Wild (21 page)

Thirty-four

D
eputy Krause whistled under her breath as she walked into Sheriff Porter's office.

With a desk full of leads, she probably should have chained herself to the desk. The interest in the Doe case refused to slack off, and that loser Johnson kept forwarding his leads back to her. Instead of following up on the phone call from Dr. O'Toole, Johnson sat on an email from him until it was good and ripe. Then he bounced it to Krause.

Annoyed, Krause almost batted it right back. But curiosity got the better of her—this email message had photos attached. Something about them nagged her, so she wanted to run them past her boss.

“How about that?” she asked. Sliding a couple of blurry 8x10s from a folder, she handed them to Sheriff Porter. Enlarged from email attachments, and printed on the office's near-dead laser jet, the grainy pictures didn't look especially compelling.

They could have been taken anywhere, probably by somebody's grandpa who didn't realize he had to hold still to get a clear snap.

Sheriff Porter abandoned his laptop to take a look. “Friend of yours?”

“Nope.”

Turning the desk lamp toward himself, Sheriff Porter flooded the photos with light. He leaned over them, spreading them out and scanning each face. Two men flanked a woman and a particularly gleeful baby. Streamers hung in the background, hints of a balloon bouquet, too.

Something felt familiar in the snapshot. He wondered if it was just a generic kid birthday. He'd seen so many, they blurred into a single, buttercream-and-chocolate-cake memory. One by one, he blotted out the faces on the picture with his fingertip. Not familiar, not familiar . . .

When he stopped, Deputy Krause leaned in. “Sir?”

Sheriff Porter tapped the woman's face. “Who is this?”

“Liza Walsh. Had some guy named
Jupiter
send these in. He says he thinks that chick is our Doe's mother.”

That was it. Sheriff Porter saw it, then. The same oval face and neat hairline. Strong eyebrows and the tilt of her head. He'd seen that face, a version of it, in his own basement. On a kid who climbed on furniture and stole books of poetry. Now that Sheriff Porter had a reference, he realized Cade's expression hadn't been sullen. It had been reserved.

Emotion darted through him, both elated and cautious. For no reason except his gut told him so, Sheriff Porter believed this was the break they needed.
The
lead. A list of tasks filled his head. He had to talk to Swayle and Kelly Fourakis before the media sniffed out the lead. Or before “some-guy-named-Jupiter” sold his story to the
National Enquirer
.

“Do we have better copies?” he asked.

“I can get some.”

Already dialing his phone, Sheriff Porter couldn't stop staring at the picture. “Do that, would ya?”

 

When a knock came at the back door, Dara was thrilled to ditch her AP history to answer it. The reporters preferred to swarm on the street out front. And since the back fed off the kitchen, she figured she had plenty of weapons in case one of them had decided to push their luck and sneak in from the alley.

Rising on her toes, Dara tried to look out the half-moon window. Too short to get a good view, she took her chances and opened the door.

“Hi,” Cade said. Sweat freshened his face, his skin ruddy from exertion.

“Get in before somebody sees you,” Dara replied. She caught his wrist, hauling him inside. Quickly as she could, she closed the door. Then, she threw all three locks and collapsed against the frame. The quick burst of panic left her light-headed.

She was glad he couldn't hear her pulse. Or see the way her skin tightened everywhere. His presence was a lightning rod, and she shivered from the snap and pop of it.

“How did you get here?” she asked.

Rather than answer that question, he pulled off the bag he wore and offered it to her wordlessly. Dara nearly dropped it when she took it. It was crazy heavy, and when she pulled back the flap, she saw why. It bulged with groceries—a weird assortment. Crackers and peanut butter, a bunch of bananas, two potatoes . . . she reached in, and pulled out a box.

Brow raised quizzically, she shook it at him. “Instant oatmeal?”

Cade took the box, and tore open one end. Then he waved it beneath her nose. “Smell the apples?”

Well, she smelled dehydrated apples and sugar and cinnamon. It seemed to mean something to him, so she nodded. Reclaiming the oatmeal, she slipped it back into the satchel. Then, gently, she asked, “Did you want me to make something for you?”

He shook his head. “No, it's for you.”

Groceries. Huh. She didn't want to hurt his feelings, so she started to unpack. “Thanks. This is really sweet.”

“If you run out,” he insisted. “So you're not hungry.”

