Hostile Territory

by Paul Greci

  I fish my water bottle out of my pack. “Brooke, I’m just going to trickle some water onto your feet where the broken blisters are. Do you want some help with your other boot?”

  “I’ll get it.” Brooke winces as she undoes the laces. Then she grits her teeth and pulls her boot off, and I see another bloody sock.

  At least we’re on tundra and not mud. Once I wash the wounds, Brooke should be able to get inside her tent without getting her feet all dirty. Shannon and Derrick have two tents up when the rain starts falling.

  “You and Brooke use that tent.” Derrick points. “Me and Shannon will hang out in this one until the storm passes. Then we’ll set up the rest of the tents.”

  I stuff all the first aid supplies back into the bags and cover my pack with my backpack cover. Brooke stands up, and I get her backpack cover out, but before I cover her pack I pull out her sleeping pad and say, “It’ll give us something to sit on once we’re inside.”

  Brooke nods and hobbles toward the tent. Derrick and Shannon are already inside one tent with the door zipped up. I can hear them talking but can’t make out what they’re saying. I take the sleeping pad, the first aid supplies, my canister of bear spray, and my water bottle and head toward the other tent. Brooke is down on her knees, crawling in with her feet up in the air to keep them from dragging on the ground. I toss the supplies in behind Brooke, and out of the corner of my eye catch sight of her boots and bloody socks on the tundra, so I run over, grab them and bring them to the tent, toss them in, and then crawl in.

  Brooke has spread out on half of the sleeping pad with her legs stretched out. I sit down opposite her with my legs stretched out so her feet are next to my thighs and my feet are next to her thighs. The rain is pounding, but the tent is doing its job and keeping us dry.

  “You’re going to be okay,” I say. “Your feet, they’ll heal.” What I don’t say is that they’re going to hurt like hell and she is still going to have to walk on them. “I wish you had said something earlier.”

  Brooke bends her legs and sits so her arms are resting on her knees. “I didn’t want to complain. I’m always the one holding people back. With my sisters, it was always me saying, wait. Always me. Whenever we’d do something physical as a family, I was always the slowest. All I wanted to do today was to keep up.”

  I kind of get what she’s saying. With Theo, I always told him the pace was fine even if I was killing myself to keep up with him. But I never faked being tired as an excuse, or to cover something up.

  Brooke goes on, “I hate myself. I hate the person I am.”

  “Brooke, you’ve survived an intense tragedy. Give yourself a break.” I look her in the eye. “You dug up bodies for a week. And now we’re hiking with almost no food. Not many people could do what you’ve done.”

  “Yeah,” she says, “but look at you. You could travel twice as fast if it weren’t for me. You all should just leave me here.” She points at her feet. “Especially now. See, I screwed up again. I was ashamed of the blisters and didn’t want anyone to see them.”

  I think about all the anger I’ve felt toward Brooke the past week, and then before that how I was kind of attracted to her. And now, I don’t know what to think. I mean, maybe all her behaviors that were rubbing me the wrong way weren’t really about who she is but more about what she was struggling with.

  “Brooke,” I say, “I may not agree with how you want to do things all the time. Lately, I haven’t agreed with much of anything you’ve wanted to do. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. That doesn’t mean I won’t do all I can so you’ll be okay—so we’ll all be okay. We’ve all got to do that for each other, even if we’re pissed off.”

  You’ve got to be willing to work with people, I remember Theo saying. All kinds of people. Don’t put up with discrimination of any kind, but other differences, you’ve got to be willing to be open to. You’ve got to stay open.

  “That’s easy to say when you’re the strong one,” Brooke says, “the one who’s helping or doing more. Put yourself in my shoes.”

  Brooke and I both glance at her boots.

  “I don’t think I’d want to go that far.” I smile.

  Brooke laughs out loud.

  The pounding rain on the tent has slowed down some.

  “There are things we can do”—I point at her feet—“to lessen the pain and speed the healing.”

  “Like what?” Brooke asks.

