Planet Urth (Book 1)

by Jennifer and Christopher Martucci

Chapter 3

  The constant rumble of my stomach wakes me. Four days have passed since I caught the boart. In those four days, food has been scarcer than usual. Yesterday was the worst so far. Typically, eating rats indicates a severe shortage of available food, but yesterday, I couldn’t even find any of them. June and I were forced to eat insects, mostly crickets and grasshoppers. I roasted them over an open fire and wrapped them in leaves to mask them. But the distinct crunch when I bit down, along with the irreversible knowledge of what I was actually eating, surpassed what a thin green leaf could do. I gagged on them, and so did June, barely able to keep them down once I swallowed.

  My body is demanding heartier nourishment, something more than crickets and grasshoppers. Physically, I am exhausted. Emotionally, I am in agony. June looks thinner than usual, gaunt. The few days of meager food have taken their toll on her. I roll onto my back to avoid looking at her. I am failing her. Today I will venture past our safety zone to hunt. It is a risky endeavor, but it is one I must take for June’s sake.

  I twist onto my side. All energy has deserted me, even though I slept through the night. I am barely able to push myself up to a sitting position. When I finally do, my limbs tremble, and a dull ache at the base of my skull persists. I rub my eyes with the heels of my hands, then force the corners of my mouth to lift. I must keep a brave face for June. I must smile even though I would like nothing more than to scream and cry.

  I give June a gentle shake. Her eyes open, and I immediately notice that the silvery sparkle in her blue irises has clouded to gray. Her expression is bleary, and her cheeks have hollowed further.

  “Hey, sleepy girl,” I say. My voice is chipper and I smile.

  “Is it morning already?” June asks.

  “Yep, time to rise and shine,” I maintain my put-on cheerfulness.

  June tries to sit. She hesitates. Her hand goes to her forehead.

  “June, are you okay,” I ask, and cannot hide the panic in my tone.

  “Whoa, my head is spinning,” she says and closes her eyes. Her thumb is rubbing one temple while her fingers work the other. “I must not have slept well. Did I toss and turn a lot?”

  She did not toss and turn. Movement of any kind wakes me. June was still all night. Hunger is what is exhausting her.

  “Hmm, maybe,” I lie. “I slept like a rock, so I can’t be sure.”

  “That must be it,” June bobs her head slowly.

  “Listen, why don’t you stay here and skip going to the river. I’ll bring back extra water and you can just stay here while I hunt.”

  June’s sunken eyes search the stone floor as if considering my suggestion.

  “Besides, I am going out beyond our perimeter today. Staying in the cave, or close by at least, would be the best thing for you to do.”

  Her head whips in my direction as soon as the words have left my lips. “What?” she asks, shocked. “You’re going to go out where Dad told us never to go?”

  I sigh and feel tremendous weight bear down on my shoulders. “I have to, June. We need to eat. You need to eat. We cannot live on grasshoppers and crickets.” Just the thought causes a wave of nausea to quiver through my stomach.

  “Those things are disgusting,” June shivers and wraps her arms around her body.

  “I know. And they are not enough,” I say somberly. “So I have to go out there and get us something more, a turkey or squirrel.”

  “I see,” June says thoughtfully then adds, “I will come too. We will go together.”

  “No!” I reply snippily. June’s face withers and I immediately regret my tone. “June, I’m sorry, but you cannot come with me. It is too dangerous.”

  “If it is too dangerous for me, how come it isn’t too dangerous or you?” she asks as tears well in her eyes.

  I bite my lower lip, measuring my words carefully. “June, I love you. You are my family, my only family. I will not bring you to an unsafe area and risk anything happening to you.”

  “The same goes for me!” she protests. “You are my only family, the one person I have in this world. What will I do if something happens to you?”

  Her question catches me off-guard. I am unprepared for how adult she sounds. She has a valid point. “June, you are staying here and that’s final,” I hate myself just a bit for treating her as I am. “I am in charge and I say you must stay, okay?”

