Love Without a Compass

by Lindy Zart

  “Ben,” I whisper, wrapping my fingers around his biceps and squeezing the dickens out of it. “We have to go now.”

  “It’s stuck.”

  “Yes, and that’s probably the only reason it hasn’t attacked us.” I try to back up a step, but with Ben not cooperating, I either have to let go of him, or stop moving. I stop moving. “Ben, let’s go.”

  He looks at me, resigned and apologetic. “I can’t, Avery.”

  “What do you mean, you can’t?” I tug at him.

  Ben turns back to the cub, seemingly unaware of my struggle to navigate him away from danger. “I can’t leave it like that.”

  “Yes, you can. Now get your ass moving!” I yank on him, growling when he shakes me off.

  He finally turns to face me. “I know this seems irrational, Avery, but I have to do this.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” I cry. Damn him for caring enough for the wellbeing of another creature to put his own wellbeing at risk.

  Ben smiles faintly. “Absolutely nothing.”

  The cub whimpers, falling to its side with its head still trapped. Its breaths come fast and short, its movements slow and weak. I feel its fear like a lash to the heart. I know why Ben has to do it. Seeing another creature suffer is one of the worst things to witness, and if you can help, why wouldn’t you? I look at Ben, becoming aware of another side of him I didn’t know was there until now.

  He steps forward and I am a step behind him. Ben frowns at me. “What are you doing?”

  “I go where you go.” My mind is set, my back is straight, and I am ready for whatever is about to happen.

  Ben looks as if he’s going to argue, but then he nods. “Stay back a little bit, all right?”

  As if sensing our approach, the cub stills, and then doubles its efforts, its cries painful to hear. Ben talks soothingly, his voice low, as he gets nearer and nearer. The cub breathes hard, its body shaking. Ben leans down, palm outstretched. I watch, feeling as if my heart is going to blow up in my chest. I pray that the cub doesn’t freak out on Ben, and I pray that its mother is not nearby.

  “Easy there, little guy. I’m not going to hurt you,” Ben murmurs, his hand inches from the quivering animal.

  The bear cub can’t be that old, probably just a few months. It looks to be between fifteen to twenty pounds and two to three feet tall. Even though it’s small, it still has paws with claws. Its fur is thick and seems soft, browner than black in color on the underside. I stare so hard my eyeballs dry out, waiting as Ben gently runs his hand along the animal’s back. Its stubby tail twitches back and forth. I jump when it lets out a pitiful wail, but Ben continues to pet and talk, and eventually, it settles down, relaxing onto the ground as if Ben is a bear cub whisperer.

  With one hand stroking the bear, Ben reaches with his other one and carefully works at loosening the backpack from the cub’s head. The cub growls at one point when Ben tugs too hard; another time it whimpers. Hands clasped, I watch with awe and apprehension as Ben finally gets the backpack from the cub’s head. I start to clap and then stop myself, eyes shifting. We don’t need any animals wondering what all the ruckus is about and coming over to investigate.

  The cub falls to its butt, shaking its head as it lets out a plaintive sound. It’s adorable, and possibly ferocious. I study its large eyes and ears and narrow, fluffy face, wondering what it will do next. My heart wants to melt, but my brain is stone cold with distrust. It gets to its feet on wobbly legs and looks at Ben, sniffing the air with its head forward.

  “Ben.” I back up a step, ready to run should the need arise. “I think it’s time to leave now.”

  Ben slowly straightens, a smile on his face. “I’ve never been this close to a bear before.”

  “Well, now that you have.” I motion toward the direction we came from. “Let’s continue to live and be on our way.”

  The bear sneezes, almost toppling over, and Ben laughs. “I want one of these for a pet.”

  “Right. And then one day you’ll wake up and your sweet little cub won’t be a cub anymore, but a giant monster bear and it will tear out your throat and eat it for breakfast,” I say all in one breath, drawing in a large lungful of air when done.

  Ben quirks an eyebrow at me.

  “What?” I snap. “You act like that isn’t a possibility.”

