she’d make it, one way or another.

  Clasped to a plastic ring on the boy’s backpack was a compass. If she had that, at least she’d have a chance.

  She edged cl
oser to the boy, barely making a sound as she tiptoed across the ground. A simple carabiner held the compass in place. She extended her arm. The metal clasp released easily from the webbing. She slid backward. The boy did not move.

  Now, with the compass in hand, doubts began to creep into her mind. Without a fire and shelter, every night would be brutal. In her original escape plan, she had the plastic tarp, and the flint and striker. She had tried, at the cabin, to start a fire by rubbing two pieces of wood together, but had never even gotten the tip of the spindle warm before her muscles gave out. Rick had once started a fire with a bow and drill setup, but he had only done that to prove to himself—and to her—that he could. He had never revealed the secrets of that tool to her.

  She glanced back at the boy’s pack. In that pack was everything she would need to survive. If she could just wait until he wasn’t looking, she could take it and run. She would just bide her time until that opportunity presented itself. Then she could go wherever she wanted and not be at the mercy of Rick, or this boy.

  She glanced at the compass in her hand. If he caught her with it, he would know what she was planning. She had to return it to the pack before he awoke.

  She slithered back toward the boy. Her heart fluttered in her chest. Every step seemed louder than it had before. She knelt beside him and reached for the pack.

  CHAPTER 28

  Jake

  Jake’s first thought was that the worst had happened—a black bear had picked up the remnant odors of the cooked fish and discovered the camp. His instincts kicked into full gear. He thrust his hands up over his face and rolled away from the perceived threat, expecting at any moment that the sharp claws of the black would rip him to shreds.

  A shriek of panic caught his attention. He glanced up at the tent, worried that the bear had gone after the girl.

  Instead of a bear, Jake saw only the girl. She fell backward, away from him. Jake scrambled to his feet.

  “You scared the bejesus out of me,” he said as he collected himself. He stepped forward to offer her a hand up. She sat back on the ground and did not accept his offer.

  “Sorry,” she said as she shied away from him. Jake studied her. She had dressed at some point in a pair of his pants and his only jacket. One hand hooked fingers through a belt loop. The other held something black. She tracked his eyes and moved her hand out of sight.

  “It’s okay. Really. I’m not going to hurt you.” Jake eased a step backward. To his right, the fire burned higher on fresh wood. He tipped his head toward the fire pit, then bent to warm his hands.

  “Thanks for getting the wood. I’ll go see if I can’t get us a fish for breakfast. There’s hot water in the pot there if you’re thirsty, or even if you’re not. You need to rehydrate if we’re going to get you out of here in one piece.”

  “Sure,” she said.

  Jake shook his head and smiled. The girl wasn’t very talkative—at least not first thing in the morning. Amos had been the same way. Mornings, he had said, are for workin’, not yappin’. But she was alive and mobile, and that was something he had only hoped for the previous evening.

  Jake reached down and grabbed his pack. He had stowed the fishing rod back in its case after dinner the previous night. Everything had its place in an orderly camp. Disarray meant leaving things behind when you had to move quickly.

  When he picked up his pack, he immediately knew something was missing. The compass. Somehow it must have come loose. He scanned the ground beside his bed. Not there. He checked the carabiner on the webbing, half-expecting it to be broken or sprung. Aside from a little tarnish, the clasp remained in perfect working condition. He spun around, hoping to spot the compass among the leaf clutter. He had checked it while waiting for the previous night’s dinner to finish cooking, to get a good fix on his location before dark. He remembered clipping it back to the webbing. He always put it back. Always. It had been there just a few short hours ago.

  Only one thing had changed since then—and she had been right beside him when he awoke. He turned to Izzy.

  “Where is it?” he asked.

  “Where is what?”

  “The compass.”

  “What compass?”

  Jake had seen something in her hand, and now he knew exactly what that had been.

  “Hand it over.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Jake stood and put his hands on his hips. The girl cowered, sliding farther away from the fire, little by little, ready to rabbit. Jake chewed the inside of his cheek. Taking his clothes was one thing. She needed those, and unless he was wearing them, he was carrying them. He should have put them on her the previous night.

  Taking a person’s compass out here, however, was like sentencing them to death. On the lake the previous day, when land disappeared in every direction and the sun hid behind storm clouds, only the little needle on the compass had prevented them from being lost among the waves for hours. For all these weeks in the middle of the woods, it had been his most important tool. Now this girl he had rescued seemed ready to cut that lifeline. As much as he wanted to help her, he couldn’t allow her to endanger them any further. His temper rose.

