Nowhere Wild

by Joe Beernink

  He smelled the water long before he saw it. Through the thick brush, Jake finally picked up sight of the breaking whitecaps. He left the carcass and hopped into the shallows, ignoring the impact of the cold water. He waded in deeper for a better view of the shore. His pulse quickened when he failed to see the canoe to his right, where he had guessed it would be. Then relief flooded his body as he found the large cedar where the chase had started, a hundred meters to his left.

  In the forest, close behind him, a wolf howled. Two others responded. He jumped back onto the shore, grabbed the deer, and dragged it along the forest floor, in the direction of where he had left Izzy and the canoe.

  It took less than three minutes to cross back to the beach where they had landed. When he arrived, the beach was deserted and the canoe gone.

  Jake spun in a quick circle. Everything was gone. He had left her with the canoe and his gear, and she had taken it all.

  Jake checked behind him, panicked. The wolves would be coming soon. He rubbed his bloodstained hands together. He’d be lucky if they only took the deer and didn’t kill him, too.

  “Izzy!” Jake called out over the water. The wind had abated in the time it took him to track and kill the deer, but the surface was still far too rough for an inexperienced paddler like her to make it on her own.

  “Jake!” came a whispered voice from behind a fallen maple. Izzy’s head popped up from behind the log.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Jake yelled. “We gotta go.” He dropped the antlers and raced forward.

  “We can’t, Jake. Look!” Izzy pointed southeast, along the shore. Jake’s head snapped around. It took only a moment to see what had spooked Izzy.

  There on the water, perhaps a kilometer ahead of them, was a large silver canoe, paddled by a single, large man.

  CHAPTER 40

  Izzy

  Jake hunched down, as if to hide, then glanced backward. Izzy kept her eyes locked on the lone man in the canoe.

  “He passed by here maybe ten minutes ago,” Izzy said from behind the log. Every word she whispered still seemed like a bullhorn alert sent out to Rick. The silver canoe twisted momentarily, the bow sent shoreward by the ebb and flow of the wind-driven water. Izzy ducked lower.

  “Grab the stuff. We have to go,” Jake whispered back.

  “We can’t go. Not with Rick out there,” Izzy protested.

  “We have to. In a couple of minutes, we’re going to have company here. And I’m not hanging around to see how big this party is going to get.”

  For the first time, Izzy noticed the dead deer on the ground.

  She raised her hand for a high five, which Jake shook off.

  “We gotta go. Now.”

  Jake vaulted over the log and grabbed the canoe, which was stashed behind it.

  “Where are we going? Back into that?”

  “Across it,” Jake said. “If we can get across, we’ll be safe.”

  “If?”

  “If is all I got right now. I’ll guarantee you though, that if we don’t get moving now, we are not going to be safe here in two minutes.”

  Jake tipped the canoe up and over his head and ran for the water, nearly stumbling due to a boot missing its laces. Izzy grabbed the paddles, then made a second trip back for the pack. Jake scrambled back to the deer and dragged it across the gravel to the waiting canoe.

  “Tilt the canoe so I can roll this thing in. I can’t lift it all at once.”

  “Is it going to fit?”

  “We’ll make it fit.”

  Izzy did as ordered. In the distance, Rick paddled farther away, working his way southeast. He hadn’t noticed their movements, their efforts drowned out by the crashing waves, pattering rain, and noise of the wind in the branches. Still, Izzy had trouble prying her eyes away from him. How had he not seen her?

  Jake slid the deer into the center of the canoe. The hind quarters practically sat on Jake’s stern seat. The antlers were so large that they rose up directly behind Izzy’s bow seat. If she leaned back suddenly, they’d puncture her kidneys.

  “That’s not safe.” Izzy pointed to the rack.

  “Just get in. We’ll fix it once we’re on the water.”

