The Burn (18 page)

“You ready?” She shakes off the animal posture she
had assumed when I glanced at her. I wrench my gaze from her, and
try as casually as I can to put the letter away. My hands shake.
Surely she sees it. She is like a dog that senses fear.

I put my bag under one of the desks. I wipe my sweaty
palms on my pants. Mary’s face is carefully blank, but as we leave
the room, her eyes dart to my bag half-hidden in shadows. But
there’s nothing to be done now.

When we leave the school, Nell hugs me.

“Have fun, Terra. And be careful. Most of these boys
will tell you what fun a hunting trip is, but Red would be the one
to tell you to be careful. It’s often best to listen to my Red.”
She squeezes his hand.

“Just stick with Jack, you’ll be fine,” Red says.

But I need Dave. Jack is quiet and thoughtful. Dave
laughs and jokes. I need that to keep myself from thinking. I
understand now why there was a bonfire—a distraction. Why a hunting
trip—another distraction. I understand why we need so
many
distractions.

We pass through the grass next to the oca fields. I
glance back one more time. Nell stands in back by the fire pit,
waving. I wave back. Nell is so open, she seems to embrace all of
us with that farewell gesture. Dave sidles up next to me. He acts
like the past two days didn’t happen. I love him for it.

“She always waves until we’re out of sight. Sometimes
I think it kills her to be away from all of us for too long. She’s
like a mother to us.” He turns back to our path. Sweat breaks out
on his forehead, the faint, glistening beads reflecting the morning
sun.

I think of my pack unguarded in my room. I
shudder.

“You okay?”

Why am I so stupid? Why did I have to pull that out
and read it? This is why I had my tongue carved out of my mouth.
But that hadn’t mattered after all. Now Mary is suspicious and I
still can’t say anything.

I jump when Dave puts a hand on mine.

“You sure you’re okay?”

I realize I’ve been wringing my hands. I try to
smile, but it comes out like a grimace.

“You’ve been funny since we came back from the drop.
What’s going on?”

The drop. The last thing I want to talk about. I try
a better smile. I need to change the subject. I point ahead and
glance a question at him.

“Where’re we going?”

I nod. He adjusts his pack on his shoulders and
brushes the hair out of his eyes before putting on a wide-brimmed
hat.

“About thirty miles away. West southwest. I couldn’t
even tell you what the place is called. Or used to be called.
Someone before my dad used to call it Olympia or something. But
that name kind of disappeared and we just call it the hunting
grounds. It’s where we always go.”

I flinch. Thirty miles? In these hiking boots? I have
a few good blisters already from walking through the city, and I’ve
been too embarrassed to ask for any moleskin. They all thought I
walked here from Arizona. Blisters should not be a problem.

We pass the first scanner at the edge of the woods.
It is waist-high and black.

“In theory it only activates when a tracker is within
fifty feet of it,” Dave tells me. “You really don’t have these in
Arizona?”

I shake my head.

Dave shrugs. “Then it scans the tracker and sends the
data back to the capitol. In theory. But we’re always a little
wary.”

It remains silent as we pass, not even a mechanical
whir to let me know it spies on us. Even though none of us have
trackers, we collectively hold our breaths until we’re all
clear.

We walk through forest on nothing more than a sliver
of path through the trees (“a deer track,” Dave tells me), and my
feet find every root and fallen log to catch on. The other guys
with us try hard not to laugh. I honestly think they try. But who
can blame them for a few chuckles now and then? I am used to tiled
hallways and short carpeting. Here I spend more time splayed out on
the ground than upright. Dave spends most of his time with me
bringing up the rear.

It is gloomy in the forest, too. Not a sad gloomy,
but mysterious. With the clouds that rolled in to blanket the sky,
there isn’t enough sunlight. Under the green canopy, the light is
grayish and murky, like the choppy water when I first landed. If
Dave weren’t walking so close, I might feel nervous. But Dave walks
confidently and talks now and then in his usual cheerful voice.

This is all so foreign to me. I thought life here was
farming. Then I thought life here was a race for survival through
the city. Now life is a hike through the trees. It’s all too new
and it’s wearing me out.

