Some Kind of Animal

by Maria Romasco-Moore

  “Shit,” says Savannah. “I left my cigarettes in the car.”

  “I thought you smoked them all.” She was going like a chimney practically the whole way here. Anyway, it doesn’t matter now.

  “No, there were some left.”

  “What about your lighter?”

  Savannah digs in her pocket, retrieves a little orange Zippo.

  “Well, thank God for that,” I say.

  “What’s the point of a lighter without cigarettes?”

  “For a campfire, dummy.”

  Something scratches at the side of the tent. Savannah screams.

  I laugh and unzip the door. My sister is squatting right outside, holding the limp body of a gray squirrel in one hand.

  “Good morning,” I say.

  Lee holds the squirrel out, tentative, offering. It flops across her hands, belly up. Tiny eyelids shut. There’s no blood, so she must have broken its neck.

  “Oh God,” says Savannah, “don’t let her bring that inside.”

  “Thanks, Lee,” I say, ignoring Savannah. She’ll have to get over her squeamishness sooner or later. I think she’s exaggerating out of habit. Still playing to the imaginary crowd. “This looks delicious.”

  I take the body of the squirrel. It’s still warm. I stroke the soft fur for a moment, pushing away memories of last night, of that other forest, that other world. Then I hold the body upright so that its little legs dangle in the air. I swoop it toward Savannah.

  “Dead squirrel loves you,” I shout over her furious shrieks. “Dead squirrel wants to spoon.”

  She scrambles out of the tent. I chase her. My sister joins in, trying to get the squirrel back from me. I tuck it under my arm like a football, dodge and weave.

  “Go long!” I shout to Savannah, and hurl the squirrel at her. It flops to the ground, barely a few feet from me. Savannah laughs then, disgust momentarily forgotten.

  We abandon the squirrel and just chase each other, playing tag like Lee wanted to last night. Savannah was a sprinter back when we did middle school track together, but she’s out of practice and slowed down considerably by the need to hold one arm across her chest to keep her breasts from bouncing. Still, Lee lets herself be caught more than once. I do too, for that matter.

  I’m blissfully happy. It’s like old days. Like when we were kids. No burdens, no rules. We can just be.

  The sun is up all the way now, streaming down into our little clearing. We all three run in circles until we’re worn out and we flop to the ground like dead girls, limbs flung out, heads lolling. We catch our breath, stare up at the sky, the little veins of blue running through the skin of green above us.

  * * *

  —

  Savannah goes off to find rocks, while my sister skins the squirrel with the folding knife from her purse. I gather sticks, arrange them in a tepee shape, feeling capable and resourceful. I’m an adventurer, an explorer. We are pioneers of old. A history class daydream come true.

  Lee cuts a slit at the base of the squirrel’s tail and then, holding the tail down with her foot, yanks on the squirrel’s legs. The skin peels away easy as pulling off a sweater.

  “Where did you learn to do that?” I ask her, impressed. I’ve never seen her do this in the daylight before.

  She doesn’t answer, absorbed in her task. She saws off the head, the feet. The squirrel’s naked body is pastel pink. It looks like a very skinny chicken.

  “Did Brandon teach you?’ I ask. “Or Mama?”

  Lee flinches at the last word. I’ve talked to her about Mama before, mused about what she was like, about how much I wished she were still around, but it’s different now. The secret is out. My sister knew her.

  “Did Mama teach you how to hunt?” I ask. I can see that it’s upsetting her, but she can’t keep it all to herself. She’s been selfish far too long. She’s got to share.

  Lee makes a small noise, which could mean yes or could mean no. I can’t tell. She slits the belly open gently. The smell hits me and I have to turn away for a moment. Even at night, Lee usually did this sort of thing out of sight for my sake. But I want to see. I need to know all her secrets now. I need to be like her.

