Edge Walker

by Chris Hampton

A hundred yards upstream, Bae spies their second rabbit. This one is bigger than the first, feeding at the water's edge in a patch of bright green miner's lettuce. At fifty feet away, it doesn't change its motion, unaware of Bae and Ever, who immediately nocks an arrow into her bow. The boy slowly squats to stay concealed behind a stand of thin willow shoots, which break up the outline of their bodies but still allows him to keep the rabbit's position in sight.

  Bae takes off his shoes and ragged socks, careful not to jerk or move suddenly. Stalking forward, he feels more confident in bare feet. Both boy and girl manage to stalk within twenty feet of the rabbit. The water flows over the stones, chattering loudly. The rabbit's turned with its back to them, the back of its little head visible.

  Bae plants his feet, winds up, and throws. The stick spins across the distance on target. The rabbit never hears or sees it before it strikes the back of its head, killing it. Ever jumps up, excited for Bae's clean kill. They retrieve the rabbit, and she oversees him gutting and cleaning the carcass. He does it her way. Not as smooth as Ever, but adequate. He begins the washing. Ever gathers the heart and liver, then sets the rest of the entrails aside. Bae gives her a puzzled look, not sure why she didn't cut them up to throw back into the stream. After he finishes washing the carcass, he sets it on a sunny rock to dry.

  When Bae looks up from his work, he observes Ever building something using willow sprigs cut from a patch along the creekside. The sprigs she cuts into three-foot lengths. Then she goes to another patch and harvests pencil-sized willow. On one end of the three-foot lengths, she lashes them together with the pencil-sized twigs. Bae's amazed at how pliable the willow is. Ever separates the tied bunch of longer shoots at the untied end, opening it up and placing inside three rings made of the pencil willow. The ring down inside closest to the tied end is the smallest. Another ring goes in the middle of the tube, and the largest ring at the opposite end forms an opening. The contraption looks like a funnel, narrow on one end and much wider on the other. The longer willow shoots, the sides of the funnel, she spaces about an inch apart.

  Next, Ever makes a circular gate with the remaining willows and attaches it to the mouth of the funnel. She tests the gate, making sure it swings into the funnel but not outward. The opposite end, the small end of the funnel, is bunched tightly, closing off any opening down there.

  Satisfied, Ever picks up her strange basket-funnel-thing and sets it into a deep pool upstream from where they cleaned the rabbit. The pool is deep enough to submerge the entire basket. Staying on the rocks, she hops back, picks up the entrails, and places them inside the submerged basket, pushing them down to the narrow end. She steps back to shore and studies the current of the stream.

  "I don't want the guts to wash away," she says, breaking her silence.

  Plucking a small bush from another part of the bank, Ever secures the plant over the trap, concealing it from sight. She arranges the brush to make it appear to be growing there at the water's edge. Hopping back to Bae, she squats next to him and gazes upstream at the bush that hides her basket.

  "Breakfast," she says and nods towards the basket. "A basket trap for fish," she explains. "The guts might lure some brook trout into the trap."

  Ever and Bae spend the rest of the afternoon skinning, stretching the little hides, and preparing the rabbit meat for stew. The hides dry in the sun.

  As he works alongside Ever, Bae realizes he's happy. He likes this way of life. Grandfather would be pleased. He scans past the drying hides into the distance of the canyon beyond. He understands they must leave tomorrow, but this little place has become home. Maybe not a home, but comfortable.

  He looks around at the rims on each side of the canyon, the creek below, the plants, rocks, trees. Finally, his eyes settle on the cave opening. This place is a beginning, the start of a new way of life, a way Grandfather wanted for him.

  "Thank you," he whispers to the canyon's silence.

  Chapter 50 - Code

  Late afternoon descends on the canyon. Soft light radiates in patches of deep orange and yellow on the canyon walls and floor. In places, the creek bursts into thousands of blinking lights where sunrays hit the water and dance across the ripples. This canyon speaks to Bae, in a language he's only beginning to understand, the language of the land.