  Izzy tossed the pack in on top of the deer and jammed Jake’s paddle in next to his seat. Jake shoved the laden canoe deeper into the water. Izzy had to run through the shallows to catch up. The freezing water soaked her loose pants all the way to her hips, threatening to pull them down to her knees with every step. She jumped into the canoe as a wave lifted the bow. Jake joined her a second later.

  Izzy turned to adjust the deer’s antlers, but stopped.

  A wolf launched itself down the bank and into the shallows where Jake had been just seconds before. It stopped as the cold water reached its shoulders. Jake grabbed his paddle, then dropped two quick strokes into the water to widen the distance.

  One gray eye and one yellow eye tracked them as they sped away from the beach. The growl came a few seconds later. Izzy nearly dropped her paddle, and a bow-on wave threatened to capsize their overloaded boat. Jake corrected their lean.

  “You gotta keep paddling,” he urged. “We’re going to ride a lot lower in the water with this thing in here. I can’t get us across on my own.”

  Izzy adjusted her grip and pulled the paddle through the next whitecap.

  Izzy glanced back at the shore. The wolf had retreated from the water. It watched them for another moment, its eyes locked with hers. The wolf growled once more, then turned and dashed back up the bank, into the woods. Izzy shivered as she turned and paddled into the wind.

  “You sure we can make it?” she asked, eyeing the onslaught of rollers headed their way.

  She knew what Jake’s silence meant.

  They didn’t have a choice.

  CHAPTER 41

  Izzy

  They reached the opposite shore half an hour before dusk. Izzy collapsed over the bow as Jake drove the canoe into a gap between the roots of willow trees crowding the shore. The fight across the lake had nearly killed them. The waves and the rain had come perilously close to swamping their small craft a dozen times. She had stopped bailing and paddled for all she was worth once the land actually seemed reachable. Her feet sat in ankle-deep water.

  Now the wolves were on the other side of the lake, and Rick had not—to the best of their knowledge—seen them.

  “I’m so cold,” Jake moaned from behind her. He dragged himself from his seat, tripped over the gunwale, and fell into the water, face first. He coughed and sputtered as he knelt in the surf. Izzy resisted the urge to laugh at him. Jake had spent everything he had left to get them across the water. He looked broken.

  “Come on, Jake. We need to get you dry.”

  Izzy forced herself out of the boat. Her legs wobbled on the slick rocks. She looped an arm under Jake’s chest and lifted him to a standing position.

  “I know, Dad. Shelter. Fire. Water. Food. I’ll do it,” Jake babbled. Izzy stumbled under his weight.

  “Right.”

  She sat him down against a nearby log while she searched the area for a decent campsite. She settled on a small gap under a large white ash tree. It wasn’t perfect—it sloped far more than she would have liked—but it was drier, not as rocky as the rest of the area, and hidden from the water. She dug the tent from the pack, set it up, threw the sleeping bag in, and dragged Jake to his feet again.

  “Need to butcher the deer.”

  “I know how to do it. Just rest. I’ll call you if I need you.”

  Izzy pushed him into the tent, then pulled his soaking-wet sweater and shirt off him. He did little to help—or to object. His waterlogged pants would have to be wrung out before they would be dry enough to wear again. He began to shiver.

  “I can’t sleep now.”

  “Yes, you can.” She pushed him into the sleeping bag, ignoring his final protests, zipped the bag closed, and left the tent.

  Outside, under the thick canopy of branches, the wind barel
y registered. Izzy ran back to the canoe and slid it clear of the beach. She would hide it as soon as she could empty it out. She stared at the deer that had accompanied her across the water, butchering it with her eyes, imagining where the best cuts were and what they would eat first. She spat a mouthful of saliva onto the ground.

  “Shelter. Fire. Water. Food.” She echoed Jake’s mantra.