Setting the bananas on the counter, Dara stopped unpacking. Now a buzz blended with her tingling, a warm blush that raced her throat and her ears. She'd never been hungry—not really. The occasional
OMG, I just got home from school and I will die if I don't get pizza rolls
kind of hungry. Starving for dinner because she forgot to eat lunch, maybe . . . glancing at him, she couldn't help but notice his anxious expression.

“You get enough to eat, right?” she asked carefully.

“Ms. Fourakis says I can help myself.”

“I meant before.” She couldn't quite say
at home
yet. A life in the forest didn't fit her mental image of home. How could it be that, without warmth and windows and doors to lock up tight at night?

The thrill of camping had been how dangerous it seemed—though she hadn't counted on how dangerous it really was. She'd worried about people in the woods, not the animals. Dumb mistake. She wouldn't make it again.

Cade rolled a shoulder. “If I hunt enough and dry enough, yes.”

Producing a peanut butter bar from the bag, Dara tore it open. Snapping it in half, she offered Cade the first piece. “That's not a real answer. That's like me saying, as long as I go to bed early, and I fall asleep right away, I get plenty of rest.”

With shameless pleasure, Cade crunched into the candy. Wolfing it down, it was gone in two bites and his gaze trailed toward the other half in Dara's hands. He didn't ask for it, though. Instead, he shrugged. “There's plenty in the summer and fall. Winter is hungry. Spring, too.”

Half the year. Dara was suddenly aware of the pantry. The fridge. The massive amounts of food just sitting around in her house. And guiltily, she thought of how many times they ended up donating canned goods. Usually at Thanksgiving, or when the post office had their food drive in the spring. Boxes and boxes of things they just had laying around and nobody got around to eating.

“Bite,” Dara said, offering him the rest of the peanut butter bar. Then, to brush off the importance, and maybe it was only important to her, she nodded toward the stairs. “I have to finish my homework. But you could hang out with me?”

“I'll see where you sleep?”

With a laugh, Dara led him toward the stairs. “If that's what thrills you, sure.”

 

“Here,” Dara told him, sliding open a drawer in her desk. “I have some neat stuff in here.”

Pursing his lips, Cade just stood there.

“I have to finish these review questions,” she said. “Then we can bust out of here and go to the park or something.”

The park interested Cade, but the review questions didn't. Though she had a book open, it was oversized. Full of pictures, and not as interesting as the place she slept. He moved along the edges of her room thoughtfully. She had hundreds of pictures on her wall. Plucking at one, he frowned when it stayed stuck fast.

Wondering if she'd notice, Cade watched her. Her hair fell to hide her face. Her pencil skimmed a sheet of paper softly. It whispered, without ceasing. So Cade tugged the corner of the picture again, then bounded toward the window when he freed it. Success!

This window had a bench in it. So did Ms. Fourakis' front window, but she'd filled it with plants. Drinking in the sun there, they flourished. But nothing kept Cade from this seat. Climbing right up, he pushed the curtains out of the way. Sunlight flooded over him, warm and clean.

His ill-gotten prize clutched in his hand, he watched Dara's back as she worked. Satisfied that she wouldn't turn to catch him, he lowered the square to study it. In black-and-white, Sofia hung upside down from a strange wall. It was pocked with blobs, and it looked like someone just out of view clung to it.

Sofia dangled from a rope. The helmet made her hair stream in odd directions. But it was her smile that fascinated Cade. It was so bright, it seemed like it was in color. In his head, he heard her laughter. Though he didn't understand the scene or the significance, he felt her glee.

That was sheer happiness. Unrestrained. Cade wondered if he'd ever laughed like that. Glancing up again, he wondered if Dara ever had.

She must have sensed him looking, because she patted the open drawer again. Singsonging, like she was trying to tempt him, she said, “I have Happy Meal toys.”

Unsure what those might be, Cade tucked the picture in his pocket. Then, reluctantly, he slid from his perch. The room engulfed him in everything Dara. It smelled like her, it felt like her. Or, at least, the way he imagined her. Velvet and warm, a hint of strength.

Walking on Dara's bed, he picked up a teddy bear to smell. Then, he dropped it, and hopped to the floor. He couldn't help himself. Though the drawer was open, and she obviously wanted him to look in it, he leaned over her shoulder to consider the open book.

“What are review questions?” he asked.