By the end of the evening, my feet are killing me. We
walked about eighteen miles. Dave helps me set up my tent. All our
tents circle to face the fire that Sam builds. I go in my tent for
a moment while Dave sets up his own. I have to take my boots off. I
ease them off as I stifle a gasp. My socks show pinkish wet marks.
My blisters probably popped and the pus has oozed through my socks.
I’m tempted to take my socks off to survey the damage, but decide
not to. I don’t want to see that mess, and it will probably hurt
worse than taking off my boots did. And I still have to get the
boots back on my feet.

Tears stream down my face as I lace up the boots. How
do these people walk up here with these heavy boots? Everyone has
similar shoes. Maybe I just need more time. I can get used to this
life, surely. I have to if I’m going to survive. I will myself to
forget the pain. I wipe my face with my sleeve and step
outside.

Dave waits for me, a small gun in his hands. “This is
for you.”

I blanch.

“I know, I know. You’d rather not. And after the boat
ride, I don’t know if you’d ever use it. Keep it in your belt if
you want and never take it out, that’s fine. I’ll just feel better
knowing you have it.”

I gingerly take the gun and ease it under my belt.
The nausea rises in my throat, knowing I have a gun in my
possession. Dave smiles.

“It’s just metal and gunpowder, Terra. Metal and
gunpowder. It’s not dangerous unless you let it be.”

He’s trying to comfort me, but it doesn’t work. I
turn from him and sit down on a log by the fire. He pats my
shoulder with one hand and goes to help with the cook pot.

Jack sits down by me. “How’s your first hunting
trip?”

I smile and point to the gun at my side.

“Dave already armed you? I figured it wouldn’t be
long. Do you know how to use it?”

I nod hesitantly. I do know how. But I remember the
tremor that shook me the first time I pointed it at a human being.
Can I ever do it again?

Someone brings us each a tin mug of hot water. They
boil all their water to purify it, and on a hunting trip, they
don’t have time to wait for it to cool. The weather is still too
warm and sticky for hot water, but I’m parched. I slurp it, and my
healing tongue curses me.

Jack sips his. “You know, Dave really likes you.” He
tries to say it casually, but Jack is always serious. His eyes
flick over to me, and then back to his mug.

I can’t help smiling. I always smile when I think of
Dave, and I am thinking of him more and more. I lace my fingers
around my mug and nod slightly.

“I’m sort of the doctor for the settlement. My
great-grandma was a doctor, too. She taught my grandma once
everything blew up. Then she taught my dad. It was rough—there was
no real school or great equipment. The skill is valuable. The
government says they offer free medical care. But more often than
not, people disappear—to labor camps or worse. The government has
no money to offer anything for free—I don’t know how they do the
supply drops—and no one has any money to pay. Some gangs are
willing to kill for a good doctor.”

I see a boot on a face, a crying girl, Red alone. My
mantra of terror. Jack notices. He sits his mug on his knee and
regards me for a moment. His dark hazel eyes glitter in the
firelight.

“Were things that different in Arizona?”

Where I came from, it was different. I hope he won’t
produce a paper and pencil for further answers.

“Yes, it probably would be. Desert and all. You’re
probably worried more about surviving the weather than surviving
each other.”

I nod. It is the perfect explanation.

“My dad taught me what Grandma had taught him. He
taught me while we left the city—not Seattle, I’m from the
middle—to find something better. We wandered awhile before we found
Dave and his bunch. They were glad for the medical help. We were
glad for something different. Gentler.”

I came here for something better. Gentler is a good
word. In some ways I've found that. In other ways, the Burn is a
million times worse. But the things Jack fled from were so much
different than what I left. It makes me almost feel guilty to be
here. The settlement is a refuge for all these people who fled
violence and terror and the nightmares that keep them up at night.
It isn’t supposed to be a refuge for people like me. What about my
life had been so bad? These people would give anything to live in
the colony. I study my mug and chug the rest of the water.

