by Craig Hansen
My shoulders prickled with annoyance. I wanted to follow Counselor Tim to wherever the action took them. However, no chance to object presented itself, as the boys disappeared into the tree line, following after the older man.
Once the others were out of earshot, Samara cursed.
“Typical. We’re girls, so we stay.”
Brena’s face paled. “There’s a black bear running around, Sam. You want to go running after it?”
“It’d be more interesting.”
“I feel useless just standing here,” I nodded, agreeing with Samara.
Sam’s upper lip curled into a sneer. “Night’s still falling. Brena, finish trash detail.” She threw a damp hand-towel at me. “You wipe down the cots in each cabin. I’ll scan the edges of the forest for twigs and other kindling. Let’s use this time, girls.”
“Who made you boss, Sam?”
“Me. Don’t like it, you can speak to customer service. That’s me, too.”
Brena grumbled but picked up a black, thirty-gallon trash bag and began gathering soda cans, shards of broken beer bottles, and even used paper plates and napkins.
I didn’t mind Sam taking charge. Someone needed to, until the others were back, and Sam doing it meant I didn’t have to. I took her washcloth and headed toward the cabin where I was staying in with the other girls.
Annoyance of a deeper kind flushed down my spine. Spend a month hiking, Mom had said. You’ll have fun, make friends, and come home happier. Fun? Lie. Friends? Fang Sung, maybe. Lie, mostly. Come home happier? That remained to be seen. Lie, for now. Dad’s absence, my parents’ whole divorce, had done nothing to slow down the pace of the lies my parents have told me. I fumed over this as I worked on cleaning the cabins.
When I was done cleaning up the third cabin, Sam stuck her head in. “You about done?”
“Just finished.”
“Me, too. No one’s back yet. Pretty messed up, if you ask me.”
I nodded. “I wouldn’t even be here if my grandmother was alive.”
“When did she pass?”
“A few years ago. But still. I had more freedom when I was nine than I do now. In some ways.”
“What about your grandpa?”
“Didn’t know either of them. Don’t know much about my mom’s father. Dad’s dad fought in World War Two. He passed in the Bataan Death March, or so I’m told. Dad bypassed the military and became a lawyer instead.”
“Your dad’s pretty strict, then?”
I shook my head, disagreeing. “My mother. Lootah. She’s like a drill sergeant. Dad’s been out of the picture for years. I grew up in Wisconsin, but when grandma passed, I came to Las Vegas to live with mom. Tribal lands.”
“You’re native?”
“Yeah. Lakota, on my mom’s side. My dad’s Jewish.”
“That explains the weird first name. But Abbott sounds British, not Jewish.”
I sighed; I knew my family history was complicated and I didn’t enjoy trying to explain it. My parents loved each other. Until they didn’t. Why did anything else matter?
“Hey, princess, at least I’m trying to understand. Try living in Dothan sometime.”
“Where’s that?”
“Alabama, near Georgia and Florida. We’re the peanut capital of the world.”
“Alabama?”
“No, Dothan.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“No surprise there. I mean, try being Cuban in a small city in Alabama, an afternoon’s drive away from Selma. It’s no big deal in Miami, maybe, but there—”
A sharp cry split the air.
“Brena.” Sam whirled and ran toward the sound. I kept right behind her. Brena pointed at west edge of the camp. Out from the tree line emerged Mystelle, propped up by Tuco on one side and Jori on the other as she hopped along, keeping her left foot off the ground as she used her right leg to hobble along between the two boys, who were propping her up.
Behind them, Fang emerged, bookended by Counselor Tim and Jazz. Fang didn’t look like she was hurt, but her eyes looked sharp and twitchy. Tim kept a light hand on Fang’s shoulder and it seemed the girl wanted to shrug it off but had surrendered to that her counselor was also her captor at the moment.
“You’re back!” I felt cool relief flood through my veins.
