How do I explain this to Dad?
Sam told. I remember these same words echoing in my head after she blabbed to her friends about Hazel. And if she couldn’t keep that secret, what made me think she could ever be trusted? She knew I lived in the woods, had access to pot, didn’t like cops. Of course she told her dad. I’m the shitrat who’ll force Corporal Ko to pay attention, shine a big fucking spotlight on Sam’s life. And mine.
I force my feet to move. One step after another.
We’ll have no choice but to relocate.
Then I think of Hazel. I have to tell Hazel, is what I think, which makes no actual sense. But it’s enough to make me wonder if I might have a stroke right here in the trees.
Which wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing. Because then I wouldn’t have to deal with the fallout from any of this.
“Fucking prick,” I mutter.
I have only myself to swear at.
•
Hazel meets me halfway up and I navigate the last part of the trail by keeping one hand on her rear. It’s pitch black by the time I reach the cabin.
When I push open the door, I startle them all.
There’s an insistent knot in my gut.
“I ran into a hitchhiker by the highway.”
Dad’s eyes narrow.
“And?” he asks.
We just had our biggest fight ever, but he trusts my judgment. With that one word, he’s relying on me to make the call.
“We have a problem.”
“Fucking prick,” Walt says.
“Yeah. That’s what I thought, too.”
Dad leans back in his chair. His breath comes out in a long, slow sigh. Then he clunks the chair legs down and raps his fist against the table.
“Fine. We leave first thing in the morning.”
“This is my fault,” I burst out. “I think Sam might have said something.”
The look Dad gives me is like a fork to the gut. I deserve it, too. That’s what makes this a million times worse. Over the past couple of months, I’ve broken every rule he ever taught me.
“I’m so sorry,” I say.
He shakes his head. “Let’s get this done.”
Leaving Mom to pack the cabin, we take a couple of flashlights outside to gather the equipment. The generator has to stay, obviously, but the water pump can come. Some folded camo netting, a few coils of rope and a pared-down toolkit — heavy as hell but necessary.
“How will Walt get down the trail?” I ask Dad when we cross paths.
He smirks. “The old coot’s been practicing laps of the cabin for weeks. He knew.”
I add a tarp for shelter, in case Walt’s cabin on the new lot proves imaginary.
It’s past midnight by the time we’re finished. Inside, Mom has reduced our essentials to one large pack. It almost looks as if nothing’s changed. The rifles are leaning by the door, ready to go. The blanket’s missing from the back of Walt’s chair. I’m sure if I checked the cupboards, I’d find a pot and some food gone. But that’s it. My lean-to looks almost exactly the same as always.
We’re probably the only family in the world that packs camouflage netting instead of clean underwear.
Shaking my head, I collapse onto my bed. I fall asleep to the chant of fucking prick, fucking prick in my brain.
•
Dad wakes me at dawn. I don’t know if he slept. He might have kept watch from the front stoop all night, the bears gathered like sentries around him.
Mom sets bowls of oatmeal on the table.
“Bears go,” Walt says once we’re finished. He pushes himself up.
Dad and I look at each other. Neither one of us wants to admit that Walt’s right.
“Maybe…a zoo….” But I’ve already run through these possibilities in my head. The bears are habituated, so no animal rescue place will take them. And how would I get five bears to a zoo? There isn’t a zoo anywhere near here and even if there were, there would be regulations and paperwork. I’d have to explain how I came by five semi-tame beasts.
It would be terrible to leave them in cages anyway. Like locking them all in the drying shed.
“Bears,” Walt says again. He’s already holding the Winchester.
Dad stands suddenly, knocking his chair over behind him. He draws a breath and it feels like the tremor before a volcano erupts.
The cabin door bangs open.
Between Mom, Dad, Walt and me, I think there’s almost a quadruple heart attack.
We’re too late.
That’s my first thought. Before I’ve even formulated it, Walt has raised his rifle.
“Fuck that,” Judith says. “Don’t start shooting again.”
My sister, sweat plastering her hair to her neck, drops a small pack by the door. Her bruise has faded slightly, to a puffy blue-green.
“You guys know there’s a ghost car at the bottom of the logging road? I had to park in the campground.”
“Fucking prick,” Walt says.
“Nice to see you, too,” she says.
There’s something in the cocky set of her shoulders when she says it that almost makes me smile. Doesn’t seem like Judith will be taking any shit.
“So are we going?” she asks.
When neither Dad nor I answer, Mom says, “Isaac has chosen to stay behind.”
As if that’s the most important thing right now.
“Welcome home, sis,” I say.
“You’re leaving?” She raises her eyebrows. Is it possible she looks impressed?
“I’ll help with the move first. And we need to figure out what to do with the bears.”
“We’re not taking the damn bears,” she says.
She’s going to get along well with Walt, this new version of my sister.
“Get it done, then,” Dad says. His voice is thick as he turns away.
Walt’s left me the Springfield. Mom hands me a slab of meat.
Outside, I whistle for them. Then I sling the haunch of venison into the space between the cabin and the outhouse. It doesn’t take long for the bears to gather. I fit the butt of the rifle against my shoulder. I may not remember Walt teaching me to draw, but I remember him teaching me to shoot.
