State of Nature: Book Three of The Park Service Trilogy (25 page)

“Sorry,” she says. “But I’m not getting on that thing.”

She doesn’t appear to be open to negotiation, so I refuse my horse too. The riders then nudge their horses forward to the edge of the bluff. We join them on foot.

The bluff overlooks the valley and another small deer is staked on the hill below, looking like a toy as it grazes on the grass. The old man places a hand on Jimmy’s shoulder and chants a song or maybe a prayer. He finishes and points to a high point several meters away. Jimmy starts his horse toward it. When he reaches the high point, Jimmy halts his horse so close to the edge that flakes of rock break free and tumble down the face of the cliff. I’m worried that the horse will lose its footing, sending them all down together—Jimmy, horse, and bird, all. My mom must worry too because I feel her hand grip my arm. But Jimmy doesn’t seem afraid. He sits his horse like he was born on one. His proud posture is mirrored by Valor’s, perched like a statue on his arm.

He points to the deer staked into the hill far below. Valor’s head leans forward, its feathers ruffle. Then, with a flick of his forearm, Jimmy sends the eagle soaring off the cliff. The eagle’s wingspan is enormous. Its golden feathers catch the sun for a moment, giving it the appearance of some flaming phoenix come to bless the entire valley. It swoops down, passes the little deer by, and rises again to climb out of the valley on the far side. I see Jimmy hang his head. But then I remember how the eagle circled and returned the day Jimmy caught it, and I turn my eyes back to the sky ahead. Sure enough, the eagle banks a right turn at the valley’s farthest edge and swoops back toward the deer with amazing speed. At the last second it pushes its talons out before it and tucks its wings.

The only sound we hear is Jimmy’s cheer.

He pumps his fist in the air and watches from his horse as Valor flaps and fights on the hill below, finally coming to rest perched on top of the dead deer. Jimmy turns his horse and joins the others. He high fives me as they pass us by on their way down to ride off the bluff and retrieve Valor and his kill.

My mother and I stay put and watch.

“I guess the verdict is ‘good bird and good master’,” I say.

“I’m so happy for him,” she replies. “He worked hard.”

“I’m really happy for him too. After everything we’ve been through this crazy year, it’s good to see him smile.”

“He’s a great friend, Aubrey. You two are fortunate to have found one another in this crazy world.”

I nod without taking my eyes away from him as he enters the valley below with the other men. As they ride up toward the hill, I get an uneasy feeling in my gut. I hope it isn’t jealousy after everything we’ve been through now. But when the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, I’m sure it isn’t that.

Then a shadow passes over my mother and me and shrinks to the valley floor below us and continues on toward the riders. My mother’s fingers dig into my arm as I look up and see the drone. She pulls me away from the edge, dragging me by the arm toward cover, but I jerk free and turn back and scream:

“Jiiiimmmmyyyy!”

Jimmy is almost to the hill. He must hear me because he turns back briefly on his horse and waves at me. But he doesn’t even see the drone overhead. As the riders approach the hill, and as the drone approaches the riders, a replay of the slaughter in the cove flashes in my mind. I’m raising my hands to my mouth to yell again when the drone fires.

But it’s no missile that comes out.

Instead, there’s a puff of smoke from the launch tube, and a huge banner unfurls in the blue sky, spreading out behind the drone and attached to it by a cable. The drone circles the valley and the banner comes broadside. I read what it says:

AUBREY, WE NEED TO TALK

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

My mother appears beside me, her mouth agape just like mine. The men on the hill below are busy inspecting the kill and congratulating Jimmy. They don’t yet even see the drone circling the valley above their heads like some crazy sky-bound advertisement from the past.

“‘Aubrey, we need to talk,’” my mother says, reading the banner aloud. “Isn’t that the damnedest thing?”

We spend all evening in the shelter trying to figure out what Hannah could possibly want. My mother agrees to make an exception for one night about Jimmy’s eagle, and he parks it in the corner and tosses it hunks of rabbit meat that it snatches from the air without leaving its perch. My mother watches and shakes her head. I finish my dinner and push my bowl away.

“Maybe she wants to talk about a truce,” I suggest.

