Authors: Eliza Lentzski
“You’ll be fine,” I told her as I sat down beside her. “The cave blocks out most of the wind and we still have our sleeping bags.”
“I don’t mean the cold. I mean because of what happened to my dad.” She buried her face in her gloved hands and I heard the unmistakable sound of her grief.
Her vulnerability in front of me, how she was allowing herself to fall apart, was one of the bravest things I’d ever witnessed. I stroked her back through her thick jacket. My touch was tentative and I wondered if she could even feel it. “I’m sorry everything has gone to shit.”
“If I hadn’t been so insistent that we leave for Eden, he’d still be alive.
If I had done a lot of things differently...” she mumbled off. She stared straight ahead.
“If he hadn’t pulled out that god damn gun, he’d still be alive.”
She looked sharply at me and I held up my hands, surrendering. “He was protecting me.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” I uselessly apologized again. “I just don't want you blaming yourself over this.”
The hard look on her face softened at its edges. “Thank you, Sam. But I don’t deserve your kindness. I’ve done nothing but be an annoying thorn in your side since we met.”
“You helped me when I twisted my ankle,” I reminded her. “At the springs when we were being chased. And after.” I felt the blood rush to my face, remembering how uncomfortable I’d been when I’d slipped in the shower. But she’d surprised me by letting her concern for me trump the obvious teasing that should have come from that incident.
“Well, I couldn’t just let you flop around on the bathroom floor forever like a fish out of water.”
When I braved a glance back up to her face, I saw a small, fleeting smile play across her lips.
“Here.” I pulled out the bottle of moonshine Ryan had given me. Unlike any other beverage, this wouldn’t freeze no matter how cold it got. “Drink this.”
She didn’t ask me what it was. She lifted the bottle to her lips and drank. The moment the alcohol hit her tongue she began sputtering and coughing. “What the hell?” she angrily choked. “You could have warned me.”
I took the bottle back and drank deeply. The fiery liquid burned down my throat, but I’d been expecting the heat and didn’t choke on it like she had. “It’ll warm you up,” I said simply.
“So would a fire.”
I took another long pull and wiped at my mouth with the back of my hand. “We can’t risk it. There’s not enough distance between us and Hot Springs. And I don’t want every bandit in a 10-mile radius sniffing us out.”
“Give me that bottle.” She snatched it from my hand before I could offer it her way. She took another long pull and this time only sputtered a little bit. When she brought the bottle back up to her lips for a third drink, I grabbed onto her wrist.
“Slow down, Princess.” She glared at me and the new nickname. I’d have to remember that for the future. “We may need that later.”
She practically growled, but she relinquished the bottle. I twisted the cap back on the bottle and returned it to its place in my backpack.
She smacked her lips, capturing any remaining booze. “So now what?”
I zipped up my backpack and puffed it up like a pillow. “Now we go to sleep. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow. We need more distance between us and Hot Springs and we need a map so hopefully we can figure out where Eden is.”
Her mouth did that strange convulsing thing again. It was her instinct, I knew, to argue with me. But we’d have a long day – probably the longest since the people of Hot Springs had destroyed my family and our comfortable existence. We’d both lost our fathers tonight. At least I could hold onto a sliver of hope that mine had escaped as we had and that we’d meet up again at Eden. She didn’t have that luxury.
“We’ll move at first light.”
I laid down on the solid floor of our sheltering cave. I knew it was going to be a long night. Even with my thick sleeping bag, it was useless to find comfort on the solid, cold ground. I’d gotten too comfortable in Hot Springs.
Nora didn’t look like she was faring much better. In the dim light of the cave, the moonlight just barely spilling in on where we lay, I could see how her shoulders shook. I scooted myself and my cocoon sleeping bag across the cavern’s floor until her body was within reach. I rearranged myself directly behind her and flung my arm over her mid-section and pulled her tight against me.
“What are you doing?” she complained. The annoyance in her tone was palpable.
“I’m keeping you warm,” I grunted. “You’re shivering so much, it’s making
me
cold.”
I didn’t know how anyone could smell so good. I breathed in through my nose, inhaling her sweet scent. We had used the same shampoo and conditioner and soap at Hot Springs, but I certainly didn’t smell like
that.
“Are you smelling my hair?” she scoffed.
“I’m just breathing. God,” I sighed loudly, feigning annoyance to cover my embarrassment at being caught, “does everything have to be about you?” My arm was still lightly around her waist and she made no attempt to move it.
“I'm sorry,” I sighed. The phrase tumbled out of my mouth around her more than I liked.
I didn’t like apologizing and I hated admitting when I was wrong even more. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s been a rough day for both of us.”
“You don’t have to apologize.” I felt her fingers, slim and slightly colder than mine, wrap around my wrist and pull my arm tighter against her chest.
“I’ve been acting like I own a monopoly on loss. Your dad...”
“He’ll be alright,” I said firmly.
“I hope so,” she responded in a quiet, far off voice I almost couldn’t hear because of the wind shrieking beyond the cave walls.
She mumbled something else, and this time I really couldn’t hear her.
“What’d you say?” I asked.
She spun under my draped arm and suddenly we were nose to nose. My eyes widened and I swallowed hard. She was too close. I shouldn’t have offered to keep her warm. I was just setting myself up to fail.
If she recognized how her proximity had caused me to stiffen up, she didn’t comment on it. “Do you believe me about Eden?” Her voice had dropped an octave or so.
I didn’t know why I felt the need to whisper, too. “At this point, I kind of have to.”