  “Okay,” she says feebly. Crimson ribbons streak her cheeks. She is sad. I have hurt her feelings yet again. I cannot tell her that I value her safety over my own. She wouldn’t understand. Also, in her weakened condition, she would slow me down. I have a long hike ahead of me and limited hours of daylight. I do not have time to spare. Hunting and cooking must be finished before the sun sets. I try to appeal to her sense of duty.

  “I have to hunt. The animals in this area have scattered for some strange reason. I need you here, ready with a fire going when I return so that we can cook and feast before sundown.”

  June’s stomach growls as if on cue. “I am so hungry,” she says softly.

  “Me too,” I whisper.

  “Have the animals around here learned to stay clear of us?” she asks.

  My muddled brain entertains the notion for a brief moment before dismissing it as ridiculous. “No, some have probably just moved on to other areas to eat. Maybe some have found a lush meadow filled with sweet clovers.”

  “Rabbits like clovers,” June says and licks her lips.

  I swallow hard. My mouth is watering for tender, juicy rabbit. My empty stomach rolls under and over itself like a wave, snarling anxiously.

  “Yes, they do,” I say. “Hopefully I will get us a nice fat rabbit.”

  “I am still worried about you going out there alone,” June says and her voice falters.

  “I will be fine,” I promise. “I will come back, and with dinner.” I smile broadly until I notice a thin rivulet running down June’s cheek. My smile capsizes immediately. “June, what is it?” I grip her shoulders.

  Her eyes lock on mine. “I don’t know. I’m just so scared, all the time I am so scared.”

  I want to tell her I am too, that she is not alone in feeling as she does. I live in perpetual terror right alongside her. But I can’t. I need to be strong for her. I need to hold us together. “Everything is going to be okay,” I tell her as I draw her close. “I will take care of you, I swear. And I will come back. I will never leave you. I am coming back, always coming back.” I blink back tears that brim and threaten to spill. My throat is too tight to say another word, so I stay where I am and just hold her.

  Before long, June pulls away. She wipes her face with her hands and tells me to go. I race to the river with a small bucket my father left us and return with it filled. June is grateful. After a little more reassuring, I set off and begin my journey past our area of safety.

  The sun has just risen and it is not hot yet, but it will be soon. The air is balmy and the grass is coated in dew. My skin feels clammy, but I am oddly cold. I grip my spear tightly and use it as a walking stick as I navigate creepers and vines that slink along the forest floor. My weapons and canteen are heavy, and I hope I do not have to go too far to find an edible animal.

  Hunger has heightened my sense of smell. The forest is thick with the scent of evergreens and musty earth. My eyes alternate between scanning the low-growing brush and the ground below. I look for pinecones stripped of their seeds, for torn bark or bite marks of any kind. I do not see anything but thickening vegetation. I am also looking for impressions in the earth or droppings. Either would indicate that I am on the trail of a mammal. But I see neither. Most would be active when the sun is positioned as it is. Boarts eat all day long. I hope I will be lucky enough to cross paths with another boart, but I do not see any signs of wildlife whatsoever. I continue to press on despite feeling discouraged.

  T
he sun is beating down from overhead, penetrating the treetop canopy with blazing shafts of light, when the terrain becomes so crowded with growth it is difficult to continue at my brisk pace. Earlier, I began pulling large flat leaves and twisting them before tying them to trees as markers to follow back to the cave. My dad always told me I was a good tracker with an excellent sense of direction, but I do not want to risk breaking the promise I made to June. I will not take any chances that involve a return to her after sunset. I do not want her to worry.

  I still have not come across so much as a trace of a creature other than the occasional chirping of small birds perched in treetops. I am about to turn and head back, to give up, when I hear the distinct sound of moving water, the gentle hiss and rustle of it rolling over land and rock. Winding vines and undergrowth are giving way to more stony terrain underfoot. The heavy brush thins considerably, and sudden thirst grips me.

