I hate the way he implies that she can’t contribute. She can still gather. She can still cook. She can take care of camp, all the things the old and young do, but I also know that he is right. She will be seen as a burden. Her only protection now is the value they find in Tanner. We have to be successful.
“What if they don’t accept us back in?” I ask. “You say that they can’t afford to lose Tanner. But we could be gone for weeks. They’ll evolve without us, and if we return...”
“When we return,” corrects Cade. “They will have to take us. We’ll have resources. Things they need.”
The seemingly endless shore sinks beneath my boots as we walk on. “Unless we fail,” I say quietly.
We both know I am right. That our plan hinges upon us finding civilization, and there is no guarantee that we will, but he doesn’t answer, and I don’t keep pushing. Because the idea of failure is too big for us. Not now, when we are miles from our makeshift home, miles from the people who have kept us alive these last seven years. We walk with blind faith in ourselves because away from camp, it is all we have.
Without a working clock to go by, our group uses the sunset and rise to determine when to start the day and when to end it. We have been walking so long that the sun is beginning to tint the black with orange and the sounds of night animals have given way to morning birds.
I am tired and my feet hurt from moving quickly and afraid.
“I need to stop and rest,” I say and Cade nods his head.
I can see the exhaustion on his face and in the way his shoulder’s sag with relief when I suggest we pause.
At camp our beds are made of mats weaved out of long dry grass and covered with the blankets intended to keep first class comfortable on the plane. Here we have just the ground and one another. I find a particularly mossy spot between two trees and form my bag into a pillow.
Patting the spot beside me, I invite Cade to lay down. He is used to sharing Tanner’s body heat the same way I do Christa’s, and I expect him to lay beside me without hesitation, but he doesn’t. He leans with his back on the trunk of a tall tree, his legs stretched out in front of him, and the hiking bag clasped to his middle like a pillow.
His eyes meet mine for just a moment. Just long enough to give that warning look, that says keep your distance. We’re sleeping in the wild, with no one from our group to protect us, and unknown surroundings, but Cade still sees me as the element of danger. I flip to face away from him and squeeze my eyes shut.
Morning birds cackle in the branches above us. My eyelids feel like thousand pound weights, and I want to fall into a thick sleep without worry, but it’s hard not to focus on how alone I feel without Christa beside me. We’ve been sharing a bed for seven years, and sharing each other's secrets just as long. She’ll be waking with the sun and like the rest of our group she’ll wonder where we’ve gone. It’s selfish, but I hope she feels that pang of loneliness just the same as I do.
Cade is here with me, and I should be comforted by that, but somehow he makes the loneliness feel more powerful instead of easing it. Why can’t he just let go of the rules and hold me for once? I need that now.
I want to be angry with him, but the image of him posted up under that tree reminds me of our first night in the wild.
Christa and I were terrified to fall asleep. We’d all been up for hours and our muscles and minds ached from the crash and all of the things we didn’t yet know how to process. No one had been cruel to us, but there was no trust yet. We weren’t a group then, just strangers in pursuit of survival.
At fifteen, Cade was ready to be fierce if necessary. He scoured the forest floor for sharp rocks, anything heavy enough to crack a skull, he said as he tucked them into the pockets of his pants. He barely knew us, and yet he was ready to be our protector.
He and Tanner worked out a schedule, offering each other shifts to sleep and shifts to watch. It took hours, but Christa and I finally calmed enough to sleep, knowing that they would be there if anyone tried to hurt us.
Sometime before dawn Tanner drifted off to sleep, and when I woke it was Cade leaning against a tree, eyes puffy, but alert. He had spent the night keeping any manner of demons away.
He’s not so different from that boy now, still willing to fight to keep us safe. Only now the fight is as much against himself as it is any enemy.
Five
We don’t wake until the sun is high in the sky and my skin is starting to turn pink. We should have risen earlier, but the long night walk took it out of us, and now we move sluggishly around our makeshift camp.
“I don’t miss a lot of things,” says Cade. “But coffee,” he runs a hand through his messy dark hair. “There is no replacing that.”
I squint at him in disbelief. “You were fifteen when we crashed. How much coffee could you have really had?”
Cade laughs. “Maybe I just like the idea of coffee.”
“I’ve never tried it.” I admit, hugging my knees to my chest and resting my chin on the spot in between.
Cade stands and stretches his arms up over his head. I’ve seen him rise from sleep a hundred times, but usually it’s from my spot across camp, and he doesn’t know I’m watching or that it is my favorite time of day.
He grabs one elbow and presses it down so that his palm lies flat on the spot between his shoulder blades. I shouldn’t stare, but there is a sort of freedom about being away from the others that makes me feel like actions have no consequence.
“I don’t like to think about how many things we haven’t tried,” says Cade. I can’t tell if the way he is looking at me comes from desire or bitterness.
I never know with him. There are moments that feel absolutely charged. Moments when I’m sure that everything coursing through me is coursing through him too. But there are also times when I’m not sure he can stand me, let alone want me.
“You can bath first,” he says, averting his gaze. “I’ll pack up.”
There isn’t much to pack, but I get the feeling he needs a moment alone so I grab my bag with an extra set of clothing packed inside and head down to the water.
The air is warm, but the water is unforgivingly cold and everything from my ankles to my chin is covered in goosebumps. It’s not the kind of morning where you linger in the water, so I make quick work of my bath. Scrubbing my strawberry blonde hair as best I can before twisting it between my hands to wring out the excess water. I am in and out in what feels like long, cold hours, but it can’t be more than a few minutes.
Standing at the edge of the water I dig my feet into the hot sand and imagine what it would be like to bury myself entirely, instead of standing here bare and shivering while I wait for my skin to dry enough to redress.
Behind me there is a rustling in the bushes and the distinct sound of a stick snapping beneath the weight of something, or someone.
I feel the hair on my neck stand at attention as I quickly pull my shirt from my bag and spin around, covering myself as best as possible.
My eyes scan the treeline for signs of life but I don’t see anyone, not even when I peer down the open path toward camp. Still, I have that uncomfortable sensation that I am being watched and the goosebumps on my flesh turn into warning signs that have nothing to do with the cold.