Moritz grabbed my forearm and we stood, slowly, me dropping into a kung fu stance with the knife. I’m sure I looked preposterous, but the rustling was getting louder and any moment it would break through the branches and onto the beach. I stepped over Shane’s sleeping form, putting myself between him and whatever lurked in the underbrush.
“Fuck,” I breathed, feeling my heartbeat reverberate throughout my entire body. It was close now, so close that I could actually see the bushes shake and shiver from the rim of the firelight. A black, furry form tumbled out of the undergrowth, pine needles and twigs matted to his back.
“Oh, Jesus Christ.” I nearly fell over with relief, grabbing Moritz’s sleeve for balance. “It’s a fucking raccoon. Fucker.”
“Sneaky bugger,” he muttered. The raccoon righted himself and shook out his fur, giving Moritz an indignant sniff, as if he took the insult personally. Then he looked us over and slunk back into the darkness, a disappointed slump to his little shoulders. He had hoped to find a bunch of sleeping humans, not an armed guard.
Little did we know, he wouldn’t be the last raccoon visitor to our camp, not by a long shot. We woke the next morning, to our horror, to find that we had been cleaned out. Fleeced. The raccoons had taken everything. Either we hadn’t heard the sardine cans or they had figured out how to slide underneath.
Generously, they left one half-eaten apple, just to let us know that they weren’t completely heartless. Also they had managed not to tip over our cupped leaves. The leaves had filled with drinkable water over night, so that was one pleasant thing.
Moritz stood pale and nervous to receive our combined judgment. He was the last person to take the watch.
“I fell asleep,” he admitted, scrunching his eyes up as if he stood in front of a firing squad. At the very least, I appreciated his honesty. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I don’t know how, I just…”
“It’s okay,” I piped up before the blame game could start. There was no point in harping on it. “We’ll make the watches shorter, rotate more often.”
“That’s just dandy,” Andrea replied, hands on hips for extra sass factor. “But what about now? Right now? There’s nothing to eat!”
“We can fish,” I said. Everyone fell silent. They—and especially Andrea—glared as if I had just suggested we get naked and sacrifice Noah to the gods in exchange for some miracle tacos. Shane especially looked put out by this suggestion. He took my hand, tugging on it urgently.
“The water is shallower,” I added, “and we can appoint someone to keep an eye on the line.”
“She’s right,” Moritz said. His support would’ve meant more if he hadn’t just fucked up our whole food situation. Still, his agreement at least made the others stop scowling at me. “Now that we know it can happen we’ll just be more careful.”
“Like the raccoons,” I said. “We’re not going to get everything right the first day. Besides, there’s other food. We’re not on a boat, there’s a whole forest out there.” I waved my hand at the woods sloping up to our left. There were no oohs or aahs of appreciation.
“Right, of course, silly me. I was just operating under the assumption that you forgot your hunting rifle—I mean, unless my eyes deceive me and those leggings of yours are actually a clown car,” Andrea said. I wouldn’t take the bait. I had no interest in fighting for alpha female status. Moritz liked to take my side, which meant he was guilty by association.
“There are berries,” I said.
“That could be poisonous,” she quickly riposted.
“And there are insects.”
“That can have parasites.”
Tom Hanks was lucky; all he had to reach a consensus with was a goddamn volley ball.
“We can set some primitive snares,” I said, exasperated. “I did it when I was twelve. I’m sure we can manage it now. And,” I hurried on before she could interrupt, “standing around pissing and moaning about it isn’t going to get food in our stomachs any faster. So either give me a better idea or start fishing.”
Andrea nodded, fidgeting with her ponytail as she always did when she was upset. I motioned for her to follow me and we separated ourselves from the group. We walked to the water’s edge, just close enough for the surf to lap out our toes.
“What’s going on with you?” I asked, lowering my voice.
“I don’t … know.”
