Then it occurred to me that, even if it was a group of ruthless scavengers, if I chose to run, I would leave myself unarmed with vital information, like how many there were, whether or not they had weapons, or if it looked like they were going to pursue. It didn't make much sense to leave my secure life without even knowing what it was I was abandoning it for. Besides, I rationalized, I already had a system of escape ready, which meant that whatever they turned out to be, I could afford to wait until they were quite close - probably even close enough to gauge how dangerous they were.
Eventually, I returned to the hut. Though, wanting to be on the safe side, I didn't spend the night there, knowing that the building would be the very first place a person would inspect when they arrived. Instead, I decided to sleep on the bare and relatively soft soil under the shrubs, choosing a place that was close to the river, and therefore my escape route. I told myself that, with the first light, I would crawl out of my hiding spot and watch from the edge of the terrace throughout the day, looking for movement, waiting. I had to repeat to myself, over and over again, that I had nothing to worry about, that I had planned for this, that I was prepared.
* * *
40
"I'm sure he's long gone," Mikkel called out. His voice, which had sounded deliberately loud, came from just below the edge of the terrace, and was cut short by some quick and indiscernible retort. Then, as if it had never happened at all, there was nothing, only the crisp quiet of the morning.
I don't know what I dreamt. I don't remember anything about that night. I only remember opening my eyes to the sound of Mikkel's voice, and seeing a soft light on the knot of shrubs in front of my eyes, an ant crawling slowly and determined on the underside of one of the branches.
I shot up, my chest thumping, my breathing shallow, fast, uncontrollable, the dry taste of panic in my mouth. I swallowed to try and calm myself. I had to think. I couldn't panic. I had to be present.
I looked up at the sky. It was incredibly early.
My mind replayed Mikkel's words. I thought of how loud they'd been, how tersely they were shushed. He was trying to warn me, give me a window of time to get out of the hut and run. And that was all I had, a window of time, a sliver of it - which was only lessening with each second I thought about its length. I had to move. Quickly.
I stood up to run, but then looked down at everything that was sprawled on the ground beneath me. I couldn't afford to leave any of it. So I crouched to throw it all in the blanket: the bag of dried fruit, the knife, the plastic bottle. Then, after twirling the cloth - thorns catching on it as it spun, everything seeming to slow me down, to hinder me - I flung it around my chest and ducked under the space where I'd crawled into the shrubs the night before. Finally, I was out in the bright air of the terrace, squinting, looking around for a solution. But instead of finding one, my eyes were drawn to the hut, to the shadows cast on the grass behind it. They were moving. I looked upstream where I hoped the rope was still dangling, and did the math. If I ran, the crew would see me, and follow as fast as they could. There was no way I would make it. In fact, the chase would probably only last a minute. Maybe less.
I turned around and scurried back into the cover of the bushes, realizing that the dirt I was uncovering by doing so would be another colour, would be evidence that I was there. I mouthed a curse and squatted down to watch their bobbing shadows lengthen along the grass.
Toivo was just coming into view. I eyed him, mortified, waiting for an indication that he'd seen me. But he hadn't. He was holding a spear out in front of him - a long stick with a knife that had been tightly bound to the end of it. I noticed that a pink line now divided his throat into two halves, which, apparently, was my doing. Knut was next, also holding a spear; though his was raised over his shoulder, ready to plunge. He was a little distance behind Toivo, trying to balance himself between avoiding the brunt of my potential counter-assault, and being close enough to the violence to make the calls. Niels was next, walking as guiltily as always; and then Aimil, whose wounds had healed badly and had formed a jagged scar across his face. Mikkel was the last to come into view, and, though all of them carried the same type of makeshift spear, he was the only one treating it more like a walking stick than a weapon.
They crept to the front of the hut, grouping together, waiting for everyone to gather before they rushed through the door. While they did this, I watched the grass behind the building for signs of Onni's shadow stretching along the ground, lagging behind like I could picture him doing. But the crew didn't seem to be waiting for anyone else after Mikkel had joined them, and for the first time I knew, conclusively, that Onni was dead.
A few of them nodded at each other, and Toivo's head suddenly jerked into the air as he kicked in the door, which yielded easier than he was anticipating. As it swung open, they all took a step back, crouching slightly, gripping their spears, ready for the onslaught. When nothing stirred inside, some of their shoulders slumped with disappointment. This wasn't what they'd expected. After they exchanged a few looks, Toivo took the initiative and poked his spear into the building, entering reluctantly after it, his head darting to either side of the door as he crossed the threshold, maybe fearing that he'd be bitten a second time. Knut followed closely at his back.
At the same moment, both Niels and Aimil looked over their shoulders, seeming to suspect that I was nearby, and maybe even still within eyeshot. I concentrated on keeping my chest from visibly heaving, knowing that the slightest movement or sound would give me away. And though everything in me wanted to just break out of the bushes and run, I understood that the only chance I had was to outwait them - as unbearable as that might prove to be.
