Wild (6 page)

Nine

N
othing held back the clouds.

Cade blinked through a haze and saw the sky. Only the sky. No trees stretching across it. No birds or cliffs. He felt untethered like the stars, floating in a vast expanse of nothing. Then the ground jolted beneath him, and there was pain. Weight. Across his hips and his chest.

Dara leaned over him, blotting out the sky. Her eyes were green.

“You're awake!”

His dry lips cracked, and he moaned when the ground jolted again.

“Sorry,” she said.

This time, he managed to speak. “For what?”

She shifted, her eyes darting but her hands sure. She straddled his hips, holding him down. And she kept her weight on a bundle of cloth on his chest. His heart struggled beneath it. It hurt. But she didn't move, even though the wind tore at her. Her hair was a whip, snapping around her face. “He's being as careful as he can.”

Something roared beneath them. Cade gasped when gravity shifted. It pulled them to one side. His stomach turned. It was hard to focus, so he reached out. Catching Dara's arm, it confused him when his fingers wouldn't tighten. “What's happening?”

Dara looked at him again. She knit her brows, her expression softening along with her voice. “Do you remember getting hurt?”

With a croaking laugh, Cade winced. “Hard to forget a fight with a black bear.”

“What about after?”

“Somebody carried me?” His thoughts foggy, Cade shook his head. “No. You're too small.”

“I'm not that small. But yeah, Josh did most of it. Now we're taking you to the ranger station. They can land a helicopter there. You're going to be okay.”

Fear slipped through Cade. He remembered his father saying that once, but it was a lie. They'd stood over his mother's body, her color turned to ash. Her skin cold, her body stiff. They dug her grave together, beneath the tree with all the trumpet vines. The dried bushclover wavered in the wind, and it was not okay.

Even though they'd wrapped her in furs to keep her warm, he couldn't bring himself to cover her with earth. He grabbed the lowest branch of the scarlet oak, and climbed. Climbed until the tree was slender and dangerous, until he could see the bare sky. There, he howled until his voice gave out. It was not okay.

Dara touched his cheek, startling him. Her hair washed around her face again, gold and tipped in blood. His blood. Worry creased her brow, and she pressed harder on his chest. “Talk to me. Kay, you said your name is Kay?”

He floated, inside his head. All of a sudden, she felt very far away. The pain a distant ache. Flexing his fingers once more, he caught her coat sleeve. His grip was weak, but the red plaid between his fingers was real. “Cade.”

“Cade what? What's your last name?”

Shaking his head, he closed his eyes. He snapped them open again when she patted his cheek, hard.

“How many people are left?” he asked.

“What?”

Cade struggled to shape his mouth. It felt like the words were slipping away, his thoughts, too. Haze filmed across his sight. Drifting again, a pleasant warmth surrounded him. Then Dara's sharp hand on his cheek wrenched it away. “In the world.”

Surprised, Dara laughed in disbelief. Looking up, around, she shook her head then said, “I don't know. Seven billion?”

That was a lie. Throat closing, Cade shivered. It started on his skin, then dove into his bones. His jaw clenched then spasmed, teeth rattling together. Before he could ask more, she unzipped her coat and sank down to cover him. She lay across the bundle on his chest, pressing it down with her weight.

Curling her arms around his head, she pressed her hot brow to his temple. She breathed on him, hot breath skating his skin. His flesh welcomed the warmth, but inwardly, he recoiled. Voice thin and panicked, he asked, “Are you immune?”

“Shh,” she said. She stroked his head. Her voice was soft and low. “I think you're in shock. Let's talk about . . . I don't know. Let's talk about something happy. Do you have a happy place? Mine is mostly in my head. An imaginary darkroom. Nobody uses them anymore, not really. But I like to think about the process.”

Breath draining, Cade drifted again. “I don't know what a darkroom is.”

“That's okay. That's just mine. What's yours?”

