Apophis (7 page)

Our current campfire popped loudly.  An ember about the size of a plum hopped from the fire and sizzled noisily in the surrounding snow.  I nudged the choked-out cinder with the toe of my boot and watched it extinguish.

“What was that noise?”

I flicked my eyes over to where the girl, Nora, sat on the opposite side of the fire.  Both of our fathers and my grandma had turned in earlier that evening, leaving the two of us to each other’s unwanted company.

“It’s just the fire,” I said dully.

“It sounded like a gun shot,” she worried.

“It was the fire,” I insisted.  “Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh.” She was silent for a long moment, just staring at the fire.
“You know, I used to watch all those survival shows on TV before Apophis. Now it’s like we’re on our own reality show.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, it’s just like The Real World.” Her bubbly personality, which I’m sure made her popular in non-survival situations, was wearing on me. “I’m going to sleep,” I unnecessarily announced.  I stood and straightened up.

              Nora looked up from the flames. “You’re leaving? What do I do with this?” she asked, gesturing to the still glowing fire.

             
“Nothing.  Just let it burn.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

I rolled my eyes.  “It’s not like it’s going to burn down the forest.  We’re surrounded by snow.”

“Oh, I suppose you’re right,” she said a little sheepishly.

I tried to keep my annoyance in check, but I’d felt prickly the moment my dad had agreed to take on two extra bodies to our group. “Good night,” I grumbled, trying my best to remember my manners. “See you in the morning.”

“Night,” she sighed miserably.

I tried to be as quiet as possible when I entered the tent I shared with my grandmother.  I shed my oversized jacket and rolled it into a makeshift pillow.  As I slid into my sleeping bag, I heard something I didn’t recognize.  By this time I’d gotten used to the sounds of night.  I recognized the rustle of animals moving through thick brush.  I knew the sound birds’ wings made when they hit against fragile, dead branches.  I knew the piercing shriek of wind whistling through the forest.  But I didn’t recognize this sound.  I wasn’t afraid, but I was perplexed.

“What is that?” I said out loud to the darkness.

“I think it’s an air pump,” my grandma said from her sleeping bag beside me.

“An air pump?” I echoed, not getting the connection.

“I’m assuming those folks your father picked up have an air mattress in their tent.” 

“Oh my
God
,
”
I snorted obnoxiously.  Seriously.  This girl.  She’d probably never been camping a day in her life.  I was surprised she hadn’t packed suitcases on wheels to go along with that inflatable mattress.  Her dad seemed to have
some
sense about him though.  Their backpacks looked expensive, and it was clear that they’d never been used before, but at least they were practical.

“You should try being nicer to them, Sam.”

“Why are you still awake, Gran?”  My body was utterly exhausted from non-stop traveling.  I couldn’t imagine the toll the trek was having on her.

“Civility, Samantha,” she urged of me.  “It’s the only thing left that keeps our humanity.  Show the poor girl some kindness.  It’s obvious she’s out of her element.”

I bit my tongue because I knew she was right.  But it was hard not to be annoyed with this girl.  She didn’t know how to live off the land.  She was everything I had come to hate about this existence – someone who felt that the world owed her; that it wasn’t her fault that things had become so messed up. 

I couldn’t wait to get to Eden and be rid of them both.

+++++

CHAPTER FIVE

The following morning we lost a day because of a blizzard.  It wasn’t actually snowing, but the wind gusts were so strong that it disrupted the top layer of ground cover, severely limiting our visibility. I couldn’t remember the last time it had snowed, but it was the first day that the weather was so ferocious that we couldn’t travel at will.  It was also the first day I was really starting to miss our more permanent existence in North Dakota.

My father had already informed us that there would be no traveling that day and that we should catch up on sleep and conserve heat and energy.  My grandmother and I were cocooned in our tent, she knitting a scarf while I tried to entertain myself.  When we were on the road and had a task to accomplish, I didn’t have time to be alone with my thoughts.  I thought about survival instead, about putting one foot in front of the other.  Without a tangible goal to achieve today like traveling thirty miles or catching small game, I had too much time to think.  And all that thinking was making me melancholy.

“Knock, knock.” Nora West’s voice floated through the material of our tent. 

My grandmother gave me an expectant look, clearly not going to be persuaded to stop knitting to open up the tent’s zipper door.  With a great disgruntled sigh, I hopped up on my haunches and unzipped the tent’s doorway just enough to peer through.

“Can I help you?” I asked.  I was aware that my voice had taken on an unpleasant tone.

Nora was bundled up in her too-nice jacket, but she wasn’t wearing a hat and her strawberry-blonde hair whipped around with each windy gust.  She held a collapsible cup in each hand. “Want some company?”

“Not really,” I grunted.  I hated the way her nose crinkled adorably when she asked a question.

My grandmother jabbed me in the ribs with her knitting needles and flashed me a look that told me to Be Polite. “Fine,” I sighed. I moved away from the doorway so Nora could come inside the tent. “Come on in.”

“I brought coffee,” Nora said cheerfully. “I don’t have much left, but I figured what better way to thank you all for saving us than with some caffeine?” The warm, distinct aroma surrounded her like a cloud and wafted into the tent as she ducked her head and stepped inside.

I quickly zipped the tent back up to keep in the heat.  Even with icy blizzard winds whipping around outside, with our combined body heat it was actually kind of cozy inside the tent.

