Among These Bones (Book 3): Maybe We'll Remember

by Luzzader, Amanda

  Chase followed the confusion of prints through the dirt. There was crushed grass and brush and more dark patches. Then Chase stopped and put his hands on his hips.

  “Well?” I asked.

  Chase shook his head and shrugged. “I don’t know. There’s no body, obviously. No human body and no grizzly carcass.”

  “Well, do you think he’s dead?”

  “The bear or Steele? Either way, I’m not sure. I mean there’s blood here. Right there. More back there, and there. But none of these are like a big kill site. There’d be lots of blood if either one of them died. And there’d be drag marks if the grizzly hauled Steele off.”

  “Look what I found,” said Arie, behind us.

  We turned. He held up Steele’s pistol.

  “That doesn’t bode well for Steele,” I said.

  “Any ammo in it?” Chase asked.

  Arie removed the magazine, then racked the slide. A bullet was ejected from the pistol, which Arie deftly snatched from the air. He’d become quite an expert in guns and fighting and other brutish arts; my feelings were mixed about that. He examined the magazine, then said, “Fourteen in the mag and one in the chamber.”

  “Two shots,” said Chase. “So he fumbled the piece when the bear hit him, and he never got it back. That does not bode well for him at all. Poor bastard.”

  Arie joined us. Along with the pistol, he’d found all three of our small backpacks. They appeared to be intact. I looked inside mine.

  “Ah, my tea,” I said, removing the small cloth bundle and pressing it to my nose.

  We spent an hour crisscrossing the grassy hilltop and along the creek looking for Steele or the bear or any additional signs of what might have happened. We even called Steel’s name and listened for any response, but both combatants had left the arena.

  “Could he really have just gotten away from that bear?” I asked when we regrouped and prepared to go. “It was so huge, so fast.”

  “Well, I couldn’t have gotten away,” Chase reasoned, “and you couldn’t have, and any other mortal human probably could not have gotten away. But that guy? I guess I wouldn’t put it past him. And the signs and tracks definitely do not indicate that he was killed here.”

  “What if he’s still around?” asked Arie. “What if he finds us?”

  “I don’t think we need to worry about that, kid,” Chase said. “He’s totally unarmed, for one thing, and I know I gave him a good walloping with that tree branch. The bear knocked him flat on his ass, too, which surely didn’t do much for his health. He’s lost some blood, maybe a lot. If he really is still drawing breath, he’s busted up and at least no threat to us.”

  “And what about the bear?” asked Arie.

  “A more serious threat, for sure,” said Chase, nodding. “But we know Steele got two shots off before he lost this pistol, and he never struck me as the kind of guy who missed at that range. Those little 9 mm rounds weren’t enough to stop the bear in its tracks, obviously, but even a grizzly feels a nine-millimeter bullet when it hits center-mass. My guess is that he’s holed up somewhere he feels safe, and he’s gonna need a few days to get back on his feet, too.”

  “So,” I said, “they fought to a draw.”

  Chase nodded.

  “Okay,” I went on, “then let’s head for that ranger station and see if there’s a vehicle we can use to get us back to Agency turf.”

  Chase looked at me. “Agency turf? What are you talking about?”

  I looked between Chase and Arie. “So we can get the antidote,” I said, “get our memories back.”

  Chase furrowed his brow. “You still think there’s an antidote?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

  “But that Bellington guy,” said Chase, “he tricked you. Told you what you wanted to hear.”

  “I know. I know.”

  “So, why on earth are we going back? To follow-up a ridiculous pack of lies?”

  “Chase, I know this may not make much sense, but I have a feeling. A gut feeling. I think what he said was true.”

  Chase’s expression was contorted with incredulity. “Huh? You just said—”

  “I know, Chase. Just listen. Yes, I think he told me what he knew I wanted to hear. He told me what he had to tell me to get away, but I have this deep-seated feeling that what he told me was the truth. He told me the truth because he knew it would sound truer than anything else, and he told me the truth because he thought I’d never have the chance to take advantage of it.”