  Did Grandfather know that his brother, Jure, would find Bae? The boy suspects the old man knew Bae's chances were good by telling him to go north. But did Grandfather and Jure already have a place chosen for a rendezvous before they came out west? The Red Cliffs? Of course! But this canyon isn't the Red Cliffs.

  Bae shakes his head. Do the questions really matter? Not really. What he does know is this moment matters. And right now he knows that he belongs out here.

  A small fire dances in the cave. Dinner is stewed rabbit with wild onions foraged when Jure did the perimeter check. Bae, once again, marvels at the ingenuity of these two. The meal simmers in a metal pot with walls that collapse each inside the other to compress down for easier packing. To use it, the sections of walls are pulled up to form the pot. Handy.

  When the stew's ready, all three eat straight from the pot using makeshift tongs carved from dry oak twigs. Bae insisted on making his own, but can't use them as gracefully as Ever and Jure. They dip the broth out using the half gourd, the same gourd Bae used to eat his first meals with them.

  "Are the hunters out, G?" Ever asks, poking the small fire with a stick. The collapsible pot is now heating water.

  "G?" Bae asks.

  "It's what she calls me," Jure looks at Ever with warmth. "Always has. It's short for Grandfather."

  Bae smiles. "It fits you."

  "Well," Jure nods towards Ever. "It's stuck thanks to her."

  Bae feels their closeness, thinks of his own grandfather, and a pang of grief passes through him.

  "You can call me G, if you like," Jure says, then, seeing Bae's quick smile, changes the subject. "The hunters returned to where we found you. Two days ago." G uses a thin branch to move a burning stick under the collapsible pot. "The tracks show they looked for you but gave up and left. Nice job covering our tracks, Ever." The girl nods slightly, eyes fixed on G. "No sign of them around us when I searched, but it's time to move."

  Bae remembers Grandfather's warnings to move often, to not stay in one place too long, especially when danger is present. Always be ready, Grandfather would say when they walked the desert.

  "Your footwear needs mending," G says.

  "Yes," Bae answers. "My left sole came apart."

  The shredded shoes embarrass the boy. He glances down at his clothes and does a quick check, as he's learned to do before traveling. His pants are tough enough, although the knees are showing wear. The undershirt is still in good shape. The short sleeve over-shirt, on the other hand, has holes in the front and back. Comfortable enough, for now, with the warm weather.

  "Any ideas for your footwear?" G asks.

  "There's the town," Ever says. "They might have a dump or store we can raid."

  "No way on the store. Too dangerous. Supplies to these outlying towns have stopped. Whatever they have in town will be closely guarded." G pauses. "But a dump. Good chance old tires will be in a dump. We can make sandals for Bae."

  "What about straps?" Ever asks. "Strapping leather is hard to find."

  "Paracord."

  "Of course!" Ever blurts. "I forgot about that."

  "I've got paracord," Bae offers. He can't picture sandals made out of tires or how to make them. But he knows paracord and has a roll in his pack.

  "The huaraches are a short term solution. But they'll work."

  "Huaraches?" Bae asks.

  G smiles. "The Indians of Mexico call sandals huaraches. We'll detour to the town and look for the dump. It should be on the outskirts. Easier to access. Can you make it another five miles in those?" he asks, pointing to Bae's shoes.

  "I think so." Aga
in, the boy feels the burden of being inexperienced in the wilderness. These two have all the right gear. "Grandfather's journal tells how to make moccasins," he adds defensively. "But I don't have any leather. The rabbit hides are too thin."

  Both G and Ever remain quiet. No judgment on their faces.

  "The journal," G asks. "My brother wrote it for you?"

  "Yes," Bae answers. "It's helped me survive."

  "May I see it?"

  Bae is surprised at the reluctance he feels in sharing Grandfather's journal with G. He silently asks Grandfather permission and feels his reluctance dissolve. The boy digs the journal out of his pack and passes it to G. The old man takes the journal, handling it with reverence.

  G holds the book in his hands and gazes at its plain leather cover. He turns it in his roughened hands, carefully untying the strap that holds it closed. Before looking inside, he glances at the other two. It dawns on Bae that this small book is a direct link from G to his dead brother. The boy understands the old man's hesitation. G opens the journal.