  When I turn back, she’s pulling out the glistening, jewel-colored organs and piling them in a small mound of pink and blue and purple and red. She pops a tiny maroon blob into her mouth and chews. Heart? Liver? I don’t know, but I want to. Next time, maybe, I will make her share that part with me. I can almost imagine it, my teeth piercing the raw flesh. Lee’s hands are lightly stained, as if she’s been crushing berries.

  “Do you remember Mama at all?” I ask. “Do you remember what she was like?”

  My sister shoots me a look so sad that I nearly stop. Her face is twisted as if in pain. But I need to know.

  “Please, Lee,” I say, softly. “She was my mama too. I never got to know her. What was she like?”

  “Pretty,” she says, very quietly. She lifts one hand to her face, traces a finger along her eyelid, leaving a faint trace of red. Eye shadow. “Like her.”

  “Oh my God, that is fucking disgusting.” Savannah appears beside us, drops an armful of rocks onto the ground. “There is no way I’m eating that.”

  “We’re going to cook it,” I say. My sister would happily eat the whole thing raw, I’m sure, but there’s no need for Savannah and me to go that far. Lee’s built up some kind of tolerance, I suppose, over the years. I think of what the pastor said, about my sister getting enough to eat, think of all the food I used to bring her. Candy bars and sugar packets. Little tubs of jam stolen from Minnie’s restaurant. A jar of cherries from the bar. Not the most nutritious, I guess. I was just a kid. I’m sure the food she got from Brandon was better.

  “It’s still disgusting,” says Savannah.

  “Suit yourself. More for us.”

  My sister licks her hands clean. I pile the rocks around the tepee, stuff some dry leaves into the cracks, set the whole thing ablaze with Savannah’s lighter.

  We roast the squirrel in the frying pan. Savannah retreats to the tent in dismay, occasionally poking her head out to scowl and tell us how gross we are. It smells good as it cooks, and I’m plenty hungry. I’ve eaten squirrel before, though not like this. Margaret used to make stew out of them sometimes, well simmered and seasoned.

  Lee and I share the meat. It’s a little overdone, maybe, since I erred on the side of caution, and a bit tough, but it’s hot and the taste is light, almost sweet. I can honestly kind of see why my sister likes them so much. Savannah makes herself a sandwich, using her fingers to scoop the peanut butter and jelly from their jars, spread them on the bread.

  My list of things I wish I’d bought at Walmart grows longer by the hour: knives, forks, plates, cups, bottled water, pillows, a second sleeping bag. The label on the tent bag claims that the tent fits one queen-sized air mattress and I can’t say I’d be opposed to one of those, either. My back and neck are stiff from just one night of sleeping on the ground.

  My sister, of course, misses none of these things. When we finish our meal, she drinks one of the flavored creamers she took from the gas station, and then she takes my hand and shows me the traps she’s rigged up near our campsite. Each one is basically just a branch leaning against a tree, with small loops of wire set up down its length. If a squirrel runs down the branch and through one of the loops, the wire will pull shut like a noose.

  My sister’s little plastic purse, it turns out, is stuffed to the gills with rope and wire. Still, I add that to my wish list: more rope, more wire. I didn’t even think to ask my sister, back at the Walmart, what sort of things she might need.

  So we got off to a bad start, yes, but the traps make me feel good about our prospects. Last night I had planned to go deeper into the woods, but today I think that can wait. It seems a shame to uproot our campsite now, given the
work we’ve put into it.

  Eventually, I think, we can make a more permanent shelter. Maybe we’ll be able to find a cave like my sister had back in the old woods. Maybe we’ll build something, like Brandon did. We could make night runs to the junkyard where we left the car, scavenge scrap metal.

  We will have to scout the woods nearby to find a suitable spot. Maybe somewhere near running water.

  “Hey,” I say to Lee, “you know how to find clean water, right?”

  She glances up from the trap she’s adjusting, gives a curt nod. The next moment, she is up and running through the trees, kicking up leaves, gathering speed.

  “Hey!” I shout, but she’s out of sight already, over the crest of a ridge. I could try to chase her, but I’d never catch up. Well, fine. If she finds a good spot, I can make her show me later.