  “That’s a lot to bet on a gut feeling.”

  “How can I convince you?”

  “I’m not sure you can,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t follow you.”

  “Really?” I said, putting my arms around his neck.

  “I don’t know. Let’s talk about it when we’re off the trail.”

  “If we can get the antidote, and if we can join up again with Ruby and the others, it might help to make up for this disaster I’ve caused.”

  Chase seemed to both nod and shake his head. “Let’s just get to the ranger station and then we’ll figure things out from there later.” The way he said it reminded me of a parent placating a child who’d asked for a treat. “Later” was just a soft “no.”

  I looked at Arie, but he nodded in agreement with Chase. “Sounds like a plan,” said Arie.

  “Okay,” said Chase, “but I want to do something, first.”

  He unshouldered Steele’s rucksack and removed the heavy paracord, the water bottle, the rain jacket.

  “What’re you doing?” I said.

  “Leaving Steele a little care package if he comes back here.” Chase opened up his own small backpack and into it he stuffed Steele’s water bottle, filter, raincoat, sleeping bag, and the chocolate-covered oat bars. “It’s all stuff we don’t need,” he added, “I’m not eating those oat bars—they’re probably dosed.”

  Arie reached into his pocket and produced the Swiss army knife. “Here,” he said, holding the knife out. “I should give this back to the poor guy if he’s still out here somewhere all tore up by a bear.”

  Before Chase took it from Arie, he asked, “You sure? I mean he’ll probably never even find this.”

  “Yeah,” said Arie. “I’m sure.”

  “Tell ya what,” said Chase. “If we’re gonna give him a knife, let’s give him a knife.” Chase produced the big survival knife Steele had bequeathed us. “You keep that little folder, kid. I’ve got my own Buck knife back and this big pig-sticker of Steele’s doesn’t have a sheath.”

  Chase dropped it into the small backpack with the other articles and closed it up. He then tied the paracord to the backpack and tossed it over a tree branch about twenty feet up. He secured the loose end of the cord to a tree trunk so that the backpack was suspended fifteen feet or so off the ground. The pack was red—anyone coming to the hilltop would notice it eventually.

  “I guess it’s the least we can do,” I said with a shrug.

  CHAPTER 27

  After all the running, stumbling, consecutive nights of sleeping on the ground, stale rations, inadequate rations, rations with drugs in them, and on top of it all, the specter of being turned over to the Agency once again, we were disheveled and hollow-eyed.

  “I feel like I’ve been dragged by the feet behind a train,” muttered Chase.

  Even Arie, usually out front and practically jogging up the trail, was trudging more than hiking. I felt especially filthy, as though I were coated in a layer of fine, dark dust. Grime had worked its way into the creases on my hands and fingers, and my elbows were sooty-looking. My clothing stank.

  It was early morning when we wearily prepared to again ascend the high ridge and cross into the adjacent valley. I hadn’t slept well. I’d drifted in and out of a light doze, hearing twigs snapping in the night and glimpsing the shadows of huge forms stalking through the trees. I’m sure I’d dreamed or imagined it all, though I certainly didn’t feel that way at the time. Chase and Arie looked s
imilarly sleep-deprived.

  Still, I arose that morning feeling grimly eager to be underway.

  “Think we can have a fire this morning?” I asked Chase.

  He chewed the inside of his cheek and scanned the woods surrounding us. “Yeah,” he said. “I don’t think there’s anyone out here anymore.”

  “I’m glad you said that,” I said with a yawn.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because I was gonna make some tea no matter what,” I said, gathering some tinder.

  Chase laughed quietly. “Well, I only said yes because I want some, too.”

  We cooked up more of Steele’s oatmeal, and I shared my tea with Chase and Arie. My supply was running low. How would I get more when it was gone?