“You take the two to the right,” I tell him.
The first shots shake my brain and set off a high-pitched whine in my ears. The Springfield has a killer recoil. It almost rips my shoulder off. But I drop one of the twins. Walt hits Queenie square in the chest. Then all hell breaks loose. The other twin and Hazel run bawling for the trees. Big Bugger roars — a thunderous roar like I’ve never heard. I swear the ground shakes. When he rears onto his hind legs, he’s the height of the cabin.
My whole body quivers. I fire and miss.
Walt hits Big Bugger in the shoulder, then again in the chest. The bear drops to all fours, but he doesn’t fall. He rushes us. He’s not anyone’s pet now. He barrels like a tank, closing the gap by half, three-quarters.
I can’t hear anything. My fingers won’t work. My vision has narrowed to a tunnel, which is entirely filled with six hundred pounds of rippling fur.
I manage to fire, finally.
My rifle’s meant for long-range shooting. The round hits like a grenade and Big Bugger drops in a heap, almost at our feet.
“Fucking prick,” Walt breathes.
I have to wait for my legs to stop shaking, but it takes me only one shot to drop the second twin from its tree.
There’s only Hazel left. She’s shimmied up a tree too small for her, and it’s bowing back toward the ground while she hugs the trunk like a security blanket. She’s practically at eye level. When I walk over, she turns her head to me with huge, trusting eyes, as if asking whether it’s safe to come down yet.
My own eyes are swimming.
Don’t shoot. Don�
�t shoot. Don’t shoot.
The words ricochet in my head, above the ringing in my ears.
There’s no other option.
But there is. If I was willing to stay, I could save her. Maybe not all the bears, but at least Hazel. The two of us could bushwhack our way through the peaks, meet up with Mom and Dad and Walt somewhere. We could manage it.
That’s not what I want.
Don’t shoot. Don’t shoot. Don’t shoot.
Gritting my teeth, bracing the butt against my already-bruised shoulder. I squeeze my eyes clear.
“Fucking prick,” Walt yells behind me.
I pull the trigger.
Hazel falls with a muffled whomp and I hear myself cry out. Maybe it’s only inside my head, but it sounds like the bleat that Hazel made when Dad first pulled her from his jacket.
Around me, the world goes still and silent. I drop to my knees beside my bear. I hurt as if it’s me who’s been shot. As if there’s a giant, gaping hole through my chest.
After a while, I feel a hand on my back. Judith.
“We’re going,” she says.
My ears are mostly working again. If not my brain.
“I’ll come. I’ll help with the trip.” I wipe my sleeve across my face.
She shakes her head. “Dad says if you’re going to live in town, it’s best you don’t know where we are.”
Another shot to the chest. I’m the one who told. I can’t be trusted.
She leans down, squeezes my shoulders and kisses my cheek. Then she takes the rifle from beside me and presses her bus key into my hand.
A minute later, Mom hugs me.
Dad and Walt don’t say goodbye.
17
I’m slumped beside Hazel, petting the soft, short hair of her snout, when the police and conservation officers show up. I smell their approach — a waft of ripening bud as they check out our plants. Then I watch as they circle the cabin, creeping forward, guns drawn. They crouch near the stoop, pound on the door and shout.
It’s a conservation officer who spots me first. Which is lucky, I suppose. I can’t take any more gunshots today. But a nice tranquilizer dart…
The officer notifies the cops, and the cops aren’t exactly gentle. Efficient, yes, but not gentle.
“Who else is on the property?”
“He’s unarmed.”
“Are there other animals?”
“Outbuildings are clear.”
“Do you know who did this?”
“Were these your bears?” The woman’s voice is stern but calm. Maybe that’s why it penetrates. Or maybe because I’m pressed into the ground, a knee against my back.
“Only Hazel,” I say.
When they start to pull me up, I come face to face with my bear again. I turn my head to the side as my stomach heaves. Black boots jump away just in time.
What did Hazel do to deserve this? She didn’t understand, even after Walt and I pointed our guns. She thought she was a human. If strangers had approached, she would have trundled over to meet them, the way she approached Sam on the trail that day.
I shot her. She must have been so confused. She was waiting for me to save her.
I crumble. Choosing to leave the grow, breaking up with Sam, betraying Dad, the dead bears, my family — where the hell is my family? — everything comes out in shaking, choking sobs.
There are softer voices now. Apparently a puking, wheezing, snot-dripping teenager is not such a threat. There’s a hand on my arm and I let myself be pulled up and led to a stump nearby.
I try to focus on the constable who squats in front of me. I make myself look only at her, concentrate on her face and block the bears from my peripheral vision. Block the image of Big Bugger who lies sprawled on the dirt like a trophy rug. Block the other uniforms.
This officer is about forty. She has brown hair pulled tight beneath her cap. Sweat stains show at the edges of her bullet-proof vest. She wears a belt hung heavy with baton and handcuffs and gun.
“Is Hazel your sister?” she asks.