Her breath kissed his jaw. Skimmed the corner of his mouth. Slowly, he relaxed, but his thoughts stayed close. “The bee hollow.”

“That sounds nice,” she said. “Tell me about it.”

In the dark, beneath her warmth and weight, Cade pictured it. He breathed and tasted the sweetness of the air. He saw the shapes of the trees, their trunks twisting and elegant. Their branches twining together overhead. Their bellies full of honeycomb, bees dancing with them in clouds.

“Still with me?” Dara asked.

Cade nodded. “I'm there. In the summer, you can drill a hole. The honey drips out. Not too much, I don't want to ruin the hive. Just a mouthful, and there's an apple tree that fruits early. Apples and honey by the falls.”

“Do you swim?” Dara asked.

“Sometimes.”

Gravity shifted again. She tightened around him, but their smooth flight turned rough. They shook and bounced, little shocks knocking them together. She raised her head to look at him, apologetic. “Gravel road, sorry.”

Before he could answer, the sky turned dark again. A white helicopter swept over them. Its propellers looked like hummingbird wings: moving, but not moving. Cade had seen one, once. At a distance. He hadn't realized how loud they were. It was an inverted rumble, the sound of stone on stone underwater.

Dara choked up, a sob of relief. “They beat us here. You really are going to be okay.”

Cold swept in when she sat up. It burned, vicious like fire. Suddenly, the motion stopped, and she climbed off of him. Dropping his hand on the bundle on his chest, she promised him it would be all right again. Then she stood, she jumped over a wall he'd just now noticed, and disappeared.

Too tired to follow her, Cade slumped. The voices in the distance tangled to noise, so Cade didn't try to listen. Instead, he closed his eyes and lingered in the memory of her body on his. She'd left traces behind. All the sweetness and strange flowers on her skin perfumed his now.

His struggling heart thrummed.

 

Shoving her hands in her pockets, Dara made herself stand back.

The paramedics were in charge now. They'd swarmed Josh's truck. With all their weight in it, the tailgate dangled perilously close to the ground. They'd carried their huge kits over on the stretcher, because it wouldn't roll on the gravel.

Now they moved purposefully. Slowly. It bothered Dara that they didn't run over, barking out orders. They didn't flash or hurry. They had to know how serious this was. Why weren't they acting like it? Her grandmother would have said they were taking their own sweet time.

“Did you get any information from him?” one of the paramedics asked her, interrupting her worried thoughts.

His name tag said Raheed, and he had the kindest face. Maybe that was his job, she mused. To be calm and kind, to get information out of hysterical people. But she wasn't hysterical in the least, just concerned. Dragging her gaze away from the truck, she shook her head, then nodded. “His name is Cade. Um . . . He likes honey.”

“Great,” Raheed said, actually typing that into his tablet. “Does he have a last name? Is he allergic to anything?”

“No. I don't know.”

Raheed put a gentle hand on her shoulder. At first, she didn't know why. Then she realized she was crying. Not great, heaving sobs or anything. She didn't feel sad. Just swallowed up and shaking everywhere. His blood was so dark and she was soaked with it. Their camp had seemed so safe. Infested with raccoons, but safe.

What would have happened if Cade hadn't come out of nowhere? She and Josh would be dead. Missing and dead. Sofia knew where they were, but no one else did. There wouldn't have been anything left to find. Just their tents and their stuff, abandoned. No one would have ever known . . .

But Cade had come out of nowhere. And now he was bleeding to death in the back of Josh's truck.

“Why are they going so slow?” she asked, swiping her face dry.

Raheed's tone never changed. He was calm, smooth. “So they don't make any mistakes.”

That made so much sense. And it started the tears again. It was awful, there was nothing wrong with her. She didn't understand why she couldn't control herself. Inwardly, she told herself she was fine, and to stop. But that only made it worse.

“Hey, Dara,” Raheed said. He clipped his tablet to a carabiner on his belt, and put his other hand on her shoulder. Squaring her gently, he leaned down to make eye contact. “You did a good job. You got him here, he's going to be okay.”

