by Diane Cook
“Oh no,” Debra said.
“I don’t mean there aren’t any,” he said quickly, “but we don’t know. We don’t know what will make sense when we get there. Maybe where we end up, it won’t make sense to ever come back.”
They sobered at the thought of not returning.
Val said tentatively, “Well, maybe we should check in at Middle Post just to be sure.”
A few more murmured agreements rose.
“Maybe we should check with Ranger Bob.”
“Maybe Ranger Gabe is wrong.”
Dr. Harold from outside the circle suddenly cried, “Who is this Ranger Gabe anyway?”
“Okay, okay,” Glen interrupted. “We’re getting worked up about something as silly as the unknown. Don’t forget, it’s all just land.”
Carl interrupted. “And we’re people who live on the land. We travel land. We know land. We go where we want, when we want. And we can come back here whenever it suits us. There’s nothing to be worried about. So, I say let’s head somewhere new. Let’s go to Lower Post.”
“But this is where we first arrived,” said Juan. “Who knows when we’ll be back?”
Carl slapped his forehead. “We’ll be back when we want to be back. Didn’t you just hear me say that? We are sovereign over our experience. So let’s turn around.”
It hadn’t occurred to Bea that they might never return here. It didn’t seem possible. She didn’t know how to live in the Wilderness without their lovely hidden Valley and trips to Middle Post. It was one thing not to know what animal might stalk them tomorrow. It was another not to know which cave to hide in when it did. A fear crept up her throat so that she croaked when she said, “I’d like to say goodbye to Bob.”
Carl threw his hands up. “No one is listening to me.” Val tried to pat his shoulder, but he jerked away.
Glen smiled at Bea and nodded. “Then let’s go to Middle Post.” He nodded around the circle until each of the adults nodded back. Carl, the last, stared angrily at him before giving a curt nod. “Good work, everyone.” Glen looked to the horizon again to see that Ranger Gabe was truly gone, and the dust from his tires settled. Then he whistled and twirled his finger and they started to walk.
* * *
They arrived at Middle Post just as the sun began to drop. The pink light glanced off the roof, the numerous windows, and Ranger Bob’s pickup truck, which Ranger Bob was just climbing into.
He jumped back out when he saw them. “Well, all right,” he said, grinning. “You are not supposed to be here, but I’m sure glad to see you.”
Some of them smiled. Bea beamed. Agnes waved shyly from behind her mother. Carl sauntered to the small, neat building and pissed high against the wall.
Ranger Bob pivoted toward Bea, his arms outstretched as though to embrace her. Then he brought them together in a loud clap, his smile wide under his bushy mustache. He was a kind of cowboy, but not a wild one. More like one who’d be hired for a child’s party.
“You know the drill,” he said. “Weigh your trash, and get your stories straight. I’ll wait for ya inside.”
Ranger Bob turned and high-fived Glen, who seemed startled by the instinctual high five he returned, and Ranger Bob jogged inside. As he flicked light switches, Bea could hear the new fluorescent hum over the lower hum of desert crickets.
Val, and two of the children, Sister and Brother, weighed the garbage, and then others sorted. The Cast Iron and other vessels were rinsed in the spigot, which jutted from the little beige building. Debra slipped out of her busted moccasins and luxuriated in the patchy grass that formed a green perimeter around the building. She scrunched her toes in and out of the blades.
The fluorescents blinded Bea momentarily as she walked in. She covered her eyes with her hands and slowly spread her fingers apart until she could handle looking at Ranger Bob behind his gleaming counter.
“We missed you this spring,” he said.
“We got caught on the other side of the mountains by that storm. It just made more sense to work those foothills. On that side it was so calm.”
“Yeah, freak early storm. Getting earlier.”
“Yeah. Then, you know, it’s spring, the game is good, the bulbs are hard to pass up.”
“Of course.” He smoothed his mustache thoughtfully. “But I don’t need to tell you how important it is for you to get to Post when you’re supposed to.”