“History,” she said. “Wanna help?”

Cade shook his head, then smiled when she laughed. It was soft and it made him smile. History definitely wasn't his subject. Since she'd invited him twice, he decided to paw through the open drawer. It was a jumble of bright plastic. None of it seemed important, but it made a nice sound when he stroked his hand through it.

From the tangled pile, he produced a plastic tiger. Its paint was faded, the stripes still black, but the eyes orange with flecks of white. Experimentally, he sniffed it, then bit the base. He was right. Plastic, nothing special. Turning it over, he considered the strings beneath the base. They didn't seem important, but there was a button. He shook the toy, then pushed the button. The tiger collapsed.

Cade threw it back in the drawer before Dara realized he'd broken it. Rummaging for something else, he found a miniature car. Cars! Lines smooth and bright, it was a perfect replica of the parking lot cars. Better still, he understood how this worked. He'd found a tin cart in the mining village. Short two wheels, it hadn't rolled very well. But it was fun to slide through the dust.

Setting this car on the floor, Cade flicked it. To his disappointment, it only spun in place. “Broken,” he muttered to himself.

With a curious sound, Dara looked up from her book. “What?”

Cade held the car up. “It's broken.”

Turning in her chair, Dara took the car from him. Placing it on the floor again, she pulled it backward until it started to click. Then she let it go and it careened across the hardwood. Crashing beneath her window, it flipped over. Tiny wheels still whining, it spun to a slow stop.

“It's fine,” she said. Reaching into the drawer, she pulled out another. Pull, and zip! It bashed into the first one, and disappeared beneath her bed.

Clambering after it, Cade looked back at her. “I'll try.”

“Go for it,” she said. Her homework was getting less and less done by the minute. She waited expectantly as Cade perched in the window seat. Leaning way over, he pulled both cars back and let them go at the same time. Amazing! He watched Dara pluck them up casually, disappointed that she didn't let them crash.

But he wasn't disappointed when she climbed out of her chair. Joining him on the floor, she leaned her head toward his. Offering him one of the cars, she wound hers up and said, “You can't tell anybody about my secret stash.”

The cars veered off and Cade thumped after them. He punched through the air, grabbing them before they sped beneath the desk. They weren't as fast as squirrels or rabbits. They were easy to catch. Bringing them back to Dara's side, he considered keeping them both for himself. But, they were hers, so he gave her the green one. It wasn't as fast. “They're secret?”

Bobbing her head, Dara set hers to race again. “Well, yeah. I'm a little too old for toys, don't you think?”

“You have lots,” Cade replied.

“One drawerful isn't
lots
.”

They let their respective cars go. It became Cade's job to retrieve them, and he was happy to do it. They went fast, and that excited him. Then he thumped across her floor or over her bed to find them. It wasn't the same as running and racing through the forest, but it was good to move again.

When he returned her green car, Dara shook it at him. “I rule you.”

Cade smiled. “This is true.”

Thirty-five

W
hen Cade turned up the next day, Dara put away another bag of his purloined groceries. With a mental note to herself to return them secretly, she caught him by the arm and led him upstairs. Anticipation radiated from him, a spark that leapt from his skin to hers.

“I want to take your picture again,” she said.

Cade agreed with a shrug. His feet barely made sound on the steps. He moved lightly, slipping down the hall and into her room. Immediately, he took to the window seat, the highest perch in the room besides the top of the dresser.

Pulling out her gear, Dara stole looks at him through her hair. Silhouetted against the window, he watched the backyard like he was hunting. Did he ever relax? Even when he was drugged at the hospital, he struggled against it. But this wasn't his home, was it? She didn't think she could settle into an alien world all that comfortably, either.

“Do you like it here?” Dara asked suddenly.

Cade looked to her. His eyes pierced beneath his dark brows. There was no doubt he saw
her
. “Your room smells like you.”

Dara blushed. She didn't know if that was humiliating or exhilarating. He was sitting there,
smelling
her. Like he did every single thing in the store, every bite of food he put in his mouth. The back of her neck prickled. There was no way she was brave enough to ask if she smelled good to him.

“Okay, this time we're going to get it right,” Dara said. She raised the camera, deciding to save the tripod for another time. He wouldn't be Cade if she made him hold still. “When I say one, two, three, you smile. Ready? One . . . two . . . three.”

