Eventually, Sue breaks the silence. “She killed Brock because he knows the valley inside and out,” she says, stating the obvious. “If we’d reunited with Brock, he could’ve helped us get out of here. He’s useful. Logan’s not.”
“Still here!” says Logan, waving a hand in the air as if we’ve forgotten him.
“Sorry, sweetie,” Sue says, patting his leg. “You’re useful in other ways. I’m only saying it’s clear Cassandra is trying to remove anything that would enable Zoe to leave the forest. The ranger cache… Brock…”
“… Mike,” I finish the list, imagining Mike on his back, leaves covering his body, in the same position as Brock, except that his jaw has been rearranged not by blunt trauma, but by a bullet. I fold the image in on itself, crumpling it in a ball and shoving it in one of the brain-boxes I never open.
“Did you find him?” Logan asks. When I don’t say anything, he elaborates on the question. “Mike. He went off into the forest after the fire, right? Did you find him?”
I exchange a glance with Ken and Sue, too tired to talk about the letter, or Taft point, or whatever twisted scavenger hunt Cassandra has planned for me.
I shake my head, and we leave it at that.
The sun hangs low in the sky, and we decide to make camp near the edge of the lake on the surface of a smooth boulder that rests just a couple feet above the water line. Ken and I help Logan limp his way to the site, and when we get there, Sue gets to work arranging sleeping bags while Ken and Logan hunch over a fire starter. Everyone is pre-occupied with a task, and I take the opportunity to slip away.
“I’m 'gonna fill my canteen,” I announce. I disappear into the forest just in time to hear Ken shout back, “Don’t go out of earshot!”
I yell that I won’t, and then I do exactly that, because I don’t remember voting for Ken as head of camp security.
It’s a fifteen minute walk along the edge of the lake until I’m far enough away that I’m out of earshot.
The solitude begs me to inhale, and even though it burns my nose, it’s all I want. My nails dig into my skin as my eyes try to forget what they’ve seen— the way a face looks when the heart it belongs to has stopped beating.
Suddenly, my jacket is too tight. It cuts into my armpits and lays heavy on my chest, restricting the blood flow to my upper body. If I don’t get it off soon, my face will look like Brock’s.
The zipper screams as I rip off the coat, shedding it like a second skin before sitting cross-legged at the edge of the lake. The air is cold and my flesh prickles, but I don’t care.
I make a rattling sound that’s somewhere between crying, screaming, and the letter “e.” It’s a strange sound— one I’d never make in front of another human, but it doesn’t matter.
I’m alone.
The pine trees lean in, their branches spread wide with concern; they recognize the sound of animal suffering. I’m still feeling trapped, so I pull my shirt over my head, balling it up on top of my jacket. Next I unbutton my jeans before realizing I’ll never get them over my boots. My shoes land in a pile, and then I’m vaguely aware of unclasping my bra, and before I know it I’m totally naked, crouched in front of the lake, wondering where the Earth ends and I begin.
I take Silence by the hand, and even though I know she’s stolen, I’m sure that she’ll be mine forever. We ease into the water together, and I’m careful not to splash, in case Silence changes her mind. We push outward to greater depths, until the water’s at my chin. It rolls into my mouth, hungry and soft all at the same time.
It would be so easy, to sink into the Great Everything.
Instead, I back float over it, letting my arms move over my head, feeling like I’m a part of something even if I don’t entirely understand what it is.
The water directs me, sending me wherever the Great Everything wants me to go, and I imagine that my path has something to do with the way the Earth spins, or how close the moon is to the Sun. I picture the sun and the moon, orbiting around each other in circles, and for some reason the sun’s face is my face, and the moon’s is Cassandra’s, and we’re each reflecting the light of the other in prismatic patterns. The need to know her burns in my stomach, but not because of Mike. We’re connected by something else. She would be able to put a feeling into words for me— to describe the desperate ache of wanting to be seen by a man, like you’d turn yourself inside out if it would help him really know you. It makes what she’s done to us all the more horrible.