Her chest hitched when she took a deep breath. It was hard to believe him. She'd told Cade the exact same thing, not because she knew. Because he was upset. He was slipping away from her. He'd needed to hear it.

She swabbed at her face again, embarrassed. “I'm all right. I'm fine. Sorry.”

Giving her a gentle shake, Raheed stepped back. “No need to apologize. You've had a crazy day. But did he say anything else to you? Anything that might help us take care of him?”

Shuddering with another breath, Dara shook her head. He hadn't said much of anything, not really. Nothing helpful. But the question dug into her brain. It twisted around, obvious and present. Then suddenly, she remembered. “He asked if I was immune.”

Concern crossed Raheed's brow. The tablet came off the carabiner again, and his fingers danced across its screen. “Did he say to what?”

“No,” she said. She turned when the truck's shocks protested.

They'd hefted the gurney from the bed. Strapped to it, Cade looked so small and helpless. His strange clothes littered the ground, furs and leathers all cut and bloodstained. The flight nurse held an IV bag over her head, and leaned close to Cade, to listen to him.

Raheed tapped the screen again. “There's an ambulance on the way. You and your boyfriend need to wait for it, all right?”

“I'm fine.” Dara watched the gurney, following it anxiously.

“How about you let the docs decide that?” Raheed said, gentle but firm. “They're gonna want to check you out. Probably give you some medicine in case he has HIV. You can't be too careful when you're dealing with somebody else's blood.”

The flight nurse maneuvered with the gurney, then called out, “Hey! Dara! Come here!”

Adrenaline surged through Dara, flavored with fear. She couldn't think of a good reason for the nurse to call her. Leaving Raheed behind, she jogged across the lot. She wasn't ready for the shock. It had been terrible, seeing him struck. Sitting on him, trying to stanch the blood. Trying to keep him alive.

But seeing Cade wrapped in pristine white sheets made it worse. He seemed so much sicker. The bandage on his chest was already striped with blood. She recoiled when she realized his eyes were closed, and his face was impossibly smooth. Was he dead? Would they really make her look at him like that?

“Tell this boy,” the nurse said, demanding Dara's attention, “that you can't go with him, but you're going to see him at the hospital.”

Dara slipped her hand through the bars to touch his hand. “Cade?”

His eyelashes flickered. “There you are.”

The nurse shot Dara a meaningful look. One that told her to get on with it.

“You need to go with them,” Dara said. She curled her fingers around his, then added quickly, “They're going to take me to the hospital, too, so I'll see you there. I'll be there, all right?”

Wincing, Cade squeezed her fingers, a touch barely perceptible. “Swear it.”

“I swear.”

His touch fell away. “Okay.”

“On three,” the nurse said. She shouldered Dara out of the way, filling the space where she'd just stood. “We're going up. One. Two . . .”

Josh's hands spread on her shoulders. She recognized his touch. She leaned into him, the familiar shape of his body, but didn't look back. She had to concentrate on the helicopter. It was wishful thinking, a prayer made up on the spot. If she watched until they took Cade away, he would be all right. Her heart pounded as the paramedics signaled the pilot.

Come on, come on, come on
, she pled.

Just then, Cade lifted his head and looked. For her. Dara knew it was for her. Because as soon as his gaze met hers, he settled. And he watched her until the white doors closed between them.

Josh led her away. Gently, he repeated, “He's going to be okay.”

“I know,” Dara said, and looked back one last time.

Ten

E
verybody talked about how clean hospitals smelled. Twitching at the end of her bed, Dara picked at the plastic bracelet around her wrist. After nearly a week in the woods, she could still smell sweat and Cade's blood—even though they traded her a blue hospital gown for her ruined clothes—and smoke. The smoke clung to her hair.

But just beyond her own skin, everything was tangy and chemical. Alcohol, hand sanitizer, filtered air. Soap on the gown and even the plastic of the trays and tools and machines around her. A few curtains away, someone had a tray of food. It wasn't identifiable as one single thing. It was just a mishmash, hot, meaty, starchy.