Stretching his mouth unnaturally, Cade looked like a lunatic. Like, if the reporters outside wanted a picture to go with their exposé
Is the Primitive Boy Dangerous?!
that would be the face on it, right there. She let the camera drop down as she laughed.

“I smiled,” he said defensively.

Waving a hand, Dara raised the camera again. “No, no, you did, and it was great. Most of the time, when you pick up a camera, people expect you to say cheese!”

Cade frowned. “Why?”

“To . . .” Dara trailed off. “They just do. Pictures usually mean smiling. But I actually just want you to be you. I'm not interested in posed shots. I want to see who you are.”

Quiet, Cade seemed to consider this. Then he dug into his pocket. Hopping down from the window seat, he approached her.
He rolls his hips,
Dara thought.
That's how he walks so quietly.
Then she blushed again, for justifying herself to herself. She was just one big box of lame today.

Cade thrust a picture at her. “I stole this.”

Curious, Dara glanced down. Sofia, falling off the rock wall. That was a good day. The lacrosse team had won regionals, and they all went for pizza and games at AdventureLand. Dara tagged along because who didn't like pizza and a little light indoor recreation?

Smiling, Dara asked, “Why this one?”

With a shrug, Cade leaned over to look at it again. When he came closer, she smelled
him
, too. There was Ivory soap and fabric softener, definitely. But something else, below it. Warm, and spicy maybe. Like a handful of sage, rubbed soft. He startled her when he lifted his head again.

“It's Sofia,” he said simply.

That was his whole explanation, but there was depth in his voice. He got it—he looked at that snapshot and saw what Dara saw. Not just a memory frozen in time, but the wholeness of someone. Their essence, the picture wasn't
of
her. It
was
her.

Cradling her camera to her chest, Dara nodded. “Exactly.” It was a small town. She'd never expected anybody else to understand her photography. Even though her parents were supportive, they didn't get it. To them, the stiff, posed Christmas pictures were just as great as the real ones. They didn't see a difference . . . but Cade did.

“Dara?”

She must have been quiet too long. Flashing him a smile, she gave him the picture back. “You can keep it. I can make another print.”

His careful hands when he tucked it back in his pocket—she couldn't stop looking at them. She felt too full, too warm. If she moved closer; maybe if he touched her . . . shoving those thoughts aside, Dara did take his hand.

“Come on. I can't take pictures of you inside.”

 

Eating chicken fried rice straight from the carton, Sheriff Porter walked the length of the conference table.

He had a better copy of Krause's picture sitting dead center. Scraps of paper, printed sheets, surrounded it. He wasn't a man to take somebody's word for it. So even though Dr. Jupiter O'Toole was all hopped up and ready to talk, Sheriff Porter wasn't quite ready to talk to him.

Instead, he'd been making calls. The funny thing about the internet, he discovered, was the dead spot. Right around the nineties, when it was getting started—the real world didn't intrude there.

“Kills me,” he told Krause as he paced back to the head of the table. “I can read the Gutenberg Bible online, but I have to get a fax from Cleveland to find out about this missing persons report.”

Perched on the wall heater, Krause stirred her Happy Family with a fork. “But hey. It's here now.”

And it was. The Walshes up and disappeared without a trace. Their bank account had been frozen, not because it was empty. But because nobody had withdrawn from it in seventeen years. The same thing with their credit cards. The house they'd been living in was rented, so nobody cared when they left. Their cars, paid for.

Sheriff Porter leaned over the report from campus police. It said nothing. Literally. Dr. Walsh's research was the least controversial science in the world. She didn't kill little bunny rabbits, or stick electrodes into prisoners' brains. She wasn't trying to find the missing link. All she did was track diseases.

“You know there's a difference between RNA viruses and DNA viruses?” Krause asked thoughtfully.

Her work was done for the moment. She'd gone and dragged down every lead connected with the Walsh disappearance. Extra pictures lined the whiteboard, headshots mostly. Not a lot about Mr. Walsh, but Dr. Walsh had quite a paper trail. She even found a copy of her dissertation.
Polymicrobial Respiratory Tract Infections and Rhinovirus in Preindustrial Populations,
which she quit reading three pages in.

“Mmm,” Sheriff Porter replied.

He didn't care about her research. He didn't even care that her research plus a little bit of crazy might have added up to dropping off the grid completely. Why never really mattered much. That was something for reporters and novelists to worry about. He only needed the truth: was Dr. Walsh Cade's mother?