Nora sat down on top of my sleeping bag and folded her long legs beneath her.  I withheld the desire to roll my eyes regardless of how much I wanted to.  This girl had no qualms about making herself at home in other people’s space.  I sat down next to my grandma on her sleeping bag.

Nora offered one of the collapsible cups to my grandmother. “I hope you don’t mind it’s just black,” she unnecessarily apologized.  “I didn’t have any cream or sugar.”

“No thank you, dear,” my grandma said. “I’m trying to cut back.”

I could have predicted her response.  It was in my grandmother’s nature to deny herself comforts and extravagances so others could enjoy them instead.

Nora’s mouth quirked into a forced grin when she looked in my direction. “How about you, Samantha?” She put the collapsible cup within my reach.  Her voice was annoyingly musical despite its lower register.

“It’s Sam,” I mumbled. I didn’t want to accept this girl’s kindness because then I’d have to be nice in return, but I seriously wanted that coffee.  I accepted the coffee cup, careful not to let any of it spill as though it were precious material.  I could immediately feel the heat radiating from the metal cup.

“Mmm. It’s warm,” I grunted.  I was aware that my conversation skills were lacking.  I sounded like a caveman.  It had been a long time since there had been anyone else to talk to besides my own family.

I wrapped my hands around the cup and let it heat me up.  The sensation jolted me. “Wait.  How the hell is this warm?” I blurted out. We couldn’t build a fire this morning because of the wind.  It was nearly impossible to start a fire with just flint and steel when the wind kept blowing away the sparks; it made more sense to seek shelter inside our tents and wait out the poor weather.

“Language, Sam,” my grandmother scolded.

“Sorry,” I grumbled. “How the
heck
is this warm?”

“Oh, I heated it up on my solar-powered hot plate,” Nora announced.  She smiled, clearly proud of herself.  Her broad grin was both attractive and annoying. 

“Solar powered?” I echoed. “Sounds fancy.”

Nora shrugged. “Not that fancy. I got it from Target.”

“Oh.” First an air pump, then coffee, and now a solar-powered hot plate – I wondered what other gizmos this family had.

"So where are you guys from?" Nora asked conversationally.  She wrapped her hands tightly around the spare collapsible cup and blew across the open lid.

“Williston, North Dakota,” my grandmother supplied as she continued to concentrate on her knitting.

“Really? I don’t hear the accent,” Nora observed. “I’ve never been to North Dakota, but I have seen
Fargo.
”

My grandma chuckled. “That movie did us no blessing.
 That's a Minnesotan accent. Not many people where we're from talk like that.”

I stared into my coffee cup, watching the dark liquid for so long it started to look like it was moving. 
I took an experimental sip.  It was delicious.  I felt like my body was warming up from the inside.  Maybe allowing this man and his daughter to tag along wasn’t going to be so tragic.

“So it’s just the three of you? Where’s your mother?” Nora asked naively.  

I had spoken too soon.

I barely glanced at her.  “She’s dead.”  I didn’t elaborate.  I didn’t want to.  The hurt was still too fresh and the last thing I wanted was to start weeping in front of a stranger.  Besides, it was cold and I didn’t want my top and bottom eyelashes sticking together.

“Oh.  I’m sorry.  That’s really rough.”  The last word got stuck in her throat.  Her intense sadness made me uncomfortable even though
I
was the one who’d just lost a parent.

“What about your mom?” I asked in return.  I wasn’t really curious, but it felt like the polite thing to do.

“Oh, uh, she was in Arizona the last time I heard from her.  I haven’t seen her in years though.  My parents split when I was in high school and she escaped to warmer weather.  How did your mom die?”

I stiffened from the question just as an intense wind gust hit our tent.  You didn’t just ask people that.  Didn’t this girl have any sense of decorum?

“You should go back to your tent,” I said. “It might blow away if no one’s in it.”

“But it’s staked to the ground,” Nora protested.

“Staked to
frozen
ground,” I pointed out. “Those metal rods will slip out of place if you just breathe heavy.”

Nora stood gracefully. “Duly noted,” she clipped. She hadn’t finished her coffee and she struggled between unzipping the tent and balancing her beverage.

“How the hell do I get out of your tent?” she grumbled.  She flashed an apologetic look at my grandmother, still knitting, metal needles clicking together.  “Sorry.  How the
heck
do I get out?” she self-corrected.

I got up and effortlessly unzipped the tent for her.  Seriously, who didn’t know how zippers worked?

“You’re not much of a talker, are you?” she observed, cocking her head to one side.

I heard my grandma chuckle.

I scowled.  “I can talk just fine.”

Nora made a humming noise, but thankfully she made no other observations about me.  She left our tent and I waited to zip up the door flap until she’d made it back to her own tent.  I knew why I’d watched her until she had safely returned to her tent, but I wasn’t about to dwell on it. 

              My seat on my sleeping bag was still warm from Nora’s body. My grandmother shook her head and clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

“
What?
” I demanded.  My voice sounded whiney even to my own ears.

“Would it kill you to be nice?” she sighed.

“I
was
being nice!” I protested. “I just saved her tent from being blown away!”

“Uh huh.” My grandma shook her head again.

I spent the rest of the day sulking in my tent.

+++++

The next day the winds had sufficiently stilled and we were once again able to travel.  It turned out to be one of those rare days when the wind didn’t cut you down and the sun actually felt warm on your face.  The temperature change helped lift my general dour attitude.