My mother laughs. “I do love your optimism, Son.”

“We don’t know,” I say. “She might have changed.”

“People don’t change, Son. Not that much. She may have some deadly trick up her zipsuit sleeve is what she might have.”

“What do you think, Jimmy?” I ask.

He tosses Valor another chunk of meat. “I dun’ trust her. But then I never have, and you know that.”

“And you’re right not to, Jimmy,” my mother says. “The acorn didn’t fall far from the tree on that one.”

“That’s not fair, Mom. You can’t judge her for her father unless you intend to judge me just the same.”

She reaches across the table and takes my hand. “I’m sorry, Son. You’re right. That wasn’t fair. But she has done plenty on her own to prove that she’s not trustworthy.”

“I know it better than anyone,” I say. “But we have to try. We have to find out what she wants. If there’s even a chance to just save Red, it would be worth the effort to try.”

My mother leans back in her chair and sighs.

After a few quiet moments thinking, she says, “Even if we wanted to talk with her, how would we arrange it?”

“Send a message through our friends in Holocene II.”

“Okay, but we can’t risk giving away their identities. That might even be her whole plan. You know she knows by now that you had help escaping.”

“Why can’t you have them send up an anonymous note on the supply train? She won’t know who sent it.”

“That might work,” she says. “What would it say?”

“The message? Ask her to meet me alone somewhere. Just the two of us. Nobody else.”

“Alone?” my mother asks. “Are you crazy?”

“Yes, Mom. Alone.”

“I’ll go with you,” Jimmy says.

“I know you would, Jimmy, but this is something I’ve got to do by myself. I need to negotiate with her.”

My mother stands up from the table and paces the room, as she’s wont to do. She’s so deep in thought she doesn’t even notice when Valor evacuates his bowels onto the floor.

“Fine,” she says, stopping to turn to me. “Where do you want to meet her? Somewhere neutral.”

“Tell her to meet me at the bungalow on the beach. Where Radcliffe brought us together. There’s a landing strip there, and it’s a safe zone from drones.”

“Okay then, when?”

“We should leave the date up to her since we have no idea when she’ll get the message or how she might respond.”

“That’s the other question,” she says. “How will she?”

“Just have her send another banner with the date, and we’ll take that as our confirmation.”

She absorbs this for a moment, then smiles with pride.

“You’re brilliant, Aubrey. You really are. And I’ll tell you what else: I’m proud that you’re my son.”

She doesn’t see it because she’s already turned to log onto her computer, but my face blushes, and I have to wipe a tear away from my cheek. Jimmy notices, but he just smiles at me and turns his attention back to cleaning up after his bird.

The snow melts.

The days lengthen.

And the trees bud with new leaves.

Then, three weeks to the day after we send our message, the shelter door bursts open and Jimmy enters, out of breath after running home, and motions for us to hurry outside.

The three of us stand on the wall and watch as the drone turns to come around again. It’s hard not to run when I see the Park Service crest come into view. What if this is a trick? What if it fires on us? But the drone comes alongside where we stand, and I look up and read the message on the banner it’s trailing.

MARCH 22 – 1400 HOURS

“Oh, that’s cute,” my mother says.

Jimmy nudges me and whispers, “What’s it say?”

“It says March twenty-two at two o’clock.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means she wants to meet on my birthday.”

I don’t know where my mother gets the cake or the sixteen candles, but ten days later, she and Jimmy wake me up singing the traditional Holocene II birthday song.

Yet another year older you are
And we’re here to help you ring it in
We’re proud you’ve made it this far
Because we all remember you when
Someday we’ll gaze up at actual stars
And once again see our long lost friends
For you’re not really alive until you reach thirty-five
Then your new life will surely begin
For that’s the day you get to retire
The day you move into Eden

I don’t know whether to feel embarrassed or creeped out when they finish singing. I haven’t heard that silly song since my father sang it to me last year, on my fifteenth birthday, just before I was called up to the Foundation. But Jimmy is smiling with pride over having learned the lyrics, and I just can’t bring myself to say anything to break his happiness.

“Blow out all the candles,” my mother says. “And don’t forget to make a wish.”

