Wild (7 page)

Josh broke in. “Is there something you guys want to ask us? Do you think we're lying about something?”

Hand raised, Sheriff Porter shook his head. “Nobody said that.”

“We're just trying to process,” Mrs. Brandt added.

Frustrated, Josh said, “That's everything, then. We knew he was out there. We didn't hang out with him. We didn't see his camp.
I
didn't see him until we walked up on the bear. Maybe Dara had some deep conversation with him in the truck, but I doubt it. She was trying to keep him from bleeding to death.”

Mr. Brandt murmured a distressed sound. Reaching out, he smoothed a hand over Josh's shoulders. Sympathetic, he said, “I'm sorry you two had to go through that. That's a lot to unpack.”

“But we're very proud of you,” Mrs. Brandt added. “The right thing isn't usually the easy thing to do.”

“We weren't gonna leave him out there to die,” Josh said.

That was true, but Josh wished he meant it more. Not that he wanted Cade to die. In fact, if Cade could be healthy and happy and back in the wilderness area tomorrow, that would be Josh's fondest dream. Let this all fade away. Let him turn into a memory. A weird story to tell in twenty years, half remembered.

Keys jingling, Sheriff Porter stood up. Offering his wife a hand, he looked to Mr. and Mrs. Brandt. “I thank you all for your time and your cooperation. If there's anything else that comes to mind, Josh . . .”

“We'll call,” Mr. Brandt assured him. “He's going to have some consequence time coming up. I imagine there'll be a lot of thinking involved.”

Mrs. Porter waited for Dara to stand. Though she'd been quiet for most of the talk, her presence suddenly filled the room. Bold and firm, she slipped her arm around Dara's shoulder and looked her over. “Yes, Miss Independent's going to have some thinking time of her own.”

The parents shook hands and chatted themselves out. Josh, however, focused on the carpet. He didn't know where things stood with Dara. And since they weren't gonna have time to hash it out, it made more sense to pretend she was already gone. He didn't even risk a glimpse of her silhouette; when the front door opened, he closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, she was gone.

Eleven

I
t felt strange to be at home.

Dara opened the fridge and stood in front of it. As silly as it sounded, she found it remarkable. All the bright light. All the food, just waiting there. It was packed so full that she didn't know where to start. While she stood there in awe of the Frigidaire, her younger sister slunk in behind her.

“Lose something?” Lia asked snidely.

Plucking a box of leftover fried chicken from a shelf, Dara finally closed the doors. “I missed you, too.”

Lia rolled her eyes, texting away on her phone. It ticked like a bomb, little bloops punctuating finished thoughts. Without ever raising her head, she managed to sneer at Dara at the same time. “I don't know what makes you so special. If I ran away with some guy, I'd be grounded for life.”

That was Lia's gift, making everything sound shadier than it was. Dara wasn't sure when her little sister had turned all goth bitter. It wasn't an overnight thing. But now she was full-blown in black eyeliner and combat boots.

Dara figured she had two choices. She could ignore Lia, which would tick Lia off. Or she could reply, which would also tick Lia off. There was no winning with her.

So, Dara picked the latter. “Mom and Dad knew I was spending spring break with Josh. They just didn't know where. And FYI, I
am
grounded. Happy?”

“No,” Lia said sullenly. “My phone is blowing up because of you.”

Taking out a plate, Dara shot her sister a look. “I'm sorry?”

“You should be. I get enough of Dara-Dara-Dara at home.” Fingers flying, Lia sent another text, then slapped her phone down so Dara could see the screen.

Abandoning the chicken, Dara reached for it. That was the first thing her parents had taken away: technology. She'd spent a week trying to get a signal in the middle of nowhere. Now that she had one, she wasn't allowed to use it.

Lia snatched the phone back. “No, no. You can look, but you can't touch.”

“Quit being a weasel,” Dara said.

“If you don't want to see . . .” Lia replied. Her voice was a singsong, full of sisterly threat.

Dara was trapped. She didn't want to give Lia the satisfaction of giving in. But Lia was making such a big deal out of it that Dara was dying to know what was going on online. She probably had a million emails and a wall of texts. Her best friend, Sofia,
had
gone to Florida. There had to be news about hookups and breakups and drama. Now Dara was practically vibrating to find out.

Raising both hands like she was being robbed, Dara said, “Okay, fine.”

A satisfied smile touched Lia's lips, just briefly. She was pretty anti-smile lately. Laying the phone down, she scrolled to the top of her text scroll. “My friend Kit wants to know if you got the attack on video.”

Mouth dropping open, Dara blinked at her sister. “How does he even know it was me out there?”

“Duh,” Lia said. “Everybody knows.”

“Dad didn't release our names,” Dara insisted.