“Arturo?” I asked. She nodded. Her eyes were getting runny, overflowing with tears. Oh dear. She hadn’t grieved yet, not properly. Everything was so rushed, so dire, there was never any time to let the feeling of loss really sink in. I wanted to tell her that I understood. But instead I said, “You’re strong. He was too. Make him proud, okay? And we’ll look out for you, we all will.”
Not exactly an Oscar moment, but it worked. Andrea drew herself up, which wasn’t to any great height, but she had the kind of face and eyes you paid attention to. People turned to look when she walked into a room and I looked to her now to keep it together.
“Okay?” I asked, looping an arm around her shoulder.
We walked back to the group like that, with her sniffling to cover up her brief breakdown.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” I said, pulling focus. “Noah and Moritz, you finish the shelter. We’ll have to come up with a better system to keep the vermin out. Maybe we can line a pit and put the food in there and then weight down a cover. Cassandra, could you start on that?”
Cassandra nodded. There was no shovel, but there were a few good-sized pieces of driftwood around that might serve as a useful pick. I told her so in an undertone. She beamed up at me and nodded fast enough to scramble an egg.
“I’ll fish,” Andrea stated. She was back to her old self.
“You need me to watch?” I asked.
“I’ll manage.”
I hadn’t volunteered for any of the tasks but I had an elaborate one in mind. Fishing would work but we would need more than that. I went to the fire and fed it. I showed Shane how to poke at the fire to keep it going and how to add smaller kindling to the bottom without scorching his fingers. He followed my movements closely with his eyes and then mimicked them, demonstrating he had listened. Without asking, he kept an eagle-eyed watch on the fire, tending to it whenever the flames gave the slightest dip. Having a straightforward job seemed to put him at ease, and he sat cross-legged a foot from the flames, shoulders straight and rigid, as if taking on Mission: Impossible. I wondered what was going on in that little golden head, and if maybe he really was acting out his part in a pretend drama.
Carl’s knife stuck out of the sand, blade-side down. I picked it up. I hated holding it—every part of it reminded me of Carl and his ugly, mean face. Moritz walked by with a rotted log over his shoulder. He had stripped down to his shirtsleeves. With his free hand he squeezed my arm. I smiled, a little confused by the gesture.
I wandered up the beach toward the forest, mindful of our trip wire. What good was a knife? One weapon between five and a half people? And how could I hunt with this thing? I didn’t exactly move with the speed and grace of a hawk. No, more like the speed and grace of a donkey. Fear I could deal with, the unknown could be met head on, but uselessness was a heavy burden. The image of those poor stragglers waiting on the pier as we sailed away flashed in front of my eyes. What if one of them had been a park ranger or passionate hunter? What if I screwed these people, and more importantly Shane, out of survival by elbowing my way onto the ship?
I sank down into the dirt, ignoring the itchy grass that stabbed through my leggings. Down on the beach, Moritz had wedged the log down into the ground and strung a line of twine from the shelter to the top of the log. He was securing something to the line, a row of papers. My drawings. They fluttered and bounced, faded and maybe ruined, but drying on the line all the same. Looking at Moritz and his little ingenious setup, inspiration hit and I smiled. What would Allison do?
There were no gun-toting rednecks or crazed religious cults here to contend with, b
ut avoiding simple starvation presented a daunting challenge all its own. What had given me strength before—the knowledge that someone average, someone like me, was doing everything she could to overcome the undead and the new ways of the world—would give me inspiration again. How many times had I sat curled up in my barricaded apartment, peering at my computer in the darkness, reading about Allison and her friends, about just eking by without losing all hope? She had looked to her friends and colleagues for help, never losing sight of what mattered to her most—protecting the people she loved and searching for what remained of her family.
We might not be able to stay on this island forever, but it had to at least become a temporary home. Being transient didn’t mean we had to suffer. Shane and I could be happy nomads if we chose to be and if I showed him how.