I remember hearing somewhere that wishes don’t come true if they’re made for selfish reasons, but I close my eyes and wish anyway for the thing I’ve really wanted for myself since this crazy adventure began. Then I blow the candles out. Jimmy goes to get the milk while my mother cuts the cake.

“Really, Mom?” I whisper when we’re alone at the table. “You had to sing the Holocene II birthday song?’

“It’s the only one I know, Son.”

“Well, you could have changed it up. Maybe replace ‘Eden’ with something else.”

“We tried,” she says, “but nothing seemed to rhyme.”

After we eat our cake and wash it down with goat’s milk gifted from the Motars, Jimmy hands me a present wrapped in a piece of bark and tied closed with braided horsehair. I open it and find a beautifully crafted deerskin pouch. Inside the pouch is a strike-a-light, the flint shaped like a crescent moon and the steel striker handcrafted and honed to look like an eagle. He must have been working on this all those long afternoons he’s spent with the Motars at their camp.

“Thank you, Jimmy.”

“You like it?” he asks.

“Like it? I love it.”

“It sparks real good, too,” he says. “Now you can start a fire anywhere. Or light your pipe. I’m still workin’ on a trade to get you some tobacco, but the old man keeps a tight grip on it.”

I stand up and hug him. When I turn around, my mother hands me a larger box, also made of bark.

“I hope you two didn’t cut down an entire tree just to wrap gifts for me.”

“Of course, we didn’t,” she says. “Trees outgrow their skin sometimes too you know. Go ahead. Open it.”

I open the box and find a reading slate tucked inside. I can’t believe my eyes. After giving mine to Bree on the Isle of Man, and then after leaving Holocene II for China, I thought I’d never see one again. I pull it out and turn it on.

“It’s got the entire Foundation library on there,” she says. “So I know there are some you haven’t read. Plus, the best part is that all you have to do to charge it is to read in the sun. I modified this one before I left the Foundation. The device shell is made from the same solar material that charges the drones.”

I throw my arms around her. “Thank you, Mom. This has been the best birthday ever.”

“Well,” she says, hugging me back and kissing the top of my head, “technically you’ll spend your birthday ten thousand meters over the Pacific Ocean since I didn’t actually give birth to you until two-thirty-seven a.m., in a different time zone, sixteen years ago tomorrow.”

I pull away and look at her. “Was it hard?”

“Giving birth? No. They had the doctor do a cesarean since the plan was to get me back up to the Foundation as soon as you were born.”

“I meant leaving. Was leaving me hard?”

“It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, Son,” she says. “You were just a little angel those few minutes I got to hold you in my arms. You looked like a tiny old man, actually. But you were perfect. Absolutely perfect. And you still are.”

I don’t want to cry in front of her or Jimmy, so I suck it up and hold back my tears. The thought of leaving them both and not knowing for sure if I’ll ever make it back rips me up inside. It feels as if my guts have been stirred with a spoon. I set my presents on the table and grab a towel.

“I’m going to head down and take a bath before I go.”

“We can all go,” my mother says.

“No, I want to be alone.”

My mother and Jimmy look at one another, then back to me. Their expressions give away their worry, but before either can say anything, I step outside and close the door.

When I get down to the hot springs, I undress and wade into the steaming water. It occurs to me that these pools have likely been here for a very long time. I wonder how many people have sat just where I’m siting and worried about their futures and how things would turn out for them. But I know how things turned out for them. They’re all dead. Every story I’ve ever read, the same thing. I find myself hoping for a happy ending, but really it’s only a happy pause, because if you let any story play out long enough, they all end. We’re all gone. And even though the three of us each have the serum, there’s still a lot that can go wrong between now and happily ever after.

I don’t want my mother to die.

I don’t want Jimmy to die.

I don’t want to die.

The sky is getting lighter by the minute, the sun about to crest the western peaks, and I know it’s only a matter of hours before I climb into the drone and say goodbye. I try to push these thoughts from my head and enjoy the fresh air.

After a while I hear footsteps coming down the path. The maples and bushes that surround the pool have already leafed in, and I can’t see who it is. Then Jimmy steps out from behind the trees, strips off his clothes, and joins me in the water.