Disgusted, Lia rolled her eyes again. “Um, okay, but everybody knew you bailed on Florida. And everybody knows you're home early. Everybody knows who
didn't
leave town for spring break. Gee. I wonder how people figured it out?”

Ugh. Dara slumped on the kitchen island. “Fine, whatever. Of course there's no video. What kind of idiot takes video when there's a bea— Hey, don't tell him that!”

Lia hit send and shrugged. “Sorry, too late. Okay, so that's Kit. Sofia wants to know why you haven't called her. She wants to know that approximately four hundred times. And she asked if you were the one in the hospital. I told her no. I'm not a total monster.”

A chill raced Dara's spine. The whole Florida crew knew about it? There was no way she was getting out of being a Storm Drain Kitten now. Reminding herself that it made her a bad person, she actively hoped somebody would come back from Florida pregnant. It was the universal rule of gossip: your drama stopped being interesting as soon as better drama came along.

“Anything else?”

Touching the screen, Lia gave it a sharp swipe. Text bubbles flashed by, far too fast for Dara to read any of them. But that wasn't really the point. It was the sheer number of them. The scroll went on and on. “Do you have any idea how obnoxious this is?”

“Yeah, I kinda do.”

“Then do me a favor,” Lia said, pocketing her phone. “Sneak online and update your Twitter. I'm not your digital secretary.”

With a quick look to make sure their parents were out of earshot, Dara leaned in. Her hands itched to take the phone now. Something that had been an annoying ache, being without the internet, suddenly consumed her. “Just let me text Sofia real quick. She'll clear everything up. People will quit bugging you.”

“Nope.”

Surprised, Dara reared back. “Why not?”

Plucking a soda from the fridge, Lia waved it at her sister. “Because you're grounded. It would be
wrong
to go against Mom and Dad's rules. Wish I could help! Sorry!” Then, with a gloating laugh, she breezed out of the kitchen.

Dara didn't have anything to throw at her. So she bit into a cold chicken leg and scowled instead.

 

Strangers kept coming. Kept going.

Cade could barely keep his eyes open. He felt buried under a pile of stones, and nothing really made sense. The sun never went down here. Maybe he was dead. That seemed possible. The sky never changed. It was grey squares next to grey squares every time he woke up.

But if he was dead, and he was aware, where were his parents? Forcing his eyes open, forcing them to focus, he looked for them. They should be close. They should hold their hands out and welcome him home.

Instead, the man in the hat stood over him. His voice wobbled. It sounded like he was talking underwater, the words slowly washing closer until Cade could hear them. When they finally spilled into his ears, he shook his head.

“No last name,” he said. Slow sparks built beneath his skin. When realization struck, Cade raised a hand. Wagged a finger. “Sheriff Porter. Sheriff. Sheriff of Nottingham.”

The sheriff frowned. Sitting beside him, he leaned forward. This man was a grey man. His hair, his skin. Just grey, everywhere. He didn't look like Dad. Maybe because he was sick? Curling away from him, Cade considered holding his breath. Then he forgot to.

“That's right,” the man said. “You know who I am. How about you tell me who you are? I bet your parents are worried about you.”

“I bet they are not,” Cade said with a drunken smile. They didn't worry about anything anymore. They were two perfect mounds by the river. Or they were souls somewhere else. Not there, obviously. They definitely weren't there.

Weight tugged Cade's hand to the mattress. Eyes rolling back, he almost fell asleep again. Something kept him right on the edge of it. Dry mouth. His mouth was so dry.

Struggling to sit up a little, he winced at the sharp pain in his shoulder. Reaching with his other hand, he dropped it before he managed to get the cup in front of him. It was pretty. Made of something thin and pliable, it didn't have a taste.

Standing again, the sheriff poured more water into the cup. Then he held it to Cade's mouth to help him drink. When some of it spilled, the sheriff cursed, but Cade didn't mind. It was cold and clean. It reminded him of his river. His river, where was it? He couldn't see it. Didn't smell it. Where did they put his river?

The sheriff replaced the cup, but stayed on his feet. “Son, I don't know if you're just out of it, or if you're trying to give me a hard time. You should be aware, we're gonna put a name to you sooner or later. If you can help us, it'll be easier all around.”

With a sigh, Cade sank into his pillows again. Pillows. So soft. Softer and crinkly, his pillow never made sounds. Everything in this room made sounds. Beeps and scratches, crinkles and whooshes. No wind, though. No birds. No rabbits racing through the brush. No bees. No owls. No waterfalls to whisper all night long.

The sheriff leaned over him. “What's your name, son?”

Dragging a hand down his face, Cade peered over at the sheriff. “Cade. Just Cade.”

“What did you mean when you asked my daughter if she was immune?”

Cade curled a finger in the air. “Probably an H1. That's what did it. Spanish knocked out five percent, knock out twenty and the world ends.”

