Stranded

by Melinda Braun

  “I don’t care,” Isaac said. “You can sit there and pick your butt if you want.”

  “I thought you wanted to be in charge.”

  “Nope. You must have confused me with someone else.” He jogged off before she could reply.

  I unzipped my pack and found most of my clothes were wet. Everything stank like mildew. “Dammit.”

  “What’s wrong?” This time Oscar was asking.

  “Nothing!” I said, much sharper than I intended.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah.” I knew I sounded just like Isaac, and I wondered if bad tempers were contagious. I pulled out a wet clump of shirts. “I’m going to find a place to dry this.”

  “Oh, Em,” Chloe said, tightening the wrap on her ankle. “Your stuff got all wet.”

  “I guess there wasn’t enough room for all of our stuff under the tent.” A mosquito bit my neck and I slapped it, causing me to drop my clothes. Even better. I stalked off before Chloe and Oscar could say anything, following Isaac’s lead.

  I didn’t go far, and it didn’t take long to find a knobby branch to drape my clothes on, but I took my time and walked far enough so I didn’t hear the others, until I found an open patch in the canopy where the sunlight filtered through. I sat down and waited. At least my Columbia pants were almost dry, but my underwear wasn’t. I should just go commando. Not like it matters.

  My stomach was really burning now, plus I was thirsty. What were we going to do even if Isaac did catch something? Eat it raw? Sashimi wasn’t really my favorite.

  Desperate, I dug around in my pack until my hand closed on something smooth and round. When I pulled the apple out, I was momentarily confused. I had already eaten my piece of fruit. Oscar was the one who had the extra apple; I remembered him putting it in his pack after we had divided everything up. He had somehow put it in my pack when I wasn’t looking.

  I hung my head, closed my fist around the apple, and let the hot tears come out. My face is raining. That’s what Lucy used to say when she was four years old. If she pinched her finger or stubbed her toe or banged her arm by accident, hard enough to make her cry, she would say that. My face is raining, Emmy.

  I’d wipe her tears with my palm and calm her down. It’s okay, Lucy-goosey, I’d tell her. The sun will come back out soon.

  I ate the apple, right down to the core. Then I ate the core, saving seven teardrop-shaped seeds. I dug shallow holes with a stick. Seven holes for seven seeds. Maybe one would live and sprout into a tree. One by one, I planted them in the sunny patch and covered each seed with a scoop of dirt. When I finished, I sat back and closed my eyes against the sun, feeling desperately tired even though I hadn’t done a thing, watching the sun move slowly overhead, shadows following, growing shorter until they vanished. It must be midday.

  By this time my clothes were mostly dry, with the exception of my wool socks. I moved them around as the light changed, turning them over, repositioning them to hang from other branches when the occasional soft breeze came through.

  Still, it was too humid (even in the shade), and I was sweating again. I really needed to drink my water. But then what? My canteen was half empty, and even if I drank the rest right now, I would only want more.

  I slapped my legs. At least a dozen new mosquito bites decorated my ankles in a bracelet of puffy white and pink lumps.

  “Hey, Dodd.” It was Isaac. “Keeping busy?”

  I tried not to flinch; it seemed to be a talent of his to appear out of nowhere, without making a sound. I swallowed my startle in a quick gulp. “Doing laundry.”

  “Right.” Isaac set down his tackle box and rod next to me. I didn’t look up; I imagined he was staring at me again, but this time he actually knew what I looked like without my clothes on. I made an X on one large bite with my thumbnail. Isaac cleared his throat suggestively, and that’s when I finally looked up and saw the fish. There were two—big fat ones with shiny olive-green skin decorated with golden pebbly spots.

  “Oh my God!” I said, jumping up, my itch forgotten. Fish! Fish! Food! Still, I couldn’t stop myself from shouting the ridiculous question. “What is that?”

  “Northern pike, I think.” Isaac grinned, vindicated, and held them up with some effort. “The rainstorm must have stirred them up from the bottom or something.” The line strained, close to snapping. “I think this is almost five pounds total.”