I thought you were my friend.
A red glow coats my arms. It’s the lake reflecting the sunset off her glassy eyes. I’m sure I don’t belong to myself, and the water whispers a confirmation in my ear, telling me that it’s true; but I don’t belong to anyone else either.
I belong to the Great Everything.
I ask the water to wash away the new parts of me, the ones I learned, the pieces that weren’t present in the sketch of my original design, the ones that obscure the me who wants to be seen. She hears me, and I think she does it.
The sun dips below the mountains. It’s night, now, and I’m staring up at million tiny stars, like holes in a blanket.
I wonder how long I’ve been out here, but then I remember that time is just an idea, and that forever has no end.
My fingers are blue. They touch something sharp— my numb hands are wrapped around a branch. I’ve been pushed ashore because that’s where the forest wants me, even though I’d rather be at the bottom of the lake.
Round rocks scatter as I stumble back onto land. The moon is bright tonight, turning my reflection silver on the water. My hair is tangled and matted, my eyes wide. My arms are too skinny, bony compared to the width of my shoulders. My waist is wide, and one of my breasts is a little bigger than the other. I’m defiant in my failure to be beautiful; and in this moment, I think it might be the best I’ve ever looked. If I’m really honest, I always feel beautiful when I’m alone. It’s when other people are around that the feeling changes.
Why didn’t I push Mike for answers when we were in a better place? My stomach knew he wasn’t telling me everything, but I accepted his story about Cassandra with no questions asked.
My reflection looks up at me from the surface of the lake— so fierce and unapologetic. She would never make the mistakes I’ve made.
I ate the fruit the world fed me. I didn’t push Mike for answers because I believed it was my job to make other people comfortable, even before myself. Fear of asking a question that might put Mike on the spot superseded my own basic, animal need for security. And instead of daring myself to step outside my comfort zone by learning to voice my own needs, I closed myself off. Better to hide than to change. Putting up walls didn’t solve the problem, either. I protected myself, when I should have restored myself.
I should have stripped off the world’s input like the clothes I left at the edge of the lake, and lived in my natural state— the way I was meant to be— true to myself and the way the Great Everything made me.
I should’ve said what I was thinking and voiced my concerns like a raw, animal thing, devoid of human censorship.
I should’ve asked Mike why his story about Cassandra made my hair stand on end.
What aren’t you telling me?
I should’ve told Mike that I hate horses.
I should’ve been the truest, purest version of myself— and dared him not to like me.
Take it or leave it, this is me.
The woman in the water reaches out to me, and I make her a promise as our hands meet.
From this moment on, I’m the most animal me.
I’ll never ignore another gut instinct.
Another need.
Another howl.
***
When I get back to camp, everyone is sitting around a fire, talking about my absence and what it means.
“Maybe we should be looking for her,” Sue suggests, her breath transformed to fog in the cold, night air.
“I don’t know,” Logan
answers, swirling what’s probably the last of our instant coffee in a tin mug. “She was acting weird. Maybe she just needed a walk?”
“Or she’s gone to think. She might be sorting out the same thing I am…” Ken says, not noticing my figure crouched behind a tree, hidden in the blackness of the forest.
“Which is what?” Logan leans in, like a middle-school kid waiting for gossip at the lunch table.
“Well, it’s strange isn’t it,” Ken continues. “Mike disappeared right when Cassandra set the fire, and no-one’s heard from him since. Meanwhile, Brock is dead, and it appears we’re part of a very strategic, well-orchestrated plan…”
“Which could have been put in place by Cassandra,” Sue reminds him, her tone suggesting they’ve had this conversation before.
“Or?” Logan prompts.
“I didn’t want to say anything in front of Zoe,” Ken continues, “… but maybe Mike’s not such an unwilling hostage.”
“Ken!” Sue shushes him.