  For the first time since the quake it feels like we’re talking to each other in a normal way. There’s no edge to her voice. And I’m not stuffing down anger so I don’t say something mean.

  “You’d have to be willing to accept some help,” I say. “If you do, we could all keep moving forward.”

  “Go on.” Brooke nods.

  “We could carry your stuff,” I say. “Me, Derrick, and Shannon could divide it up. Without the weight on your back, the pressure your toes and heels take on with every step would be less. It’ll still hurt, just not as much. And you’ll heal faster.”

  “I want to do my part,” Brooke says, raising her voice slightly. “I already feel bad enough.”

  “So,” I say, “you’d rather tear your feet up and slow the group down more than accept a little help and have the group move faster? Given the current situation, this is the best way to do your part.”

  “You mean that you think it’s the best way.” Brooke points at me. “You can’t just give an opinion and say it’s the best thing to do just because you think it. Do you get what I’m saying? You sabotage your chances of people agreeing with you when you say stuff like that.”

  The noise from the rain on the tent is almost nonexistent now.

  I know Brooke is right about the way I communicate sometimes. I just get an idea in my head, and if I think it’s a good one, then I can’t see how anyone would question it. That’s partly why I felt like a loner on the cross-country team last year. Yeah, I was the fastest runner, and I worked hard to achieve that, but I also sacrificed some close friendships. I stayed longer and ran after the official practice was over. I basically told everyone that it was the best way to ensure that we’d win State.

  “I know what you’re talking about,” I say.

  I tell Brooke about my experience on the cross-country team, and she says, “At least you knew what you wanted and you went after it. I always feel like I’m reaching for something someone else has done, something I envy them for doing. This camp was the first time I felt like I was doing something of my own choosing. And I didn’t even want it that badly. I chose it mainly because there was no one else I knew who had done it. It was something none of my sisters had done.”

  I nod. “I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have goals I set for myself.” I put my ear against the tent door. “I think it’s stopped raining.”

  “Open it up,” Brooke says. “It’s getting kind of stuffy in here. All the hot air.” She smiles. “From both of us.”

  I unzip the door and see why we’re not hearing any rain on the tent.

  Big white flakes are floating down and sticking on the ground.

  CHAPTER 20

  I ZIP THE TENT DOOR up partway, grab my water bottle, and take a drink. “Want some?” I say, holding the bottle toward Brooke.

  “Are you sure?” Brooke says. “I mean, you only have so much, and you just used some to wash my feet.”

  “Drink,” I say. I don’t think it’ll be too hard to find another water source up here.

  Brooke takes the bottle and drinks. I watch her neck contract a little. She takes another gulp. “I guess I was thirsty.” She hands me the bottle. “Thanks. I’ll give you some of mine. It’s in my pack.”

  I nod. “I hope we don’t get too much snow. We must be up pretty high for it to be sticking. If we hike down to that valley tomorrow, there shouldn’t be any snow there.”

  Brooke curls her toes a little bit, and now with the added light from the door being partially open I see that the broken blisters h
ave turned a little red.

  “We should finish working on your feet,” I say. “If you keep them just like that, I can put the antibiotic ointment on them.”

  “You sure you want to touch my feet?” Brooke asks. “They’re mine, and I don’t even want to touch these bloody stumps.”

  “Before I learned to buy bigger running shoes, I had to drill holes in my toenails because blood vessels would break underneath them and the blood would pool up, and the pressure from the blood beneath the nail was really painful.”

  “Gross,” Brooke says. She glances down at her feet. “I’m glad I don’t have that problem. No way would I let you, or anyone, drill a hole in one of my nails.” She shudders.

  “You might,” I say, “if it meant you’d be out of pain.”

  “Not a chance,” Brooke counters.

  I get one small tube of antibiotic ointment out of the first aid supplies. “We’ll put a little bit on every open wound. But first, I need to wash my finger.” I stick my hand outside the tent door into the heavy snowfall, palm open. In a few seconds I’ve got enough moisture for a quick washing. “I hope you’re okay with this. I mean, the ointment is supposed to kill the germs anyway.”

