The Wild Lands

by Paul Greci

  Then I tell them about Dylan, and how unstable he is, and how we’re pretty sure he went back north. But if not, he might show up here.

  They pull out their map and show us which way they would walk if they were going into the Buffer Zone. Then they show me the same thing on my map.

  They aren’t sure what it’s like now, but say to stay off the old road and use trails that parallel the road, like the one we took to get here. “The oldest stretch of highway from way back used to run next to two large lakes.” Ellen points them out on my map. “Unlike the smaller lakes at the site of the gold mine to the west, these ones are huge. And when everything started melting, the lakes swallowed the road, so they moved that section of road to the east and it rejoined the highway south of the lakes. Eventually that road bent and buckled and was abandoned as well. We’ll show you how to stay on the trails so you can avoid the huge swampy mess that grew out of those lakes. Follow our directions and you won’t even see them.”

  “People looking to hurt other people always hunt on the road,” Wendy says. “And after seeing all those bodies in the river, I’d be extra careful. Whoever is responsible could be in the Buffer Zone. It’s a good place to hide. Trees from the south have been sprouting up for years now. Millions of maples growing thick, and some cedars and pines, crowding out the birch and spruce, which were already dying out. It’s strange how quickly and completely the maples have become dominant down there. It seems unnatural.”

  Ellen nods. “It’s easy to get turned around in there. The place is turning into a jungle. You’ll see.”

  “After our parents were killed when we tried to go north,” I say, “in a note, they told us to try going south if north didn’t work out. They said to head to Anchorage, but we decided to follow Dylan’s map toward Valdez.”

  “I don’t know much about either of those places,” Ellen says. “We can’t feed you all winter. I wish we could. And you two are young. You have to go and meet others and try to make something of yourselves. Make something of the world. Something good. Something people will want to live for.” Ellen points at Wendy. “We’re two old ladies who carved out a life in the sticks. When we die, we won’t be missed. But you. You’ve got the potential to do something significant. Both of you.”

  PART FOUR

  CHAPTER

  57

  THREE DAYS LATER AND WE are still traveling the windy trail above the road, hoping to minimize any surprise encounters with other people. The green mass of the Buffer Zone is growing bigger. I can see ribbons of yellow and red where the leaves are turning, slicing up the green. We’ll probably be out of the pass and into those trees in another day.

  Wendy and Ellen gave us a couple of Mark’s heavy wool shirts and some vole stew in a jar, which I’m carrying in a little day pack they gave me. They marked on my map the best way to head into the Buffer Zone and where they used to go. Back in the day, they used to drive down the road, then hike to their secret spot. There is a little rock shelter that I hope to find; they left some supplies there, some dried food in a bear-proof container. No guarantees, but even if the supplies are gone, it’s still in the direction we need to go.

  I keep thinking about my mom and dad, wondering what they were thinking about when they told us to go south. What did they know that wasn’t said in the note? And why didn’t they just talk to me about it and really explain what they thought would be down here instead of just writing a vague note? And why did they say to go toward Anchorage instead of Valdez?

  I wish they could send me a message now, tell me something that would help. I mean, we have an almost-empty jar of vole stew and the clouds are threatening to dump rain or maybe even snow.

  Like the clouds can hear me think, the first white flakes start drifting down. A little breeze swishes them around our faces. I know it’ll be easier to stay warm in the Buffer Zone because there’ll be lots of wood to burn. But all the wood in the world won’t take the place of food.

  * * *

  “Maple trees,” I say, staring at the palm-sized leaves that are mostly green with hints of red. “They never used to grow this far north. Dad used to tell me over and over that things were changing fast. Too fast for people to keep up with.”

  Jess just nods. I’ve spoken to her a little bit about Mom and how proud she’d be of her, but mostly I’ve just been here with Jess, ready to talk if she wants to talk, but not pushing her. Also, we need our energy for walking and remaining alert. In this world, sometimes you have to put aside something important, like how you feel about missing your parents, in order to survive, and deal with it later.