Logan sips his coffee, as if discussing my boyfriend as a murderer is the most natural thing in the world. “You said there was a letter though, right? Why would Mike stage his own kidnapping?
Ken shrugs. “I don’t know. But I think the odds of Cassandra covering this much ground alone in the wilderness are slim. She has someone helping her, and there’s only one person missing…”
Their mouths shut when they spot me, dripping and shivering, a ghastly figure under the moonlight. Ken starts to say something, but Sue puts a hand on his arm.
The circle closes when I take a seat. Now all four of us are gathered around the flames. Sue offers me a granola bar, and I take it.
The sound of my chewing colors the night. Nobody says anything until I’m finished.
“We need to talk about next steps,” I say as I crumple up the wrapper, pulling Cassandra’s letter from my pocket and rereading it in case if I’ve missed something.
Logan’s eyes widen and I can tell he wants to ask me if he can read the letter, but Ken shakes his head.
“There’s a resort,” Sue says, treading carefully, like she’s talking to a feral animal who might snap at any moment. “It’s on the other side of the lake. Brock told Logan about it as they were hiking up here.”
The fire clouds my vision, its heat stroking my eyelids each time I blink.
“It’s supposed to be really nice!” Logan adds, as if a vacation is just what we all need. “It’s settled between the lake and Perception point— Brock said it’s beautiful when it snows.”
I don’t give a fuck what it looks like.
“Do they have radios?”
Sue nods. “Brock told Logan he should go there if he couldn’t find the cache.”
“How far is it?” I ask, even though I can guess at the answer.
“Well, that’s the thing…” Sue sighs.
“How far?”
Sue doesn’t answer. Logan takes over.
“Three days,” he says, looking around at the others like he doesn’t understand why this is such a big deal. “Wouldn’t be so bad except that it’s not a flat hike. Brock thought the mountains might slow us down.”
My nails dig into my jeans.
“We have enough food, and once we’re there we can radio for help,” Logan continues, ignoring the unaddressed tension.
We sit in the silence for a minute, letting everything we’re not talking about fill the air until it becomes too thick and sticky to inhale. A three day hike means we won’t arrive until Thursday— the day Cassandra expects me to find Mike. Moving on could be Mike’s death sentence. But Ken isn’t worried about that, because he’s not even convinced Mike’s been kidnapped.
“Zoe—” Ken starts to say something.
“It’s fine,” I tell him, holding up a hand. I don’t need to hear anymore. I already know what he’s going to say.
“We have to think about our kids, about getting back to them.” Sue adds, her voice rising an octave, dripping with a pleading tone that makes it impossible to look at her. “And Ken’s knee is—”
“You’re just taking care of your own. I get it.”
Sue’s eyes water and she looks like I’ve slapped her, but I’ve only said what we all know.
Ken and Sue already have their pack: the people who are their first priority, the people they would kill for, the people they would die for, the people they never doubt. And that doesn’t include Mike and I.
It doesn’t mean the Hardingers are bad people— they’re actually quite lovely.
They just know where they belong.
***
Everyone else goes to sleep before me.
When I finally shut my eyes, I tell my body not to succumb completely. Two hours, tops.
We have places to be.
My body obliges and keeps me up with memories. I replay them, again and again, half awake and half asleep, treating them like dreams even though I know they really happened.
The one I replay the most is of Mike and me. We’d only been dating a couple months, and Christmas-time was fast approaching. Every piece of tinsel caused anxiety, every red bow made me itch. Our relationship was new, and expectations weren’t clear— would we spent Christmas together, or apart? We were volunteering at an animal shelter where Mike’s friend worked— one of the guys he hired to help him build furniture, someone who knew his way around a table-saw— when it happened.
Metal cages and concrete floors were decorated for the holiday, row upon row of homeless dogs hiding behind red and green candy-canes and festive signs, hoping to be taken home by Christmas morning. We stopped at each one, taking one dog after another out for a walk. Big dogs. Small dogs. Ones with long fur. Ones with short tails. But with each new dog, Mike got more upset, his smile flattening as if someone had smashed it with a mallet. He excused himself, then stepped outside, and didn’t come back.