“I know. I’m sorry. We just couldn’t.”
Ranger Bob smiled. “Well, hopefully next time you will.”
He never threatened them. It was one of the many things Bea liked about him. Still, there was a seriousness to his words that she was cautioned by. “We will,” she said. “I promise.”
Ranger Bob cleared his throat. “You know you were supposed to get along to Lower Post, right?”
Her heart skipped. She felt like they were doing everything wrong. “We heard. But we were so close. It didn’t make sense to turn around. And we worried it might have been a mistake . . . ” She trailed off.
“It’s not a mistake,” he said, again with a sternness that surprised her. “Granted, Ranger Gabe should have caught up with you earlier. But there were some unexpected events that needed handling.”
“Like what?”
“Well. Hmm.” He screwed his mouth. “That’s classified.”
“Really?” Bea didn’t know why, but she felt incredulous to think there were things she couldn’t know about this place where they ate, drank, slept, and shat.
“It’s a big place. You’re not going to know about everything that goes on.” He winked. His lightness returned. “Anyway, really important to set out for Lower Post first thing in the morning. But we might as well take care of whatever business we can since you’re here. How many in the group?”
“Eleven. Lost four, gained one.”
He opened a binder labeled Wilderness State Study Subject Log. “Okay, gains. Name?”
“Pinecone.”
“That’s an interesting one. Season of birth?”
“Last spring.”
“So maybe last year, right about now?”
Bea shrugged.
He jotted some notes. “Okay. Mother?”
“Becky.”
“Father?”
“Dan.”
“That’s nice. Just the one addition, right?”
Bea nodded, thinking of Madeline.
“Okay, now for the part I hate. Losses. Names and causes?”
“Becky. Cougar maul.”
Ranger Bob tsked as he scribbled into the ledger. “That’s too bad,” he said. “Next?”
“Dan. Rock slide.”
“And he died?”
“His pelvis was crushed.”
“And he died.”
“We assume.” Bea paused. “I mean, we had to leave him behind.”
She saw Ranger Bob raise his eyebrows as he stared intently at the paper before him. He didn’t say anything. But she could see how hard he pressed his pen into the log. She hoped it was just to capture the information in triplicate. Ranger Bob was one of the more sympathetic of the Rangers they dealt with. She didn’t know what she would do if he started to judge them too. They had seen a lot of death. They had become hardened to it. Not just the Community members who had perished in grisly or mundane ways. But around them everything died openly. Dying was as common as living. They worried about one another, of course, but when one of them ceased surviving for whatever reason, they closed ranks and put their energy into what remained alive. This was an unanticipated outcome of living in the Wilderness, but it had happened quickly and cleanly. There used to be a cultural belief, in an era before she was born, that having close ties to nature made one a better person. And when they first arrived in the Wilderness, they imagined living there might make them more sympathetic, better, more attuned people. But they came to understand there’d been a great misunderstanding about what better meant. It’s possible it simply meant better at being human, and left the defini
tion of the word human up for interpretation. It might have only meant better at surviving, anywhere, by any means. Bea thought living in the Wilderness wasn’t all that different than living in the City in that respect.
Ranger Bob coughed and said, “Well, jeez. That’s too bad for”—he looked back over his form—“Pinecone. Who’s taking care of him?”
“We are,” Bea said, snapping a bit. Heat rose to her cheeks. She couldn’t tell if it was shame or anger.
Ranger Bob looked up. “Well, of course you are.” He smiled. “Who else?”
“Caroline. We lost her in River 9.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
His pen stopped. “Now you’re sure? Because she could just be zipping along not far from here.”
“We’re sure.”
“Because River 9’s fast right now but not too cold. And below here it gets slow again.”
“It was a log. She’s definitely gone.”
“Ah, that’s too bad. I liked her.”
Bea couldn’t believe she had to hear about Caroline again. She hit the counter angrily. “Seriously?”
Ranger Bob took a step back, startled. “What?”
“I’m so sick of hearing about Caroline,” she grunted.
