Wild (10 page)

Fifteen

C
ade sat in a very blue bedroom. The walls and carpet, a trash bin, a desk—all blue.

Though he couldn't help it, he heard every sound in the house, including Dara talking to her friend in another room. He was used to listening for much smaller things. The footfalls of squirrels, the rustle of a single bird in a bush.

“He lost a lot of blood. He could be confused, or . . .”

“Most people know where they live,” Sofia said. “Ooh, unless he has amnesia.”

“Really, Sof?”

He didn't have amnesia. A bad case of his skin crawling, sure. There were so many people here. Crammed together, constantly touching. Breathing on each other.

“Just go get the stuff.”

“You're sure he's going to be okay here?” Dara asked.

Of course I am,
Cade thought, and peeled off his socks. Already, he hated them. How was he supposed to keep his balance without his toes? In
sneakers
that didn't bend like supple leather boots? Once his feet were bare again, Cade stood.

He hadn't heard Sofia's answer. It was probably the same. He was fine in this blue, blue bedroom. Not nervous. Not anxious. Nope. He'd already learned something about this new world. Panic didn't help. And he'd panicked at the hospital.

When his parents had told him about the world outside the forest, Mom started with the hospitals. How they were full of disease, of dying. They sealed the walls and windows against the wind. The water only came in cups and pitchers. Instead of healing, hospitals harmed. That's where the infections began . . .

Yes. He'd panicked, and it wouldn't happen again.

Standing, Cade crept around the edges of the room. Touching everything. Looking at everything. Bottles full of blue liquid sat on top of the dresser. A musky, chemical scent radiated from them—the same scent clinging to the curtains and carpet. Cade picked up a few coins; not interesting. He'd seen money before.

The pictures didn't hold his attention either. Back in his cave, in a box he'd built himself, he had a few photos of his own. His mother, young and dazzling. His father, lovesick and consumed by her. In a few snapshots, they held a baby—Cade. They stood inside a house Cade didn't remember, with people Cade didn't know.

Ranging across the artifacts on the dresser, Cade found a small box wrapped with wires. There was a switch on top of it, and tentatively, he pushed it.

A screen lit up and Cade nearly dropped the thing. A tinny sound gushed from the wires, from little buds at the end of each one. Tentatively, he brought one to his ear, then reared back. It was music, but nothing like he'd ever heard. It pulsed, loud and hard, with a rhythm he felt in his fingertips.

He shook the box, and the music changed. Something slower. Sweeter. As an experiment, he pushed a bud into one ear and smiled. The music seemed to play inside his head. It was too loud, but too novel to abandon just yet.

Hooking his fingers in a drawer pull, he slid it out slowly. Clothes, mostly socks, bathed in a pleasant but artificial scent that made Cade's nose twitch. The drawer under that contained shirts like the one
Josh
gave him, then more jeans . . .

“You better stop before you find Javier's porn,” Sofia said.

Startled, Cade slammed the drawer shut. He had no idea what porn was. It was the surprise that unnerved him. There were so many scents in this room. When he pulled the blaring bud from his ear, the house's sounds flooded back in. “I didn't see anything.”

Sofia shrugged. “I told him to take it with him. Maybe he actually listened for once.”

“Where's Dara?” Cade asked.

“Hitting up the drugstore.” Studying Cade, Sofia made herself at home at the desk. Spinning the chair around, she gazed up at him. It was like she could measure him with a look, even the unnameable stuff inside of him. “She wanted to change your bandage.”

“Then she's taking me home.”

Sofia started to say something. Then she closed her mouth, squinching her lips to one side.

Muscles tight, Cade froze. “Isn't she?”

“As soon as she figures out where you live, yeah.”

“I told her.”

“Right, the woods.” Sofia rubbed her hands together. “You don't really live there, do you?”

Drawing the answer out, Cade said, “Yes . . .”

“All by yourself,” Sofia said. She spun again, her hair washing over her shoulders in black waves.

Cade kept his mouth shut. Until recently, his life was normal. As far as he knew, the cities were deserted. Towns, farms . . . all empty. The people that were left, of course they lived in the forests. The caves. That's where it was safe. He didn't understand why
they
didn't understand. Pressing his lips together, he shrugged.