“And safe.” Tim smiled, something he seemed to do a lot. Enough to be annoying, anyway.
“You forgetting my ankle, Tim?” Counselor Mystelle sounded winded, in pain, and her sharp voice indicated that she was probably low on patience, too.
“Not at all,” Tim said. “But you’re not some bear’s supper, right now. That’s a good thing.”
Shabby ran up to Mystelle, who pointed at her, stopping her in her tracks. “You. Shabby. Thanks for sending help. That bear chased me up a tree. Fang, too, but she got there before me.”
“Is that how you got hurt?”
“This?” She nodded down at her ankle. “That happened when I tried to climb back down again. Turns out, I’m not twelve anymore. But the bear was patrolling around our tree. If you hadn’t sent the guys, he looked as if he was thinking about climbing up after us.”
“Is it bad?” Brena had joined the circle around Counselor Mystelle.
Tim spoke up then. “I looked at it out there. Probably just a sprain.”
Tuco hocked up some spit and spewed it at a nearby bush. Tim slapped the boy’s shoulder with the back of his hand, shaking his head no.
“This is our camp for the night, Tuco. Think.”
“I don’t give a—”
“Hush.”
Tuco rolled his eyes.
“Not caring is why you’re on this walk. We’re gonna walk that apathy right out of you.”
“Whatever.” The boy waved off the older man’s words and wandered away from the group, toward the fire pit area.
“Tuco,” Tim said, “take Shabby here and finish what she and Fang couldn’t. We still need wood for the fire.”
“I gathered some kindling, over there,” Samara said, pointing out the pile of twigs.
“Good start,” Tim replied. “We’ll need more big stuff.”
Tuco muttered under his breath and started heading back into the woods. I followed along, running to catch up. He proved not talkative, speaking only when he had to, to point out piles of twigs or a hidden larger branch. Soon our arms were full and we returned just as the last of the daylight was turning the western sky orange through the fragrant Sitka spruce. Soon the fire was started, hamburgers from our last supply stop in a town, shaped like hot dogs around branches and roasted over the campfire. Mealtime ended with a round of S’mores and there was talk of the bear, and the chase and rescue through the forest, each wanting to sound like a hero for their role in the drama. Tim checked the swelling on Mystelle’s ankle two more times.
At least now everyone was talking, I thought as I enjoyed my hot-dog-shaped hamburger. An improvement over the first night on the trail.
4
11:01 p.m.
LATER, AFTER SAM AND BRENA were asleep, Fang whispered my name.
“You up?”
I had almost drifted off, but yes, I was awake after Fang’s whisper, if not alert before it. “Yeah.”
“These cabins freak me out. Where are the doors?”
“They’re made without any.”
“I know. It’s just—what if there’s some freak out here, who just hangs around this area and comes to check every night, to scope out who’s camping here, and if they’re pretty, what if he just grabs them in the middle of the night and, because it’s so remote, no one ever hears from them again, and—?”
“Fang?”
“Yeah?”
“People sleep in ditches along highways sometimes, and nothing bad happens. Others sleep in the safety of their own bed at home and horrible things happen to them.”
“Great! Now I’m gonna worry about that.”
“You know what’s a great cure for worry, Fang?”
A moment of silence passed.
“What?”
“Go to sleep. Can’t worry when you’re asleep.”
Fang stopped talking then. I drifted off without a clue it would be the last time I’d ever speak to the goth girl.
5
Day 3
July 7
7:18 a.m.
“SHABBY!”
Mystelle’s voice woke me with a start. My head felt cotton-stuffed and my mouth had a dry, gummy taste in it. I rolled onto my side and tried to open my eyes.
“What?”
“Where’d Fang go?”
“Fang’s not here?”
“No.”
“Did you check the outhouse?” My head still felt fuzzy.
“Yeah. If I’d found her anywhere obvious like that, I wouldn’t be here, asking if you’ve seen her.”