  After we’d splashed our faces in the creek and refilled our water bottles, we got on the trail. Having already walked this trail once in each direction over the past few days, we made it to the top swiftly, easily, crossing over the ridge before the day had even warmed up. That’s another outcome of living rough for long periods—even though you feel grimy and tired, you begin to forget the comforts of indoor life and adapt to your surroundings, becoming a sort of forest creature, only partially civilized.

  Once over the ridge, we picked our way down the opposite mountain face, still making good time despite our fatigue. Chase once again pointed out the fold in the terrain where he thought the ranger station stood. It looked to be about a full day’s walk from where we were, though it would be faster if we found the logging road. The hope of (at the very least) a roof over our heads seemed to lift all of our spirits. I was feeling a reserve of energy from somewhere. I didn’t know where it came from, but I was grateful for it and picked up my pace. In fact, I was beginning to again feel hopeful that we could pursue the plans we’d laid.

  We hiked into a long, narrow valley. The stream widened here and cottonwoods and aspens grew to either side of it. The sun was beaming down, and I had one of those rare and welcome moments where the surroundings you’ve become so familiar with suddenly strike you as stunning. I made a suggestion.

  “Hey, you guys,” I said. “Hold up for a second.”

  Arie and Chase stopped on the trail and looked back at me with weariness showing starkly on their faces.

  “It’s pretty hot out,” I said.

  They shrugged, nodded.

  “Well,” I continued, “the stream is right over there. Bet it’s got some nice sandy pools in it.”

  “Yeah? So?” said Chase. “Whaddya wanna do? Go swimming?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Yes, I do. I haven’t had a bath since before the attack. Fact, I can’t even remember when my last bath was. I feel like I’m covered in dirt. We’re making great time. Let’s have a bath, sun ourselves dry, have some lunch, and then hit it hard again.”

  Chase looked to Arie, as though disbelieving it was me who was being laid back and not one of them. They both chuckled and took off their backpacks.

  We stripped to our underwear. The water was freezing, almost glacially cold, but we found a shallow bend in the stream with a large, flat floor of granite, and here the water slowed and the sun warmed it up enough so we could sit in it without shivering too violently.

  And so we washed ourselves and our clothing. I became more relaxed than I could remember being in a long time. We even had a water fight. I rinsed my hair again and again, and I scrubbed my hands and feet with sand until they were clean and soft and wrinkled. I brushed my teeth with the pulverized end of a willow twig, as Chase had once showed me. Soap and shampoo and toothpaste would have been nice to have, but it was so lovely to be at least rinsed clean with river water. I began to consider myself an actual human being again, rather than the primitive forest-dweller.

  I draped my clothes on the scrub-oak, where they steamed a little in the heat. Then I climbed onto a big rock with a large flat surface tilted toward the sun. There I lay on my belly, sunbathing like some vacationer. The rock was warm against my bare stomach and thighs. I lay my head on my arm and closed my eyes.

  Chase and Arie joined me.

  “Hey,” I protested, “this is my rock. Go find your own.”

  Arie set my freshly filled water bottle next to me, within arm’s reach.

  “Thanks, kiddo,” I said. “You can stay.”

  Chase swept my hair from the nape of my neck and rubbed my shoulders with his large, strong hands.

  A moan escaped me, almost involuntarily, as he kneaded the stiff, knotted sinews.

  “Mmm,” I purred. “Okay, you can stay, too.”

  Arie sat with his bare back to the sun, idly scanning the little valley with the field glasses.

  “Any sign of large, murderous animals?” asked Chase, “or bald-headed, lethally skilled little bounty hunters?”

  “Nah,” said Arie. “Nothin’.”

  I breathed deeply and began to doze a little as Chase rubbed my back. A light breeze passed through the trees. The aspens shimmered and made long, soft whooshing sounds, their leaves beginning to turn brown and gray here at the close of summer. Mountain ravens clucked and quarreled. The ever-present water-dippers cried and darted up and down the river. The river sang its endless song of white noise.

