Thinking about the possibility of fish increased that dull stabbing in my stomach, so I concentrated on poking my stick in the fire. All we have left is oatmeal. How long can we go without food before we get too weak to function? Too weak to try to hike out. A few days? I had hardly ever gone more than a few hours without something to eat, let alone a few days.
I turned over the small charred pieces with my stick, stirring up the embers. The light smoke kept the mosquitoes away, and I took that time to sit down and check for ticks. I peeled down my socks. Nothing on my ankles, but those little black deer ticks were the ones I was worried about and the hardest to see. Where I lived, Lyme disease was scarier than influenza.
When I was done with my examination, I peeled off my flannel and shook it out, sending waves of dust and grit into the breeze. It stank of smoke; I should wash it. I should wash myself. Rubbing a palm down my hair, I was certain I could grease a cookie sheet. I hated feeling like this, sour and dirty. I would have made a horrible pioneer.
“Where’s the soap?” I asked.
“I have it.” Chloe dug a square green plastic case from her pack and snapped it open. “It looks brand new.” She sniffed it. “What’s that smell?”
Oscar took a whiff. “Old Spice.”
“Yuck.”
“Well, it’s probably better than what I smell like,” I said. “I definitely need to use it.”
Oscar tugged his shirt away from his chest. “I think we all do.”
I looked at him. His face was streaked with soot, his hair disheveled in a way that some people spent a lot of time and money to achieve. If anything, he looked better than he should, and my face grew hot as I caught myself staring at the ring of dirt on his neck.
“This is all we got.” Chloe tossed me the case and grinned. “Don’t drop the soap.”
“Yeah.” The bar was a swirl of red and white. It did smell like Old Spice, definitely better than smelling like sweat, smoke, and BO. I wondered if it would wash my clothes as well as my body.
“There’s a little beach over there.” Oscar pointed in the opposite direction from where Isaac had gone.
“Oh. Okay, thanks.” I didn’t like the idea of Isaac and me sharing a beach, and I hoped it would be far enough away that he wouldn’t be able to see me, at least not any detailed images. I certainly didn’t need to put any ideas into his head. I shook my own, resigned to the knowledge that they were probably already in there anyway, grabbed a towel, and headed down to the shoreline.
I trudged along the sand until I reached a spot that was wider, almost like a small half-moon inlet. The water was clear. No weeds or sludge that I could see, and smooth pebbly rocks studded the sand. This was probably the best it was going to get, so I got undressed (but kept my underwear on) behind a leafy dogwood and debated whether I should wash my clothes. I had a pair of sweats, a couple of T-shirts, a down vest, underwear and socks, and of course my red flannel shirt with half the bottom cut off. I also had a pair of quick-dry Columbia pants that zipped off at the knee, the ones I was currently using.
I pulled my hair out of the bun. Despite keeping it pulled back, it was a snarly mess, hanging in greasy lank waves past my shoulders.
I slid on the only surviving pair of flip-flops, and with a bottle of shampoo in one hand, the soap in the other, I slowly waded into the lake, gritting my teeth. It was cold. Not freakishly cold, but cold enough so it hurt.
Just get it over with.
I dropped down, submerging myself. Underwater I gasped. When I stood up again, my skin was glowing pink, and my heart was beating like a jackhammer. The water cascaded down my back in a sheet, making me feel strangely happy. I quickly washed my hair, both the bottle and bar of soap floating next to me, and scrubbed my skin until it felt like a layer was missing. Even though I knew I was contaminating the water, I was too dirty to worry about it. Surely one bath wouldn’t hurt? I peeled off a sliver of soap with my fingernail and used it to wash my clothes. Then I rinsed everything and my wad of clothes, turned, and swam back to shore.
“Hey, Dodd.” Isaac smiled, wolfish. He leaned against a pine tree like he owned it, holding my towel. “Whatcha wearing?”
I crouched down so the water hit my chin. “What are you doing here?” I asked, trying to keep my voice even. “I thought you were fishing.”