“Honey, seriously, I don't bite.” Sofia smiled, then snapped her teeth playfully. “Unless you ask me to.”

“Why would I do that?”

Spinning to a stop, Sofia perched at the chair's edge. Her playfulness faded. Instead of measuring him, she examined him. In the forest, animals would have hushed—freezing, waiting. That same uneasy, near quiet filled the room.

“It's a joke, Cade.” Then, thoughtfully, Sofia laced her hands together. “Is English your first language?”

Uncomfortable, Cade grabbed a bed knob, used his good arm to swing onto the mattress.

He landed in the middle of it. Springs protested under his weight, shrill, metallic birds. A chemical cologne scent puffed into the air. Dragging his wrist and hand beneath his nose, he finally peered back at Sofia.

“It's my only language.”

“Hm,” Sofia said. She deflated, touching her toes to the ground.

Used to the quiet of his own company, Cade watched Sofia, but didn't say anything. Beneath him, the bed squeaked then groaned. A shift in balance, and it almost sang. Curious, Cade put his weight into a bounce, just a small one. Metal hummed inside the mattress, echoing on through the coils.

“Having fun?” Sofia asked.

“Yes.”

“Can I be rude?”

Cade considered this. “Probably.”

“Aren't you worried your parents are freaking right now?”

At once, Cade stopped. Sitting heavily, he draped his arms over his knees. Even that little movement made his chest hurt, but he didn't change positions. “No. They're dead.”

Sofia blushed. Squirming right out of the chair, she stretched toward the door. Confident before, she'd turned skittish. A fawn realizing its mother is out of sight. “I'm sorry, I didn't know. Who do you live with now?”

“No one.”

“You're what, like sixteen?”

“Almost seventeen,” Cade corrected. He didn't know his exact birth date. But he knew it came in the hottest month. Usually when the birds started to flock to head south. It had been three autumns since his father made the last honey-cake for his birthday. That was his thirteenth year.

Sofia considered this. “But, your grandparents or your aunts or . . .”

“They're all dead.”

This time, Sofia didn't blush. In fact, his blunt response seemed to strengthen her. Counting her fingers off, she approached him. “Foster parents?”

Cade grabbed the bed knob again. But he forgot, and tried to haul himself up on the clawed side. Instead of landing gracefully on the footboard, he collapsed in the middle of the mattress. Clutching his chest, he hissed a breath through his teeth. He'd obliterated the low-grade ache in his chest. Now, new, vicious pain burned through him.

“Oh crap, are you okay?” Sofia rushed over.

Eyes closed, Cade nodded.

“Should I do something?”

He shook his head and retreated into himself. He was tired of questions, tired of answers. Tired of puzzling out what made Sofia uncomfortable, and what made her bold. He wondered if Dara would be back soon. If she'd bring supplies, and take him back into the forest tonight.

If she stayed, he could show her all the things she didn't know about the wild. Maybe he could touch her hair; maybe she would let him smell the back of her neck.

Those thoughts, and his silence, sustained him.

 

Waiting at the back door, Sofia threw it open the second she saw Dara approach. She'd stuffed her hair into a hoodie, like that wasn't the most obvious disguise in the world. Jogging half down the steps, then back up with her, Sofia started in.

“I think he's on drugs.”

“Yeah, they pumped him full of them at the hospital,” Dara said, slipping inside.

Oh, Dara, so sweet, so completely missing the point. Sofia took the drugstore bag and dug inside it. Gauze. Peroxide. Ointment. Incredulously, Sofia said, “I have all of this stuff in my house.”

“Well, I'm sorry,” Dara said, annoyed. She tugged the hood off, her hair falling into her face. “I don't usually have to liberate people from the hospital, okay?”

“Dial it back,” Sofia said.

Following Sofia upstairs, Dara lowered her voice to a whisper. “I'm freaking out, Sof. I have no idea where I'm taking him next.”

Cade called down the hall. “Home!”

“Which he swears is in the woods,” Sofia said, putting a hand on Dara's shoulder. “I know I said he could stay here . . .”