  He swings the beat-up backpack over a shoulder, looking rugged and manly. “All right, fine, let’s go.”

  I turn my back to the cub, glancing over my shoulder with each step I take. You never know, it could decide to attack us. It merely sits, watching us. When we’ve gone a dozen steps, it lets out a mournful cry that has us both stopping. Our eyes meet, and I know what Ben is going to say before he says it.

  Ben partially turns, his eyes on the bear cub. The shadow of stubble along his jaw accentuates his cheekbones and jawline, causing my heart to pitter-patter. He gets more attractive the longer we’re together.

  “It’s odd that it’s alone, right?” He scratches at the thin cut on his face. “What if it doesn’t have any family?”

  The cub looks between the two of us, its head tilted.

  “What if it does?” I counter.

  “We can’t just leave it.”

  I turn him back to face me and try to reason with Ben. “We can, and we will. We have ourselves to worry about; we can’t worry about a bear cub too. Besides, we can’t take it home with us. You already helped it enough.”

  Why am I the logical one right now? When did that happen?

  Ben runs fingers through dirty, crazily styled hair and begins to walk. “You’re right.”

  The final look he gives the cub, regretful and despondent, tears into me. I pretend I don’t see it, but it stays with me as we trek over the uneven terrain. Time seems to freeze as we quietly walk, each of us lost in our thoughts. I wonder if we’re actually getting anywhere, or simply walking in place. That’s what it feels like. No matter how far or which way we go, the landscape always looks the same.

  Ben finally lets out a sound of frustration and stops. “It’s hard to know which way to go when we have no idea where we are.”

  “Or really simple,” I add with a shrug. “If we pick a random direction and keep going, we’re bound to find something.”

  Ben lifts his eyebrows. “Are you always this optimistic?”

  “No, but when I’m not, I give myself a mental kick in the ass until I am. They’ll find us,” I tell him, needing to hear the words again, needing to believe them. I need Ben to believe them too. “And soon. We just have to hang in there a little longer.”

  He gives me a sidelong glance. His expression does not show a glimmer of conviction.

  “They’ll find us,” I repeat sharply.

  “Sure. Yeah. They’ll find us.” He doesn’t say it, but I hear it all the same: What if they don’t?

  “Hey.” I smack my hand to his shoulder, the sound sharp enough to make me cringe and Ben to flinch.

  “Sorry,” I apologize, my hand still resting on his hot skin. It burns my palm the longer I keep it there. I snatch it back, my face as blistering as my hand. I step closer, bringing my face close to his, and drill resolution into his eyes. “They will find us.”

  My hope was flagging; Ben wouldn’t let it. I will not allow him to do the same. We can’t give up.

  “You don’t let anything have a chance to get better if you give up,” I state firmly.

  Ben watches me as he mulls over my words.

  “You wanted to go up before; let’s go up. Like you said, maybe we can see what’s around us.” I point over my shoulder toward the tallest mountain peak I can see.

  “Avery,” Ben begins.

  “I don’t want to hear anything negative. We need direction, purpose. We need a plan. Your plan was to go up. I feel like that’s what we should do.”

  He takes in my determined expression nods, even as a flash of apprehension hits his eyes. “You got it.”

  14

  AVERY

&n
bsp; It seems innocent enough. The faint sound of moving water is nothing to cause alarm. I’m envisioning a stream about three feet across and maybe two in depth. What I find at the top of an unassuming hill is a raging waterfall not ten feet from us, and we’re standing inches from a drop-off that will send us directly into it. I stumble back into Ben. One fall on this hellish excursion was more than necessary.

  We can’t get to the mountain; the water separates us from it.

  Ben palms my waist, his hands firm, his chest hard and hot on my back. When he lets out a breath, I feel it on the side of my neck. It’s a balm to my overheated skin. This would be wonderful, if not for the screaming rapids beneath us, and the fear that Ben may decide to push me.

  “You see that, right? The waterfall? And the large gap between us and the mountain?” I ask, to be sure I’m not hallucinating.

  “It’s hard to miss.” Ben’s voice is close to my ear. My skin breaks out in goose bumps at the sound and feel of it.

