“But what if we’re not meant to return?” Dr. Harold had broken away from the group and was pacing. He was so far away that his question was almost inaudible. A whisper, a secret only to himself.
“Don’t get paranoid, Doc,” Glen said kindly, and Dr. Harold seemed startled to be the focus of attention.
“I’m not. But look.” He pulled out the map and pointed. “Lower Post isn’t even the next Post. It’s just a place, a place very far from here, over a new range of mountains. These are dunes. These are dry lakes. And here”—he trailed his finger along—“is the only river I see.”
“Oh no,” Debra said.
“I don’t mean there aren’t any,” he said quickly, “but we don’t know. We don’t know what will make sense when we get there. Maybe where we end up, it won’t make sense to ever come back.”
They sobered at the thought of not returning.
Val said tentatively, “Well, maybe we should check in at Middle Post just to be sure.”
A few more murmured agreements rose.
“Maybe we should check with Ranger Bob.”
“Maybe Ranger Gabe is wrong.”
Dr. Harold from outside the circle suddenly cried, “Who is this Ranger Gabe anyway?”
“Okay, okay,” Glen interrupted. “We’re getting worked up about something as silly as the unknown. Don’t forget, it’s all just land.”
Carl interrupted. “And we’re people who live on the land. We travel land. We know land. We go where we want, when we want. And we can come back here whenever it suits us. There’s nothing to be worried about. So, I say let’s head somewhere new. Let’s go to Lower Post.”
“But this is where we first arrived,” said Juan. “Who knows when we’ll be back?”
Carl slapped his forehead. “We’ll be back when we want to be back. Didn’t you just hear me say that? We are sovereign over our experience. So let’s turn around.”
It hadn’t occurred to Bea that they might never return here. It didn’t seem possible. She didn’t know how to live in the Wilderness without their lovely hidden Valley and trips to Middle Post. It was one thing not to know what animal might stalk them tomorrow. It was another not to know which cave to hide in when it did. A fear crept up her throat so that she croaked when she said, “I’d like to say goodbye to Bob.”
Carl threw his hands up. “No one is listening to me.” Val tried to pat his shoulder, but he jerked away.
Glen smiled at Bea and nodded. “Then let’s go to Middle Post.” He nodded around the circle until each of the adults nodded back. Carl, the last, stared angrily at him before giving a curt nod. “Good work, everyone.” Glen looked to the horizon again to see that Ranger Gabe was truly gone, and the dust from his tires settled. Then he whistled and twirled his finger and they started to walk.
* * *
They arrived at Middle Post just as the sun began to drop. The pink light glanced off the roof, the numerous windows, and Ranger Bob’s pickup truck, which Ranger Bob was just climbing into.
He jumped back out when he saw them. “Well, all right,” he said, grinning. “You are not supposed to be here, but I’m sure glad to see you.”
Some of them smiled. Bea beamed. Agnes waved shyly from behind her mother. Carl sauntered to the small, neat building and pissed high against the wall.
Ranger Bob pivoted toward Bea, his arms outstretched as though to embrace her. Then he brought them together in a loud clap, his smile wide under his bushy mustache. He was a kind of cowboy, but not a wild one. More like one who’d be hired for a child’s party.
“You know the drill,” he said. “Weigh your trash, and get your stories straight. I’ll wait for ya inside.”
Ranger Bob turned and high-fived Glen, who seemed startled by the instinctual high five he returned, and Ranger Bob jogged inside. As he flicked light switches, Bea could hear the new fluorescent hum over the lower hum of desert crickets.
Val, and two of the children, Sister and Brother, weighed the garbage, and then others sorted. The Cast Iron and other vessels were rinsed in the spigot, which jutted from the little beige building. Debra slipped out of her busted moccasins and luxuriated in the patchy grass that formed a green perimeter around the building. She scrunched her toes in and out of the blades.
The fluorescents blinded Bea momentarily as she walked in. She covered her eyes with her hands and slowly spread her fingers apart until she could handle looking at Ranger Bob behind his gleaming counter.
“We missed you this spring,” he said.
“We got caught on the other side of the mountains by that storm. It just made more sense to work those foothills. On that side it was so calm.”
“Yeah, freak early storm. Getting earlier.”
“Yeah. Then, you know, it’s spring, the game is good, the bulbs are hard to pass up.”
“Of course.” He smoothed his mustache thoughtfully. “But I don’t need to tell you how important it is for you to get to Post when you’re supposed to.”
“I know. I’m sorry. We just couldn’t.”
Ranger Bob smiled. “Well, hopefully next time you will.”
He never threatened them. It was one of the many things Bea liked about him. Still, there was a seriousness to his words that she was cautioned by. “We will,” she said. “I promise.”
Ranger Bob cleared his throat. “You know you were supposed to get along to Lower Post, right?”
Her heart skipped. She felt like they were doing everything wrong. “We heard. But we were so close. It didn’t make sense to turn around. And we worried it might have been a mistake . . . ” She trailed off.
“It’s not a mistake,” he said, again with a sternness that surprised her. “Granted, Ranger Gabe should have caught up with you earlier. But there were some unexpected events that needed handling.”
“Like what?”
“Well. Hmm.” He screwed his mouth. “That’s classified.”
“Really?” Bea didn’t know why, but she felt incredulous to think there were things she couldn’t know about this place where they ate, drank, slept, and shat.
“It’s a big place. You’re not going to know about everything that goes on.” He winked. His lightness returned. “Anyway, really important to set out for Lower Post first thing in the morning. But we might as well take care of whatever business we can since you’re here. How many in the group?”
“Eleven. Lost four, gained one.”
He opened a binder labeled Wilderness State Study Subject Log. “Okay, gains. Name?”
“Pinecone.”
“That’s an interesting one. Season of birth?”
“Last spring.”
“So maybe last year, right about now?”
Bea shrugged.
He jotted some notes. “Okay. Mother?”
“Becky.”
“Father?”
“Dan.”
“That’s nice. Just the one addition, right?”
Bea nodded, thinking of Madeline.
“Okay, now for the part I hate. Losses. Names and causes?”
“Becky. Cougar maul.”