The hospital didn't smell clean, it smelled industrial.

It was loud, too. Even with people keeping their voices low, there were just so many of them. A baby cried; a nurse tried to trade an overnight shift with someone else. A doctor—it sounded like a doctor—kept complaining that her attending had pulled a vanishing act on her. Dara didn't know what that meant, but she recognized irritation when she heard it.

Then, heavy footfalls approached. A jingle of keys, a certain sway in the step. Before the curtain opened, she knew exactly who it was. Making sure her robe was pulled all the way closed, Dara wrapped her arms around herself. She took a deep breath and when the curtain opened, she forced a smile.

“Hey Daddy.”

He was in uniform. Of course he was. His beige tie was tucked into the crisp chocolate-brown shirt. Gold pips glittered on his epaulets, competing with the gleam of his badge and commendation pins. The gun belt crossed his waist heavily, and his radio hung from it, silenced. At least for the moment. When EMTs brought the county sheriff's daughter in, he was allowed to ignore everything else for a while.

Sheriff Porter clasped her face in his hands. He was a cop, he had a good poker face. But even he couldn't hide his relief when he looked her over. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine.”

“Your mother's going out of her mind,” he said, taking a step back. Smoothing a hand over his head, he seemed to be at a loss. Like he had been prepared to be devastated, except she was just fine. Tired. Still hungry. A lot shaken up, but fine. When he finally recovered, he asked her incredulously, “Why aren't you in Florida?”

“I'm sorry.”

“That doesn't answer the question, Dara. What's is going on?”

Suddenly tearful, Dara swallowed hard. “We just, Josh and I wanted some time alone, it's—”

“I shoulda known this was Josh's idea.”

“It was my idea, too,” Dara said. “I wanted to take pictures.”

Clapping a hand to his chest, Sheriff Porter said, “It's my understanding there's scenery in
Florida
. You were out in the forest? What do you know about the woods, Dara? Arlene in dispatch said you got attacked by a bear.”

Dara's head felt so hollow. “I didn't. There was a bear in our camp. Cade, this . . . this other camper, he tried to scare it off. He got hurt. He's really hurt. He lost so much blood. I put pressure on it like you taught me, but it was—I thought he was going to die. He might still die.”

With that, Dara started to cry. It was all just too much. When she closed her eyes, she saw Cade bleeding beneath her again. Heard the roar of the bear and felt the gravel road jolting beneath her as she tried to hold Cade together. It had happened so fast. Now it kept happening, in her head, over and over.

Suddenly, her father abandoned the interrogation and wrapped his arms around her. Emotion choked his voice as he rocked her. “Shh. Shh. We can get into it later.”

“It could have been me,” Dara sobbed, pressing her face against his polyester shirt. “It almost was. He saved us, Daddy.”

Stroking her hair, Sheriff Porter sighed. “You all got lucky.”

“I don't feel lucky.”

“I do.”

Sheriff Porter leaned back, pulling a packet of tissues from his pocket. He always carried them, along with hard candies and breath mints. Carefully, he wiped her face for her, like she was still little.

The poker face was gone, completely. He furrowed his brow and worry played through his eyes. He was just a dad, and he looked sick with worry. Overwhelming guilt spilled through Dara; she was the reason he looked so human. So afraid.

With a hand swept beneath her eyes, she choked out an apology. “I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. For all of it; I scared you. I scared me. I lost my camera, I . . .”

“We'll go back and get it. And you can be sorry later. Calm down.”

Dara hiccuped. “Okay.”

Her father handed her the rest of the tissues. Taking a deep breath, he glanced toward a buzz building in the hallway. “I need to go talk to a couple people. I told Harland that putting emergency calls on Twitter was a bad idea.”

Shrinking, Dara apologized again.