“Then I don’t know. I was just asleep. Until a minute ago.”
Mystelle sighed, and the sound was one of frustration. I heard Sam roll over. “I didn’t hear anything either, Miss Grant.”
“Me either,” Brena said, sounding fresh and well-rested, which irritated me.
“Well, get up, girls. We’re gonna all have to help go look for her.”
Mystelle left. Sam and I groaned while Brena sprang up with uncommon energy. I rolled out of bed and stood, but leaned back against the upper bunk, covering my eyes with my hands, futilely wishing the day away. “I’d kill for some coffee.”
Sam coughed out an unenthusiastic half-laugh. “Me too.”
“You two drink coffee already?” Brena sounded like a child entering a candy store for the first time.
Sam snorted. “You don’t?”
“Mom tells me it’ll stunt my growth.”
“Jeez, Bren, we’re the same age.” I shook my head, still fighting off the fog of sleep. “None of us are twelve.”
Sam grinned. “Wait a second, Shabby. Maybe the reverse is true.”
“What do you mean?” Brena still sounded cheerful, but the veneer was thinner now than a moment ago.
I looked to Sam, who winked at me. “Oh, right. That makes sense.”
“You’re talking in circles.”
“Brena, I just mean, Shabby and I both drink coffee, right?”
Brena nodded with caution, her eyes those of a cornered cat.
“Hon, all we’re saying is—”
“I’m five-nine,” Sam said.
“Five-three, and my mom thinks I’m not done yet,” I added. “You?”
Brena mumbled.
“What was that, Bren?”
“Four-foot-eight.” The girl seemed to sense where we were headed and her eyes looked shiny.
“Well, there you have it, Brena. Maybe you should drink coffee. Maybe not drinking coffee is why—”
“Screw you guys.” Brena stormed outside, fuming.
Sam grinned now, the first I’d seen her looking anything other than sour since the trip had begun.
I blew damp, uncombed bangs out of my eyes. “That was cruel of us.”
“Probably. But I hate morning people.”
I nodded and we made our way out of the doorless cabin toward the center of the hiker’s overnight camp, where Tuco sat crouched in front of a campfire, poking at the woodpile with a thick branch, trying to work the coals back to flames.
Counselor Tim looked at us as we emerged and motioned for us to come toward him. My empty, unfed stomach knotted. Once we stood close to him, he leaned forward and whispered to us like a spy from some cheesy movie.
“I heard what you two did just now.”
I sighed, then braced for the worst.
Sam bristled. “Now hold on, there’s no way—”
“Don’t make it worse, Sam. You treated Brena poorly. This is going to be a long hike. I want us all to get along—”
“What does that even matter? We’re all from different places. In a couple weeks, we’ll never see each other again.”
Tim shook his head, sadness in his eyes. “Treat everyone with the respect you demand of others, Samara Famosa. You will spend this morning back here at camp with Brena and Counselor Grant—”
“Who?”
I spoke up. “He means Mystelle.”
“Furthermore, she’ll be your walking buddy today. Everything you do, you’ll do together.”
“That’s just bulls—”
“Language, Miss Famosa.”
“This is so unfair.”
“Consider it an opportunity to get to know Brena better.”
“That white-bread chica? That cuca?”
“I speak Spanish, Miss Famosa, and I am familiar with Cuban slang. Last warning.”
Sam paled and whispered an apology.
“You have a breakfast to prepare.”
“I’d be of more use out there, looking for Fang.”
“Even so. You’ll be here with your new best friend. Under Counselor Grant’s supervision. And believe me, I am the so-called good cop in this scenario.”
Sam sulked over to join Brena and Mystelle at the campfire. Tim called the three boys together.
“Tuco, Jori, Jazz, you three explore the south side of this area. Shabby and I will take the north face.”
The boys nodded and headed off to the south.
“So I’m with you today?”
“You are, yes, Miss Abbott.”
“Call me Shabby, please.”