“Fish weren’t really biting.” His smile slid wider across his face. “And I thought maybe I would take a bath, but someone took my soap.”
“Here.” I tossed the soap at him from my squat, but it hit the sand at the water’s edge. Isaac walked forward and picked it up. “Now give me my towel.”
“Done so soon?” He pulled off his T-shirt suggestively. “Want to wash my back? I have some sweaty crevices I can’t quite reach.”
“I’m good. I’m done. I want my towel.” My teeth chattered on the last word.
“You cold, Dodd?” Isaac held up the towel, then snapped it away. “It’s a bit nippy out. This is so nice and dry. Maybe you should come and get it.”
That’s what he wanted. Maybe to embarrass me. Maybe to scare me. Maybe to make me cry.
I’m not going to play this game.
“Okay.” I stood up and let the water pour off, and clenching the sodden wad of clothes in my fist, I waded up to the beach.
Isaac at least had the decency to step back and get red in the face when I took the towel from him. His filthy smile was gone too, replaced with a glazed expression, which was a much better look on him.
I wrapped the towel tightly around me and handed him the bottle of rosemary shampoo. “Don’t use it all up,” I said. He nodded, swallowing hard, and as I walked back to camp, I could feel his eyes on me. But I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of turning around.
Day 5
Late Afternoon
The storm started like a headache. First the sky dulled—a veil of gray erased the blue. White cumulus clouds bloomed on the horizon, inflating like balloons, pushing the air in a new direction. The breeze shifted and cooled, and a few minutes later a branch of halogen light spread a web of electric fingers across the newly darkened sky.
“Now what?” Chloe asked as we watched the clouds pass lightning back and forth. “I hope it’s not like last time.”
“I don’t think so. It looks different.” I counted eight seconds before the belching rumble broke over us. Did that mean eight miles away? Was that far? It looked like it was coming this way. “I think it’s just a regular thunderstorm.”
“Will the plane come back?”
“Maybe they can’t fly in this.”
Chloe sighed. “Great.”
With the sun gone the breeze was almost chilly. A raindrop plopped onto the sand. Then another.
“Where are the boys?”
“Trying to catch fish, I think.”
“Trying. Trying,” Chloe muttered. “I’d rather have oatmeal.”
“Me too.” We each had two packets left, and none of us had eaten it. Not yet. That was the last resort.
The fire sizzled. Rain was coming. “Let’s pick up the sleeping bags,” I said. “We need to keep our stuff dry.”
“But where?” Chloe looked around the small site. The trees were wispy and thin on the beach, providing no cover.
“Back in the woods.” I rolled up my bag and cinched it tight. Chloe did the same. Then we did Oscar’s and Isaac’s. “We might have to move deeper into the trees. Get under some cover or something.”
“I don’t know.” Chloe’s voice wavered. She was thinking of what the trees could do. So was I.
“It’s not like last time,” I said, trying to convince her. “That’s not going to happen again.” I shoved the last of my things into my pack.
“You don’t know that.”
“You’re right; I don’t.” I looked back to the water. Oscar and Isaac were jogging back, but I couldn’t see if they had any fish. “But I do know I don’t want to sleep in a wet sleeping bag.”
“But what if the plane co
mes back? They won’t see us.”
They’re not coming back. Not in this weather. Who knows how long it will last. “We need to stay dry.”
Something in my voice must have swayed her, because she hobbled forward on her crutch and picked up her jacket. I grabbed her pack just as Oscar and Isaac came up from the beach.
“Catch anything?” I asked.
“It’s going to rain,” Isaac said, not answering me, which I guess, in a way, was an answer. No.
“Thanks for that, Captain Obvious.” Chloe crutched her way around the sand, up to the thin trail that climbed into the trees.
“No,” Isaac said flatly. “I mean, it’s really going to rain.” He jerked his thumb up. “Those are some big-ass thunderheads.”
Oscar grabbed his gear and looked around. “We got everything?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Everything that shouldn’t get wet, at least.”
“Now where?” Oscar looked back at the clouds, which seemed to be multiplying like bacteria. The sky was the color of lead.