  My body feels overheated and the back of my throat burns. I want nothing more than to spear an animal and wade out into cool water. But neither seems possible at the moment. I continue for a bit longer and do not see rushing water. I decide to sit, depression crushing my chest like lead. Hunger gnaws in my gut, and I am forced to scoop a beetle from the dank soil and eat it. I close my eyes and slip it between my lips. All the while I suppress the urge to retch. I chew fast and try my best not to think about what I have just eaten. I chug the last of my water from my canteen, but still feel as if I may vomit. I breathe deeply several times, willing myself to hold it down, until the feeling passes.

  After a brief rest, I stand again and hope to find food. All of a sudden a high-pitched laugh slices through the silence. I freeze in my tracks and my stomach plummets to my feet. I hold my breath, listening intently, waiting, hoping my hearing is playing tricks on me. The laugh sounded as if it came from June. Who else could it be? She must have followed me, putting us both at greater risk. My heart thunders in my chest.

  I whirl around, half-expecting to see her, but find that I am still alone. The laughter sounds again, persisting this time. I follow it, wondering why she would draw attention to herself. She knows better.

  I sheathe my spear on my back and I plow through bushes dotted with prickly balls, feeling them scratch and scrape my skin, but do not stop. I must get to June before she gets us killed.

  Suddenly, the laughter is interrupted by another, slightly deeper laugh; a boy’s laugh. I move faster. Blood rushes behind my eardrums and my heart has lodged in my throat. I shove forward, the ground beneath my feet pebbly, until I reach a gentle slope that leads to a narrow river. The river snakes and winds until it ends finally at a lake. And what I see in the lake makes every hair on my body rise.

  A girl about June’s age, flops and flounders about. She is laughing, delighted. Next to her is a boy. He looks older than the girl. He, too, is laughing happily.

  I stand, hidden by more hostile bushes loaded with burrs. My mouth is agape as my mind whirls in lopsided circles, struggling to make sense of what my eyes are seeing. Human beings, children, are swimming in a lake just hours from where June and I live in our cave. Other humans are alive! My entire body trembles.

  The children continue to caper about and I find myself smiling naturally. I hear a splash but do not see where it came from. Are there more? The idea is almost too much for my brain to handle.

  The water beside the boy stirs before a large form becomes visible. And then I see him. He breaks from the surface of the water and surprises the smaller boy, grinning wide and greeting him with a growly “Argh!” The boy flinches then squeals in delight, but I cannot even look in his direction. My eyes are fixed on the one who emerged from the depths and is standing now, his waist covered by water, while droplets trickle between the swells of his chest to the hollows of his stomach. He appears to be my age. His skin is tanner than mine, bronze almost, and his eyes are so light they stand out and seem to glow.

  I know I should look away, scan the area and see if there are more, but I cannot. My gaze is pinned and I realize I have not yet blinked. Part of me is afraid that if I look away, he will be gone; that all of them will be gone, and I will wake from whatever dream or hallucination I am having.

  I take a tentative step forward, toward a thin tree. My heart drills against my ribs and my belly feels as if it is filled with butterflies fluttering and flapping at once. I rest my shoulder against its trunk and inch closer still, wanting to lean all of my weight against it. But a branch snaps beneath my foot unexpectedly. My sprinting heart stumbles, and the boy in the water with the glowing eyes looks in my direction.

  Though I am concealed by tall plants, bushes, and the puny tree, my breathing hitches and heat burns up my neck until it reaches my cheeks. I know he does not see me, cannot possibly see me, but I see him, and not just his profile either. I see his entire face. A strange tremor vibrates through my belly that has nothing to do with hunger. He rubs his hand through his thick, dark hair and I am riveted by the cords of rippling muscles that intertwine and gallop down his arms.