Shocked, Dara shook her head. “No. Sofia, no, no, come on, you can't . . .”

It was Sofia's privilege to torment her, but her responsibility to protect her. Whether that was from jocks with too many beers in them at a pool party, or the loonbox currently hanging in her brother's old bedroom, it didn't matter. Best friends, sacred duty. “Look, I'm here for you. Always.”

“But?”

“I don't know. We had the weirdest conversation.”

“I hear you,” Cade called.

Sofia whipped a look down the hall. If Cade had been in the path of it, he might have even shut up. “That's why it's called talking
about
you, not
to
you. Hush!”

Something thumped in the bedroom. Sofia's guess was that monkey boy in there tried to climb the ceiling fan. Because trying to climb the footboard had worked out so well. Lowering her voice a little more, Sofia turned her back on the hall so she could face Dara. “He swears he lives in the woods. He says his whole family's dead.”

“Oh no,” Dara murmured.

“And he doesn't have foster parents. Or a social worker. Or basically . . . anything.”

“Seriously?”

“Also, he was humping the bed.”

At that, Dara pulled a face. Apparently that was her tipping point, because she rolled her eyes. Reclaiming the bag from the drugstore, she brushed past Sofia. “If you don't want him to stay, that's fine. You can just say that.”

“All I'm saying is that we don't know anything about him . . .” Sofia trailed off, watching Dara stalk into Javier's room fearlessly. Now she was the one eavesdropping, trying to make out Cade and Dara's quiet conversation from the top of the stairs.

It was her house, so she could barge in if she wanted to. But the problem with Dara was that she was a pit bull. Once she decided to dig her teeth in, she'd hold on until somebody pried her jaws open with a crowbar.

Still blocking the hall, Sofia wasn't sure what she could say to call off the pit bull. The weird thing was, she wasn't afraid of Cade. She really wasn't that worried about him staying there while her parents were away. In fact, she thought it might make her feel the tiniest bit better, not being alone all week.

But Dara had already done one crazy thing. Two, if you counted trading spring break with the Mouse for spring break with a bear. (And she did.) The possibility of more irrational insanity was extremely high. Therefore, it was Sofia's job, sacred duty, etcetera, to save Dara from herself.

Pushing the bedroom door open, Sofia sighed. “That is not how you put on a bandage. Now I remember why you dropped out of Girl Scouts.”

“I joined the photography club,” Dara said.

“Whatever,” Sofia replied. “Just let me. You don't want him to lose a nipple to gangrene, do you?”

To Sofia's delight, Cade and Dara both squirmed.

Sixteen

F
lattening herself, Dara tried to slip between her back door and the frame, like a note left between classes.

Her head buzzed, thoughts fast and distracting. Maybe she shouldn't have left Cade at Sofia's. He was in good hands, but it wasn't the same. As soon as she got inside, she turned the knob to silently close the door.

Sunlight slanted in the west, the same shade as a split peach. It spilled around the door, casting long shadows on the kitchen floor.

Dara could sneak all she wanted, but she was undeniably late.

The latch whispered closed, and Dara's sister cleared her throat. Spine stiffening, Dara turned to face her. On a good day, a bribe could shut Lia up. Or a tradesie; now that Lia had her little sophomore social club, she needed big sis to cover from time to time.

“Loser,” Lia said. She didn't give Dara the chance to negotiate. She polished off the milk in her cereal bowl and tossed it the sink. It clattered, rattling against breakfast dishes and OJ glasses.

The noise worked as expected.

“Is that Dara?” their mother called, her footsteps approaching.

“Thanks,” Dara hissed.

“Stop stealing my sweaters,” Lia snitted. Then she raised her voice. “Yeah, it's her!”

Now Mom's footsteps thundered. She stalked into the kitchen, then stopped abruptly. Phone in one hand, she waved the other. “Nice of you to finally waltz in!”

“It was more of a shuffle.” Even though she knew better than to deploy sarcasm in her parents' general direction, Dara winced when she heard herself say that.

“Funny,” Mrs. Porter said. Into the phone, she said, “Yes, it's her. Do you want to talk to her?”

Lia stage-whispered through a smirk. “Dad's pissed.”

