Chloe’s ankle was as fat as a bratwurst. I couldn’t even tell where her anklebone was, everything just inflated with fluid, the skin purpled in shades of burgundy, violet, and maroon. It looked disgusting.
“Nice.” She gagged at the sight. “I look like I have gangrene.”
“It’s bad, but it should heal eventually. Couple days?” I wished Oscar were here. Where did he go? He had a better bedside manner. “I think we need some ice.”
“That cold pack helped some.”
“Yeah.” The cold pack had eventually lost its juice, and there was one more in the kit, but I hesitated to use it. What if something else happened? I shook my head. Something else would happen; that was guaranteed. “I found a lake. Seven hundred yards away. If we can get there, you could soak your foot. The water’s pretty cold.”
“You found water?” Chloe licked her lips; they were cracked and dry like mine.
“Of course.” I smiled, relieved to have done something right. “I said I would.”
Chloe laughed a hard horsey laugh. “You certainly aren’t like our fearless leader.”
“Talking about me again?” Isaac walked in through the bushes like one of those jungle commandos. We never even heard him, and I couldn’t help but flinch. He was carrying a huge bundle of sticks.
Chloe ignored his question. “What’s that for?”
“Supplies.” Isaac dropped them in a pile and took off his pack. “We can build a fire—”
“No fire,” Chloe blurted. “What the hell are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking that if I can catch a rabbit or a grouse, I don’t want to eat it raw and puke my guts out. I like my meat cooked.”
“And how do you think you’re going to catch a rabbit? Emma here moves faster than you.”
“With these.” Isaac held up a few slender sticks. “I can make a bow and arrow and some spears. That is, if Emma here will let me borrow her knife.”
How the hell does he know I have a knife?
“What knife?” Chloe glared back at him.
“The Swiss Army she’s been keeping in her back pocket. That knife.”
I busied myself pulling out the canteens from my pack, pretending I hadn’t heard him. Apparently he’s been looking a little too closely at my ass. Great. But we did need a fire. There was a water purification kit in the emergency bag (thanks again, Oscar), but it wouldn’t last us more than another two days.
“So if I can sharpen these sticks,” Isaac continued, and I felt his eyes on me, “we could use them to hunt. I could definitely make a bow.”
“Really?” Chloe asked, unimpressed. “How exactly will you do that? What’ll you use for the string?”
Isaac crossed his arms. “Dental floss.”
“Sure. Are you also going to catch birds and pull out their feathers?”
“Huh?” Isaac stared at her, his expression a mixture of confusion and vehemence.
“You know, for the end of the arrow.”
“That’s a good idea, though, making something to hunt with,” I heard myself say, mainly to prevent the fight that was brewing. I didn’t like Isaac. But it wasn’t just that; it was something else. He made me nervous. I hated the way he stared at me—part dirty old man, part disdain. And there was something mean and sharp in his eyes. He reminded me of the type of person who would drown kittens and think it was funny. Dr. Nguyen would say he was a psychopath. Or was it a sociopath. What’s the difference between them, anyway?
Whatever he was, one thing was for sure: Isaac was unsettling to be around to say the very least.
But we needed him. Of the four of us left, only Isaac had hunting and wilderness experience. At least he said he did.
“And we will eventually need to build a fire,” I said, trying not to shudder. “We don’t have many sterilizing tablets left. We’ll need to boil the water, and the fire could be used as a signal.”
When I turned back, I saw a glimmer of hurt in Chloe’s eyes. I was supposed to be on her side (I was on her side), but I also knew that Isaac was right. He smiled that triumphant, yet dirty-old-man grin at me, and I wished again for Oscar to be here. He was the level head of our group—the mediator. Nothing seemed to bother him, not even Isaac’s verbal abuse.
“Where’s the Wiener?” Isaac asked suddenly, obviously thinking of Oscar as well.
Chloe shrugged. “Still looking for food, I guess.”
I glanced past Isaac, toward a thick copse of aspens. “I thought he was supposed to stay here.”
“I told him I was fine,” Chloe said. “I told him to go look for something useful.”