I waited ten minutes. Fifteen. Finally, I went after him, and found him leaning against the back of the building, smoking a cigarette like it was a thing he did every day.
“Zoe, I can explain—” Mike said as soon as he saw the look on my face.
“So you smoke now?” I asked him, my heart running in circles, trying to find a way to evacuate my chest. Two weeks after we started dating, I’d found a packet of cigarettes in Mike’s apartment, and he claimed they belonged to his ex. I told him I couldn’t date a smoker. He swore he wasn’t one. “Is there anything else I should know? Anything else you’re lying about?” To me, it was evidence of the monster within, some piece of himself he was hiding.
“I smoke when I’m nervous. I quit when we started dating.” My face must show that this isn’t quitting, because he added, “Mostly quit. I tried. It’s—” he paused, running a hand through his hair. “Seeing the dogs. It just gets to me.”
I turned to leave, but Mike called after me, “Zoe, stop! I didn’t tell you because I know how you can get about these things!”
“How do I get?” I asked, even though I knew exactly what he meant. I’m always looking for a reason to leave, and even though it’s unspoken, it’s no secret between us.
“Seeing these dogs without a home gets to me because, I’m—” Mike tossed the cigarette aside, scraping it against the concrete with his shoe. “I’m on my own most holidays.”
“What do you mean? You said you go with your Dad to your Uncle’s house on Christmas.”
“I go, but I’m not a part of it, not really. My Dad couldn’t take care of me when I was a kid because he got remarried and his new wife didn’t like children. I was fourteen, so I went to live with my aunt and uncle, but they already had kids. They had their family, and I was always just this additional person hanging around. I’m not an orphan, but I’m—” he pauses, trying to find the right word, “— extra.”
My brain lurched, trying to process this new information, struggling to switch gears. I expected to see the monster within Mike, but instead I found another part of him, something hidden, but not dangerous.
“When I look at those dogs,” Mike continued, “I know how they feel. People put up with them, but no one really wants them.”
For a moment, I stood under the eaves of the animal shelter, not knowing what to say in a place so marked by abandonment, so filled with creatures wanting homes. Then, I reached into Mike’s pocket and pulled out the pack of Marlboros and the lighter. It took me two flicks to get a flame. I kissed him, then passed him a lit cigarette.
“I really want you,” I said, holding up the pack of cigarettes. “Even if you come with these.”
That year, Mike spent Christmas with me, at my Mom’s house. We all made cranberry sauce, and my Mom made sure there were three stockings on the fireplace mantle. In the morning, we opened presents, leaving wrapping paper scattered on the floor, none of us caring if it stayed messy for awhile.
Nobody felt like they were extra.
***
It’s still dark when I make my move. My eyes adjust as I survey our camp. It’s hard to tell who’s who in the blackness, but I count three bodies, their chests rising and falling. Someone is snoring; it might be Ken. There’s no way to know what time it is without a watch, but the heavy feeling in my eyes makes me guess it’s two, maybe three o’clock in the morning.
My legs stretch long of their own volition— they can sense the hard walk ahead.
My sleeping bag barely squeezes into my pack, and as I push it down, I vaguely take note of how much dried food I have left. Whatever it is, it’ll have to be enough to get me to Taft Point.
I climb backwards down the edge of our boulder, on the side that faces the forest, not the lake. My foot slips a little, causing a cascade of smaller rocks to tumble into the shrubbery. The noise is loud enough to wake up our camp, but only one person stirs. By the body shape, it looks like Sue, moving in her sleep. She doesn’t get up. I’ve escaped an uncomfortable goodbye.
My feet hit the ground, and the second that they do, I’m a wolf on the move, laser-focused on one thing only— Mike.
Animals We Are Page 9