“I saw a big pine back over there.” I pointed over Isaac’s head. “It was really thick. Branches went all the way to the ground.”
“Good.” Isaac started walking that direction. “Let’s get under it.”
Chloe crutched up next to me. “What about lightning?”
“It’ll be okay.” Oscar tried to reassure her.
“What if lightning hits the tree?”
“It won’t.”
“But what if . . .”
“I don’t want to play that game.” Isaac spun around viciously quick. “It’s a waste of time! It won’t help, and it doesn’t matter.” He stepped forward, agitated. “What if we do get hit by lightning? What if a tree falls on us? What if there’s a forest fire? What if we get lost? What if we die?” He pointed his finger in her face. “I hate to break it to you, sistah! We’re already up shit creek without a paddle! Literally!”
Chloe’s brown eyes glimmered with angry tears. I knew that look. For the past year I had had that look—two seconds away from crying.
“Shut up!” I screamed at him. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Even though everything he said was true, and even though everything he said made sense, I boiled with bright-white hatred. I wanted to punch him in the face.
His sneer was as quick as a snake. “What was that, Dodd?”
“You deaf?” I gripped my bag like it was a grenade I couldn’t let go of. I could barely believe what I was saying. I didn’t even recognize my voice. “You heard me.”
“I did.” His eyes were violent blue. “I just wanted to make sure I heard you correctly.”
“You did.” A gust of wind came with the rain, spattering the lake with a thousand pebbly drops.
He clenched his fists at his sides. C’mon, I thought. C’mon and do it. Show everyone how tough you are. I know you want to.
I stared at his hands. Will it hurt? I’ve never gotten hit in the face before. Will it break my nose? My jaw? Will my teeth go flying? How much blood will there be? Will I lose consciousness? Will I have a brain hemorrhage and die?
“Knock it off, Bergstrom,” Oscar interrupted, his voice dangerously quiet.
“Make me!”
“Okay.” Oscar stepped forward. “I will.”
“Don’t make me laugh, Wiener.” Isaac looked momentarily confused, possibly because no one had accepted his challenge before now. His eyes flickered over Oscar with uncertainty. “What? Are you gonna do some weird kung-fu shit or something?”
“Yes.” Oscar didn’t smile. “How did you know?” I couldn’t tell if he was serious or not. Thankfully, neither could Isaac. He tilted his head to the side and blinked, his mouth puckered up in disgust.
“What the hell are you smiling at, Dodd?”
“Huh?”
“You’re smiling like a loon.” His fists relaxed. “You look crazier than a shithouse rat.”
“Maybe I am.”
“Well, you’re definitely something.” At least now the sneer was out of his voice.
The rain pattered down, and if we didn’t move, we’d be soaked in a few minutes. “Why don’t you go find us that pine tree you were talking about,” Isaac ordered.
“It’s right through those trees, up that rise.” I jabbed my finger at him, enjoying the effect, which was him immediately turning around to follow my directions.
I touched Oscar’s hand, my thumb to his. “Thanks.”
He looked startled for a second, then smiled. “No problem.”
“So do you know kung fu?” Chloe whispered, impressed.
“No.” Oscar grinned, nodding at Isaac’s retreating figure. “But he doesn’t know that.”
Despite the rain, I couldn’t stop smiling.
“Don’t worry,” Oscar reassured us as we headed up into the woods after Isaac. “It will probably pour for a little bit and then clear up.”
I followed, not caring very much that I was getting wetter by the second, but I probably should have, because as it turned out, Oscar was half right. It did pour, and it did eventually pass through and clear up. The next morning.
Day 6
Morning
Waves of fog steamed up from the lake. When the downpour finally stopped, sometime early morning, I noticed how clean and green everything smelled.
One problem: The raft was nowhere to be found. We’d have to make a new one.
“It probably sank in the storm,” Isaac said, not sounding the least bit upset about it.
“Do you think it put the fire out?” Oscar pushed his way out from under the rain-softened pine needles. Despite being fully covered by the branches, we were soaked.