I nodded and set the canteens up in a row on a flat stone. “These should be ready in a few minutes.”
“Dodd, you actually found water?” Isaac looked impressed, or maybe just surprised.
“Of course she did,” Chloe snapped.
“Seven hundred yards.” I turned and pointed where I’d come from. “It’s marked with my red plaid flannel.”
Isaac arched a blond eyebrow and crossed his arms. “Who told you to do that?”
“Nobody.” He was staring at me differently now, as if maybe I wasn’t some annoying bug he would squash. “Thought it would help us not get lost. Or more lost than we already are,” I added. Because we were lost. That was a fact. But we were still alive. So far. “It’s a nice lake. Probably has fish. It would make a decent camp.”
“Well, well,” Isaac said. “Looks like you’re not totally useless after all.”
“Shut your face, dumbass!” Chloe snarled as she rewrapped her ankle.
“Why don’t you make me?” Isaac clenched his fists. I didn’t doubt he was the type of boy who would hit a girl. “Why don’t you hobble over here and open a can of whup-ass on me!” He hunkered down into a ridiculous kung-fu fighting stance.
My mouth dropped open, but Chloe just started laughing. Isaac didn’t seem to intimidate her in the least. “Nobody opens a can of whup-ass anymore, white boy! It’s not 1995!”
“What’s going on? Who’s whupping ass?” It was Oscar. He looked disheveled and sweaty, as if he’d run back from wherever he’d been. Bits of twigs and pinecone pieces dusted his hair. He pushed his glasses back up his nose.
“Hey, Wiener,” Isaac replied. “Chloe’s just getting all north side on me. I guess I was disrespectin’ her.” He rummaged through his stick pile and withdrew a slender green branch. He bent it, testing its strength, then tossed it aside.
“North side, my ass,” Chloe muttered. “And Emma found us water, by the way.”
“You found water?” Oscar smiled and exhaled, ignoring Isaac. “Where?”
“Not far. We should go there and set up a camp.” I remembered what Isaac had said. “And we should make a fire. It should be okay if we’re by a lake.”
Oscar nodded, pushing up his glasses again, then glanced down at Chloe. We all did.
“Yeah, I’m the gimp.”
“We’ll take turns carrying you,” Oscar said. “All of us.” He looked pointedly at Isaac, who was now busily whittling another stick with a sharp rock. That stick looks too dry for a spear. And the rock was too dull. A second later the stick snapped. Isaac glanced up at me, something between spite and embarrassment, then threw the broken pieces to the ground. He picked up another stick, a green one, and started again with the same piece of rock. My hand reached to my back pocket, feeling the comforting steel outline of the knife my dad had given me. He said it was lucky. He said it saved his life. I certainly didn’t want Isaac to use it.
Chloe muttered something. It sounded like not letting that piece of shit carry me. Or maybe I was imagining it. It had been a day, but I didn’t think Chloe was about to forgive Isaac for abandoning her when she couldn’t keep up with him. She didn’t strike me as the forgiving type. Then again, neither was I.
“Fine, then. Lead on, Wiener.” Isaac held up the now somewhat-sharpened stick, testing it against his thumb. It looked like a squirrel had gnawed on it, but he pointed it at
me anyway. “Is that water ready yet? I’m thirsty.”
I tossed him his canteen, harder than necessary, a fact he didn’t miss. Another thing that unsettled me about him—he didn’t miss much. He gave me an evil smile while he took a swig. I should have spit in it.
“Let’s go.”
Day 4
Afternoon
“How is it?” Oscar asked Chloe.
“Okay, I guess.”
“Better?”
“I don’t know. It still hurts.”
“But it’s better than before?”
“Well, it’s colder. It doesn’t throb as much. Is that better?”
“At least we don’t have to worry about alligators.”
“Good lord!” Chloe jerked her foot from the water, curling her toes in fright. “Oscar! Don’t even say stuff like that.”
“Sorry.” Oscar pushed the nosepiece of his glasses. “I guess that wasn’t a very good joke.”
“Can’t be good at everything, Wiener.” Isaac snapped another twig and put it on top of the tepee pile of kindling we had accumulated.