  For now, though, we should secure this site. Maybe build up a little fence perimeter. I check the tent stakes, make an attempt at fixing the crooked rain fly.

  I’m thirsty, and tired already, though it’s barely past noon, judging roughly from the position of the sun.

  Inside the tent, Savannah’s on her phone.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I ask.

  “Chill out,” she says. “There’s not even a signal. I’m playing a game. See.”

  She turns the screen in my direction to show a grid of candy-colored gems. I think of pointing out to her that there’s no way to charge the battery out here, but she’s probably figured that out already. I’ll wait until it dies, I think, to get rid of the phone. Maybe I’ll lie and say Lee stole it. I don’t want Savannah to be mad at me. Without her, we never would have made it this far, but she’s also the least suited to this new life. I’ll need to ease her into it.

  “Squirrel’s not so bad,” I tell her. “Honest.”

  She sticks out her tongue.

  “You’ve never had any? Some of your uncles hunt.”

  She shrugs. “I’ve had venison.”

  I don’t think that Lee could take down a deer. Although now that there are three of us, who knows.

  “Well,” I say, locating the orange juice jug, taking a swig. “You’ll get used to it.”

  “We forgot to buy toilet paper.”

  “Toilet paper?”

  Savannah looks at me like I’m an idiot. “Yes.”

  “Oh,” I say. “Right. Well, there are these things called leaves.”

  Her expression changes to one of such abject horror that I can’t help myself. I crack up laughing.

  “You’ll get used to that too,” I say.

  Savannah shakes her head, returns glumly to her game.

  Maybe in a week or two, we can risk another trip to a store. It would have to be a different one. Maybe there’s an all-night gas station near the border of the forest somewhere. I could go alone, on foot, use the last of the cash on supplies. It would be risky, but I can compromise a little, for Savannah.

  I want to tell her about my plans, maybe make plans together. I know she’s always dreamed about having a house of her own. And sure, maybe a rustic deep-woods cabin made out of scrap metal isn’t exactly her dream, but still. We can make it nice. Line it with moss and wildflowers.

  She’ll stay, right?

  She said she wanted to come. She didn’t have to. But she wanted to get away. Wanted to be with her best friend. With me.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” I say.

  She smiles at me before returning to her game and I feel warm and calm and like everything is going to work out fine.

  I should probably be doing something useful right now, camouflaging the tent with leaves, collecting more firewood, but I slept terribly and I feel every bit as tired as I would on a normal Tuesday, nodding off in math class.

  Well, I’m free now, aren’t I? I can sleep whenever I want.

  I unroll the sleeping bag again, crawl in. It’s much roomier with just me in it and I relax, let my eyelids go heavy. The walls are closer and brighter and they have no pictures, but if I ignore that, we might just as well be back in Myron’s bedroom. We might be the way we always were.

  * * *

  —

  The tent is warm when I wake, the sun hitting it full on, giving the red-orange part of the walls a ruby glow. It reminds me of Minnie’s Home Cooking, the red plastic cups they always serve their root beer in, and I’m hit with a sharp pang of thirst.

  “Savannah?” I ask, but she’s not here. I crawl out of the sleeping bag, find the orange juice jug, take a sip. I’d love to chug it, but I don’t want to burn through it too quickly until we’ve got something to replace it.

  I grab a handful of the empty Walmart bags, carry them outside.

  “Savannah?” I call again. She’s not in the little clearing, not over by the firepit. Probably she’s off peeing or something. No doubt discovering on her own the many delights of leaves as TP.

  I go over to a bush and try hanging one of the plastic bags across the top of it, handles twisted around the spindly branches, body of the bag carefully stretched down between them. It looks ridiculous, like an infant ghost. My idea was to string the bags up so they’d collect rain and dew, but I’m already doubtful.

  I’ve spent a lot of time in the woods, but never for more than a few hours at a time. I always had the normal world to go back to afterward. A soft bed and warm food. I’ve never even gone camping. Grandpa Joe took Aggie and Mama out when they were kids, I know, but nobody ever took me. I wish I could remember more of that wilderness survival book.