Ranger Bob’s jaw dropped.
“I mean, why are we still talking about her?” She chewed on a finger distractedly. She shook her head in disgust. Caroline? Honestly, fuck Caroline.
Ranger Bob regarded her like a wild animal. He said cautiously, “Well, she just died . . . yesterday, you said?” He might as well have been saying, Hey, bear, hey, bear to calm a beast.
Bea blinked and tried to swallow her rage. “Yes, of course.” She straightened. “She did just die yesterday.” She exhaled slowly. “I’m sorry for losing my temper.” The heat rose back into her cheeks.
“Well, I hope you’ll forgive me, but I liked Caroline and I’ll miss her,” he said, smirking.
She hid her face. She didn’t want to see how she blushed. “I’m sorry.”
He held up a hand as though he understood. He was so good at seeming to understand everything. She thought again about Lower Post and felt truly sad. What would she do without Ranger Bob? Would he miss her too?
Ranger Bob leaned in. “I guess I won’t be ruining her secret anymore, but I used to let her use the commode back here. My wife puts a little bowl of potpourri in there. Caroline said she liked the smell.” He chuckled. “It’s the little things. Okay, moving on from Caroline, may she rest in peace. How much garbage?”
“Wait,” Bea croaked. “One more. Madeline. Stillborn.” Her face blazed. She stammered, “I didn’t know if it counted.”
Ranger Bob gazed at her for a moment, then looked at his form, flipping it over and back. “Well, seems like it doesn’t count. Good to know. So let’s just call it three, shall we?” He scratched out the 4 in the column for Total Deaths, smiling a mayor’s smile, tight, all lip.
Bea sputtered in agreement so she wouldn’t whimper. Her little unfinished girl was not quite finished enough to count. Was there some kind of comfort there, or did it make the loss more devastating? All at once she felt nothing.
“How much garbage?” he asked again.
“Twenty pounds,” she whispered.
Ranger Bob whistled. “Wowsers. That much?”
Bea wanted to crumple to the floor. How monstrous they must sound. A dead baby and now too much trash.
She said, “On account of our missed trip to Post.”
“Ah, ah,” he said, nodding. “Makes sense. How many bags is that now?”
“Three of those bags we picked up here last time.”
“Oh, those bags are awful.”
“Just awful. I can’t believe they didn’t bust open.”
“Well, because you made those ingenious covers for them.”
“Debra made those.”
“She’s quite a seamstress.”
“Quite.”
He perused a checklist. “Well, I can give you the new Manual pages, but I can’t promise I have the newest versions. And we might as well fill out questionnaires since you’re all here. They might appreciate having some new data. Since it’s been a while.”
“Blood and urine too?”
“No, we sent the equipment to the Lower Post.” He peered at her again. “Because you were supposed to go there.”
“We’re going.”
“Of course you are. You’ll want to— I already sent all your mail down there,” he said, winking again. But again, his tone turned weary. “But also, you have to go.”
Bea leaned in. “Bob, I get it,” she cooed and thrilled when a blush rose to the apples of his cheeks.
“Okay, okay,” he said, sheepishly.
“We’ve never been to Lower Post.” She tried to sound excited, but she heard her dread.
“Well, I’d be surprised if you had. It’s not easy to get to,” he said, counting out questionnaires. A look of concern passed over his face, but he erased it with a small toss of his head. “So, think of it as an adventure.” He handed the papers over. “I’ve got to be on my way so the missus won’t get mad. So just drop these in the mail slot when they’re done.”
She nodded, took them, and then he boyishly thrust his hand out.
“So? Good luck to you then!”
She shook it. “I hope we see you again soon.”
Their hands lingered, as though they might not.