  And it seems like when we get quiet moments, like we had with Wendy and Ellen, that important thing—Jess missing Mom—rises back to the surface. The main thing for me is that I know it is under there and that I will help it to come back up during the times when it’s right, when it won’t endanger our survival.

  We’ve been in the Buffer Zone for a little more than a day, and it’s just grown thicker and thicker with skinny maples. Like Wendy said, it seems totally unnatural how these maple trees have taken over.

  I wish I had a book or access to other information that would tell me how fast these maples have advanced. Not that it really matters, but still, I’m curious. And the more I understand, the more chance I have of not screwing up and getting us killed. The bodies in the river flash into my mind.

  The forest is even thicker than it appeared from a distance. Now I realize why people refer to it as the Buffer Zone. It’s almost impenetrable. Trees grow on top of each other with multiple branches crossing and recrossing, like a finely woven wall. The maples have grown up thick in the understory beneath the remaining birch and spruce, and there are some small cedars and pines—more new arrivals—vying for space.

  We keep parting the maples and slowly work our way farther and farther into the Buffer Zone. The trees seem to capture heat, because it seems pretty warm—warmer than the pass—but we’ve lost a lot of elevation, too.

  I try to follow the directions from Wendy and Ellen, but it’s almost impossible. We’re supposed to encounter two big hills with a stream running between them, then follow the stream to its source and look for some yellow cliffs, but once we got under the maples all visibility was cut off. The road has mostly disappeared, too, like it’s been erased from the landscape. Wendy and Ellen said the road would come and go—that in some places it’s totally gone and in others it’s pretty easy to follow.

  And to think that a huge oil pipeline used to run through here. Where is the evidence of that? I need to find a climbable spruce tree, then maybe I’ll be able to get some perspective and spot those hills, or the yellow cliffs, or sections of the road.

  The one cool thing about being surrounded by all the green is the birds. There’s constant chatter when the sun rises, which continues for a while and then invades our ears again at sunset. But the forest is so thick that I’ve only caught glimpses of small birds flitting around.

  I wonder about Max and Tam. Are they in here somewhere? They could be less than fifty feet away and we wouldn’t be able to see them. Or they could be dead. It’s not a good sign that we haven’t seen any hints or clues about where they’ve gone. I can only hope that they’re working their way south and are several days ahead of us. And I wonder about the bodies in the river. Are the people responsible for the massacre hiding out in the Buffer Zone?

  We find a few patches of cranberries, stuff our faces with the sour fruit, then fill the empty vole-stew jar about a quarter of the way with more berries.

  “The next big spruce we come across,” I tell Jess, “I’ll see what I can see.”

  * * *

  In the distance I can spot what I’m pretty sure are the two hills and then, farther on, the upper edges of the yellow cliffs. I’m as close to the top of a giant spruce as I’m going to get. Jess is at the bottom of the tree with the pack, resting, but I can’t see her because the spruce branches below me are a thick green blanket. And below tho
se, the red and green leaves of the maple understory form another visual barrier.

  It’s hard to tell the distance, but it looks like we have an open area—a swampy spot—to cross just before the hills. I guess another five or six miles to reach the hills.

  The hills are tiny bumps compared to the yellow cliffs looming on the far side where the stream originates. The wind is clipping along up here, and I can see the faint white cotton of seeds being carried over the trees, riding the wind.

  I start to climb down to tell Jess that we’re on the right track, but then I hear a noise below and behind me. Or maybe it’s off to the side. Something or someone is crashing through the brush. I freeze and slowly turn my head toward the noise.

  I’m about to call out to Jess, then stop myself because that would tip off whatever it is that we’re here. And there’s a good chance it’ll just pass on by and never detect us if I keep quiet, because the forest is so thick.

  I look straight down, trying to catch even a glimpse of Jess, to signal her to be quiet in case she tries to call out to me, but I can’t see her.

