The Burn (20 page)

“You sure you’re okay?”

I nod and signal just a moment to him. He leaves.

I dig around in my pack for my first-aid kit. I can’t
ask for precious painkillers for my feet. But my first-aid kit has
some, and I’ll need them to get me through this hike. I gulp a
couple down and stuff the rest in my pocket.

Breakfast is fried salted fish and hard cookies
studded with dried strawberries. I gnaw on a cookie and sip hot
water. Jack walks slowly over to me.

“Hey, Terra.”

He shifts his weight side-to-side, one hand holding
his plate, the other scratching his arm uncertainly. His dark brown
hair is ruffled from sleeping.

I glance at the log next to me, and he’s grateful for
the invitation. He hems for a moment, opening his mouth to speak
and then closing it again. Only to open and close several more
times. I’ve never seen him this unable to articulate himself. He’s
usually so thoughtful with his words. He finally closes his
eyes.

“I hope when you look at me, you don’t see
him
.”

And I know
him
is Smitty. No. I put a hand on
his shoulder. He pats it awkwardly, but I see the relief in his
face.

“I really like you, Terra, and I think we could be
great friends. I don’t want one person’s horrible intentions to
ruin that forever.” As he speaks he holds my hand more firmly. His
eyes glitter.

He jumps when Sam is suddenly by us, clearing his
throat. “I realize you two are having a heart to heart. But is
there room for me?”

Jack grins and makes room. Sam gazes straight into
the fire.

“I have your gun. Dave says not to give it back
unless you want it.”

I don’t want it. I will never touch another gun for
as long as I live.

“I didn’t think you would.” Sam looks down at his
plate and pokes a cookie with his fork. His next words are softer.
“I’m sorry about last night. I should have been more careful,
should have seen what Smitty was. It should have been me.”

I ache for this boy who would have killed in my
place.

Dave comes over and sits on my other side. He glances
at all of us. “Seems I leave for a minute and I miss everything,”
he says cheerfully.

Jack laughs again. “That’s what you get for leaving
her.”

“I’ll have to work on that.”

My heart flutters again. Dave smiles.

“If the weather holds, we’ll make it to the hunting
grounds tonight. This cloud cover makes the traveling easy and not
too hot. As long as it doesn’t turn to rain, we’ll be quick.”

Sam leans in to me. “The trail’s a little wider the
further we go. More dirt. As long as it doesn’t rain, it’ll be
hard-packed and easy to walk.”

Dave whistles, and all heads turn to face him.

“Anyone else still need breakfast?” Everyone shakes
their heads. “Then let’s get packed up and head out.”

I wash out the pots in a stream just beyond a
thicker copse of trees. A person-sized pile of rocks lays about
twenty feet from the opposite stream bank. I turn from it before I
can ponder too closely on what it covers.

The painkillers help my feet, and I refuse to take my
shoes off to inspect the damage. I don’t want to know. I can’t see
the sun through the trees, so no one can rightly say what time it
is. I hear a helicopter fly overhead. We all pause. I look up, but
the cover is too thick. We keep moving.

This leg of the trip is harder than yesterday’s. The
ground rises, and we rarely go downhill. The terrain is rockier,
although even the rocks are hard to see for all the moss and
growth. We rest by a small cluster of boulders that have managed to
avoid getting blanketed in anything green. Jack tells me we are
about five miles from the hunting grounds.

When no one is looking, I take two more painkillers
from my pocket and swallow them.

By the time we reach the hunting grounds, I’m
practically sleeping on my feet. Dave stands next to me, hand on an
elbow, guiding me along, ready to support me if necessary.

He tries to take my tent from me and set it up, but I
wave him off. I need someone, I need to be alone. I confuse even
myself sometimes. My mind is foggy with too little sleep and things
I try not to think about. I need to keep my hands busy.

“Oh, come on, Terra! You’re exhausted! Doesn’t help
that you’re emotionally exhausted, too. Let me at least help.”

But I shake my head and try to recreate the way he
did it the night before. When I finish, I’m proud of it. As I leave
it to go eat dinner, I ignore the way Dave scurries around the
tent, pounding in the stakes I forgot about.