The crew, seeming more than a little confused by my absence, started to mumble and spread out, beginning to either look for me, or for clues of which direction I'd fled. I was amazed with the manner in which they did this. It was unflustered, logical, and completely systematic. They knew exactly what they were doing, moving out in small circles, carefully watching where they stepped, pressing their feet into the soil beside my footprints to compare how fresh my tracks were, crouching to inspect the divots left by some of the tools that I'd been using the previous day. And this all seemed to be second nature to them, routine, which meant that they had been hunting me for a while, that they'd grown used to scouring the land for clues.
They had probably guessed that I would be along a watercourse, and had used the maps on the ship to locate all of the drainages in the area. And, after searching the closest one to where they'd landed and not finding any sign of me, they'd probably just patiently moved onto the next - and then the next. Considering the resources they had, the manpower, the information of where I'd most likely landed, along with the fact that there were no other people to muddle the clues and tracks that I left behind, finding me would be relatively easy, regardless of our being on a massive continent. And because I'd never imagined them coming to look for me, I'd even helped them out; I'd chosen to use a building in a painfully conspicuous place, and then had proceeded to loaf around there for months. And now that I was watching how delicately they picked through the clues, I could bring to mind a long list of careless evidence that I'd left behind. The squatting to rest in the soft soil beneath the trees that were just off the road, the stepping into the mud in order to better inspect some tracks that I'd seen, the walking across sheltered dirt in the settlement; all of it, slowly leading the way to the hut, a trail of my footprints - my perfectly unique and distinguishable footprints! How easy I'd made it for them! They had only to link one scattered sign of me to the next, until they eventually spotted the hut on the skyline. Then they'd moved through the deep ravine beside the river to stay hidden, sleeping as close as they could to the terrace in hopes of catching me off guard in the early morning. I'd made myself the perfect sitting duck.
Except for Knut, who stayed in front of the door, they all continued to fan out in search of fresh clues, Mikkel doing a noticeably worse job than everyon
e else, staying in the same spot and staring down at one of my tracks, leaning heavily on his spear, almost managing to look disinterested. Eventually, some of them came to the trees in the grove, and quickly plucked a few pieces of fruit from the branches, tossing them to others who weren't as close. They had obviously become used to pillaging, and it was then that I noticed some of the shining trinkets adorning their spears, which they must have stolen from houses and settlements along the way. None of them were wearing the clothes we'd left the island with, either; instead, they had shirts that were slightly over or undersized, along with some form of footwear, and pants that had been roughly cut to match their height. Physically, they looked exhausted, thinner, their cheekbones sharper than I remembered them being. It occurred to me that they might have had a few ordeals of their own since I'd seen them last.
I heard the shushing of the raven's wings in the air above me, and its black shape soon came into view, coasting toward the crest of the roof where it usually landed. But, when it realized it wasn't me standing in front of the building, it flinched (for lack of a better word), quickly flapping in the opposite direction, climbing higher into the air, its neck darting around to take in the rest of the crew, which it also hadn't seemed to notice until then. I was sure it was going to just turn and fly away as fast as it had come, never to return; but instead, it surprised me, and began to circle, cawing out as if to reproach these visitors that seemed to have mysteriously replaced me. When I considered that the crew were most likely the only other people it had ever seen, I could imagine how confusing it must have been for the poor bird. One human had proven to be strange enough; now there were another five.
Aimil was the first to understand what the racket was all about. He smiled up at the raven and held out his hand, as if there was something inside it.
Niels, noticing this, walked over to him, carefully watching the ground as he stepped, as not to ruin any of my tracks. "What are you doing?" he asked. His voice, which had sounded a touch impatient, could just be heard above the water.
Aimil continued smiling up at the bird, holding his hand out hopefully. "It's Joshua's," he said, matter-of-factly, and took his eyes off the bird for only a moment to point at the remnants of the cage that were leaning against the back of the hut.
With this new information, Knut, who had circled the hut watching the raven, looked down at the ground for a moment, remembering something. Then his face lit up, and he dashed back inside the building. His quick movements caused the others to begin walking back from the trees, and when he burst out through the door again, they could all see him holding the raven's feather high in the air with the greatest of conviction. Though, no one really seemed to understand what this signified - myself included. Nor, I think, did Knut. True, he had linked the feather on the table with the bird in the sky, but from that connection, he could only be making a haphazard guess. It just happened that his guess was right. He waited until everyone was looking at him before he exaggeratedly mouthed the words 'he's still here'.
With this, the crew clutched their spears again, looking over their shoulders and bending their knees, readying themselves for battle, as if I'd raised a massive army in the few minutes that they'd lowered their guard, and was about to ambush them. They began to spread out once more, only searching more intently this time, a growing circle of busy heads scanning the ground.
My limbs drew in closer to my torso, my body trying to make itself smaller, more discreet.
I watched Knut, as he seemed to be the most frenzied of them all, the most consumed, his lips pursed into a tiny line, wide eyes raking across the grass and dirt, getting ever closer to the place I was hidden.
I started to move my arm, very slowly, reaching back, my hand weaving through the folds of the blanket to get the knife. I didn't know what I intended to do with it. I had no plan, no strategy.