“I will.”
“You trust those boys alone?”
“We trusted Fang and you alone yesterday. Guess who disappointed us, so far?”
We began walking into the woods on a path headed north. The smell of an early-morning shower, wet grass, and spruce filled the chilly morning air. I shivered.
Tim stopped then, pointed to a spot just off the main trail. I followed his finger, searching for a sign of Fang. “What am I looking for?”
“See those hot-pink flowers?”
“Sure.”
“Know what that is?”
I did, but only because of the flier my mom, Lootah, had shown me of the hiking program. “Fireweed?”
“That’s right. We named our program for that flower. Fireweed Trail.”
“I was wondering why it was called that, instead of Oregon Coast Hikes or something.”
“Did you read up on fireweed? Know why we chose it?”
I shook my head, not really caring, indulging the older man.
“Don’t let the blooms fool you. It’s more than just a flower. When harvested, you can mix the stems into a salad. They have good vitamins. But as they mature, they can grow tough and bitter. Yet they can still be used, by those who know what they’re doing, to produce both honey, and the sweetest candies you’ve ever tasted. Something to think about.”
We started walking again and I felt baffled. “I feel as if you were just trying to be profound or something, but I don’t have a clue what you mean.”
Tim smiled and kept walking. “Just think about it. When the student is ready, the teacher will appear.”
“So this is my punishment? Hanging out with Philosopher Tim all day?”
The counselor stopped for a moment, then continued. “So hanging with me is a punishment, in your mind?”
Part of me, the tired, grumpy part, wanted to strike out verbally, to tell him absolutely. Yet speaking harshly is what had earned me this pairing to begin with.
“I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”
“Wrong.” Tim picked up the pace. Still hungry, I felt my stomach rumble in protest.
“What do you mean, wrong?”
“Shabby, you strike me as a bright young girl. In a couple years, you’ll become a bright young woman.”
“How would you know? Other than telling us where to go, when to rest, and where to stop, you haven’t talked to me until now. At all.”
“You see more about a person on the trail than you see through their words, Shabby.”
“Like?”
“Like, you exhibit all th
e qualities of a leader, yet you’re content to let others lead you. Yesterday you allowed Fang to set the agenda when you walked into the woods, even though she’s younger than you by at least a year.”
“How do you—?”
“Was that your cannabis?”
I snorted. “No.”
“That’s how. You’re older and smarter than Fang. Not by much, maybe, but enough. Yet you followed her lead. And this morning, in the cabin, it was Sam who started teasing and bullying Brena. You followed along, rather than putting a stop to it.”
“So?”
Leaves and branches slapped me in the face and thighs as we walked along and I hoped none of them were poison oak or poison ivy. Surely Tim, as one of the walk’s two guides, wouldn’t lead me through hazardous areas. Would he?
“So, you’re bright enough to understand the power of words, Miss Abbott. You knew exactly what you meant to say, and how it would be received. You knew that just now, and you knew that earlier today, back at the cabin. You said those things anyway, because you’re grumpy. So don’t tell me you didn’t mean it the way it sounded. You said exactly what you meant.”
We walked in silence for the next while, peering around through the trees and bushes, searching for some sign of Fang. I burned with wordless anger. I did not like how Tim made me sound. Worse, he was right.
After a few moments, we came to the northern edge of the promontory. To the left, we could see the shore of the Pacific, here the roar of the ocean. Below, straight ahead, was the path we’d hiked the day before, to reach camp. This morning’s walk hadn’t been enough to cause me to work up a sweat, but my stomach protested the lack of fuel I’d provided and I felt a sense of weakness wrap around me.
“See anything?”
I shook my head, my mind foggy, distracted by hunger. “I doubt she’d walk back. Especially this way. That’s a steep drop in front of us. If she decided to leave, I think she’d stick to the trail. Go back to Seaside, maybe.”
“So you think she’s run off. Why?”
I shrugged.