  “It’s fine,” Brooke says.

  I lean forward so my face is close to Brooke’s toes. “Lucky I washed your feet first. Otherwise, I think they’d smell pretty ripe.”

  “Shut up,” Brooke says. Then she laughs.

  “This might hurt a little.” I dab some ointment on the end of my index finger.

  Brooke doesn’t say a word as I rub the ointment on her blisters until I get to one that extends between her toes. When I stick the ointment-covered tip of my finger between her pinky toe and her fourth toe, she lets out a giggle.

  I look up at her and say, “Really? It’s a freaking blister.”

  “Honest,” she says. “That one tickled.”

  I get back to work. I scoot closer to her so I can see her heels. My head is right next to her thigh. It’s tight quarters, but I manage to get the ointment on both blisters that have taken over her heels.

  I work my way back to my side of the tent and stretch my legs out and say, “I don’t know how long you can sit like that, but it’d be good for the ointment to kind of glaze over. You don’t want to move around because anything you touch will stick to your heels and toes now.”

  “I’m good right here for now,” Brooke says. “But at some point, I’ll have to go pee.”

  I point at the Band-Aids laid out in front of me. “Between the three kits we’ll have more than enough. Plus, your kit is still in your pack.”

  Brooke nods. “Josh.” She pauses. “Thanks.” Then she smiles.

  “No problem,” I say. “We should check in with Derrick and Shannon.” I unzip the tent a little more, stick my head out into the snowstorm, and shout, “Hey, you two! How’s everything?”

  I hear some rustling, and then the sound of a zipper. “All good,” Shannon shouts. “Just waiting out this crazy storm.”

  I can’t see her because of the way the tents are set up.

  Then Derrick’s voice booms out, “We’re going to just stay in this tent. Get our sleeping bags. You should do the same. Less wet gear that way. Plus, you’ve got someone to hang out with.”

  “Body heat,” Shannon yells. “The warmer we stay, the fewer calories we’ll burn.”

  “Got it,” I yell back. Then I turn to Brooke and say, “Are you okay with all this?”

  CHAPTER 21

  I DASHED OUTSIDE, WRESTLED OUR sleeping bags and our dinners out of our packs, tossed them into the tent, pulled our packs closer to the tent, and then crawled back inside, and now we’re about to eat.

  “I wish we had a hot meal,” Brooke says, holding her unopened package of ramen noodles in one hand.

  “At least ramen noodles are already cooked,” I say. “This would really suck if we had regular pasta and had to eat it raw.”

  “I didn’t know they were already cooked.” Brooke sniffs the package. “Still, I’d rather eat them hot and soft than cold and hard.”

  I know we’re breaking a rule eating in the tent, but it’s still snowing wet, sloppy snow, and the drier we can stay the better.

  The two of us crammed into this little tent are creating body heat, just like Shannon said. I unzip my raincoat and take it off. Then I pull my rain pants off. My nylon hiking pants are just barely damp, unlike my socks, which are wet. Not wet like you need to wring them out but wet like if you touched them you’d want to wipe your hand off.

  I hold up my unopened brick of ramen. “I think I’ll skip the spice packet. Too salty by itself.”

  Brooke laughs. “You mean you were actually considering eating it dry?” She scrunches up her nose. “Yuck.”

  “I’d eat it if I had more water,” I say.

  Brooke rips open her package. “Now the trick is not to spill noodles all over the place.”

  I take my raincoat and spread it out on my lap. “It’s a ramen catcher.”

  “Good idea,” Brooke says. She copies me.

  I don’t know if Brooke’s just been pissed at me because I always want to do the exact opposite thing she wants to do. Or if, maybe, she hasn’t really been angry with me at all. I’m starting to get to know and understand her a little bit. And she seems appreciative for all I’ve done to help her with her feet. But there’s still some stuff I want to know, like why she was so reluctant to search for survivors, and why she didn’t want to stand by Theo, who was still alive when the bear was approaching us.