  Chase had massaged a fair amount of the fatigue from my back and neck and shoulders. The warm rock had dried and warmed me. I turned onto my back. Chase lifted one of my calves, cradled it in his lap, and began to massage my foot. I flinched at first, but then my eyes rolled back into my head.

  “Oh my gosh,” I moaned. “That is heavenly. What did I do to deserve this pampering?”

  “Shh. Just rest.”

  I did exactly as he said. He rubbed one foot and then the other. The pain was exquisite.

  “Hey,” I said to Chase, “Don’t think you can pamper me into taking a day off. We need to get back on the trail.”

  “Who, me?” said Chase. “Never.”

  “Hey, Chase,” said Arie.

  “What’s up?”

  Arie held out the field glasses. “Here, take these and look—” he pointed “—over there, across the stream, by that tall dead tree.”

  Chase took the glasses. Arie pointed. Chase peered in that direction.

  “See anything?”

  “No,” said Chase. “Oh, wait.” He looked a moment longer, rolling the focus knob on the glasses. “Good eye, kid,” he said, lowering the glasses. “We’re not alone.”

  “That’s what I thought,” said Arie.

  “What is it?” I said, sitting up. “The bear?”

  “No, no,” said Arie. “Look over there. By that big tree.”

  Chase handed me the field glasses, and I swept them over the valley. I wasn’t very good at looking through field glasses, but with a little more direction, I saw what they’d seen.

  A tent.

  And what looked like a camp chair.

  Our clothes were still damp, but we hastily dressed and put on our packs, glancing repeatedly toward where we’d seen the tent. We didn’t speak. Chase kept his pistol in his hand as we crossed the stream on a snag of waterlogged fallen trees. Arie had Steele’s pistol at the ready. Even though we’d been laughing and splashing around in the stream only a couple hours earlier, we crept like cats to the big dead tree. Behind a brake of cottonwoods and undergrowth, there was a flat, narrow clearing. They kept the pistols ready.

  Then we saw the tent. Secluded and well away from the trail, it was a perfectly screened and almost charming little area, perfect for a small campsite. And the tent was erected almost as if the campers wanted to avoid being seen. Only by the faintest random chance, using binoculars, had Arie spotted it.

  But it had been standing there for many years, abandoned.

  The tent was roomy, the two- or three-person variety, with lightweight aluminum poles arched across one another. A rain-fly was stretched over the outside. But it was just the ghost of a shelter now, sun-faded from its former bright colors to a kind of blue-gray. The fabric was dry-rotted and deteriorating
; thready shreds of it moved lightly in the breeze. Around the bottom hem of the tent there grew generations of black lichen and mildew that spoke of multiple seasons of rain and snow and heat.

  The camp chair was also of the ultralight, packable type, and it had also sat there for years upon years. Blades of wild grass grew up through where the canvas seat had rotted away. There was an old ring of stones for a fire, too, but its remnant of scorched firewood was now almost obscured by a lush growth of late-summer wildflowers.

  I walked around the tent, lifting the sagging rain-fly and looking into the mesh windows.

  “Found the campers,” I said.

  The forms of two people lay wrapped in a two-person sleeping bag inside the tent. They looked to be spooning each other. There was no smell of death, nor even the musty odor of the very long dead. The couple must be have died here long ago, mere bones by now. The way the sleeping bag had been pulled up around their shoulders, their heads and faces were mostly obscured from view, and they appeared to be only sleeping. And they’d cuddled so long in their nap, grass had sprouted in the tent around them.

  “Did they freeze to death or what?” said Arie peeking into the tent.

  “No,” I said. “They’ve been here for years and years, probably since the back before. I bet they had the virus and got sick out here and died.”

  “Yeah,” Chase agreed, “this has been here for, what, eight years? Ten? Not a bad place to be for the end of the world, I guess,” he added.

  Arie wandered away, surveying the rest of the camp. I stared into the tent. Shreds of rotted fabric waved in the breeze. I had to admit the couple looked cozy, contented in their eternal mountain sleep.