+++++
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The next morning I woke up before Nora and slithered out of the cave as quietly as I could so she could continue to sleep. I had barely managed a few consecutive hours and I couldn’t imagine she had fared any better. Outside of our emergency shelter, the sun was already bright and high in the sky. I stood there for a moment, just letting the sun’s rays heat my face.
God, my body hurt. I didn’t think I’d gone soft from the few days we’d been at Hot Springs, but my joints ached like never before. It didn’t help that my ankle hadn’t healed entirely before we were once again running knee-deep in snow drifts. I wondered if my body would ever feel normal again. Maybe this stiff achiness was my new normal. We needed to find a tent; we couldn’t keep sleeping in caves. But even more than that I couldn’t assume that we’d continue to find caves or similar shelters every night on our way to Eden.
I spied something small and furry and dead in the trap I had set the previous night. When I saw the squirrel, it felt like a victory even if it was puny. We’d rebuilt our strength while at Hot Springs, but we would need to keep hunting to support our diet. The weather wouldn’t defeat us, but exhaustion would if we didn’t keep our energy up.
I won’t lie. As I crouched in the snow, skinning the tiny animal that had been foolish enough to wander into my baited trap, the thought of leaving Nora behind did cross my mind. I would travel a hell of a lot faster without her. And it would be a whole lot quieter and headache free. But I just couldn’t do it.
I began the task of gathering sticks and fallen logs that looked dry enough to start a fire. We wouldn’t be sticking around this place for much longer that morning, so I didn’t need to find a lot of fuel – just enough to cook the squirrel I’d caught – but it would be nice to get thoroughly warm before we started on another long day of walking.
“Will you show me how to do that?”
“Jesus,” I yelped. I promptly dropped the sticks I had cradled in my arms. Nora’s voice startled me. I had been so lost in my own thoughts that I hadn’t noticed her exit the cave.
“Sorry.” She bit her lower lip and looked properly apologetic. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I gave her a look of disbelief.
Her smirk gave her away. “Okay, so maybe I did.”
I crouched down to recollect the wood and arranged it like a tiny teepee on the ground. I stood up and brushed some snow away from my knees. “What do you want me to show you?”
“How to start a fire.” She looked away. “It seems like something I should know how to do.”
I nodded slowly. “Yeah, I can do that.” I pointed at a nearby cluster of trees. “See those birch trees over there?”
Nora shielded her eyes from the glare of the sun to look in the direction of where I was pointing. “Those black and white ones?”
“Yeah,” I confirmed. “Go pull some bark from one of the trees and bring it back.”
She dutifully marched across the snow-covered field and did as she was told. She had to stand on her tiptoes to reach a spot on the trunk that hadn’t been stripped clean. I assumed it was the work of hungry deer, not other travelers. I doubted that any deer or similarly large wild animals were still alive though. It would just be small creatures like rabbits, squirrels, and chipmunks from now on.
While Nora collected birch bark, I made sure the sticks were arranged just so and retrieved my fire starter from my backpack.
Her boots crunched in the snow as she returned to my side. “Do you use a lighter or matches or are you some kind of fire-starting MacGyver?”
“Matches can get soggy and lighters need fluid.” I knew I sounded like my pragmatic father. “All you need is a little flint and steel.” I handed her the fire starters for inspection. “The flint will wear down eventually, but it’ll last a lot longer than a book of matches.”
She turned the flint and steel over a few times in her hands before returning them to me.
I wrapped the metal ring around my knuckles. My father had taught me how to start a fire like this soon after the news had broke that the climate was going to dramatically change. At the time I’d thought the steel striker looked like brass knuckles.
I struck the steel against the grey flint. Sparks jumped from the rock and landed on the fibrous nest of birch bark I’d made.
I cupped my hands around the knot of papery bark and gently blew. “It’s all about the nest,” I said.
The bark smoked before igniting.
I heard Nora make a noise when small, nascent flames leapt from the bark.
“Careful,” she warned. “Don’t burn yourself.”
I flashed her a brief smile. “It’s not my first rodeo.” I took three careful steps toward the small pile of sticks I’d assembled. I still gingerly held the smoldering and flickering bark cupped in my hands.
“So now I just put this inside the little teepee,” I said, “and we’ll have a fire provided the sticks I picked are dry enough.”
I must have been a little too cocky and nonchalant about how quickly the birch bark nest would ignite, because it suddenly combusted and singed the palms of my hands.
“Damn it,” I cursed. I reflexively dropped the flaming nest and could only watch in horror as the nascent fire fizzled out in the snow.
“Not your first rodeo, huh?” Nora teased.
I rubbed my palms across the ground. The snow helped ease the sting. I hadn’t really burned myself, but I was embarrassed that I’d messed up in front of Nora.
When I was a little girl, maybe 5 or 6, my mom went on vacation for a long weekend with her sisters to the Twin Cities. The Mall of America had just opened and it had become the premiere destination for Midwestern moms. It was also the first – and the last – vacation my mom took without my father and me. In preparation for the long weekend, she had stocked the fridge with everything we’d need while she was gone – hot dogs, macaroni and cheese, and chicken nuggets – all meals she’d reasoned my father could manage on his own.
On the
Friday that she’d left, my father was making mac and cheese on the stovetop. My job was to set the dinner table. I’d wanted to be extra helpful, but when I was trying to pour two glasses of milk, the plastic jug slipped from my hands. It had been a brand new gallon that was supposed to last us until my mom got back on Monday. I remembered I’d felt frozen with the indecision of youth, but with a mixed rapture, watching all that milk cascading like a frothy waterfall over the edge of the table as it had spilled across the dining room table and onto the carpeted floor.