  The brush-crashing noises get louder and louder. And my heart’s pounding through my wool shirt.

  The noises stop. I take a breath and hold it.

  Then they start up again.

  I move my head in and out of the branches, stretching my neck. I want a glimpse of Jess, but I can’t get one. I want to whisper to her, tell her to start climbing the tree and then sit without moving. I wish we’d made a plan before I’d climbed, or that I’d had her climb partway and wait above the ground.

  My eyes start watering. Moisture drips from my nose. I can still hear the brush rumbling, the branches crashing. I’m pretty sure that Jess and I don’t make that much noise when we move through the maples.

  Now the noise is almost directly under the tree. But I still can’t see anything.

  I want to call out to Jess, but don’t want to give away her hiding spot if she is in fact hiding. Instead, I try just to listen and hope that whatever is down there either hasn’t seen her, or is friendly or at least harmless. Maybe it’s a moose or a caribou. But I think Jess would call up to me if it’s an animal or a group of animals, unless she doesn’t want to be seen by them. Like if it’s a pack of wolves, or a bear. Jess, my mind screams. Jess. Call up to me to say everything is okay.

  I hear what I think is a grunt. And then more branches being disturbed. And then the tree shakes, ever so slightly, like something bumped it. Maybe Jess is climbing up a little ways, or maybe she’s hiding against one side of the tree.

  If I give myself away now, that might be even worse for Jess. I’m paralyzed. For all I know, she’s taken cover and is safe.

  More rustling and branch-snapping invade my ears. The sounds are moving away from me—toward the yellow cliffs.

  CHAPTER

  58

  IT ISN’T THAT HARD TO follow their trail. Broken branches and boot prints where the ground is soft lead the way. The hard part is trying to follow in a quiet way so I won’t be discovered. I don’t know if they’re armed. I don’t know if they have Jess. But where else could she be?

  My sweaty clothes stick to me—like they’ve been glued on. I can’t lose her. But maybe I’ve already lost her. No, I think. No. No way. My breaths come in short gasps even though I’m not winded. Why? Why did I leave her down there alone? After all this time of keeping her by my side, I mess up once and she’s gone.

  What do these people want with her? Did she even put up a struggle? Have they hurt her? My brain pounds with these questions while at the same time I try to pay attention to their trail and not make noise. My heart is pounding. And when I find who’s taken my sister, my fists will be pounding.

  Are they making Jess walk? Or have they knocked her out and are carrying her? Is she being cooperative? Have they hurt her? Then with my next thought, my whole body shakes and my eyes grow hot. Are they planning on eating her?

  One thing I know: Jess didn’t give me away. She is so freaking smart. I mean, if they knew about me, I’d have even less of a chance of saving her.

  * * *

  I stand just back from the edge of the open area I viewed from the treetop. I’m not sure how wet it is, but their boot prints lead straight across it. This is tricky. How to follow and not be seen? If there’s someone on top of either hill, they might spot me.

  But what choice do I have? The longer they have Jess, the more likely it becomes that they’ll hurt her—or worse. But I can’t walk into a trap, because that won’t help Jess one bit. I want to sprint across the freaking swamp and strangle whoever has her. And I want to strangle myself for leaving her alone at the bottom of the tree.

  I take a breath to quiet my mind and try to concentrate.

  The open area is sprinkled with islands of stunted spruce trees, where the land is just dry enough for them to take hold. This little swamp is what the old Interior Alaska looked like. No maples, pines, or cedars invading here yet. It feels more like home than anywhere I’ve been since we started this journey.

  I can’t tell how many sets of tracks are leaving the jungle of maples and heading across the swamp. Two or three, I think. Maybe they’re walking single file.

