by Paul Greci
Brooke has a point. I mean, someone should have come, or at least dropped a message from the sky saying they would be coming. I think about my parents. They were in the process of splitting up. Were they under the same roof when the quake hit? Are they working together to try to find me? Are they hurt?
“Things must be bad everywhere from the earthquake,” Shannon says. “At least we’re not hurt.”
My stomach lets out a rumble that challenges the thunder.
Derrick laughs and says, “I second that.”
Our food is out in our packs, and it’s a good thing it is because right now I feel like mowing through it all. When you’re walking, your body is doing something and you’re focusing on it, so even if you’re hungry—even if you are living on almost no food—you’ve got something to do. But sitting in a tent in a storm with nothing to do, the hunger asserts itself front and center. And then it starts working on your mind, and you feel even hungrier than you are. At least that’s how it is for me.
I lean away from Shannon and try to stretch one of my arms but am stopped by the tent wall. “As soon as the rain or hail or whatever it is lightens up and the lightning goes away, we should keep going. I mean, it doesn’t really get dark, so we could put in a lot more hours before we stop to rest.”
“What about just staying here for the night?” Brooke suggests. “We could set up the rest of our tents after the storm passes.” She lets out a sigh. “I’m beat.”
“Seriously?” My voice cracks. “We can’t stay here any longer than the storm that’s pinning us down. When it leaves, we should make some tracks. You just feel tired because of the stale warm air in the tent. Once you’re back outside, you’ll wake up.”
“I don’t know, man,” Derrick says. “I mean, I’m feeling pretty sleepy, too.”
“Trust me,” I say. “Every time I had to ride on a warm bus to a cross-country or track meet, I’d get sleepy. The whole team did. But once we got off the bus and moved around, we were fine.”
“Josh,” Brooke barks, “Just because you’re some all-American athlete, it doesn’t mean the rest of us are.” She huffs. “You’re not in charge here. No one is.”
“Think about it.” I lean toward her. “We’ve got almost no food. We need to move while we still have energy from everything we’ve eaten the past several days.” I take a breath. “The longer we wait, the weaker we’ll get. And, if you’re really tired, I’ll carry some of your stuff. No problem.”
“I’ll carry my own stuff,” Brooke says. “But you’re not going to be the only one who decides when I carry it and for how long before I rest.”
“Enough.” Shannon leans forward so her face is just inches from Brooke’s and mine. “We can’t be using our energy arguing. If we don’t work together, we’ll have almost no chance of surviving long enough to be rescued.”
“Maybe we should each take turns being in charge for a day,” Derrick suggests. “You know, like we did at the Leadership Camp.”
“I like your idea in theory,” I say, “but I’m not sure it’s a good one for the current situation.” And the mix of people, I think but don’t say.
“So, you think you’re the only one who should make decisions?” Brooke asks.
“No, that’s not what I think.” I shake my head. “We should make them together—either by consensus or majority.”
“Consensus will take too long,” Shannon says. “Maybe if we had more supplies, that would work. Majority is the only way to go.”
“But there’s four of us,” Brooke says. “What if we try to make a decision and it’s a tie? Two to two? Then what?”
“Then we’d flip a coin or pick a number or do something random to make the decision and move on from there,” I say. “Agreed?”
“Sure,” Derrick says.
“Yes.” Shannon nods.
“Okay,” Brooke says.
The pelting on the tent starts to slow down. And the phase between the thunder and lightning lengthens.
It’s time to put our new leadership system to the test.
CHAPTER 17
“TWO TO TWO,” DERRICK SAYS.
I can’t believe Derrick voted in favor of staying, especially since the rain has slowed way down and we haven’t heard any thunder in like five or ten minutes.
Part of me wants to abandon Brooke and Derrick and keep heading toward Talkeetna with Shannon. I mean, do you stick to an agreement even when you think it’s dangerous and might result in everyone dying?
But I’m getting ahead of myself. It’s tied, so we might still win. “Okay,” I say, in as even a voice as I can muster. “Now we need to somehow break the tie. Any ideas?”
“Easy,” Derrick says. “One of us could pick a number between one and ten, and then two people—you and Brooke—guess what the number is, and whoever is closer is the winner. Pretty random. Right?”
“Sure,” I say. “Let’s do this.”
“For this to be fair,” Derrick goes on, “we need two people to agree on the number. Shannon and Brooke should trade places so me and Shannon can quietly agree on a number and then you and Brooke can guess.”
“Sounds good,” I say, just wanting to get this whole stupid process over with. Pick a number. If you lose you might die. You might not die for a few days. But you still might die because of the number you chose. Great.
“Not so fast,” Brooke says. “It’s not fair. The person who goes first has the advantage.”
I swear I feel my heart skip a beat. “I don’t care who guesses first,” I say.
“Actually,” Shannon says, “Brooke’s right. And, this isn’t really random. Derrick and I are going to decide on a number, and then you and Brooke are going to think of a specific number and tell us what you think it is. Random doesn’t really involve thinking and strategy. But this guess-the-number contest does. It does matter who goes first or second. The second person to guess will be influenced by the first person’s guess. And the two people who come up with the number are picking it. That’s not random either.”