Because that would take him to the next step. Finding
family—well, Krause already found some family. An estranged sister in New Mexico on the father's side, some second cousins in California. He couldn't make them take custody of Cade, but he could try. The courts liked it when family stepped up. So did Sheriff Porter. It made everything a lot easier.

“How do we get a positive ID out of this?” Sheriff Porter asked idly.

With a laugh, Krause plucked up a bite of her lunch. “You could try asking the kid again.”

Yeah, that was hilarious. Rolling his eyes, Sheriff Porter put his carton down and paced the length of the table again. If he just kept looking, something would jump out. The answer was there, just like it had been in the picture.

It was there, and he'd find it.

 

The vicious pack of middle schoolers still roamed Clayton Park, so Dara and Cade skirted around them. Dara was out of breath. The walk from her house wasn't long, but it was a challenge.

The reporters mostly stayed on the streets. That meant Dara and Cade had to stick to alleys and backyards. There had been some fence hopping involved. Nothing for Cade, a challenge for Dara.

Her face was pink, and he liked that she kept grabbing his arm. He held her up so she could catch her breath. Her fingers dug in. She left marks on him, none that she could see. Pretty and flushed, her skin seemed to beg him to touch it. Skim fingers down her throat. Cool her face with his palms.

This time, they stayed on the paths in the woods. In daylight, it was easy to see that this was no forest. When he squinted, Cade made out the houses on the other side. Listening closely, he heard people all around. Laughter and voices. A lawn mower roared to life in the distance.

People, everywhere. Thinking about it stole his breath, not in a good way. His skin crawled. He wanted to run. So he turned his attention on Dara. It was easy to block everything out when he was with her. Every inch of her fascinated him.

She still wasn't
aware
. At least, she didn't realize the way he looked at her. Didn't know he wanted to catch her, touch her. Keep her, that was the one she'd never pluck out of his head. It was a thought. Only a thought, one he didn't dare to let grow.

“All right,” she said. “I'm just going to start shooting, and if you end up in my pictures, great. Wander around or something. Just, you know. Chill.”

Whatever that meant. He guessed it was something like
relax
. So he grabbed the lowest bough of an oak tree, and hauled himself into it. At home, the cliffs and the cave and the fire kept him safe from predators. He relaxed there easily.

Away from it, he could only settle when he could see everything. When nothing could slip up behind him. Sometimes he'd end up sharing a perch with a rat snake, but they were harmless enough. They only wanted to find nests with eggs, or better yet, baby birds in them. Cade was far too big to digest.

Dara snapped away, her camera
tick-tick-tick
ing as she went. Beneath that, there was an unpleasant whine. It bored right into Cade's brain, like he'd trapped a mosquito in his ear. He watched her lean into flowers, then swing around wide. Suddenly, she pointed the camera right at him.

“Ignore me.”

“No thank you,” he replied.

He didn't expect her laughter. Once it came, he wanted more of it. Testing the strength in his arm, he reached for the next branch up. Then suddenly, he shot up the tree. The sneakers didn't let him grip, so he had to pace himself. But the oak shook with his weight, a few leftover acorns raining down.

Did she see him? He heard the ticking all the way up here. Looking out, he saw the neighborhoods. Matching houses, long rows of them, all the same. Then past them, a few taller buildings that must have been the town. Up high, with the wind on his face, he saw all of Makwa. It reminded him of the mining town. The grids on the ground, the houses spaced just so.

Laughing again, Dara sounded a little worried. “Get down from there!”

This wasn't his forest. The trees didn't grow so thick or wide as they did there. But he wanted her to see him. To admire him, or at least get the picture she wanted. He could be exactly what she wanted. Dropping a few feet, he smiled when he landed on a good, thick branch.

He didn't hesitate. He ran down it, leaping when the branch became too thin to bear his weight. Dara's gasp filled the air, and he flew through it. Panic shot through him. He had to land on his good foot. Catch with his good hand. This wasn't something he usually thought about.

The maple bowed when he landed on it. Green leaves hissed around him. Seed spinners cascaded down, fluttering all around Dara on the ground. She was beautiful down there in a storm of them.

Clinging to the trunk of the tree, Cade finally caught his breath.

She looked up. She saw
him
.