“Do we need more leaves? Pinecones?” I crumpled a handful of what I thought were oak leaves, dead ones. They crackled and crunched like Rice Krispies.
Rice Krispies. Rice Krispy treats. Marshmallows. Chocolate. Graham crackers . . .
My stomach turned, making a noise that sounded like an injured animal, so loud Isaac looked up from his pile of sticks and arched an eyebrow.
“You eat anything today, Dodd?”
Why does he always call me by my last name? I guess it was better than what he called Oscar.
“Granola bar this morning.” I wasn’t about to complain. It was all any of us had had to eat for several hours.
Isaac shook his head. He had to be as hungry as I was, even more so. He was quite a bit bigger, and he looked like the type who could easily put away a Big Mac, large fries (supersized), plus a couple Filet-O-Fishes.
Oh God, stop thinking about food.
“And anyway,” Isaac said to his pile of sticks, “there ain’t gators out there, but there are snappers. Big ones.”
“Turtles don’t scare me.” Chloe swirled her foot in the water, stretched back to catch the afternoon sun, and closed her eyes against it. It was a hot day, and her pose reminded me of the lizards in the desert, storing up heat in their bodies for when the night got cold. And it would get cold. Even in the heat I shivered, thinking about it. Chris said a storm was coming from Canada. Maybe coming. Maybe snow. I scanned the sky, looking for a clue, but the clouds were thin and gauzy against the blue.
“I’m not talking about those cute little box turtles you see in the pet store,” Isaac replied, stuffing pinecones into the side of the tepee. “I’m talking those prehistoric big-ass reptiles. Alligator snapping turtles. Body the size of that rock you’re sitting on.” He pointed to the smooth granite boulder half submerged in the water. “Those things don’t even look like turtles. More like frickin’ dinosaurs.”
“So what?” Chloe refused to let some tale of turtle terror move her, especially if Isaac was telling it. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
“So,” Isaac said slowly, enjoying himself. “Those turtles are like alligators. Waiting down in the muck, looking up at the surface, waiting for something to snatch and bam!” He clapped his hands together with a hard slap.
Chloe snorted, but Oscar stared at Isaac, as if daring him to continue.
“Once when I was walleye fishing I saw a mallard next to our boat, about ten feet from shore. Next second I looked, it was gone. Poof! Pulled under, only a pin feather floating.” Isaac wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Wouldn’t have even noticed it if I hadn’t just been staring at that duck. My uncle said it could have been a muskie, but there weren’t any muskie in that lake. And then we saw them come back up. Just once, just for a second, then gone.” Isaac picked up his handmade spear.
“So it was a turtle?” Oscar asked, unable to help it.
“Big as a damn beach ball.” Isaac nodded and turned back to me. “Think you can handle starting this fire, Dodd?”
“With what, exactly?” I asked. “Am I supposed to bang rocks together?”
Chloe snorted again. She still hadn’t removed her foot from the water, but now she was staring much more closely into its depths.
“No,” said Isaac, flipping me a small silver square that flashed in the sunlight as it arced into my hand. “You can start it with this.”
I opened my fist. It was a Zippo lighter; a skull and crossbones decorated one face. I flicked at the seam, enjoying the sound of that distinctive metallic schlunk as it popped open.
“Where did you get that?” Oscar asked. “We weren’t supposed to have lighters.”
“Good thing I don’t care much for rules, isn’t it, Wiener?” Isaac gripped his stick and turned away from the lake.
“Where are you going?” I clinked the top back down on the Zippo.
“Gonna find some dinner.”
“How? What?”
“Why don’t you let me worry about that.”
“You know how to hunt with a stick?”
“I know how to hunt,” Isaac told Oscar. “That’s all that matters.”
The stick looked sharp enough, and I wondered how much it would take to pierce the skin. Not much.
“You think you’re going to be able to kill something with that?” Oscar wasn’t convinced. “Just that easy, huh?”
Isaac nodded, unblinking. “Or my bare hands if I have to.”
Oscar didn’t reply. And neither did I. I believed him.