I almost start bawling again like a little kid, but I hold it together. “Hazel’s my bear.”
Was. Hazel was my bear.
Bear gone. Family gone. Cabin swarming with cops. Everything gone.
“We have wildlife control officers here, because we heard the bears were habituated,” the officer says.
Habituated to me.
“Who else are you concerned about?” she asks.
I almost tell her. But my thoughts start lining up slowly.
She’s fishing for information, which means they don’t know who was here. Which means my family likely made it safely to the campground.
Keep your head down. Maybe I haven’t paid much attention to Dad’s rule for the past few months, but I’m sure as hell going to follow it now.
I clamp my lips securely shut.
I see Sam’s dad then, standing near the cabin, looking at me like I’m dirt.
I’ve lost my family, Hazel, Sam. But he doesn’t care. He scribbles something on a notepad, then points an officer in a different direction. I wonder how I appear in his notes. “Witness” or “suspect” or “perpetrator.”
Or “shitrat.”
The officer beside me is still talking, her voice soothing.
“We could help each other find them,” she says. “Your family must be close by.”
The cops have been watching from the base of the mountain. Maybe they’ve skirted the boundaries of our grow. Maybe they even saw into the clearing from above. But they can’t prove who lived here. It was almost always me going up and down the trail. If we were careful enough, they can’t even prove a link between our cabin and the crop.
This place? Just a little summer camp. Our official address is the orchard where Judith’s bus sits. Besides, Dad has a bad back. Walt’s senile. My mom and I know nothing about those plants. Strangers must have snuck into the woods near our cabin and left drugs in hidden corners.
That was always supposed to be our story.
“I can’t help you,” I tell the officer.
The police drive me to the station and interview me, asking the same questions over and over, learning nothing.
I’m a minor. That’s what saves me. There are rules about how long they can question me. After I call my dad’s lawyer, there aren’t any questions at all. Mr. Higgens appears briefly at the station and meets with me long enough to ask if I have somewhere to stay. Then the police release me, and I head straight for my sister’s place.
Not a trace of Garrett’s cologne. All I can smell when I pull open the door is Judith. She’s there in the empty coffee cup in the sink, in the sweater thrown on the bench seat. When I lie on the bed, I can smell her on the pillow. It’s as if I’m back in the lean-to, ten years old, waiting to build a fort, not worried about cops or crazed boyfriends or anything else, ever.
I curl into a fetal position on her bed. Images of Mom, Dad, Walt, Judith, Hazel and Sam swirl in my head, but eventually I sleep.
I sleep for what feels like days, until hunger and the smell of my own sweat force me up.
Then my cheese sandwich reminds me of Judith, and a spot of blood on my sleeve reminds me of Hazel, and it takes another few hours to pull myself together.
When I finally stumble outside, I’ve lost a day and a half. It’s mid-morning and obscenely bright outside. A tractor mows swaths between the orchard trees and the breeze carries a hint of gasoline.
I text my motorcycle-riding contact, and it’s not long before he roars down the orchard drive. We stand outside the bus.
“So,” he says. “Trouble.”
I grunt in agreement. “Dad might start again, but it’ll take him a season or two to set up.”
It’s his turn to grunt. Then: “Anyone in town we need to worry about?”
/>
I’ve thought about this part.
“A guy named Garrett,” I say. “He works at the brewery. Office job of some sort.”
It’s not right, I know. But I don’t feel even a tiny bit bad about it.
“No problem.” The guy takes my forearm instead of my hand and pulls me close in a one-armed hug. Gives me a slap on the back. “I’ll see you around,” he says.
But I doubt I’ll see him again. I’ll never see Garrett, either. I assume he’ll leave town. That’s what I would do, if this guy and his friends came looking for me.
•
My second meeting is a little more official.
“Mr. Mawson,” the lawyer says, leaning back in his leather chair and crossing his legs. He wears dark gray slacks with perfectly pressed seams. “What can I do for you?”
Even before I ask, I can tell he won’t help me. He has the blank, closed face of a person who knows too many secrets.
Still, I have to ask.
“I was hoping you might give me a list of my family’s real estate.” I couldn’t visit right away. But Judith went back and forth sometimes. I don’t see why I couldn’t occasionally…
Mr. Higgens swivels his chair to face me directly. “You know your dad has a property here in town.”
I nod. That’s the lot where Judith’s bus sits, the trees around it rented to the family who owns the adjacent orchard.
“The remaining properties are in your grandfather’s name, and I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to disclose that list.”
I realize I’ve crossed my legs in a reflection of the lawyer. I uncross them, then press my fingers to my forehead. I have to decide how much to tell.
“They’ve moved from the place we were living,” I say finally. “I want to make sure they’re safe.”
His forehead wrinkles. “What about your safety?”
“I’m almost eighteen.”
“Old enough to look after yourself.”
Obviously. I nod.
“If you were younger, we’d need to talk about foster care. But you’re beyond that, son. As a formality, I’ve signed on as your guardian.”
I scowl. “So that’s it? Formalities?”
“Well, I’m not going to release a list of Walter’s holdings,” he says.
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