That night, one of the men brings out a small metal
rectangle and blows into it as he slowly slides his cupped hand
across the other side. I grip Dave’s arm.

“A harmonica,” he says. The word is unfamiliar. I
definitely haven’t learned this one before—I would remember.
Nothing prepares me for the wailing, hauntingly beautiful sound.
Dave grins. “You’ve never heard one before?”

I shake my head and watch, transfixed on the sound
and the way the man who plays it closes his eyes and leans into the
music. Then Sam’s sweet voice rises in song.

“Amazing grace, how sweet the sound,” he sings. “That
saved a wretch like me.”

I’ve never heard it before, and it pierces my heart.
Mr. Klein told us about the superstitions on the Burn, what they
call religion. He explained how the colonies were founded by
scientists and they left all superstition on the surface before
coming into the ocean. Mr. Klein called it a great loss.

I don’t really understand the meaning of the words—I
have no context. But something this lovely and assuring has to be
more than just mere superstition. It has meaning beyond just the
words and the music, I’m sure. I would willingly spend the rest of
my time on the Burn just to figure it out.

Dave leans over. “Terra, are you crying?”

I touch my cheek and realize I am. He gazes at me
tenderly. I touch my heart. Dave nods.

“It’s a beautiful song, an old song, and nobody sings
it like Sam. That song has carried a lot of us through a lot of
things.”

If Jessa had asked me just a few days ago if a song
could have helped me through
anything
, I would have laughed
at her. But in a matter of moments, I’ve changed my mind. The
emptiness in my chest eases as I listen.

I lean closer to Dave, the spell of the firelight and
music working into my soul. He doesn’t pull away. Instead he wraps
an arm around me, his hand gently pushing my head onto his
shoulder.

“I’m glad you found us,” he whispers. Then his lips
brush my hair.

He sleeps just outside my tent that night, and I
ache for the weight of his arm over my shoulders. But I won’t ask
for it. I can’t make demands because I cannot be completely honest
with him. This will be his choice.

Most of the men are gone by the time I wake up,
leaving a smoldering fire and just me, Jack, and one other to see
to the camp. I miss Dave already.

“We’ll clean up breakfast and get things ready for
whatever the others kill,” Jack says, stacking plates to take to a
stream and wash. I gather up the utensils. “We need to find a good
place to string them up to drain.” He tries to say it all casually.
I can tell what happened two nights ago still haunts him almost as
much as it haunts me. But he doesn’t want to think about it.
Doesn’t want to talk about. He keeps himself busy. We’re alike.

I take his hand.
Drain?

“Didn’t you go hunting where you came from?”

It’s different.

He shrugs. “It probably is. We need to let all the
blood drain out of the carcasses. Then we’ll carve up what we need
and carry it back to the settlement.”

My stomach lurches as I think about all the blood
that will soak the ground. An image of a pile of rocks by a stream
flashes through my mind. Jack holds out a hand. He notices how pale
I am.

“But don’t worry—you don’t have to do that part.”

I nod gratefully and take the pile of dishes from
him. I will be the designated dish washer. I will cook. I will do
anything—as long as I don’t see more blood.

The day is punctuated every now and again by a
gunshot in the distance, but they happen so infrequently that I’m
startled every time I hear one. Our other companion fills the cook
pot with meat and vegetables to make stew for dinner. He is a
largely quiet man who rarely speaks. But we enjoy his friendly
silence as he smiles and nods, and he is the hub to our activities
around camp.

The camp is a small meadow. A fire pit occupies the
center. It is a large fire pit, larger than the one at our camp
last night. The stream is close, providing washing and drinking
water. And scanners stand guard around the perimeter, placed every
twenty feet. I grab Jack’s hand and write a question.

“Oh, we found this place quite a few years ago.
Dave’s dad decided we needed a place to go hunting. He didn’t want
to rely on the government food drops—you’ve seen why. He didn’t
want anywhere near the settlement because he didn’t want gunshots
giving away where we were. So they scouted around a bit and decided
on this place. We come every few months. As you can see, the
government also realized we come here.” He nods to the scanners.
“So far they haven’t set up a video feed, so we’re okay for now, as
long as no one with a tracker comes with us.”