  I salivated, fantasizing about how good it would taste, until I remembered we had no fire. “How are we going to cook it? All the wood is wet.”

  “Yeah, but I think if I can get it hot enough I can get some of the smaller pieces of wood to go. We just need to find one dry log somewhere.”

  “But how will you get it hot enough?”

  Isaac’s blue eyes were sly and glinting. “I only need some paper.”

  I scuffed my foot in the dirt, dejected. “Well, I don’t have any.”

  “Wiener does,” Isaac said. “I saw him reading a book the first night. I think he has a few of them.”

  I was momentarily disgusted about using a book to start a fire. Then I got over it. “Do you think he’ll give you one?”

  “Probably not,” Isaac said. “But I’m sure he’ll give it to you.”

  I remembered how I had stalked off this morning and felt my face redden. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

  “Then make him.” Isaac was suddenly in front of me, his hand encircling my wrist, hard and solid as a real handcuff. His breath was hot and sour in my face. “Make him,” he repeated. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

  “Stop it.” Ice-cold waves flooded my stomach. “Let go of me.”

  “Or what?” Isaac’s clear blue eyes turned hazy. “Or you’ll scream? Go ahead and scream.” His grip tightened.

  I pulled away, but he just followed, pushing me backward until I was pinned up against a tree. He wedged my legs apart with a knee and hiked me up, scraping the back of my head against the bark.

  “I don’t mind screamers,” he whispered.

  I couldn’t speak. It was as though he’d also pinned my throat shut.

  “What’s the matter, Dodd? Cat got your tongue?” Black pupils swallowed up the blue, and he pressed his face closer. For one horrifying moment I thought he would kiss me. “Maybe we should do a rerun of that beach scene from before.” With his free hand he pulled the strap of my tank top over my shoulder, teasing me. “Nice,” he purred. “Though you’re a little skinny for my taste.”

  I couldn’t let him see I was afraid. That’s what he wants. “I bet,” I finally managed to spit the words out. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

  He leaned back and looked me up and down, but I refused to blink. “You’re funny, Dodd.” He grinned, quick and evil. “I like that.” Suddenly I was sliding back down; he’d let go of me, and I almost collapsed when my boots touched the ground.

  “Thanks,” I breathed, almost choking on the word. You’re not funny at all. You’re crazy. You’re a goddamn psycho. I pulled my tank top strap back up, suddenly relieved he hadn’t torn it. How would I explain that to Oscar and Chloe?

  Isaac swung his fish over his shoulder, giving me an innocent smile. “Remember what I said, Dodd. I’m counting on you.” He whistled as he walked back to camp, the same tune I’d heard him do before, but it wasn’t a happy melody, and it took me a moment to finally remember where I’d heard it before. It was a year ago, at my sister’s funeral.

  * * *

  “What do you mean you want to burn my book?”

  “I don’t want to burn your book. I need to burn it.”

  “You said nothing would burn. All the wood is wet.” Oscar put his hands on his hips. “Or did you forget that part?”

  “I didn’t forget.” Isaac pointed to the pile of recently filleted fish. “Look at them! If I don’t cook them soon, they’ll rot.”

  “But how?”

  “I need a small fire. I need some paper. We can’t let this go to waste!” Isaac’s v
oice pitched high, taking on a new urgency. I felt it tremble in my throat. We were all hungry—and I knew if it got bad enough, I would eat the fish raw. Worms and salmonella be damned. I would eat it raw. If it came to it, I would use my bare hands.

  “Did we even find a dry piece of wood?” I’d rehearsed the question several times in my head. Still, my voice wavered. After Isaac’s threat, my fear of him had doubled. Tripled. Before, I thought him a jerk, but now I realized I had no idea what he was capable of. One thing I did know—being hungry made him even worse.

  Isaac nodded. “Two logs I found back in the ravine on the far side of the lake. Barely rained on.”

  “Okay,” Oscar said, doubtful. “Then why do you need my book? Just start the fire.”

  “Christ, Wiener!” Isaac ran his hand through his hair. “I said barely wet. I need something dry that will catch right away. I don’t know how much fuel the lighter has left.”