  Starting the fire took every skill she had learned in her time in the bush. She peeled bark from a birch tree and plucked pillowy fluff from an old cattail. She grabbed the smallest twigs from a downed tree and removed the wet bark, tossing it aside. She pulled grass stems from a patch of foxtail on the gravel. She piled everything she needed well away from the lake, between two deadfalls that would hide the light of the fire from any passersby. Only when she had gathered everything she needed to start the fire and keep it going did she try to light it. Even then, it took five minutes of diligent effort to get a spark from the flint to catch in the cattail fluff. She cupped the ember and blew on it gently until the collection burst into a brief, intense flame. She added the oily birch bark, then the grass and the twigs. Soon, flames engulfed the small pile. She added larger pieces of wood in a small pyramid, letting the heat from the first flames dry the bigger pieces out before the weight of water within them could extinguish the fire. She admired her handiwork. Even Rick couldn’t criticize those results.

  She dug the water pot from the pack, filled it from the lake, and hung it over the fire on a sturdy branch rigged over the two dead logs beside the fire before turning her attention to the deer. Inside, she found the heart and the liver where Jake had stowed them. She cut the organs into thin slices, tossed them into the frying pan, and waited for them to cook. The smell of sautéing meat wafted through the air, intoxicating her.

  Jake emerged from the tent, wrapped in only his wet sweater, just as the meat finished cooking.

  “Get back in the tent. I’ll bring it to you,” Izzy ordered.

  “I’m fine.”

  “God, you’re stubborn. Get back in the damn tent. Now.” Izzy stood, careful not to drop the frying pan. “I’ll have food for you in a minute.”

  Jake looked like he was going to object again, but turned and crawled back into the tent. In the light from the fire, Izzy caught her first glimpse of his emaciated legs—as thin as matchsticks. She wondered just how they had brought him this far—and how much farther they could go. She looked back at the deer, then scanned the darkened forest around them. With the wolves on the other side of the lake and Rick ahead of them, this seemed as good a place as any to hole up for a few days and recover. They had shelter, fire, water, and food aplenty, now that they had the deer. A week, or even a few days, would allow them to smoke some of the meat, and that would make the final push to Thompson so much easier. She didn’t let her mind go to what would happen when they got there. There were things that needed doing here first.

  She slipped into the tent with a large plate of hot food and a cup of tea. Jake lay curled up in the bag, shaking like a leaf, looking almost delirious with exhaustion.

  “Here, try some tea.”

  She pulled him to a sitting position and set the cup against his lips. His hair fell over his face. She pushed it back, looping it over his ears. He drank slowly. She handed him a thin slice of the venison heart. He stuffed it into his mouth with his fingers, then reached for a second piece.

  “One at a time. Chew it well. Let your stomach adjust.”

  She pulled the plate back from him and ate a piece of her own. The rich meat slid down her throat like liquid gold. The temptation to gorge was almost too much, but she remembered the lesson learned after Rick got that first deer at the cabin and forced herself—and Jake—into a sensible pace.

  They ate in silence until the plate was empty.

  “You need to sleep now,” she said.

  “What about the deer?” he asked.

  “I’ll take care of it. I’ve done it before. Plenty of times.”

  “Okay.”

  Jake burrowed back into the sleeping bag. Izzy left the tent and stretched in the cool evening air. The rain had finally stopped. The trees still dripped and the wind still blew up above the forest, but in that little hollow, on the side of that lake, they were fed, and they were safe.

  CHAPTER 42

  Jake

  “You sure you’re ready for this?” Izzy asked again as they loaded the last of their gear into the canoe.

  “The weather’s good. The water’s flat. We’ve got food. We’ve been sitting around on our asses for three days. It’s time to get going.”

  Jake set the bear canister, now completely stuffed with jerky, into the center of the canoe. Every container and piece of plastic they could find had been filled with thin slices of meat smoked over their campfire. They had eaten almost continuously since waking the second day. Still, nearly half the deer would go to waste—it wouldn’t keep long raw, not with temperatures suddenly spiking into what counted as balmy weather in the North. Jake split the remainder into three piles, scattered about the woods. The scavengers would feast well tonight.

  “Thompson?” Izzy stood beside the canoe, hesitating before getting in.