  For a time, he studies the pages without talking. Ever goes back to moving about the cave. She stokes the small fire and reinforces the sinew string on her bow. Then, she straightens and looks at Bae, who is rummaging through his pack, and pulls something from hers.

  "Bae," she calls. "Try this on your shoe. Might keep your sole together until we find a tire."

  She unwraps a foot long section of olive green duct tape. Bae notes she carries it wrapped around the handle of her fixed blade knife. Tucking her knife back in its sheath, she tests its stickiness and nods in approval.

  "Step over here. Put your left heel on this rock."

  Bae places the heel of his foot on a small boulder. Ever deftly winds the strip of tape three times around the top and bottom of his shoe. She makes sure the end of the duct tape is on the top of his shoe, not the bottom.

  "It won't last forever, but it's sticky and should keep the sole from flapping while we travel."

  Bae studies the repair job, impressed with this easy solution. He wishes for duct tape and makes a mental note, not sure where he'll find any.

  ~

  "Bae!"

  The boy jumps. There's an urgency in G's voice.

  "What do you know about these symbols?" G asks, pointing to a page in the journal. "Between some of the paragraphs?"

  "I think they're just decorations Grandfather made for the journal." Bae is relieved yet suddenly curious.

  "Your grandfather rarely did anything without a reason. These aren't simple decorations."

  Bae moves to G and squats next to him. The fire crackles as it burns a new round of sticks G tossed on several minutes before. The boy examines one of the strange symbols in the middle of the page, between two paragraphs that describe the structure of a shelter.

  "What's it mean?" the boy asks.

  G is smiling. The firelight reflecting in his dark eyes makes him look mischievous. G places a roughened index finger under the symbol.

  "Your grandfather and I developed a secret language when we were kids." The old man's voice wavers slightly. "We found an old book full of symbols on a bookshelf in our parent's library. The book was written in Hebrew, and we thought the symbols were mysterious."

  Intrigued, Ever stops her packing and moves over to sit on the other side of G. The old man holds the journal out so Ever can see, as well. He flips through more pages, looking at other symbols, then turns back to the first one.

  "We took the symbols and gave them our own personal meanings. That way, only the two of us knew what they meant."

  Again, he flips pages back and forth as if trying to jog his memory. "We had great fun at school, leaving each other messages."

  G falls silent and flips the pages, slower this time.

  "My brother sends a message," he says. The tone of his voice is sober.

  "It must be for you, G," Bae says. "I don't know the symbols."

  "Maybe," he mumbles. "It's been a long, long time."

  The old man retrieves a spiral notebook out of his pack—small, the size of a man's wallet. The corners of the cover are tattered, one torn off, and it's soiled from use. Inside the small binding rings is a pencil. He takes it out and begins to sketch the symbols on a clean sheet of the notebook paper. Under some of the symbols, he writes a word. Others get a letter of the alphabet. Still others remain blank after he sketches them.

  "It's a language of 22 symbols. Some words. Some vowels." Bae watches G scribble notes on the outer edges of the paper. "Damn," he curses. "It's been a long time."

  Ever catches Bae's attention when he looks her way. She nods toward the cave entrance and quietly rises from her position, moves passed G, and waits at the entrance. Bae follows, wondering if something's wrong. He joins her and they both squat just outside the entrance.

  The canyon's in deep darkness, a moonless night. From far off, the murmur of the creek drifts up to them. A slight breeze, just enough to carry the scent of moistness and earthy cottonwood blossoms, floats past them.

  Bae feels a comfort in this darkness, remembers the night outside his hidden canyon when he touched the ground and thanked the earth.

  "Beautiful night," Ever says. She takes a deep breath. "The cottonwood's blooming down at the water."

  Bae realizes he's getting less awkward around this girl. The mysterious thrill her closeness produces is still there but getting familiar.

  "How's your gear?" Ever asks. "Ready to travel tomorrow?"

  "Yes," he answers. "At least, I think I am." He reaches down and touches the tape on his shoe. "Thanks for the tape."

  "You're welcome. Have you filled your water pouch?"

  "Yes."

  "Paracord handy?"