The pine branches scraped at my face as I pushed into the forest. I wouldn’t go far, and even if I did, I had the knife. Keeping the campfire in sight, I searched the forest floor, picking up various pieces of wood and discarding them if they didn’t meet my criteria. It took about thirty minutes to find the perfect specimens, but I felt triumphant—if a bit battered and scraped—when I marched back down to the beach.
As they finished the shelter, Moritz and Noah glanced my way every couple of minutes, curious. I hacked at the larger piece of wood. It was gently curved. I brought it to the water’s edge and soaked it for a while, then went back to the campfire and carefully warmed it over the edge of the coals. Even Andrea was getting curious, peering over her shoulder at me as she fished off of a boulder to the east. This wasn’t something I had ever attempted myself, but I knew the theory of it. I watched my father strip the wood and carefully mold it, wishing I had the skill and patience to mimic his efficient movements. He liked to show off and I always got the feeling that it made him feel like the best dad in the world to make a semi-functional bow right in front of his daughter’s eyes.
This felt right. This felt like progress. I hacked at the smaller piece of wood, peeling back the bark. Occasionally I’d run down to the water to soak the larger piece again and warm it—soak, warm, soak, warm—until it was bending visibly in front of my eyes. Shane began paying less attention to the fire, peeking at my project beneath a brow furrowed with curiosity. It took the greater part of the morning, but by midafternoon I had something that actually bore resemblance to a bow. When I was satisfied with the curve, I notched the top and stretched a piece of twine between the top and bottom arcs for a string. I tested the string, tightened the knots, and made adjustments until I could pull back the twine. The arrow was trickier and more time consuming, demanding a lot of careful peeling and whittling, and so for comfort’s sake I moved the whittling under the shelter to get out of the sun.
“Holy cow, Sadie,” Noah said, admiring my work. He and Moritz had taken a break from helping Cassandra with the food pit. “That thing actually gonna work?”
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “But it’s worth a shot.”
Oh, come on.
“Worth a shot? A shot? Get it?”
Noah laughed, sweet boy that he was, but Moritz only squeezed out a grin.
“Yeah, that was bad,” I admitted. “Seriously, it could work. Somehow I have to get these arrow points sharp enough.” I had started working on arrow number two, but I still didn’t know what to use for feathers and said as much to the group. It might take days to gather up a significant amount from the woods.
“How about a bit of bark?” Moritz suggested.
“That could work,” I said, nodding.
He disappeared, blue scarf fluttering, and came back with a wide peel of dry bark. I cut triangles from it with the knife, praying that the whole contraption would work and not leave me looking like a complete boob. If the bow failed I would’ve wasted an entire morning on well-meaning incompetency.
I thought of leaving camp right then and there to try it out, but the afternoon was almost over and I wasn’t about to head out into the forest just before nightfall. So far we had experienced nothing more sinister than a horde of thieving raccoons, but there was worse out there. I could feel it. We could all feel it. I wasn’t about to go off into the darkness or take any unnecessary risks. This was already a chancy endeavor and I wanted it to succeed. I wanted Shane to look at me the way I had beamed at my dad. I wanted more than anything for him to believe that Aunt Sadie was a reliable guardian, even if she did make very pathetic puns.
To help the uneasy silence descending on the camp, I let Shane play with the bow, keeping the arrows safely out of his reach. He looked privately pleased as he handled the too-big handle, pulling back the string a little and grinning when it twanged.
It was stupid, but I felt proud, really fucking proud.
Instead of venturing off into the forest, I lounged in the shelter and read Noah’s books, glancing up from time to time to make sure Shane hadn’t wandered too far. The books were quick to read, engrossing, fun and hard to put down. And it was pure joy to imagine that world of nothing but liquor and fast times, indiscriminate sex and flagrant misogyny. Okay, maybe not the last part, but it was glamorous. Not even seven months of terror and death and limited hygiene could erase that memory. I had seen awful carnage, neighbors pulled to pieces right in front of my eyes, things that should’ve crushed my spirit, anyone’s spirit, but didn’t. If I tried, I could still remember what it felt like to wear lipstick, the decadent way it made you want to pout and the waxy taste when it accidentally touched your tongue.