Bea turned toward the door and tried to memorize what she could. The particular stale chemical smell of the place, the light buzzing at a high pitch, the quiet whir of some machine that was always on here but never at Upper Middle Post, where they sometimes stopped midwinter. Ranger Bob wore a women’s deodorant—she was sure of it. Or perhaps he put baby powder in his socks so he wouldn’t get blisters. Her mother had done that sometimes, when she put on her nice shoes, which pinched her feet. But Ranger Bob wore regulation sturdy sensible shoes. What was his excuse? She imagined it kept his feet soft, and that he and his wife would rub feet in bed, under clean white sheets, nudging the warm and loyal dog that lay at the foot. She felt a yearning to be in that bed, that domesticity. She looked at Ranger Bob’s wedding band glinting under the fluorescents and briefly hated Mrs. Ranger Bob, whoever she was.
She stopped short. “Oh, hey, I almost forgot. Do you have any good thick rope you could give us?”
Ranger Bob frowned. “Bea, you know I can’t supply things like that.”
Bea nodded, embarrassed and irritated that she’d asked at all. Fuck everyone and their rope.
“But,” Ranger Bob continued, “I shouldn’t, but—” He brandished a vibrant green lollipop. “Give this to your darling girl,” he said. “I know how much she loves them. But don’t tell.” Then he cocked his head, brandished another sucker with a sly smile. “This one’s for you. You look like you could use it,” he said, his smile disappearing.
* * *
The route they chose to Lower Post purposefully swung back through the Valley they’d just been told never to return to. They’d hoped Ranger Bob would tell them this was all a mistake and to walk the route they wished to walk, wherever that took them. Now that they were sure they must head to Lower Post, they wanted to say goodbye to the place. Just in case.
They found their old camp cordoned off with yellow tape and sticks. Re-vegetation in Progress signs were posted all around the perimeter.
“Who is this sign for?” Carl said, kicking uselessly at some of the tape. It gaped and hung.
“Us,” said Bea.
“The only impact here is by Rangers,” he complained.
“Say your goodbyes, everyone,” Glen said with a hint of melancholy.
“And hey,” Carl said, “if you left anything behind, you better retrieve it.” Carl looked right at Bea when he said it, his lip curling.
Bea looked around, trying to feign ignorance, as if to say, Who is he talking about? She caught Dr. Harold’s eye and nodded sympathetically.
He looked down in shame. She’d meant to deflect, but perhaps she’d uncovered a secret. The doc hid things too! She looked around, and a number of them stared at their feet, or off into the distance at a stand of trees or other small outcroppings, perfect places to tuck secret belongings. Carl stood haughty, his arms crossed. Of course Carl wouldn’t have hidden anything. But she saw Val alternate between indignant and sheepish looks, and when they scattered, Bea saw her slink off. Carl could fume at the Community’s tenacious hold on the past, on its secrets, but Bea was enlivened by the idea that each of these people who she’d shat, pissed, and nearly starved with, who she’d heard fucking, who she’d had endless Community meetings with, might still have managed to keep something private. The Wilderness, and the people in it, seemed interesting again.
Bea returned to her cave and chomped through both lollipops. The last thing Agnes needed was to remember what sugar was. Bea watched the others secret off to their own favorite spots. How stupid to think she had been the only one attached to the past.
Bea’s blood revved from the green sugar. Her heart flitted. She felt like she could run for miles. She giddily skipped back to her hiding spot and discovered her pillow and magazine were gone, replaced with yellow re-vegetation tape. The delight from the sugar was instantly replaced by a headache. The yellow tape felt like a slap. How could they have found her stash? She felt watched. She squatted tightly at the mouth of the cave and held her knees hard, trying to quiet herself so that she could match the landscape. It was a form of protection to be like the land and animals that hid there. Were the others quietly mourning their losses? Were they feeling as trapped as she felt?
From her stoop in the cave entrance, she watched Glen swiftly moving toward the place where Madeline had lain. In camp, she spotted Agnes circling Carl with a length of the re-vegetation tape, torn from the stakes. They stood in the middle of the cordoned-off patch. Agnes stomped and shrieked, and Carl pretended to be tied to a pole, death by execution a certain future for him. His pleas for his life lilted up to Bea, small whispers in her ear, and she turned again to Glen.