  "Yes."

  "Not sure how much time we'll have to make sandals. Your knife, does it need sharpening?"

  His knife blade is dull. Skinning the rabbits was frustrating with the blade in this condition. Ever must have noticed.

  "Yes, it does," he says and pulls the knife out of its sheath, touching the edge lightly. "But I don't know how."

  A flicker from the cave fire flashes and reflects off the cave wall. Ever puts her hand over the top of the Bae's blade and wrist and gently lowers the knife.

  "Better to be safe," she cautions. "The metal reflects firelight."

  Bae quickly puts the knife in its sheath.

  "Sorry."

  "It's okay. Never know what or who might be attracted to a quick flash of light in this darkness. It can be seen from a long way off."

  Bae squints into the blackness of the canyon, as if he might see hunters making their way up the slope to them.

  "Do you think it flashed?" he asks, panicked.

  "No," Ever reassures him. "These rabbitbrush hides the opening behind us." She points to the low bush cover on the slope in front of them. "Just wanted to remind you."

  Bae sighs with relief.

  "Thanks."

  Ever stands.

  "I'll show you how to sharpen your blade."

  Chapter 51 - Grandfather Speaks

  Inside the cave, G is busy writing in his notebook. At the far wall, Ever reaches in a side pocket of her pack and pulls out a small stone. It's round on one side, flat on the other. She grips the stone, fitting her palm over the rounded side, and motions for Bae's knife.

  With his knife in her left hand, she smoothly runs the flat side of the rock over the blade edge, flips the knife and repeats the motion on the other side. Each stroke down the blade moves away from her body. She continues this motion a few more minutes. She keeps each stroke smooth and measured down the blade.

  "Here," she says, stopping the motion and handing knife and stone to Bae. "Your turn. Make sure the flat side of the rock angles toward the edge as you scrape." She illustrates her point by directing Bae's hand. "So your movement isn't wasted."

  Bae works the rock over the blade. He feels the angle
and adjusts it as he works. Ever watches.

  "Spit on the rock." It's G. He doesn't look up from his notebook. "The spit removes the metal filings."

  Bae turns the rock over and spits on the flat side. Even as G is focused on decoding the symbols, he knows what's happening around him. Bae assumed G was so engrossed in the deciphering, nothing else mattered. Something to work on, he notes: awareness at all times.

  "How long do I do this?" Bae asks Ever.

  She pulls her own knife out of its sheath. It's rugged and larger than his six-inch blade. She hands it to Bae. He sets down his own work and hefts the knife. Heavier than his and sturdier. He moves his thumb to the edge, hovering just above it. Ever warns him not to press hard. Cautiously, he pushes his thumb against the edge and instantly lifts it off, checking his thumb for blood.

  "When your blade feels like that," she says.

  Bae goes back to work on his own knife. Ever feeds the fire. The rhythmic sound of the stone over blade mingles with the sporadic crackle of the fire. Ever returns to her work on the bowstring.

  The evening lengthens outside the shelter, night sounds muted by the cave walls. Over the wild canyon, stars burn brightly. The slow turn of the planet moves them across the vast night sky, a barely perceptible brush of red coloring each one.

  ~

  "Bae?" It's G.

  Bae's knife sharpening is done and Ever, finished with her bow mending, is at the entrance on watch. She turns. Bae rises from his resting spot, leans on one elbow, and looks across the fire at G. Without the rabbitbrush, the stone floor is hard, but comfortable enough for sleep. Is he getting used to the bare ground? This revelation pleases him.

  "You're familiar with the virus out there, what it can do?" G asks.

  "Yes. I saw what it did."

  The boy's voice grows somber, and he sits up. Images come to him in the darkened cave: the last time he saw his mother alive, Grandfather on the kitchen floor in a pool of his own blood. His stomach knots up. "It moves quick. It's horrible."

  Ever moves back inside the entrance, listening.

  "I should've died, too," Bae says. He stares into the glowing embers of the fire. "Grandfather said it was my blood that kept me alive, that it would help keep others alive. But he didn't figure out a formula."

  His voice wavers. Breathing deepens as he tries to relax the tension.