“If that didn’t put it out,” Isaac replied, “I don’t know what will.”
My socks squished in my boots with each step. I had barely slept last night, but for some reason I was wide awake. I felt like I’d just drunk a pot of coffee, which reminded me that even though we were soaked with water, I was incredibly thirsty. I licked my lips and grabbed my canteen. The rainstorm had filled it, and it took all my willpower to just take a few sips. Thankfully, I wasn’t hungry. At least not yet. Maybe I was getting used to subsisting on five hundred calories a day. Maybe it was like some kind of high that dieters chased after, like I heard happened to long-distance runners.
“I’m starving,” Chloe said as she crawled out on her knees. “Do you think the fire really went out?” she asked me.
“I hope so.” I picked up her dry pack. Oscar had placed the ripped piece of nylon tent over our packs to keep them as dry as possible, and I’d also watched him fall asleep with Chloe’s bad foot in his lap. He had told her it would be better if she rested with it elevated, and even though I knew he was right, her appreciative smile had bugged me, and I had turned away, shuffling around the wide base of the tree so I wouldn’t have to look at them. But my pack had been soaked through on one side, the place where the tent fabric didn’t reach. I kicked a rock, annoyed.
“Emma?” Chloe blinked innocently, her eyes big with concern.
“I’m fine.” Well, no, not really. I sighed, fatigue settling back down over my shoulders, and my stomach churned out a rumble. So much for thinking I didn’t need to eat. “I’m just tired. Didn’t sleep much.”
“Yeah, I heard you.” Chloe nodded and adjusted her crutch. “You were mumbling or something. Sounded like a nightmare.”
“I was?”
“Yeah, you kept saying the same thing over and over. Louder than you usually do.”
Louder than I usually do? The rumble in my stomach dropped. She had noticed. She had heard me. But I didn’t remember having a dream. “What did I say?”
Chloe frowned. “Uh, I don’t know. Didn’t really make any sense. I couldn’t really understand it.”
My nightmares were back. But this time it was different. This time I didn’t wake up in the middle. This time I couldn’t remember it. I thought they were gone, but maybe I’ve been having them the whole time and I just didn’
t know it. Maybe I was getting used to them. What’s the word? Desensitized. But I had no idea if that was a good thing. Not likely.
We hiked back down to the beach. The sand was like wet cement, the campfire circle now a sodden mess of black sticks and leaves. Oscar started restacking the ring of stones, a pointless attempt to tidy it up, but it wouldn’t help until everything dried, and who knew how long that would be.
“Do you think there’s any dry wood around?” Oscar plopped a round stone on the sand.
“Nope.” Isaac shook his head.
“Maybe we should look anyway.”
“Go ahead. I’m not wasting my lighter trying to set fire to something that won’t burn.”
“Then how will we boil the water?”
“We won’t.” Isaac wasn’t going to be a helpful problem solver today—that much I could tell. He didn’t even turn around to acknowledge us. He just watched the lake.
“How much clean water do we have left?” Oscar placed a flat rock on the top stack of the ring. The fire pit did look better now, but Isaac was right. There was nothing dry enough to burn.
“All the canteens from last night are full,” Chloe said. “So I think if we conserve it, it should last through the day.”
“Good.” Oscar smiled at her, sending another pinprick of irritation under my jaw. Why do I even care? I barely know him. I barely know any of them.
“How many water tabs do we have left?”
“Four.”
“That’s not enough.” Isaac turned around and crossed his arms. “That’s only good for a day for all of us.”
“Well, that’s what we have left,” Chloe said.
Isaac grabbed his canteen, the battered tackle box, and the rod. “I’m going fishing,” he declared, as if that wasn’t already obvious.
“That’s all you do,” Oscar said, somewhat under his breath.
“We need food,” Isaac growled back.
“What are we supposed to do?” Chloe lowered herself gingerly to the ground, elevating her foot so it rested on a log. She was taking Oscar’s advice seriously: rest, ice, compression, elevation.
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