I watched as Knut's eyes fell across the set of footprints that would lead directly to me, saw him follow the tracks until he reached the dirt that had just been disturbed, the soil that had drawn in the moisture of the evening, unnaturally spilling its darkness over the dry. His gaze rose slightly higher, and he squinted directly at me, trying to make out movement, trying to decipher my shape.
I could do nothing but stare at him, stock-still and breathless, feeling the sting of regret that I hadn't slit his throat when I had the chance.
The raven cawed somewhere above us.
Finally, his expression softened into recognition, and he took a hand off his spear and pointed a rigid finger at my face, "He's there!" he screamed. "He's right there!"
My ears rang. It was over.
Instinctively, I stood up. Then I jumped out into the light with the knife in my hand, and twisted my body to throw it as hard as I could in Knut's direction. I remember seeing him fall to the ground to duck from it, covering his head with his arms. Unfortunately the knife widely missed its mark, and I heard it clang and bounce twice off of rocks as I turned upstream. I started to run, huge steps pulling me forward.
They were shouting directions and encouragements to each other as they filed into line behind me, running as fast as I was, or faster. To the raven, we must have looked like a furious procession of swinging arms and plunging legs, a queue of gangly animals with inconsistent coats, who chose to impede their natural gait by holding onto long sticks for no apparent reason. But there was a reason, of course, which became evident when one of those sticks was hurled into the air, landing in the soil just to my left. Another flew over my shoulder, rattling between the rocks on the bank in front of me.
So I wasn't thinking about the trap I'd constructed when I veered to my right and started up the hill; it was simply the only option I had to make myself less vulnerable to the spears. But when I saw the mesh of boulders right in front of me, and getting closer, I remembered, and I had the distant feeling that things were beginning to fall into place.
I ran up to it and grabbed onto the release mechanism, squatting down and pushing the thin log upwards as hard as I could. Nothing budged. There wasn't a creak or a splinter, nor the least bit of movement. I leaned against the corroded wires and took in a few breaths of air, shooting a look down the hill. Toivo was closest, doing his utmost to get to me while I was stopped. The others were close behind, Knut among them, trying to get ahead, hoping to be close to me when it happened, when someone finally drove the knife-end of their spear into my flesh. Mikkel, however, was still at the bottom, and I could hear him barking commands for everyone to stop, to come back; he'd even screamed the word 'trap'. But it was no use, they were caught up in the chase, they had become deaf and blind to everything but blood. Which was fine by me.
I grabbed the thin log again and pushed up with every bit of desperate energy I had, my muscles trembling under the weight, until I heard a snap. I continued to push until I heard another snap, followed quickly by another. The sounds were being made as the reinforcements, which tied the log to the wire mesh, ruptured. The massive rocks began to shift in their dainty cage, and then to crawl forward, rumbling as they ground against each other, until finally, the rusted structure burst open in several places at the same time, and released the boulders onto the slope.
Toivo, who had almost reached me, was the first to recognize the jeopardy they were in. He stopped dead in his tracks, and after pausing for only an instant, spun on his heels and began running back down the hill. He leapt past the others, and there was something so desperate in his movements that caused them to stop and look up. One by one, they focused on the rolling boulders for the same petrified instant, came to the same conclusion, and whirled around to retreat in a wave of flinging hands and bouncing heads, which rode above a cloud of dust and dirt that they were turning up, spears arcing through the air as they were cast aside. The boulders tumbled close in their wake, gaining sluggish speed and digging deep holes into the hillside as they collided with the soil. It was patently understood that if they didn't win the race to the bottom of the slope and scuttle
to one of the sides, they would be killed.
I watched the mayhem unfold, stupidly remaining there, feeling somewhat satisfied with the panic I'd caused. I could see Knut's blonde hair through all the chaos, and concentrated only on him, wishing that he would fall, that he would lose his balance and miss the thinning window of time to get out of the way. I pictured him holding up his arms as one of the boulders sunk into his body, and could imagine the dull clatter of his bones cracking beneath his skin. I bent my every will toward this, wishing for it to happen, watching the spinning surfaces of the rocks and hoping, with every ounce of my being, that they would quash the life from him. But, in the end, he would live. They would all live.
I watched them round the corner, shoving and fighting to get in front of one another, the boulders passing just behind them and crashing into the river with watery clunks and wide-fanning splashes.
And all at once, I seemed to wake from the idiotic daze that was keeping me there. I started scurrying along the slope until I met up with the river again, and continued running upstream. When I got to the rope, I didn't turn around to see how far they were behind me; I only jumped onto it and started hoisting myself up. As soon as I'd climbed into the shrubs, I turned and quickly yanked on the line, hoping they wouldn't already be ascending it, as I no longer had a knife to cut it. But it was free of weight, and I hauled it up, hand over hand, as fast as I could. When the entire length of it was tangled in the branches around me, I felt safe enough to look down into the canyon. I saw Niels there, looking up at me, his spear in hand. His expression was neutral, calculating, wondering how I'd accessed the top to tie the rope in the first place, and probably already thinking over ways he could do the same, knowing that they would have to get to that same place in order to pick up my trail. Then he looked past me for a moment, up into the morning sky at my back. I didn't have to hear the raven to know what he was looking at, but it called out nonetheless.
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