I notice Dave across the firelight. His hair shimmers
orange in the fire’s glow. All around us is dark. Only the people,
the tents in fading shadow, and the trees standing so dimly I can
barely make out the shapes of their trunks gleam in the firelight.
Dave’s eyes look gray in the light, and they dance. Dave’s eyes are
happy, but something veils them slightly. My Dad’s eyes have the
same veil, but his is so heavy that his eyes are constantly
smothered by it.

It is love. That’s the difference. I surprise myself
at the revelation. My dad had love, but it was gone. Dave had it
with Mary. What do other people see in my eyes? Is this why Jessa
always begged me to go out with her? Did she see this same shadow
in my eyes?

As I look at Dave, I warm from head to toe, and I
think maybe the veil is lifting. Dave can protect me. Dave can hold
me against the nightmares that come every time I close my eyes. If
he kept those arms wrapped around me, I would never be lost
again.

Jack gently flicks me with a finger. I jump. He
laughs—a gorgeous, quiet laugh. I can’t help smiling. I haven’t
heard him laugh before, and I love the sound. He raises his
eyebrows in Dave’s direction.

“Yeah, I know who you were looking at.” He says it
kindly.

I blush and hide my face in my hands. Jack laughs
even more quietly this time.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Dave’s a
great guy. We’ve been friends ever since I came here.”

I grab his hand. He’s hesitant at first until he sees
I want to spell something on the palm.

“Mary?” he asks. I nod, hoping he’ll understand.

“Yes, I could see how that would be a problem. You’re
smart if you noticed all that already.”

He looks up as Sam brings us each a plate of stew
with a slice of bread. I take my plate and bow my head to Sam.

“You’re welcome, Terra.”

And then Jack says, “Sam, what would you tell her
about Mary?”

Nothing is a secret here. Everyone will know I like
Dave. No wonder Mary doesn’t trust me. Sam glances between me and
Dave. No secrets.

“We all kinda wondered when that would come up.” Sam
sits on my other side and shovels a mouthful of meat and oca in his
mouth. The gravy drips on his smooth chin, and he dabs at it with a
rough cloth napkin. Most of the guys here have whiskers. Sam is
hard pressed to grow stubble. He’s at least a year younger than me.
I think of him driving the boat with a gun pointed at his back.

“The thing with Mary is that she and Dave talked
about getting married.”

I almost choke.

Jack thwacks me on the back. “Well, he’s eighteen.
She’s almost twenty. I don’t know how they do it in Arizona, but up
here, marriage often happens sooner. It’s safer to always be with
someone.”

Sam takes a sip of water, stabs a shriveled carrot
with his fork, and opens his mouth. Then freezes.

I look up. Just outside the firelight between two
tree trunks a solid shape materializes. Not tall and straight like
the trees, but shorter, stockier, and two gleaming pin pricks
shining back at us.

Dave sees it too, and makes a quick motion with his
hand.

Sam lowers his voice. “Guns ready.” He puts his plate
down and stands up slowly.

Dave’s eyes never leave the shadow man. He snaps his
fingers and Sam and two others flank him. Sam’s hand rests casually
behind his back on the gun in his belt. I can barely hold a gun.
He’s younger than I am. He shouldn’t have the responsibility of
one.

Dave doesn’t have a gun. He looks so vulnerable
without it.

He clears his throat. “Hey, stranger. You want a
meal? Come on into the firelight and have a bite.” There’s a steely
edge to his kind words.

The man takes three slow steps forward, his hands
raised submissively. The firelight finally touches his face, and
his eyes shine like daggers. His gaunt cheeks are lined so deeply
that his face looks scarred. His lips stretch so tightly they are
nothing more than a white line in his face. When the man is about
ten paces away, he stops. He lowers his hands to his side.

“What’s your name, friend?” Dave asks.

My eyes flit to Sam. His hand tenses on his gun. The
other men in the circle stand statue still. This is a very
dangerous situation, and everyone knows it. Before the supply drop,
I might not have understood how dangerous. But now my palms are so
slick with sweat, I can barely keep a grip on my gun.

“Smitty.” His voice rings with false friendliness. Am
I the only one who hears it? The other men sit down, still eyeing
the stranger, not completely off their guard.

“Welcome,” Dave says. “We always have enough to feed
a lone survivor.”