  After we finish our gourmet meal, I say, “I think we should put Band-Aids on your blisters. Once you get in your sleeping bag, you don’t want those open sores rubbing against the fabric.”

  Brooke uses her hand as a fan. “It’s so warm in here, I don’t know if I’ll need to get all the way in my bag. Maybe I’ll get partway in but make sure my feet are sticking out.” Then she yawns. “I’m beat.”

  I’m not exactly beat. I’m just glad we’ve got the storm coinciding with her blisters because if we had stopped in good weather I’d be hating this right now. Well, I wouldn’t be hating hanging out with Brooke in a small tent, I’d just be hating that we could’ve been making progress on getting somewhere while we still have our strength.

  “At least put Band-Aids on your heels so if you lie on your back and stretch your legs out those blisters will be protected,” I say.

  Brooke sticks Band-Aids on her heels without my help.

  I pull my sleeping bag out of the stuff sack. “I think we should sleep head to toe, you know, like we’ve been sitting, otherwise this tent will be bursting at the seams even more than it is.”

  “I don’t know.” Brooke waves her hand in front of her nose. “Your feet in my face? And, my bloody feet in your face?”

  “I’m definitely getting the raw end of the deal. Especially if you keep your feet in the open air.” I pinch my nose.

  She laughs and then takes her sleeping bag out of her stuff sack, and I press myself against the wall of the tent so she can spread it out.

  Now we’re both lying on top of our sleeping bags.

  “I’ll do it,” Brooke says.

  “Do what?” I ask.

  “I’ll let you three carry some of my stuff,” she says softly, “if that’s the best thing for the group.”

  “Okay,” I say. “Cool.” I don’t want to say anything more about this because I don’t want her to change her mind. I glance at my watch-less wrist and say, “I wish I knew what time it was. Not that it matters, but I’m so used to always knowing.”

  “Can you reach my pack from the tent door?” Brooke asks.

  “Yeah,” I reply.

  “In the top pocket,” she explains, “there’s a small waterproof bag with my phone and solar charger.”

  “Duh,” I say. “It’s got a clock. I keep forgetting.” I sit up, unzip the tent, and stick my head outside. The snow is still falling. I reach for Brooke’s pack, and as I’m brushi
ng the new snow off the top of her backpack cover, I catch some movement out of the corner of my eye and what I see sends a jolt to my heart.

  I slowly retract my head into the tent, look Brooke in the eye, and say quietly, “We’ve got company.”

  CHAPTER 22

  “I COUNTED FIVE IN ALL, but there could be more,” I whisper.

  Brooke scoots forward, and now we’re kneeling side by side. I reach across her legs, grab the can of bear spray, and say, “Just in case.”

  “Would that stuff really work on wolves?” she whispers.

  “I’m guessing if it’ll work on a bear, it’ll pretty much work on anything,” I whisper. “It’s not a hundred percent certain, but it’s all we’ve got.”

  Through the falling snow about forty feet away, five wolves mill around like they’re unsure of what to do. I don’t hear any voices coming from Derrick and Shannon’s tent, so either they’re asleep or they’ve seen the wolves and are watching, too.

  Should I call out to them? If I do, will that bring the wolves toward us or will it scare them away? Right now, they aren’t a threat, but that could change in an instant.

  I think about being inside this tent. Yeah, it’s dry, but it’s also like a trap if the wolves decide to make a meal of us. And then there’s Brooke’s feet. I don’t want her to shove those open sores into her boots unless it’s an emergency.

  Movement jolts me back to what’s right in front of me. Three wolves are working their way closer to the tents, and the other two are moving off to one side.

  “I’m going to stand up,” I say to Brooke, “so I can see the other tent and tell them what’s happening. I pull my boots on but leave them unlaced, unzip the tent all the way, and scoot forward.

  I plant my feet outside the tent and stand up. The snow hitting my face instantly melts. The three wolves stop when they see me. I turn and look over our tent to the other tent. “Shannon, Derrick,” I say. “Wolves. Five of them. They’re close.”