“Where’d you come up with that?” Derrick asks.
“Biology class.” Shannon stretches her arms out straight and yawns.
“I get your logic,” I say.
“Shot down.” Derrick sniffles. “Don’t worry. I don’t bruise easily,” he says in a fake crying voice, with a couple more sniffles thrown in. That gets a smile and small laughs from everyone, and for a moment, it’s like we’re not in a survival situation where there are twenty bodies buried under an avalanche and we’re the almost-out-of-food survivors.
“We still need to do something to decide,” I say. “Unless someone wants to change their vote?” After no one responds to that invitation, I go on. “Anyone have any ideas that are more random?”
“We could flip a bottle cap from one of our water purification tablet bottles,” Shannon suggests. “And we could decide before the flip what each side of the cap stands for. That’s probably about as close to random as we’re going to get out here.”
I lean forward and turn my head toward Brooke. “What do you think?”
Brooke moves her head from side to side and then says, “It sounds pretty fair. Except for the one flip. I think it should be the best of five.”
“One, three, five, seven, nine,” Shannon responds. “It won’t matter. But can we all agree on best of five?”
We all nod.
“It’s barely raining,” I say. “We should pile out of here, get a cap, and get this over with.” I’ve still got a sick feeling in my stomach from having to do anything but keep walking. Or maybe that’s just my hunger resurfacing now that the discussion is over. Then a humming noise invades my ears followed by the whop whop whop of helicopters.
“Unzip this thing,” Derrick says, leaning across Brooke and Shannon toward me and the door I’m sitting in front of. “Maybe we won’t have to flip that bottle cap at all.”
CHAPTER 18
“BIG GRAY BIRDS.” DERRICK POINTS.
&
nbsp; Four groups of at least six helicopters each are flying overhead. They are pretty high in the sky, but low enough that we can count individual choppers.
We all jump up and down and wave and shout, but the helicopters don’t change direction.
Now Shannon’s got her binoculars trained on them as they grow smaller. “It’s hard to see much detail from this distance. Some writing or numbers, but I can’t make it out to actually read it. And some red emblem.” She lowers her binoculars. “Not that it matters. They obviously didn’t see us.”
“The red emblem. Could it have been a maple leaf?” I ask. “You know, from the Canadian flag?”
“Maybe Canada is helping with recovery from the quake,” Derrick chimes in. Then he shakes his head. “If they are, then things must be bad.”
“Why?” Brooke says.
“According to my dad,” Derrick responds, “the old US of A doesn’t take help from anyone these days.”
“You’ve lived in Alaska for like three years, right?” I say to Derrick.
He nods, and I go on.
“Up here, people help each other out. The United States might be the United States, but Alaska is Alaska. It wouldn’t surprise me if Canada was helping.”
“Whatever,” Derrick says. “Alaska is still part of the United States. And if the Feds are taking over the recovery, they take their orders from Washington. It doesn’t matter what part of the world you’re stationed in, my dad says, his ultimate boss is still in the White House.”
I feel a shiver go up my spine. The rain has let up, but the wind is blowing. The last of the helicopters disappear in the distance, and it’s just the four of us again. It’s weird how you can feel like you’re coming so close to being rescued, and then it turns into nothing. It just reminds me that waiting around for someone to save us is the exact opposite of what we need to be doing.
“We can put some miles behind us,” I say, pointing at the sky. “It’s not raining or thundering or anything.”
“Not so fast,” Brooke says. “We haven’t flipped the bottle cap yet. Remember?”
I nod. “I just thought maybe you and Derrick might have changed your minds now that the reason we stopped in the first place isn’t an issue anymore.” I look over at Shannon, hoping she’ll back me up, but she’s still staring in the direction the helicopters went.
“Not me,” Brooke says. Then she turns to Derrick and smiles at him.
“I’m into some rest,” Derrick says. “For sure.”
Shannon turns toward the three of us. “Do you think they’re following a flight path?” She points to the sky in the direction the helicopters went.
“I doubt it,” Derrick responds. “I mean, according to my dad, in general their flight plans are to get from point A to point B using the least amount of fuel possible, so they take into consideration the wind speed and direction at different altitudes.”
“The farther we get from the lake,” Brooke says, “the less likely that we’ll be spotted.”
“You don’t know that,” I say. “We sat there for six days, and no one came for us.”
“This is turning into the same old argument,” Shannon says. “Let’s just flip this bottle cap and get the decision over with.” She reaches into her pack, pulls out her blue stuff sack, and searches until she finds her small bottle of water purification tablets. “We said the best of five, right?”
This is so idiotic, I think. Four survivors from a major catastrophe and we have to flip a freaking bottle cap to make a decision.
Derrick walks a few steps and stands next to Shannon. “Since you two have the strongest opinions on this should we stay or should we go dilemma, me and Shannon will be in charge of the flipping. Agreed?”
“I don’t care,” I say. “Let’s just get this over with.” I’m bouncing on my toes. I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose this. I mean, I’ll try to rest, but I’m so ready to go.