I must have had a fool’s expression on my face because Moritz was watching me. He did that a lot. He did it on the boat and the habit had carried right on over to this new camping thing.
“I believe the story’s on the page,” he said with a chuckle. “Not out there.” He waved lazily at the forest outside the shelter.
“Do you think we have enough water for tonight?”
“Don’t change the subject.” This was a new tone of voice for him, a flirtatious one.
“I want to change the subject.” I stared down at the book but the mood was gone. Sadly, I couldn’t slide back into The Big Sleep the way Vivian Rutledge slid in and out of a cream silk robe. He scooted closer. Right, as if that would help. “Seriously, Moritz, just don’t. No flirting, not now. Verboten, okay?”
With a sigh he got up, visibly hurt, and disappeared out of the shelter. Andrea turned up in time to read the frustration on my face. I didn’t have time to try and cover up my shitty mood.
“Sadie? What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I said, dropping my head down into the open book. I groaned. “Did that drug cache of yours survive the storm?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I think I might need a tranquilizer. A big one—if it can knock out a Clydesdale then we’re headed in the right direction.”
Andrea laughed, her dark ponytail swinging from side to side. She pushed the bangs off my forehead, ostensibly checking my eyes to see if I was already on something. The touch of her fingers against my skin made me jolt. Human touch was a foreign thing now.
“Did you and Moritz fight?” she asked, sitting down beside me. Her hand rubbed up and down my back. So we were friends again. Maybe she really would give me that tranquilizer.
“It’s Carl,” I said, cutting right to the chase. “I can’t get him out of my head. Every time I think he’s gone for good he pops up again, staring at me, laughing. I don’t know what he wants, but I just want him gone. That bastard … he tried to take Shane from me. That’s all I can think about. Someone trying to take him away again.”
It was like some endless nightmare version of Duck Hunt but with Carl’s twerp face popping up instead of a bird.
“Feeling guilty over losing him?”
“Lose? I didn’t lose him. I didn’t wager him in a game of keno, Andrea. I pushed him down the stairs and broke his neck. I killed him.” Getting it out, hearing the actual words, made the pain come again. There was Carl in my mind and right behind him, S
hane, the little boy sitting a stone’s throw away who knew that I was a killer. But I had to do it … It was awful, but I would’ve done much worse to protect Shane.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” she said. “It was a disaster, a really bad one. But you’re miles away now. Remember?” It felt good to be helped, to be treated like a sister, a human being. I nodded. She went on. “And there’s nothing you can do. Listen, Sadie, without mistakes things would get really fucking boring. I know you know that. There’d be less poetry, no heartbreak…”
“No Vegas.”
She laughed quietly and then said, “Carl’s not here. Carl’s dead. We took his knife. He can’t get you. And you learned a lesson. I don’t think you’ll fall for another Carl anytime soon.”
“You’re right,” I said. “You’re right. But I’d still like those drugs, please.”
“I’m afraid not,” Andrea said, patting my back. “You’re on your own for this one. Trust me, Sadie, it’s better this way.”
“You’re the worst drug dealer ever. But you’re right. I’ll get over it … not much of a choice, really. And I have to stay awake. You’ll turn Shane against me if I let you spend any more time with him.”
Her glittering laughter trailed behind her as she stood and left the shelter. I propped myself up on my elbows and looked down at The Big Sleep. Sleep, especially the big kind, sounded good, but it was too early for that. There was the watch to think about and the high winds that were tugging at the shelter tarp and I couldn’t let Shane wear out the string on the bow. I made a promise that I’d test the bow tomorrow and that no matter what, no matter how hard it was, I’d kill something for my fellow castaways. We were a tribe now, beholden to each other. Andrea had caught us fish, Cassandra had made a safe place for our food and Moritz and Noah had completed a fairly impressive shelter.
Sadie Walker Is Stranded Page 10