  I’d already piled the least damp pieces of kindling into a tepee, and I knew I needed to convince Oscar. “We need to cook that food. We need to boil water.” I put my hand on his arm. “And we need a signal fire. We need a fire, period. The searchers need to know where we are.”

  Chloe agreed. I knew as soon as I mentioned searchers she’d be on board. All day we had waited for the sound of a plane, but the sky so far remained silent.

  Oscar dug into his pack and pulled out the paperback. “I haven’t even finished it.” He handed it to me, just like Isaac said he would. Actually, it was more like he slapped it into my hands.

  “Thanks.” I looked at the book, then at the ground.

  “Whatever,” he muttered.

  He was pissed. Is he mad at me? “I’ll just take the pages from the front.”

  “It’s not very long. There aren’t many pages.”

  I glanced at the cover. Hatchet. I had read it as a kid. I thought everyone had, and I said as much.

  “No,” Oscar said. “I never read it. I thought it would be a good story for the camping trip.”

  “What’s it about?” asked Chloe.

  Isaac shrugged. “Who cares?”

  “It’s about a boy named Brian,” I said slowly, watching Oscar’s face. I guessed that since he was halfway through it he knew exactly what it was about. “He gets stranded in the wilderness, but . . .”

  “But what?” Chloe grips her hand tight to her crutch.

  “But then he realizes no one is coming.”

  “What?” Isaac asked, suddenly interested. “But he survived?”

  “He had a hatchet. It helped him survive.” I flipped through the pages, thinking about my knife. My grandfather’s knife. He said it saved his life.

  I closed the cover, pressed it between my hands, and then handed the book to Isaac. He took it without a word and began tearing out pages one at a time, as delicately as you can rip a piece of paper. The sound of it burned my cheeks.

  “I’ll buy you a new copy when we get home,” I told Oscar. His face now had the pinched look of someone who’d just been slapped.

  “When we get home,” he agreed. His voice was hollow; he didn’t believe me. For the first time since the accident I felt a sharp needle of doubt. You’re not going to survive. Not this time. You cheated death twice. You shouldn’t even be here. You don’t even want to be here. Now you’re going to die. I hope you’re satisfied.

  Two people died in the car accident. Three people died in the storm. But not me.

  Not me, not me, not me.

  All this time I’d been wondering why I had lived. I was looking for an answer that didn’t exist. There was no reason. I was just like Brian, only without a hatchet. But I did have a knife. And I also wasn’t alone.

  Isaac already had the fire started. He gave me a look—did it mean I had succeeded? That I’d done what he wanted? That he wouldn’t threaten me again?

  My questions grew with the flames, until only one remained, burning in my brain like the fire. One I couldn’t answer, one nobody knew the answer to, least of all me.

  Who was going to survive this time?

  Day 6

  Sunset

  There was one plane that flew low over the trees that afternoon, a duplicate of the one that had passed over yesterday, but unfortunately we hadn’t made a new raft. It wasn’t a floatplane, and I realized Oscar was right. This lake was too small and narrow for a plane to land on. They’d have to get to us by foot.

  “Which direction did it come from?” Oscar asked. “South? East?”

  “I don’t know.” I pointed over a giant spruce. “From there, I think.”

  “Do you think we should try to hike back?” He glanced at Chloe, who shook her head.

  “The last thing we should do right now is try to hike back there.” Isaac kept himself busy feeding twigs into the small flames. “You saw all those logs piled on top of each other. Some of them were over ten feet high. It’d be like climbing through a giant Lincoln Logs booby trap.”

  Without another word Oscar turned and walked back to the beach.

  Chloe gave me a look: Now what?

  I followed the trail down to the lake. Oscar stood with his back to me, arms hanging limply at his side as he watched the water, which was the same shade of blue as the morning glories my mom grew every year along our backyard fence. Morning glories were Lucy’s favorite, the ones called Heavenly Blue. They usually bloomed on her birthday. There was not a better color. There was not a better name, and I briefly wondered if my mother had planted them this year. I doubted it.