  I wish I could see them, but the rolling hills make it difficult. They could be just a half mile away or three or four. I think about my dad and how hesitant he was sometimes. How he would watch things instead of acting, and how sometimes that worked to his advantage, but it wouldn’t now, not when Jess is somewhere ahead with someone who’s obviously dangerous. But my dad probably wouldn’t have left Jess at the bottom of the tree. Or, if he did, he would’ve had a plan about what to do if someone came.

  I take a couple of steps out of the maples. I just need to follow the tracks. Now. But I need to do it in a way where I won’t be seen, so I crouch down, bending at the waist and knees as much as I can while still being able to move forward. I follow the tracks up and over a small hill, and then toward a tiny island of trees.

  I slow as I approach the spruce trees, then stop at the back edge of them and stand, stretching my legs and back. The tracks continue around to the right of the trees. I keep following them.

  In the distance, I can see the two prominent hills that I spotted from the treetop. And on the nearest of the two, about halfway up, are people. At least two, maybe three, climbing the hill.

  It’s all I can do to hold myself back, but I wait until they crest the hill and disappear from view. Then I take off in a sprint, following their path, hoping to make up lost ground without being seen.

  Jess. Jess. Jess. My mind pounds over and over with each step.

  I round a tiny island of trees and keep going. “You can do this,” I say out loud. Just keep closing in on them and you’ll see what needs to be done when you get there. You’ll figure out a way to do it, a way to make those bastards pay.

  Then something slams my back and rides me onto the ground, knocking the wind out of me.

  I try to roll over but something heavy presses into my back, grinding into my spine. I push up with my arms, but it feels like a tank is parked on top of me.

  I hear the clicking sound a gun makes and think, Oh no, I’m dead.

  Dead. Dead. Dead.

  “You are going to keep following those tracks, Travis,” a deep voice says. I feel the metal cylinder of a gun kiss the back of my head. “All the way home.”

  CHAPTER

  59

  “HOW DO YOU KNOW MY name?” I say. “Did my sister tell you?”

  But all he’ll say is “keep walking.” I don’t know if his gun is loaded, and at this range I don’t want to find out. I’m pissed at myself for falling into such an obvious trap. My stomach burns. I taste vomit in the back of my throat and swallow it down.

  We crest the big hill, the one I spied Jess marching on. And now, down below, I can see circular huts. I count maybe a dozen. And a few smaller, more traditional square-shaped cabins.

  I think about the bodies floating dow
n the river, and the person I saw across the river as Jess and I crossed. I wonder if the guy with the gun to my back was involved.

  “Did you see the bodies in the river?” I ask over my shoulder while continuing to walk. “Who were those people? Was that you I saw the day my sister and I swam across? You may as well speak to me. I mean, you’ve got the gun. And you know my name. You’re obviously in charge here, unless of course you’re just following orders. I’d be a fool to try to pull anything on you.”

  “You got that right.”

  “I wonder if that gun of yours is even loaded. Even if it is, why waste a bullet on me?” I let the question hang, then say, “I know you can’t have a steady supply.”

  I walk a few more steps, then stop and turn around. “Go ahead,” I say. “Shoot me.”

  “Just keep walking.” This guy looks like he’s a few years older than me. He’s built like a weight lifter and is a little taller than me, like maybe six foot two or three, and has short, short hair—a buzz cut. And he’s clean-shaven. Military looking. I wonder what he thinks of my long blond hair and scraggly beard.

  I just stand there. He has the gun trained on my chest from about ten feet away. “Aren’t you going to shoot?” I ask. Sweat’s dripping from my armpits down my sides. My voice sounds shaky to me—like I’m scared, because I am.

  I can see his big arms quivering a little bit.

  “I’m a human being, just like you,” I say. “So is my sister.” Then I turn and keep walking.

  * * *

  I’m escorted into the largest of the circular structures, which appears to be constructed totally from maple logs. The walls are about eight feet tall, and the roof slants up at a steep angle from all directions, so the whole thing looks like an upside-down ice cream cone.

  I wonder where Jess is. She has to be okay. Just has to be.