  “Not like we have a choice. It’s a big town. We’ll sneak in. See what things are like. Maybe they’re better now.”

  “What about Rick?”

  “He’s got three days on us. He’s probably already there. Not much we can do about that.”

  They stood, an uncomfortable silence falling between them. As much as Jake wanted to get back to Thompson, if only to see if everything Izzy had told him was true, he didn’t know what he would do once they got back there. Rick’s existence didn’t make things any easier.

  “He’s not going to give up,” Izzy stated.

  “No. Probably not. I just—I just don’t know what else to do, where else to go. Maybe my dad is there. He’ll know what to do.”

  Izzy’s facial expression did little to build his confidence that what he said was possible. She didn’t let the look linger, though.

  “Maybe,” she said, forcing a smile onto her face. Jake tried to return the gesture.

  “Hop in. We’re wasting daylight,” he said as he put his best reassuring face back on. She stepped carefully into the bow. Jake checked behind him one final time for any gear, then pushed the canoe into the lake.

  On the flat water, the distance flew by. Only the ripples spurred by a flock of geese disturbed by their presence broke the refection of the mirrored surface. With Izzy paddling in perfect rhythm with him, they sped onward to their next goal. Beyond the southern edge of this lake was a portage over a ridge—a ridge that separated the Churchill watershed from the Odei. Beyond that ridge, all the rivers ran downhill to Thompson. Across a few lakes and down a few rivers—all of which he knew well enough to navigate without a map—then they would be home.

  They spoke little. Even while camped, gorging themselves on food, they didn’t spend much time together. With just one sleeping bag, a campfire to keep going, and meat to smoke, they hot-bunked; one climbed in after the other left, but before the bag got cold. For the short periods they were both awake, they always seemed to find things to do, away from each other, like gathering firewood or searching for edible plants to enrich their diet. They were avoiding each other, and both knew it. Talking would inevitably lead to discussion of what lay ahead. With empty stomachs, the conversation had always revolved around the next meal or the next portage. Now, with full stomachs, the immediacy of their predicament had abated somewhat, and they could look beyond the few days it would take to return to civilization.

  Once out on the water, with pleasant, almost enjoyable paddling finally possible, the silence became too much for Jake to bear.

  “Izzy?”

  “Yeah?” She jumped at the sound of her name.

  “What do you want to do when we get back to town?” They both stopped paddling. The canoe coasted across the open water.

  “Do?” />
  “I mean, do you want to stay in Thompson? Or go somewhere else? Do you have relatives anywhere around? Outside of the city? South?”

  “No. Not nearby. I have a couple of uncles who lived out in Alberta—they were working up by the tar sands. But I don’t know if they’re still there . . . or alive. You?”

  “It was just me and my folks, and my grandpa, here. My mom’s folks live out in BC somewhere. But I’ve never met them. And like you said, I don’t know if they made it either.”

  “You’ve never met your other grandparents?”

  “They didn’t like my dad much. My mom was white. My dad was—” He pointed to himself.

  “Ojibway?”

  “Cree.”

  “Oh. That’s a shame.”

  “What?”

  “Not that you’re Cree—that you never met your grandparents. My mom’s parents lived in Winnipeg. My dad’s dad lived in town. He died in the flu. My dad’s mom moved back east a long time ago. Couldn’t get ahold of her after it all started. My mom’s folks didn’t answer the phone after the first week.”

  Jake shook his head and returned to paddling. Izzy’s ability to list off the dead and the presumed dead without so much as a grimace still stunned him.

  “So what do you want to do?” Jake asked.

  She shrugged. “What do you want to do?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Are we . . . sticking together?” she asked.

  “If you want to.”

  “I think so.”

  “Good. Me, too.” Jake relaxed a touch. As much trouble as she had been in the first days after he rescued her, having someone else around made this trek so much more bearable. The work of setting up camp and watching the fire didn’t seem so relentless. Paddling, and especially portaging, was a breeze with two compared to one. Having someone to talk with, besides his memories, buoyed his spirits even more.