Stolen (8 page)

There was a tall, white-barked tree with thick branches growing against one of the boulders. I was glad of its strength as I swung myself up into it. I loved climbing trees when I was young, though I’d never done much of it. Mum was always too scared I’d fall out. It felt weird to be in a tree again, and I couldn’t work out where to put my feet at first. But I soon got the hang of it. I hugged the trunk and pulled myself up its bark, using the branches as steps. The only time I stopped was when I saw a small brown spider scuttle away in front of me. It was pure determination that made me keep going after that.

It was annoying when I got to the top, though. There were branches and leaves everywhere, and I couldn’t see out. I took a deep breath, closed my mouth and eyes, and tried to sweep the branches aside. Things fell on me as I did. I didn’t want to know what they were so I brushed them off before I looked too closely, but it still felt like they were crawling on me. I could feel their legs in my hair. I clung to the uppermost branches and rested a foot against the rock face, dragging myself up it a little way.

And then I looked out.

I shielded my eyes. There was nothing but sand and flatness and horizon. I used the branches to turn myself around, grazing my leg a little on the rock. But there were no buildings on the other side, no towns … not even a road. It looked the same on that side as it had looked near the house. Long, flat emptiness. I wanted to scream, probably the only reason I didn’t was because I was worried you would hear me. If I’d had a gun, I think I would have shot myself.

I sank down into the top of the tree and leaned my head against one of the branches, sticking the heels of my hands into my eyes. Then I wrapped my arms around the branch, and pressed my face into the bark. A rough part of it scratched at my cheek, but I kept pressing against it, trying to stop the sobs.

It sounds crazy, but right then all I could think about was my parents at the airport. What had they thought when I hadn’t turned up for that flight? What had they done about it since? I leaned my cheek against the bark and tried to remember the last thing we’d said to each other. I couldn’t. It made me cry even more.

I was almost calm again when I heard the car. Quickly, I scrambled back up the tree and out onto the rock. I grabbed a branch, nearly losing my balance. I looked out at the horizon first, then at the land beside the Separates. There! Your car was driving slowly across just underneath me.

It took me a little time to figure out what you were doing. At first I thought there had always been a fence. Then I realized you were putting it up, right then. My heart sank. So that was why you hadn’t followed me—you’d been driving around the Separates the whole time, boxing me in, trapping me like an animal. I’d been so caught up in trying to get through the rocks that I hadn’t even noticed the sound of the car.

I watched you make the fence. You had a long roll of what looked like chicken wire, and when you got to the wooden stakes, the ones I’d seen stuck in the ground earlier, you hammered the wire to them. You worked quickly, stretching to nail in the tops and then crouching to secure the bottom. It only took a couple of minutes per stake and then you were driving to the next one. It looked like the job was almost finished. I was already fenced in.

I leaned against the rock. Up there, above the trees, the sun was strong on my face, and I was suddenly exhausted. Beaten. I shut my eyes, wanting to block it all out.

When I opened them again, you’d stopped driving around. Instead, you were waiting on the other side of the fence, car stationary and the driver’s door open, your boots resting on its wound-down window. I saw the smoke rising from a cigarette.

I held on to the branches and looked back at the house, at the desolate land around it. There was a slight breeze blowing about some bits of vegetation. In the far distance, I could still see those hill-like shadows. They were such a long way away, but still, they gave me a tiny spark of hope. Apart from those, the rocky outcrop I stood on was the only bit of height for as far as I could see. For the first time, I wondered how you’d found that place. Were there really no other people anywhere? Was it really just us? Perhaps any explorers had given up halfway, or died. There was something astonishing about being able to survive in that land. It seemed more like another planet than earth.

I felt my throat close up, and I wanted to start crying again. But I wouldn’t let myself; I had to be stronger than that, otherwise I would just stay on top of that tree until I died of starvation, or thirst. Dad said once that dying of thirst was the most painful death of all, a person’s tongue splits and then the internal organs pack up one by one … busting open as they expand. I didn’t want that.

So I decided to make my way back to the main clearing. I’d wait until it got dark, then creep out to that fence and test it, see if I could get over it or under it. How difficult could it be? Then I’d run back to the house, get supplies and clothing if I had time, some water, and head off across the desert toward those shadows in the distance. Eventually I’d find a road, some sort of track. I had to.

It got cold before it got dark. My whole body was shaking long before the moon had risen. I curled myself into a small ball and sat hunched against the rocks, my teeth tapping against each other.

I hadn’t been outside at night before. I knew it was colder at night than in the day, as I’d felt the temperature drop even when I’d been inside the house, but I hadn’t expected that kind of cold. Right then, it felt colder than a winter night back home. It seemed crazy for the desert to be so stupidly hot in the day, and then so stupidly cold at night. But I guess there are no clouds out there; there’s nothing to hold the heat in. The heat just disappears like the horizon. I suppose that’s why it was so light that night, too: There was nothing to hide the moon.