Makwa was a small town. Nothing much happened there, so the Twitter feed was usually as exciting as oatmeal. Shoplifters at the mall, stolen bikes, vandalism. A kitchen fire, and twice last summer, kittens down a storm drain. For weeks, that's all anybody talked about, Lightning and Thunder, the kittens down the storm drain.

It was embarrassing to realize that she was one of those calls now. She waited until her dad walked down the hall to dig out her phone. It was weirdly pleasurable to see full bars again. Pulling up the county sheriff's account, she didn't have to scroll far to find her fifteen seconds of infamy.

 

@PCSD_911 Three campers vs. bear in DanBoone Nat'l, Park Services on scene, Lifecom, EMS en route

 

Closing her phone, Dara slumped in relief. At least it was generic. No names, no details. Hikers had weird animal encounters all the time. It was bad enough living in a small town when regular stuff happened. The last thing she wanted was to be the new Storm Drain Kitten.

Not when things with Josh were so tenuous. Not with Cade in surgery, probably still in surgery, right that moment. Fortunately, half her school was in Florida and wouldn't be back till Sunday. That was plenty of time for something else mildly interesting to happen. Anything. Anything at all.

Dara slumped back on the thin pillow and covered her eyes. The sounds of the emergency room rose up around her. So loud. So busy. And yet, it all managed to blend together to a white noise. Soothed by the blankness, she finally drifted off to sleep.

 

Shortly after noon, three teens camping in Daniel Boone National Forest were surprised by a bear that entered their camp. Though they managed to scare the animal off, one of the youths sustained an injury to the shoulder. All were transported to local hospitals; two have been released. The third has been admitted and remains under observation. Their identities are being withheld pending notification of their families. The Kentucky Department of Fish and Wildlife Resources encourages everyone to treat all bears as wild animals. If you encounter a bear . . .

 

After signing off on that press release, Sheriff Porter headed upstairs. His deputies knew where to find Josh at home. They had already driven out to get his version of the story. What interested the sheriff was the third boy in the mix.

Dara called him a camper, but the EMTs called him Davy Crockett. They'd cut buckskins off of him, and he was bare underneath. It was their job to stabilize him and find out as much as they could. And what they found out wasn't much.

The boy was afraid of the helicopter. Afraid to go to the hospital. Wouldn't give up anything but a first name. He didn't know if he was allergic to anything, and he wouldn't give them contact information.

“Made me wonder if he was a runaway,” the flight nurse said.

It made Sheriff Porter wonder a lot of things. If the kid was in trouble, or if he was trouble himself. He was all kinds of prickly that Dara was involved at all. That meant he had to step lightly. Do everything strictly by the book—right up to the point of stepping away entirely. That wasn't going to happen unless he absolutely couldn't avoid it.

Stopping at the desk, Sheriff Porter waited to catch someone's eye. He smiled at the nurse who came over, smoothing a hand on the counter. “How's John Doe doing?”

The nurse tapped on the computer, pulling up a few records. Ticking his tongue behind his teeth, he scanned the screen. “Out of surgery, and according to this, he's awake. Do you want to talk to him?”

“If you wouldn't mind,” Sheriff Porter said. “We're still trying to contact his parents.”

The nurse pointed him in the right direction, and Sheriff Porter made his way to a room at the end of the hall. Looking through the window, he tried to get a feel for the boy before he spoke to him.

To him, he looked frail and small. Way too young to be sitting there in the hospital alone. And he had to be in pain. The bandages covered most of his chest; he hadn't been out of surgery that long. He stared blearily toward the window, lips moving. Was he talking to himself? Knocking on the door, Sheriff Porter let himself in.

“Mind if I come in?” he asked.

Cade rolled his head toward him. It lolled heavily. His eyelids drooped; his lips barely moved. “I want to go home.”

That was a good start. Sheriff Porter walked lightly, pulling a chair closer to his bed. “I'd like to help you get home, son. My name's Sheriff Porter. What's yours?”

“Cade.”