  My sister drops down out of her tree with a thump, startling me. I hadn’t even realized she was up there. She must have been extremely still.

  “Lee,” I say, “have you seen Savannah?”

  She shakes her head. I walk in a wide circle around our campsite, calling Savannah’s name, but there’s no response. I’m getting worried now.

  She could be lost, could be hurt. If anything happened to her, it would be my fault. She’d still be home if I hadn’t called her. She’d be safe in her bedroom, texting Jack, no doubt.

  But there’s another possibility, even more likely, almost as terrible. Maybe she isn’t lost, isn’t hurt.

  Maybe she went back for the car. Maybe she intends to abandon us. To go home. To confess everything.

  Lee has been trailing along behind me. I turn and tell her we need to go back to the junkyard.

  “Do you remember the way?” I ask.

  I hadn’t thought to mark the path last night, hadn’t even tried to look for landmarks. My sister, however, just nods and sets off running.

  * * *

  —

  We really aren’t that deep in the woods. It only takes us about fifteen minutes at a run to reach an embankment that overlooks the junkyard. As soon as I get my first glimpse of the road through the foliage, I wave at my sister to stop.

  I creep forward slowly, my view of the junkyard limited to shifting peep-show slits between the trees.

  I spot Jack’s car first, sitting where we left it, nestled in among its battered fellows. I feel a pang of relief. Savannah is not gone. But then I shift a little, peering through the branches, and my relief vanishes. Because there’s Savannah, smoking a cigarette, leaning against the hood of the car.

  Talking to a man.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  I am paralyzed up there on the embankment, watching Savannah flick her cigarette and play with her hair. I can’t hear her or the man. Can’t see the man’s face. He’s standing with his back to me. I think of Jack. The pastor. The man from Walmart.

  Lee watches beside me, though I can feel her growing restless.

  “What the hell is she doing?” I ask. “She should get out of there.”

  “Run,” agrees my sister, tugging on the back of my shirt.

  I inch forward, trying to get a b
etter look at the man. He laughs at something, throwing his head back. It’s not the pastor. Not Jack. I don’t recognize him at all. A cop, maybe? Plainclothes? He’s wearing jeans and a white tee.

  Lee tugs on my shirt again.

  “Stop it,” I say.

  “Man,” says my sister, as if it were the worst curse word. She grabs my arm, tries to pull me backward.

  “Quit it. We can’t just leave Savannah. You like her better than me now anyway, don’t you?”

  She pulls harder.

  “This is all your fault,” I snap, pushing her away. “You know that, right? If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t be here. We’d all be back in Ohio and safe and nobody would be chasing us and Brandon wouldn’t be dead.”

  She lets go of my sleeve, deflated. I turn back to the junkyard, but Savannah and the guy are gone. Alarmed, I creep closer, eyes straining for movement.

  There’s a shuffle of leaves behind me and I turn to see my sister running. Not back toward camp, though, but off to the right, down the slope of the embankment toward the junkyard. Shit. Just what I need. Is she going to attack this guy? We need to stay hidden.

  I run, too, trying to overtake her, though I know I probably can’t. I’m nearly down to where the ground levels out when I see Savannah up ahead, trudging back into the forest. Alone, thank God.

  Lee skids to a stop about twenty feet in front of her. Savannah looks up, startled. She’s clutching her Tupperware of cigarettes and she nearly drops it. “Hey,” she says uncertainly, stepping backward. Lee snatches a pebble from the ground, throws it at Savannah’s head. Savannah tries to duck, but the pebble hits her in the arm.

  “Ow,” she says. “What the fuck?”

  “Knock it off, Lee,” I say as I push past her, though I’m not even sorry, really. What the hell does Savannah think she’s doing?

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I shout, marching up to Savannah. I meant to say it nicer.

  “I was getting these.” Savannah frowns and shakes the Tupperware at me.