Dara muttered back, “No, really?”

Mrs. Porter hung up and tossed the phone on the counter. She exhaled heavily. “So let's hear it. Where were you?”

“Sofia's,” Dara said.

Mrs. Porter narrowed her eyes. “Sofia was at work, where she was supposed to be.”

“It's too loud at your office to do trig. I went to Sofia's to finish it.”

Lips pursed, Mrs. Porter glanced over at Lia and caught her making a face. She jerked a thumb at her. Dismissed, without even a word.

Skulking from the kitchen, Lia shot Dara another dirty look before ducking around the hallway door.

“She's listening at the door,” Dara said.

Barking, Mrs. Porter shouted, “Go finish your homework, Lia!”

Feet pounded on the stairs, and Mrs. Porter pinched the bridge of her nose when Lia's bedroom door slammed. Nostrils flaring, she took a long, calming breath, then turned her attention on Dara once more. “Let me see your book.”

“What?”

Holding out a hand, Mrs. Porter approached her. “Your trig book. Let me see it.”

Ugh, Dara should have known better. Never lie without backup. The book sat in her locker, the finished assignment pressed between the pages. She liked to knock her homework out during lunch when she could.

“Okay, I didn't.”

“You,” Mrs. Porter said, angling to point toward the door, “are grounded. You go to school, you come home. That's it.”

Dara looked away. “Fine.”

“I'm
this
close to canceling Sofia's internship. I don't appreciate being lied to.”

Panic replaced Dara's irritation. Sofia loved working at At-Risk Outreach. She was sickly addicted to policy and spreadsheets, do-gooding and causes—Mrs. Porter had plenty. One day, Sofia fully expected to spend her days changing the world at her own environmental nonprofit, so the internship with Mrs. Porter was her mini holy grail.

It was low to threaten Sofia's internship. But Dara knew better than to mouth off about the injustice. There were other ways to protect her friend. Pretending to be contrite, Dara bowed her head. “She didn't want to cover for me, I made her. I wanted to see Josh.”

Exasperated, Mrs. Porter sighed. “That's what I thought.” Slumping to lean against the kitchen island, she waved an impatient hand at Dara. “Go. Finish your homework before dinner.” Then, she turned the phone on, already dialing.

Dara took the escape gladly.

 

These windows opened.

Cade rubbed his fingers against the bare screen. It tickled, and a buzzing filled his ears. Back home, the bee hollow would be making the same sound. Sleepy drones woke; the queen walked among them. It was almost time for them to swarm. They'd leave the hive in the hollow to a new queen, and she had so much work to do before there would be summer honey.

An unfamiliar exhaustion blanketed Cade. Everything inside his chest felt heavy, and his muscles longed to curl and still. He'd felt that way before, when his mother died. Then, after his father. Too tired, too heavy to do anything but mourn. This was a smaller version of that. He didn't know it was called homesickness.

Pushing the screen, Cade jumped back when it popped. He didn't know where Sofia was. If she was close enough to hear. There were no trees to camouflage him here. Standing still was his only defense, and he waited against blue wallpaper until he was sure it was safe.

Then, with another testing touch, Cade realized the screen was fabric. Its edges were frayed. A cord secured it to the frame. With a quick zip, Cade pulled the cord out. Now the screen hung loosely, and Cade put his whole arm through it. Perfect!

Cade climbed through the window. His bare toes clutched at the brick sill; he reached out to frame himself in it. It wasn't so far up. He'd jumped from higher, though at home, he had branches and vines to slow his descent, and outside Sofia's window there was nothing but smooth grass.

Considering the house, Cade lit up. A rail ran near the window, attached to the roof. It wasn't a vine, but it would do. Cool wind touched his skin. It called to him, urging him to follow it to the woods again.
Back home, come home,
it said.

The rail felt sturdy. Metal, maybe, with grooves pressed into it. It fit neatly into his hand, so Cade dug in and jumped. For a second, he clung to the house, steady and deft as a squirrel.

Then, the rail cracked. Dust flew up, burning Cade's nose. Crumpling under his weight, the rail pulled away from the house. At first a little, then completely. Twisting in the air, Cade braced for the impact. When he crashed to the ground, he fell on his good side.