  I spin around, which isn’t such a good idea, with being so close to a watery descent I can’t imagine I’ll enjoy. Ben tightens his grip on me until I’m squished to him and walks us back until we’re a safer distance from the ledge. I tip my head back and meet his lowered face, our eyes immediately locking. One move and we’d be kissing. One move and we’d probably be in the water too.

  Ben gives himself a shake and drops his hands at the same time he steps back. He scowls and gives me a nice view of his broad shoulders. “This isn’t the way we want to go, unless we want to try some freestyle whitewater rafting.”

  “Not especially.” My stomach rumbles, announcing the fact that I’d like to eat something. Unless I have an appetite for tree twigs and leaves, I’m not sure what’s available to me. I swear I’ve lost five pounds since the start of this.

  Ben glances toward my midsection. “You need to eat.”

  “Are there restaurants nearby I don’t know about?” I joke as we turn right, following the water.

  “I’d kill for some ribs from Jones’s BBQ Shack.”

  I stop and stare at his back in wonder before remembering I need to put one foot in front of the other to get anywhere. A feeling of pure joy and kinship bursts through me. “I love that place almost as much as Rosa’s!”

  “You do?” Ben glances over his shoulder, a faint smile lining his face.

  “I do,” I reply enthusiastically, a bounce to my step. “Their onion flowers are ah-ma-zing, and the homemade sour cream and chive chips? The best.” My mouth salivates at the thought of the fried food.

  “Right? Everything there is good.”

  “Well…except for the deep-fried shrimp.” I wrinkle up my nose, sidestepping a prickly bush to my left.

  Ben gives me a look from over his shoulder. “You don’t like shrimp? What’s wrong with you?”

  I shrug. “I don’t like crunchy fish things.”

  Ben laughs, the sound short and surprising. “Crunchy fish things?”

  I smile and look toward the water. There’s only been a few times where Ben and I have had an actual conversation. We generally spend our time together growling, glaring, and snapping at one another.

  “Whenever my family comes to visit, that’s where they want to go,” Ben supplies, startling me with the offered information. I know next to nil about him, not for lack of trying.

  “Your family doesn’t live near you?”

  “My parents live in a suburb about an hour from me. We don’t see each other as much we’d like. My sister is in Wisconsin, so we meet up even less frequently.”

  I nod, trailing my fingers over a red flower as I walk. He has a whole family with one dad, one mom, and even a sibling. A stab of discomfort hits my heart and I talk around it, pretending it isn’t there. “I eat there at least once a week. It’s on my rotation of restaurants.”

  Ben gives me a sidelong glance. “Rotation of restaurants? Do you ever cook?”

  “Not by choice.” That’s not completely true. When it was my mom and me, I enjoyed cooking. I guess because I had someone to cook for. There isn’t much point in cooking elaborate meals for one person.

  “Why is that?” he asks.

  I wrinkle up my nose. “Cooking equals work. I’d rather have the food ready for me instead of wasting time cooking it first.”

  Ben snorts. “I don’t get to Jones’s too often. It’s a twenty-minute drive one way for me.”

  “But it’s worth it, isn’t it?” I turn and give him a grin. We are now walking side by side, even though I have no recollection of when he shortened his steps for me to be beside him instead of behind. “The delivery drivers and I are on a first name basis—all five of them.”

  Ben laughs again.

  I like the sight of the sparkle in his multi-faceted eyes. I like the sound of his laughter. I even like how stubborn he is. It’s the times when he sheds his armor, however briefly, that Ben becomes irresistible to me. I should be glad I see his fun, caring side infrequently. Once was all it took though. Just one magical moment where he spoke to me and looked at me as if I was everything.

  I trip at the memory of the night of Duke’s birthday, righting myself before Ben notices.

  “I guess the mountain idea is shot,” I muse. “Got another one?”

  Ben shrugs. “Backtracking is good, but also impossible when everything looks the same. We could follow the sun? At least that way, we’re going in the same direction.”

  “All right.” I nod. “Let’s do that.”