  I am suddenly lightheaded and realize I have forgotten to breathe. My tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth. I am overwhelmed by thirst. I reach a trembling hand to my canteen and remember it is empty.

  A sweet female voice calls out, and the boy with the pale, radiant eyes looks toward the sound.

  “Come on, guys. Let’s eat,” the voice says.

  The children groan, and I watch as the older boy shepherds them out of the water, and guides them to the shore of the lake. I follow him with my gaze. It is trained on him as if acting separate and apart from my will. He steps out of the water and, seeing him stand beside the others, I see that he is taller than I thought, and stronger looking.

  He shakes his head and water cascades from his hair and sprinkles the children. They screech, their joy evident in their expressions, and I feel my own surge of glee rocket from a part of me I never knew existed.

  I watch as a woman approaches and embraces the children. For a moment, I think she will embrace the older boy as well. In those seconds, a hot tendril sparks inside of me that is anger and fear fused. The sensation is completely irrational, but I am powerless to stop it. She says something to him that I cannot hear. He laughs, and the flame is replaced with an odd sense of loss. But when he speaks and says the word “Mom” loudly, I am heartened. The woman turns and faces the woods, where I am. Her face is creased, and she looks similar to the boy I have been watching.

  She continues to focus on the spot where I stand. I think about going to them. My muscles twitch as I debate. But something inside me keeps my feet rooted where they are. Just envisioning myself approaching them, speaking to them, to the older boy in particular, makes my breath short and shallow and my stomach free-fall. I try to slide a foot forward, but my muscles are tense, too tense. They begin walking toward an opening in the craggy shore and opportunity slips from my grasp like grains of sand. I am left standing, watching the lakeshore, and feeling a pang of remorse.

  But my regret is quickly trumped by pure excitement. I have seen human beings, others like me and June! I press my back against the tree trunk and close my eyes. I clinch my mouth with my hand and curb the elated yelp begging to be released. I have not killed a meal for us and the sun is dipping fast. I need to head back to the cave right away. The hike here was long. The hike back may be longer if I lose my way. A potentially risky situation is looming, yet I am almost giddy.

  I spring to my feet and bound back, deep into the forest.

  As I walk, I am lost in thought. The older boy’s face is imprinted on my brain, and no matter how hard I try, I cannot seem to focus on anything else. I make a lame attempt at surveying the riot of tangled bramble all around me.

  A tuft of glossy, russet fur catches my eye. My concentration shifts from the boy at the lake and grinds to a razor-sharp point. I train my gaze on it,
watching it, stalking it. The fur jerks then bounces, edging out of concealment. That’s when I see a puffy tail, downy and round, popping from a cluster of weeds. I unsheathe my spear as silently as possible, then creep toward it slowly, clutching my weapon, careful not to spook my dinner. I move in to kill the rabbit.

  I am just seven or eight paces from it, poised and prepared to skewer it, when it turns on me unexpectedly; whipping its small head so that I swear it is looking at me. Large eyes, more forward-facing and predatory than I have ever seen, watch me. A deep growl rumbles from its chest and its thin, black lips snarl back and reveal oversized, pointed teeth. It hops away from me, a small cautious move that is not in keeping with its threatening demeanor. I remain where I am, holding fast to my spear. Its nose tics then it is perfectly still for a moment. I prepare to strike, but am caught off-guard when it leaps into the air without warning, lunging at me with its jaw wide. I do not delay and launch my spear at it. The spike lodges right into its open mouth and pitches it backward until it sticks into the trunk of a tree.

  The rabbit does not move, and it is no longer growling. A small flash of triumph flickers inside me. June and I will eat well tonight. I walk over and pull my spear, with the rabbit attached, from the tree. I slide the carcass from my weapon and place it into a satchel made of animal skin then toss it over my shoulder. I continue my journey to the cave, to June and the only home I’ve known, hiking at an energetic pace. Tonight, I will sleep well. My belly will be full, and for the first time in as long as I can remember, I feel hope.