His thoughts and breath flew out of him. Blood roaring, he heard nothing but his own heartbeat. Lights went on everywhere. In Sofia's house, and the houses next to hers. A shadow appeared at the back porch, so Cade scrambled to his feet. He ran.

The night loomed strange and unnatural around him. The concrete bit at his bare feet. Splinters dug into his palms when he hopped a bare wood fence. Greenish lights cast sickly shadows as he ran beneath them. His first thought was to find Dara.

But there was no way to track her. No broken twigs, no footprints. City smells burned away any scent he might catch. They were greasy and heavy.

At the corner, Cade stared down one street, then the other. It all looked the same to him. Stunted trees stood in the middle of green flag lawns. The shoots without blossoms huddled in beds, plucked and pruned and docile.

A heady waft of honeysuckle decided Cade's direction. He followed that smell, cutting through alleys and side streets. It was a real scent, a familiar one. Veering through someone's backyard, he knocked over a trash can. Hurrying to right it again, he fled when that house lit up, too.

Sprinting through the neighborhood, he lost the scent. Seized with fear, he stopped in the middle of the road. The city tried to blot the honeysuckle out. Closing his eyes, Cade turned a slow circle. Cold wind prickled on his skin. It cut through his clothes. Shivering, he turned and breathed in again—it couldn't have disappeared. He had to find it.

Just then, a car turned onto the street. Its lights swallowed Cade. Squinting, he held up a hand to try to see.

“Get out of the road,” the driver yelled from the window. Then a terrible siren sounded, and Cade bolted. The mechanical roar behind him quickened his pulse and his pace. The scent, where was it? Safe against a tall fence, Cade centered himself, drew another inquisitive breath.

There it was. Bright and sweet, cutting through the greasy wall of city night. Cade followed it through a clearing, one with wood chips instead of grass, and strange metal frames. The streetlights played tricks with their angles. They threatened, chained seats twisting slightly in the dark.

Cade cut wide around them, and broke out running when he saw a great grove of trees. They weren't his—too short, too close together. But they were familiar enough. Plunging beneath the canopy, Cade finally slowed.

A worn path led into the trees, but Cade avoided that. Paths meant people.

The overgrown brush snatched at his clothes. Cold crept beneath them, and Cade shivered in spite of his exertion. His real clothes would have kept him warm. These let every element in and kept nothing out.

Still moving, Cade tried to adjust to the half light. He would have done better by the moon alone. The lamps stretching above the park only confused the geometry. Holes were deeper than they looked. Trees closer together.

Cutting his own path, he cried out. A jagged, bone-deep pain pierced his heel. That new pain added to the old, raising a cold sweat on his skin. Teeth chattering, Cade grabbed a low branch. He clutched it harder than he had to. Dew shook from the budding leaves, showering him with icy flecks.

Winching himself to the ground, he propped himself against the tree's trunk.

He pulled his foot up and shuddered. A thick triangle of glass jutted from his flesh. Hazy with filth, the glass was thick and curved. Blood seeped around its edges. Though the pulsing ache urged him to pull it out, he didn't.

If he pulled the glass out now, his blood would flow. He had nothing to stop it with. Lifting his head, he drew a deep breath. No water in the air. Nothing to clean the wound, either. A dirty, open wound meant infection, and he couldn't even prevent that. The paramedics had taken his pack, the one with honey and yarrow and other medicinal herbs in it.

As much as it hurt, the glass had to stay.

Considering the threadbare T-shirt, he tore the hem from it. The fabric was so soft, it practically melted. Cade tore off more than he intended, a wide triangle of cotton.

“Josh is not getting his shirt back,” Cade muttered.

He panted a thin laugh at that thought, a grim anesthetic. It cleared his head so he could do this properly. Gritting his teeth, Cade tied the shard in place. An overwhelming agony raced through him. With measured breaths, Cade leaned his head back against the tree. As soon as this wave passed, he'd keep going.

Maybe after the second wave, he decided. His teeth chattered painfully, and he wrapped his arms around himself. As the cold and the pain melted together, he decided again: after the third wave, for sure.