“You have a last name, Cade?”

To Sheriff Porter's surprise, Cade shook his head. He had one free hand and he raised it, just long enough to drop it against his mouth. It was like he was trying to shush himself. Ordinarily, the sheriff wouldn't bother with a minor drugged to the gills. But figuring out who he was and where he belonged was more than a little important.

Settling in the chair by the bed, Sheriff Porter tried another tack. “I expect they're worried about you, your parents.”

“Shhh,” Cade replied.

With a frown, Sheriff Porter leaned back. It took a lot of strength to be stubborn on that much morphine. It made him suspicious. He could send a deputy over with a fingerprint kit later, try to run him that way. But things would be a lot easier if the kid would just talk.

“Is there somebody I can call for you?”

Eyes widening, Cade stared at him a moment. Then he slumped down, all the tension melting from his expression. Fingers twitched on the pale sheets, and he murmured. “You're all dead. I think. That's what they said.”

Was that a threat? Or was he just talking out of his head? Sheriff Porter didn't want to overreact, but if there was something bigger going on here, he had an obligation to figure it out. He had a county to oversee, and innocent people to protect. Clearing his throat, he deepened his voice just a little. “Who said that?”

“Mom,” Cade murmured. “Just Mom. Have you seen Dara?”

His daughter's name on this stranger's lips made Sheriff Porter stiffen. “She's fine.”

“She was hungry. Now I'm tired.”

With a sigh, the sheriff stood. This was pointless; he could admit that. Patting the bed rail, he said, “Get some rest. We'll talk again tomorrow.”

Leaving the boy to surrender to sleep, Sheriff Porter closed the door quietly behind him. It was already a long night, and it had barely started. He hoped somebody at the office had managed to pull up a missing persons to match this kid. The sooner he had some parents to claim him, the better.

Sheriff Porter didn't care for complications. Especially not when his daughter was involved.

 

The next day, Josh folded himself in the corner of his couch and tried to blot out his parents' voices. They hovered over him, holistically concerned, fully understanding, and insisting that he cooperate with the police. Again. This was the third time in twenty-four hours that he had to explain the disastrous ending to their camping trip.

This time had the added bonus of Dara's parents mixed in, Mrs. Porter and Sheriff Porter, who was definitely on the clock and on official business. Dara kept shooting him sympathetic looks from her end of the couch. It was the smallest consolation that she looked as miserable as he felt.

Stroking his digital recorder, Sheriff Porter kept repeating things they'd just told him. This time, he fixed his gaze on Josh. The man had never liked him, and Josh knew it. Mostly, he didn't care.

“So you're saying you didn't know anyone else was out there.”

“Not until the guy left a button in our camp.”

“It was a necklace,” Dara interrupted. “Like a charm on a piece of leather.”

Josh's mom, Mrs. Brandt, fluttered in her seat. “Why didn't you leave then?”

“People do stuff like that out there,” Josh said. He didn't know why he was defending any of this. If they'd left when he wanted to, none of this would have happened. No bears, no strangers, no police. Pushing a hand into his hair, he waved the other one around. “People talked about it on the Appalachian Trail last year. You pass by a camp, you leave something behind. It's friendly.”

Sheriff Porter wasn't convinced. In fact, he looked at Josh like he was brain damaged. “Then what happened?”

“I ran into him by the river.” Dara crossed, then uncrossed her legs. The whole couch shook as she shifted anxiously. “He gave me a couple of fish. That's what we had for dinner.”

“And he just handed them to you.”

“Yes!”

Quietly curious, Mr. Brandt raised his hand. It was embarrassing the way he waited to be called on in his own house. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft like powder. “I feel like there must have been some conversation at that point.”

Defensive, Dara twisted herself around. “I mean, yes, I asked him if he was camping near us. I noticed his clothes were kind of weird. And he was skittish, you know. Nervous. He didn't want to talk, but he gave me a couple of fish and that's it. It was like, a minute-long conversation. If that.”