“Well, good luck with that,” Chloe mumbled.
“Yep.” Isaac walked off into the trees. “Better have that fire going when I get back. Make it smoke; maybe a plane will see it.”
* * *
“I haven’t seen any planes,” Oscar said, poking the fire with his stick. “I haven’t even heard a plane.”
“Me either.” I poked the charred wood with my own stick.
“Why wouldn’t there be a plane, though?” Chloe asked, and pressed her fingertips into the swollen part of her ankle. It looked better, less puffy. The cold water must have helped. “I mean, I know they can’t land planes on the lakes up here, right? But considering what happened . . .”
“I bet they’ll come tomorrow,” Isaac said, somewhat more agreeable after a shared dinner of a small tin of smoked sausages (we each got three); six marshmallows apiece; mustard, ketchup, and pickle relish packets; two squares of chocolate bar; and several shards of graham cracker.
It wasn’t bad; the sausage was decent, though I usually wasn’t in the habit of eating meat out of a can.
“I almost got that rabbit,” Isaac said, and licked mustard off his finger.
“So you’ve been saying,” Chloe said. “Who eats rabbit, anyways?”
“I have.”
“Of course you have.”
“The Germans call it Hasen,” Isaac continued. “Eat it all the time, usually in stew or a casserole.”
“How do you know? Are you German or something?” Chloe asked, as if that would explain it.
“My grandmother was,” he said. “Spoke it a lot, too. But I’m mostly Swedish.”
“Me too,” Chloe nodded. “On my dad’s side.”
Isaac did a double take. “Johnson?”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t look Swedish.”
Chloe just smiled as she rewrapped her ankle. “No, I don’t expect I do.”
Her answer made me laugh.
“What’s so funny, Dodd?” Isaac appraised me across the fire. It was dusk (my mother called it the gloaming), and the light around us had a peculiar intensity that seemed to set everything aglow. Even Isaac’s face.
“Nothing.” I jabbed my stick at a fat coal, worrying it until it cracked apart, the inside glittering like a geode. It glowed and breathed orange light like a living thing. “Absolutely nothing.” Definitely not you.
“So are
you Swedish too?” Chloe asked.
“English, I think,” I said. “Don’t really know.” What does it even matter?
“What about you, Wiener?” Isaac crossed his arms and stared over the flames. It was amazing to me how he could make a question sound more like a threat.
“Let me guess,” Chloe said. “Last name O’Brien. Irish right?”
“My dad’s side,” Oscar said. “My mom’s Korean.”
“Ah.” Chloe sighed, as if that explained everything. “I was wondering why you were so pretty.”
Oscar blushed. “Let’s change the subject.” He jabbed his stick harder into the fire, evidently uncomfortable to be the center of attention.
“All right,” said Isaac. “Where you from? Johnson here is from North Minneapolis, right?”
“You know it.” Chloe smiled.
“I’m from Coon Rapids.” Isaac twirled a short stick point on the tip of his finger, and I wondered if he planned to turn it into an arrow.
“Surprise, surprise.” Chloe wrinkled her nose.
“Yeah, I know,” Isaac said. “Crapids they call it, right? White-trash ghetto, right?” He asked it good-naturedly. Having a full stomach (or at least not completely empty) had definitely improved his mood.
Chloe snorted. “You said it, not me.”
“Okay.” Isaac swiveled dramatically on his stump to stare at me and Oscar. “But you two haven’t volunteered your information. You haven’t volunteered much of anything.”
I slouched over a bit more, feeling the flames bathe my face in an intense, yet pleasurable heat. “What do you want to know?”
“Well, for starters,” Isaac said. “Where are you from?”
“Why does it matter?”
“It doesn’t,” Isaac said. “Just making conversation. Trying to pass the time.”
“Fine,” I said. “I was born in Saint Paul.”
“I’ll try not to hold that against you,” Chloe said.
“But you don’t live there anymore,” Isaac said.
“Give up. You’re never going to get it.”
“I bet you’re going to college in the fall.”
“No.”
“Really?” Oscar looked at me in surprise. Or was it disappointment?
“Community college?”
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