  “Do you know how to use it?” he asked. “I mean, do you really know how to use it? With a map? Without one? Because I do. I’ve come through a hundred kilometers of bush with that, and I plan to follow it all the way home if I need to. If you know how to use it, and can lead us both home faster than I can, then by all means, keep it. I’ll follow you all the way. But if you don’t know—if you only think you know—then you should give it back to me. I’ll guarantee that we’ll be in Laroque in three days, and once we’re there, I’ll buy you one of your own.” She didn’t move.

  “You’re going to have to trust me, Izzy. Whatever happened back there—whatever he did to you—isn’t going to happen with me. I’m going to take us home. You have to believe me. But I can’t do it without that compass.”

  Izzy still didn’t move. Jake wanted to rush forward and grab it out of her hand. But if he did that, she would never trust him, or worse, the compass could break in the scuffle. Whatever this girl had gone through—whether what she had told him last night was the truth or not—had broken her. He couldn’t piece her back together by telling her to trust him.

  Jake turned away from her and pulled the fishing rod out of his pack.

  “I’m going to get us some breakfast. You decide what you want to do. I’ll be over there.” He pointed to a large rock that jutted into the water like the prow of a ship. She held her position.

  Jake forced himself not to look back as he moved away from the camp. He took long, purposeful steps. If she was gone when he finally did turn around, he would have to decide whether to chase her down or let her go. Without the compass, he reckoned he could probably make Laroque—but probably wasn’t nearly as good as knowing for sure.

  He leaped onto the rock, edging closer to the water. Still, he did not look back—not until he had cast the lure as far out into the lake as he could manage. Only then did he turn to learn of her decision.

  Izzy stood there, beside the canoe. She bent down to where he had set his pack, then popped right back up. One hand remained on her hip, holding her pants up. With the other, she gave him a little open-handed wave, showing him her empty palm.

  She bent back down, picked up the kettle, and poured herself a cup of hot water.

  Jake turned his attention back to the water, exhaling slowly. He’d have to keep an eye on her, but at least she hadn’t run. Not yet anyway.

  CHAPTER 29

  Jake

  After a breakfast of a couple of perch, Jake broke camp, stowed the tent, and placed everything but the sleeping bag in the canoe. Izzy helped, putting the dishes she had cleaned where he instructed. Jake doused the fire, then checked to make sure they had left nothing behind. Izzy was rooting through the contents of the canoe when he returned.

  “Where’s the other paddle?” she asked.


  Jake shrugged. “It must have fallen out back at the cabin. Didn’t see it,” he answered.

  “I can paddle,” she said with a bit of a snip. She folded her arms in front of her as if she wouldn’t move unless she, too, had a paddle.

  Jake shook his head. Patience, he told himself. “I’m sure you can. We’ll keep an eye out for one if we come across any more cabins. That sound okay?”

  Izzy gave a slow nod. Jake pointed to the canoe.

  “Grab on. Let’s go.”

  Izzy helped slide the canoe back to the water’s edge, then hopped in as Jake pushed the bow into the water. She wrapped her body from toes to neck with the sleeping bag. Jake grimaced. It would never get dry at this rate.

  “Be careful with that sleeping bag. It’s the only one we’ve got,” he said. Water sloshed over the bow as soon as he said it. Wet dots appeared on the nylon shell.

  “Do you have a blanket or something I can use instead?” she asked. She lifted the bag clear of the bottom of the canoe.

  “No. Just the bag.” Jake ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his face. He leaned forward, wrapped the bag back around her, then pulled the tent fly from his pack and wrapped her in that as well. “We’ll just have to make do.”

  He smiled at her as some sort of apology for snapping. He’d try to dry the bag again before nightfall.

  Jake checked the sky. The heavy cloud layer had thinned overnight. The rain and the wind, at least, had moved on. Perhaps, he thought, they’d actually see a day worthy of summer today. The clouds and rain had been around for so long that he had almost forgotten it was summer.

  “Waves are better today,” he said.

  “Yeah.”

  Izzy shifted lower in the canoe, resting her head on a strut. Jake shook his head. This canoe was far too small for even someone her size to stretch out in. Bill had built it for one person, two at the most; two paddlers, sitting upright, not one stretched out like cargo.