I was glad of that. It meant I could still see my way around the rocks fairly easily. It meant I could watch the ground for snake-shaped shadows. I started pacing, anything to keep warm. Eventually, I couldn’t wait any longer. I picked my way back along the thin pathway to the edge of the Separates.

From there I looked out at the fence you’d built. It was pretty tall but it didn’t look that sturdy. I ran my hands over my arms, rubbing them. I was too cold to think much beyond getting warm again. Occasionally I heard the rumble of your car engine approach as you circled past on one of your patrols. One thing that was pretty good about this plan was that I could hear you coming for ages before you actually arrived. My teeth were clacking together so loudly, though; I was worried you would soon be able to hear them, too. I wondered what you were thinking: Did you know exactly where I was?

I wrapped my arms around me as tightly as I could, and stared up at the stars. Had I not been so cold and wanting to escape so badly, I could have stared at them forever: They were amazingly beautiful, so dense and bright. My eyes could get lost up there if I left them looking long enough. Back home I was lucky if I even saw the stars at night, what with the pollution and city lights, but in the desert I couldn’t miss them. They swallowed me up. They were like a hundred thousand tiny candles, sending out hope. Watching them made me think that everything might be OK.

I waited until you next drove past me, and then I stepped away from the boulders. I was surprised when I took my shoulders from the rocks, surprised again at the cool of the air against my back. The rocks must have been soaking up the sunlight all these hours, becoming warmer. I took a couple of steps into the sand.

I felt instantly exposed, as if I were naked and you were watching my every movement. I ran quickly to the fence, with my head bowed. Those few feet felt so much longer than they were. All the time I was listening for your car, and I heard it, too, but only as a dull rumble on the other side of the rocks.

I stopped when I got to the fence. It was made of tightly stretched chicken wire, towering a few feet above my head. I couldn’t get my fingers into its tiny holes. I tried sticking my boot in to get a grip, but it wouldn’t hold, and I ended up sliding down the wire, skinning my fingers. I tried again with the other boot. No good. I kicked the fence. I pushed against it, but it just bounced me back.

I started shaking then, whether from the cold or the fear, I don’t know … probably both. I forced myself to focus on the problem. I couldn’t get over the fence so I’d have to go under. I fell down to the sand and started digging. But this wasn’t normal sand, like on a beach. This was hard, desert sand with rocks and thorns and bits of plants stuck inside it. It was as tough and as difficult as everything else out there. I gritted my teeth, tried to ignore the way the dirt was scratching my hands, and kept digging. It was like being in a war movie, digging out of a prison camp. But things never work out like in Hollywood. The hole I made was only big enough for a rabbit to get under. It was hopeless. I crawled onto my stomach and tried lifting the fence from the bottom but it wouldn’t budge. I got my fingers underneath, but that was it. The wire was pulled too tight. I lay flat out in the sand, nose against the fence. My heart sped and sped, my breathing, too. I got up and tried again to get over the wire. I was almost screaming in frustration. Everything was closing in on me: the fence, the rocks …

Then I heard your car.

I started running back toward the Separates. But you came around the corner before I’d reached their shelter. I went back to the edge of the rocks anyway, and waited.

You stopped the car and turned off the engine. You got out and leaned against the hood. You peered at the boulders, looking for me. You’d seen me running; I was sure of that. You could probably see me there, too, shivering against the rocks, trying desperately to soak in some of their heat.

“Gem?” you called.

After a moment, you went around to the passenger door and opened it. You took out a sweater, came back, and held it out.

“Come back to me.”

I stayed quiet. I didn’t want to go back to you. I didn’t know what you would do. I pressed my arms into the rock and willed myself to stop shaking. The tips of my fingers were turning blue.

“There’s no way out,” you called. “I’ll wait here all night if I have to, all week. You can’t escape me.”

You felt your pockets, took out a ready-made cigarette and started to smoke. The smell of burning leaves wafted toward me, hanging in that cold night air. I pushed myself against the rock, tilting my head away from the scent. I tried to curl my fingers into a fist, but they were so stiff with cold that it hurt.

Once again, I’d been trapped by you; it was only going to be a matter of time before you flushed me out. I slid down the rocks and sat on the sand, digging my hands into its still-warm particles, desperately trying to soak up heat.

You saw me move. You came right up to the fence, leaning your palms against it, and peered at me. Then you went to the car and came back with wire cutters. Moonlight fell on your skin as you worked, glowing on half of your face. You cut a small slit in the fence. Then you pulled the wire back until you’d made a hole large enough to step through, curling it like a wave.