It was wishful thinking.
River didn’t tell the boy all that, however. He’d already shared enough with him, not to mention the rest of the world. The guy seemed unconcerned with River’s silence and kept on chattering.
“What’s your name, anyway? I saved your life—I should at least know your name.”
River shifted position on the log. “River.”
“River.” The boy sat on a large rock near the fire. “Like ‘cry me a river’?”
“Just River.”
“Your parents hippies or something?”
“No.” Even through the fog still clouding his mind, he could tell that the guy’s jittery eagerness meant he was waiting for something from him, so he finally asked, “What’s your name?”
“Are you kidding?” The boy rubbed a hand on his cheek, his eyebrows jumping high enough to raise his hairline. River had asked the wrong question. “I mean, I guess I look kind of ragged from being out here so long, but seriously, you don’t recognize me?”
“Sorry.” River used a stick to push another log into the dying fire.
“ThreeDz?”
“Three-D? That’s your name?”
“No, man, my name’s Trip.”
“Trip? Like falling down?”
“I prefer ‘What a long strange Trip it’s been.’ Or ‘Trip the light fantastic.’ Ever hear that one?” He studied River’s face, which remained politely unruffled, for a reaction. “But yeah, like falling down, too. Come on, are you serious? Internet-famous computer whiz kid? I was on the Today show. You’ve never heard of ThreeDz? The ThreeDz app? I created that.”
River shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re something else, River. I mean, you go for a morning dip in icy water and nearly kill yourself, and now you tell me you don’t know about ThreeDz?”
“So, what is it?” River asked, trying to keep irritation from his voice.
River had never given much thought to whatever the latest tech gadget or app might be, and he certainly didn’t care what happened on the Today show. His parents had built their home on the edge of 1,500 square wilderness miles. He could bring a walkie-talkie into the woods for weeks at a time. What did he need a smartphone for? He didn’t need to check e-mail in front of a campfire. What it meant, however, was that sometimes it felt like everyone was speaking a language he’d never wanted to learn. The language Trip was speaking now when he lifted his arms high and spread them wide.
“ThreeDz, man! It made all this possible. The live stream, the Skyms—that’s ThreeDz tech.”
“So why’s it called Three-D?”
“ThreeDz, ThreeDz. It’s a three-D camera stream. That camera you almost died for this morning? You made the right call. It’s worth more than your sorry ass.”
“You invented the Skyms?” River said, impressed. They were small and flat, like a frying pan about eight inches around, with five separate, detachable camera lenses and a tiny screen in their center. He could tell they embodied a complex system, the way they tracked the contestants, how the lens zoomed in and focused on minute detail and slight movements as if propelled by instinct. When in the air, they split apart into five minicameras, capturing every angle of the environment to transmit a 3-D image, then joined together again. A week into the show, River realized he’d started imagining the Skym was some kind of intelligent alien creature. He’d had to remind himself that while it was a smart machine, it was mindless. Skyms had movement trackers, recognition data, motion sensors, and facial-expression readers, but they weren’t alive. They couldn’t think.
“Nah, I didn’t invent the Skyms,” Trip said. “But I did design the app that streams the three-D VR content. Without me, those things are useless.”
“It’s pretty useless to me. You should have invented a battery that lasts longer.” River regretted the comment when Trip grimaced, as if his feelings were hurt. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s cool. You’re not a tech guy, I get it.” He held his own cup up to River, toasting him in the air. “I’ll still share dinner with you. Nothing fancy, just snails from the rocks.” He nodded to where water lapped the shore. Pebbles rustled as waves rolled them out again, and the ocean rippled with foam and strips of seaweed. River welcomed the offer. Having something in his stomach, even the little pile of snails, would take some of the chill away.
Trip gestured to his temporary shelter. “My real camp is over the ridge. I didn’t mean to be gone this long, but I didn’t want to ditch you, you know? You’re the first person I’ve seen in weeks. Anyway, this is all I put together for tonight. Not bad, though, considering.”
River surveyed the ramshackle lean-to. It was wobbly, and if it rained tonight it wouldn’t offer any cover.
River inhaled the cool, salty air. They hadn’t been told where the show was filming, but the landscape reminded him of the Pacific Northwest, where he’d grown up.
What Trip had said earlier wasn’t exactly true: he hadn’t saved River’s life. If any of them got into real trouble, they’d be rescued. The show wouldn’t let anyone die. But getting doused in freezing water, with no fire or dry clothes, River would have had to tap out, and the deal with Jim wouldn’t fly after only a few weeks as a contestant. At least Trip had saved him from that.
River looked out at the bay, wondering if he’d caught any fish on the line of his blue barrel. He’d never make it back to his own camp before dark, however. He could afford to stick with Trip for a while. They weren’t a team—River didn’t want a team. He’d camped for days at a time by himself, and he’d never missed the sound of someone else’s voice, had never wanted company badly enough to trade the security of having only himself to worry about. But after listening to the other boy yammer for the past hour, he realized he could use a break from his own thoughts.
He dug in his pack for a length of rope, pulled on his boots, and set to work reinforcing the roof of the shelter while Trip kept up a steady chatter about apps and celebrities and tweets and what seemed like a million other things River didn’t care about.
He’d stay with Trip until tomorrow at most, get the guy safely back to his own camp, and then he’d head out on his own again. No harm done.
* * *
They started hiking early the next day. The sun brightened and grew warmer as they walked, but once they entered the trees, only patches of light filtered through the forest. Late morning, they found a path that River identified as a game trail, which made him cautious. He had no desire to confront whatever wild animals lived in the area. He followed the trail anyway. The hike would be easier, they’d get to Trip’s camp faster, and then he’d be on his own again.
In the trees, it was a different world from the ecosystem of the shore, where River had been spending most of his days. He’d trek into the woods to forage, but otherwise the ocean provided everything he needed. The forest made him think of his home and of wandering for hours through his own little plot of wilderness—except his home was much less mountainous, and also quieter. Here he was accompanied by Lawrence Johnson III, otherwise known as Trip, founder of the ThreeDz app, millionaire whiz kid who occasionally halted their hike to narrate to the Skyms. He talked about hunger; he talked about being sick of hiking; he talked about the three cars he owned back home, the yacht he’d bought his mom, and the flying lessons he’d been taking for the past few months.