  “They’re probably searching for us right now,” I said finally. “They probably have it all mapped out. They’ll go lake by lake. We wouldn’t want to try to hike to a place they’ve already covered.”

  “So you think they’ll just find us here?” Oscar stared up at the pink streaks in the sky.

  “I bet they’re on their way. It will just be hard to get to us. They’ll need chainsaws and . . .” I stopped. I didn’t know what they would need to find us.

  “But what if the fire’s still burning?”

  “If it’s not big, they just might let it burn,” I said. “Or they’ll put it out. It will just take longer.”

  Oscar’s eyes were bright and shiny behind his glasses when he finally looked at me. “How long is long?”

  “They know we’re out here,” I said. “They won’t give up. I know.”

  “Do you?” Oscar sank down into the sand and crossed his legs, elbows on his knees.

  I sat next to him. “Do you think they found the campsite?”

  “I hope so. Then they’ll know.”

  I was quiet for a minute, letting a horrible idea take shape, an idea I’d forced away until now. Rescuers finding the obliterated campsite, then the bodies. Broken trees, everything in charred lumps. Would they even be able to identify them now? Chris? Wes? Jeremy? “What if they think we’re already dead? All of us.”

  “Don’t say that.” Oscar looked ill.

  “Sorry.” I wrapped my arms around my knees and hugged myself. “I can’t help it.”

  “I know.” He exhaled. “Just don’t say that to them.”

  “Why not? I’m sure they’re thinking the same thing.”

  “They can think it. Just don’t say it. Saying it makes it real.” Oscar looked back at the water, the heavenly blue color tarnishing to silver before our eyes. “We can’t panic. We need to stick together.”

  Apparently he thought Chloe would flip out, and Isaac would leave us. Both were definite possibilities, and I didn’t want to deal with either of them. If anyone was going to make it out of here alive, it would be Isaac. He would do whatever it took. That fact made me shiver.

  “Okay,” I said. “Don’t panic. And then what?”

  “And then we just keep doing what we’re doing. Technically we aren’t even missing. They have search-and-rescue squads up here. They have rangers.”

  I scooped up a handful of dark sand. “We need to get Chloe’s ankle better.”

  “Y
eah, we do,” Oscar said. “But that kind of thing takes time.”

  “You know if they don’t come for us . . .” I stopped and corrected myself. “If they don’t find us, we’ll need to leave.” The sand trickled through my loose fist slowly in a steady stream, like an hourglass timer. “At least try to find a trail or a campsite or a ranger station. Something.”

  “I know.”

  “We can’t stay here,” I remembered Chris’s words when he told us about the coming storm. Better to be safe than sorry. “There could be a snowstorm in a few days. We need to move.”

  * * *

  “How’s the foot?”

  Chloe wriggled her toes, then carefully rolled her ankle in a clockwise circle. “Much better.” She smiled, relieved. “So much better.”

  Isaac had decided smoking the fish would take too long, so now he was boiling the pieces in the pot. I had heard of fish boils, and though I preferred mine fried, I’d take whatever I could get.

  “You should probably wash that bandage while you’re at it,” he said. “It smells like ass.”

  “Well, I guess you would know,” Chloe said. “You’re the expert in that area. You probably have a PhD.”

  Isaac grinned back at her wickedly. “Yeah. They call me Dr. Ass because I get so much of it.”

  “Hoo!” Chloe screamed. “Is that right? I thought it was because you’re so full of shit.”

  Oscar covered his face with his hands, his shoulders shaking up and down.

  Isaac pointed his stick at him. “What are you laughing at, Wiener?”

  “Nothing.”

  Isaac shoved the stick back into the pot and speared a white piece of flesh. “You should never laugh at people who cook your food.”

  “I’ll remember that, Dr. Ass.”

  “I mean it, Wiener.”

  “All right. Let’s go to the beach, Chloe.” Knowing what I did, I really didn’t want Isaac to get mad again. Chloe wasn’t the type to back down. Oscar was the mediator, but I didn’t know exactly what type I was. Maybe the change-the-subject type. “We won’t be gone long,” I said.