That answer didn't please the sheriff. He stood up straight. He huffed, like a bear. Bears huffed to warn you away. Cade had never seen his father do it; maybe this one did. Maybe other people were strange and mutated. Hard to say, hard to say.

“You'd better explain yourself.”

“You must be immune, too.” New footsteps sounded and Cade tried to turn to look. It made his head swim. But he smelled sweet chemicals and heard papers rattling. Guessing aloud, he said, “That's a nurse.”

“That's right,” she replied. “I just need to get your vitals.”

She was going to touch him. Recoiling a little, Cade winced when she grabbed his arm anyway. Her fingers were cold. They pressed hard into his skin. Suddenly, she was all over him. Something wheezed, something ticked.

Struggling to sit up, Cade only managed to smash himself against the metal bars on the other side of the bed.

“Open your mouth,” she said, tapping a stick against his teeth. Screwing up his face, he twisted his neck from side to side. He didn't know what that thing was, but he didn't want it in his mouth. Unfortunately, that much motion wore him out. After a moment, he slid back down and she pushed the stick under his tongue.

“In your opinion,” the sheriff asked the nurse in a very low voice, “in your medical opinion, how much of this is he putting on?”

To Cade, the nurse said, “Don't chew on it. Just hold it under your tongue.” To the sheriff, she said, “Hard to tell. He's on a lot of pain meds. If you're not used to them, they can make you pretty loopy.”

“I'm fine,” Cade said, spitting the stick out. “I'm tired.”

“Let me get your blood pressure and you can get back to sleep,” she said.

There was something magical in those words. She whipped out a black band and tied it around his arm. And without another question, the sheriff slowly backed from the room. He was a tiny, grey shadow and then nothing, all gone. Now Cade loved the nurse, because she made the sheriff go away.

He only had one answer, and the sheriff didn't like it. Woozy, Cade clutched the side of the bed as the ground rolled beneath him. His stomach lurched, and then he felt like he was floating.

One of the machines let out a sigh, and warmth spread through him again. He barely noticed the black band on his arm tightening.

With one more uneven smile, he said, “Hi.”

If the nurse answered, he didn't hear it.

 

It was the perfect crime, really. Nobody used the landline anymore, so nobody thought to take it away from her. Threading it into her closet, Dara sat down and pulled the doors closed. Light slanted through the lattice.

She was cramped in there. It was barely wide enough for the hangers, let alone her whole body. But it was the only place she could think of to hide. Quiet, out of the way, no one else would think to look inside and the clothes would muffle her voice. Perfect.

On the other end of the phone line, her best friend, Sofia Cruz, said, “Seriously, you saved this guy's life and they ground you for it?”

“Ugh,” Dara whispered back. Wrenching an arm behind herself, she pulled out a bent hanger. No wonder she was so uncomfortable. “I think that's the only reason I'm not going to boarding school.”

“Were you scared?”

“Terrified. My brain went on vapor lock.”

Somewhere behind Sofia, a party raged on. Laughter, music, it all rolled through the line. Probably the last blast before everybody came home, tanned or faux-tanned.

Somebody would have a tiny dolphin tattoo—it was like a requirement of Florida spring break. Dara guessed Sofia would be the one who came back with
mehndi
looping up both hands. Their friend Tyler would probably show up with fifty percent less hair than he left with.

None of them had nightmares splashed red with blood. Not a single one of them had sudden, random flashbacks to the sight of that bear rising up. But Dara wasn't sure she would have traded her spring break for theirs, either.

Sofia shooed someone away, explaining that she was talking to Dara. Then she said, “You're lucky you're not dead.”

“I know, right?”

“How's Josh doing?”

Pressing herself against the wall, Dara tried to fold herself smaller. “I don't really know. We went over to their house so Dad could grill us together. He looked miserable. You know they're going to make him do an interpretive dance about his behavior or something.”

“He's so normal,” Sofia said. “His parents are so bizarre.”

“He's weird, too,” Dara replied.

“Are you kidding me? He calculates interest for fun.”

Clapping a hand over her mouth, Dara held back a laugh. When the urge passed, she whispered, “You don't think that's weird? I do. And you know what? Even when I had proof that there was somebody watching us in the woods, he was like, whatever, can we make pancakes if we don't have any more eggs?”

Sofia hummed curiously. “Really? He didn't go all macho he-man on you?”

“Not really. I mean, once he knew he'd come into our camp he wanted to leave. But I'm like, he's out there spearfishing and walking around in trees, you're not the tiniest bit curious?”

“I'm curious.” Sofia hesitated, then asked, “This isn't relevant at all, but . . . what does he look like?”

Covering her eyes with her hand, Dara tried to summon his face, as it was at the river. When he wasn't grey turning ash, when he wasn't dying. Her pulse stuttered, chest tightening. At the river, she reminded herself. By the water, when she really saw him for the first time.