  The incline deepens as we follow along what has to be a river. We’re past the waterfall. The water is calmer now, and closer. The span from land to land is also wider, and I’m guessing the water is much deeper. I shudder at the thought of what unknown slimy things are in its depths, along with countless leeches. I don’t like water dirty enough that I can’t see what’s swimming around me. I also used to be terrified that sharks were in the local swimming pool, even though I could see in that water. Ben’s right: I have issues.

  “There’s got to be edible berries around here somewhere, right?”

  “Sure.” He shoots a glance my way. “We found mint; we can find berries.”

  A flash hits my eyes and I close them against the blinding light. I bump into Ben, who grunts upon impact, and then I fall to my knees. I shake my head and lean back on my heels, opening my eyes to Ben’s nicely muscled legs before moving them up to his face. Ben watches me for a minute, not speaking. My skin heats under his scrutiny.

  He finally asks, “What are you doing?”

  “Oh, you know, just checking the stability of Earth.” I pat the ground a couple times. “Yep, seems stable.”

  Ben crouches beside me, his eyes never straying from my face. He waits, patient and silent.

  “Something blinded me,” I confess.

  “My amazing good looks?”

  I smile faintly. “Did you actually just make a joke?”

  One eyebrow lifts. “Are you saying I’m not good-looking?”

  “I don’t know.” I purse my lips and examine his head. “Your hair’s kind of boring. Remember?”

  His forehead wrinkles. “Again I ask, how can hair be boring?”

  “That’s what I’m wondering.” I set my chin on my hand and peruse the dark strands. “How do you manage that?”

  “Whatever,” is Ben’s quick comeback.

  I fight a grin as I stand. There’s nothing boring about him. I even like his glasses. The nice thing about his lack of them at the moment is that I can see his eyes more clearly. Although, it does suck for him that he’s sort of blind right now.

  Ben scratches at the skin near the nasty cut on his cheek, never actually touching it.

  “We should clean that,” I tell him again.

  “It’s fine.”

  I shrug and nod toward an especially gnarly looking tree about six feet from us. It’s lower down the slope, and off to the side, almost as if nature decided to hide it from the direct view of humans. “The sun caught something sh
iny near that tree, blinding me when I looked at it.”

  Ben moves in the direction I nodded. I catch up to him as he kneels. I step, unknowingly kicking something forward, and watch as a knife bounces across the grass. “That must be what I saw.”

  Frowning, Ben picks up the blade by the handle. The knife is big, and looks sharp. He peers around us, slowly straightening to his full height of around five-ten. Suspicion darkens his face as he turns to me. “Why would there be a knife out here?”

  “Maybe someone dropped it?”

  “I don’t think someone would drop something like this, and if they did, they’d want it back,” Ben muses, again searching the area as if he thinks someone, or something, is out there watching us.

  “Stop that,” I tell him, shivering as paranoia tries to clamp on to me. The image of thousands of glowing eyes studying us from unknown shadows runs through my brain. There’s probably a gang of bears, or whatever a group of them is called, in wait to ambush us. I swallow, wishing I could retract that unwanted thought.

  Ben turns his frown on me. “Stop what?”

  “Let’s just keep walking, okay?” I hurry past him, hoping with all hope that we are close to finding a search team. If they can’t find us, we have to find them, right? There’s no way us being missing for this long has gone unnoticed, nor unaddressed. It’s only a matter of time before we’re reconnected with civilization.

  The knife is proof of that. Where there is a knife, there is bound to be a human—I really hope it’s a nice person.

  It feels as if hours go by as we tramp through brush and over fallen tree branches, but it’s really only minutes. My legs are crisscrossed with cuts and my skin is sunburned, and I’m pretty sure my hair is a frizzy halo around my head. My muscles scream to rest, and I smell bad.

  This is a nightmare, pure and simple, and we’re trapped in it.

  BEN

  The land is level and flat, the waterfall a blurred spot on the horizon, when we stumble upon what we believe to be non-poisonous berries. They’re round and reddish black in color. I tilt my head and study them, wondering if I’m about to poison myself.