I hadn’t noticed the scanners last night, but now I
feel their eyes on me. They look like headstones in a cemetery.

I barely notice when the gray sky deepens toward
evening. I am helping Jack throw some lines of rope over a heavy
tree branch just barely within sight of our camp when I notice the
dark shadows emerging from the trees and converging on the fire. I
tap Jack’s foot and point.

“Good, they’re back.” He clambers down from his perch
in the tree and we thread our way back among the trees to where the
hunters are returning.

Between them, they carry a small black bear and a
deer.

“Not bad,” Jack says, smiling. “Terra and I set up
some lines in the trees over there. Our usual tree must have fallen
since the last time we were here, but those look strong
enough.”

The hunters take the game to the trees. I watch as
the hunters take the rope and deftly tie coils of it around the
animals’ hind legs. Then they work together and heave the animals
up into the trees so their heads dangle down. Sam takes out a long
glinting knife and stands before the bear. I’m about to turn away,
but I am not quick enough. In one swift motion, he slices the knife
across the animal’s throat and a gush of blood runs down the bear’s
head and to the ground. I close my eyes, but I still see it burned
red in my eyelids. I stumble back through the trees.

Dave is there by the fire, lifting the lid to the
cook pot. He watches me, concern on his face.

“Had enough blood for a while?”

I nod. He scoops himself up a plate of stew. He
offers me some, but I shake my head. My stomach roils. I know my
appetite will come roaring back with a vengeance and all the dinner
will be gone by then, but right now I can’t stomach it.

That night we sit around the fire and sing. I hum
along as Sam sings that song again. Dave settles close to me. Jack
sits protectively on my other side—my unofficial guardian. I
couldn’t have lost him even if I tried, I think. Not that I mind.
Jack is sweet and kind and loyal. But Dave’s presence pulls me like
a magnet.

Dave senses it too, and he asks Jack to make sure
there aren’t any other animals too interested in the carcasses.
Jack wanders away, and looks over his shoulder once at me. Then he
disappears behind the trees.

“Hmm. I think he’s come to admire you,” Dave
says.

Jealous? I write in his palm. He laughs. He pushes
his blond hair away from his forehead and glances over at me. The
fire flames dance in his eyes. He smiles sheepishly.

“Yeah, a little.”

I lean away a fraction and raise my eyebrows.

“Okay, maybe not in an angry, ’I’ve got to pound his
face in,’ kind of way. But yeah.” He traces the shape of my
cheekbone with his fingers. His fingers are rough with calluses and
tug slightly at my skin. I shiver under his touch. Then he leans
forward, and my breath catches in my throat. Does he hear my heart
pounding against my ribs? It is ready to burst out of my chest;
it’s almost comical to me. But my lips won’t smile about the
joke—his are too close. His eyes close slightly, covering the
flames whirling across the blue. Then his lips brush mine gently,
just enough to make my lips burn.

I open my eyes and he’s sitting up again, looking
back to the fire. How long have I been here with my eyes closed?
But no one is even watching. Jack hasn’t returned yet and the
others still sing and talk softly in the fire glow. Only Sam looks
over and winks once. I just smile back.

But Dave says nothing to me for the rest of the
night.

We stay at the hunting ground for one more day of
hunting and a day of getting the meat ready to take back. The
others kill another deer and a huge bull elk. Almost everyone is
occupied with dressing the meat, but I remain carefully busy taking
painkillers on the sly and helping Jack around camp. I glance at
Dave now and then, but he doesn’t look at me.

The next morning, all the extra cargo is distributed
among us. I carry one of the huge skins in my pack—it isn’t as
heavy as the meat, apparently—but it still weighs me down, and I
don’t know how much more my poor feet can take.

As we follow the narrow trail back the way we came,
I’m right about my feet. All the painkillers do is take the edge
off, and I grit my teeth without realizing it. We come out of the
feet of the mountains, back to the flatter regions that surround
the hunting grounds. I tell myself it should be easier. The trees
are still huge, but they aren’t huddled so closely together as they
were further up. The ground is hard and dry. It should be easier.
Some of the others around me grumble now and again. All of them
know the return trip would be harder. Why hadn’t I counted on
it?