“So,” Brooke asks, “one of you flips and one of you calls?”
Shannon shakes her head. “We should decide which side means go and which means stay and do five flips, and the one with the most is the winner.”
“Does it matter what side is up when you start the flip?” Brooke asks. “That cap isn’t the same on both sides.”
“This isn’t going to be perfect,” I break in. “Let’s just get this over with.”
“I just want it to be fair,” Brooke counters.
“Sure you don’t want to change your mind?” I say to Derrick.
He laughs softly. “I want to see this through.”
Sometimes you’ve just got to let go of what you’re trying to control, I remember Theo saying on one of our runs when I was talking about my parents and their problems. Okay, I think, I’ll quit trying to get people to change their minds even though I still think setting up camp is a waste of time and energy.
I turn to Brooke. “You pick whatever side you want for staying, and the other side will be for going.”
“Right side up for staying,” Brooke says, “because staying is the right thing to do.”
“Sounds good,” I say, still baffled by how much she wants to stay here and starve instead of make tracks toward Talkeetna. She seemed like a basically normal person until the earthquake. I mean, I was even attracted to her. And weirdly, I still am. She’s beautiful. And I still want to know what went on behind all the silence and aloofness during most of the month we were in camp together. But at the same time, I’m also furious with her.
“Okay.” Shannon unscrews the cap to the bottle.
I look at my tent, which I sacrificed for the group. It’s drying out in the wind, but I’m guessing it’s still pretty wet inside.
If I lose the flip, I won’t even have a dry place to rest.
CHAPTER 19
I WON. BUT IT’S THE most bittersweet victory I’ve ever had. Brooke has been sulking and complaining every step of the way. We’ve come maybe six or seven miles from where we waited out the storm, and we’re up on another high ridge, staring down into a forested valley.
“We’ll have to go down and cross.” Derrick points. “No way around that.”
“Maybe we should rest here,” Shannon suggests. “That way we’ll be more visible for anything flying overhead.”
“Canadians, Americans, aliens from outer space, or creatures from the center of the earth,” Derrick says. “At this point, I’ll take a lift from pretty much anyone.”
We filled our water bottles in a snowmelt stream a few miles back. I also drank at least a liter of water back there—drank until my stomach ballooned out—but I know under that bloated feeling is hunger. All told, we’ve probably hiked ten or twelve miles—all on a quarter cup of granola and a piece of jerky each. But I know if we’d stayed put, I’d be feeling just as hungry now.
Brooke takes off her pack and sits on top of it. The bruise on her cheek from the day of the quake is fading, but it’s not gone. She stretches one leg out in front of her and lets out a moan as she sets her foot down heel-first. She does the same thing with her other foot and moans again when her heel hits the ground.
“What’s up with your feet?” I ask.
Brooke shrugs, keeping her eyes averted.
“Take your boots off,” I say.
“You can’t tell me what to do,” she fires back.
“Brooke,” I say. “Even if we disagree on some things, we’re all in this together. Just take them off.” It’s obvious to me that there’s something wrong, and having foot problems with what we’re up against is serious business. “I want to help you.”
Brooke huffs, but then unties one of her boots, loosens the laces, and lets out an even louder moan, almost a scream, as she starts to tug on it. She grits her teeth and pulls it off.
By this time Derrick and Shannon have joined me.
Derrick points and says, “That’s quite a bit of blood.” Brooke’s sock has blood spots across the tops of her toes, and her heel is bloody, too.
“Why didn
’t you say something?” I ask.
“I did,” Brooke responds. “You and Shannon wanted to keep going, and I wanted to stop. Remember?”
“You didn’t say your foot was getting torn to shreds. You only said you were tired.” I shake my head. “I could have prevented some of this if I’d known.” I kneel down in front of her. “Does the other one hurt just as bad?”
Brooke nods. “Maybe worse.”
I reach out and gently touch the top of Brooke’s boot and feel her toes pressing against the front of it.
“Your boots are a little small,” I say. “But if we loosen the laces right in front of your toes”—I point to the spot—“it’ll help a little bit when you’re walking.”
“I don’t think I can take another step,” Brooke says.
My first cross-country coach taught me that most people buy their shoes too small if they’re planning on covering any type of long distance. Our feet expand during the day, and if your foot is already filling your shoe, you’ll most likely be in some pain if you try to do anything extensive.
“Shannon, Derrick. Get your first aid kits out.” I reach for my pack and get mine out, too. “If we pool our resources we should be able to make this a lot better.”
“We should let the wounds breathe,” Shannon says, “before we patch them up. They’ll heal faster.”
A wind rips across the ridge, and I feel the hood of my raincoat flapping against the back of my head. I turn in the direction of the gust and see dark clouds piling up on the next ridge, maybe a mile away. “We’ve got to get the tents set up, too.”
Shannon opens all three of the first aid kits and pulls out the small tubes of antibiotic ointment. “We should wash the wounds and put a little ointment on them and leave them uncovered for as long as possible.”
The wind is still making my hood flap. “Okay,” I say. “I’ll wash Brooke’s feet, but can you two set up the tents? That storm is coming.”
