Darwin Expedition

by Diane Tullson

  The Darwin Expedition

  The Darwin Expedition

  Diane Tullson

  orca soundings

  Copyright © Diane Tullson 2007

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced

  or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,

  including photocopying, recording or by any information storage

  and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without

  permission in writing from the publisher.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Tullson, Diane, 1958-

  The Darwin expedition / written by Diane Tullson.

  (Orca soundings)

  ISBN 978-1-55143-678-4 (bound).--ISBN 978-1-55143-676-0 (pbk.)

  I. Title. II. Series.

  PS8589.U6055D37 2007 jC813’.6 C2006-906611-6

  Summary: Following an accident on a remote logging road, Liam and Tej must call on all their resources to survive the elements and escape the bear that is following them.

  First published in the United States, 2007

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2006938694

  Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

  Cover design: Doug McCaffry

  Cover photography: Getty Images

  Orca Book Publishers Orca Book Publishers

  PO Box 5626, Stn. B PO Box 468

  Victoria, BC Canada Custer, WA USA

  V8R 6S4 98240-0468

  www.orcabook.com

  Printed and bound in Canada.

  Printed on 100% PCW recycled paper.

  010 09 08 07 • 5 4 3 2 1

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to Andrew Wooldridge at Orca Book Publishers for having the right words, and to Shelley Hrdlitschka and Kim Denman, always, for their help with the manuscript.

  To R.J. and R.J., with love.

  Chapter One

  Rain is a sheet of water on the windshield of the pickup truck. Lead gray, the sky appears in brief arcs as the wipers slam back and forth. The forestry road clings to an old avalanche slope, and the roadbed is under what must be a foot of mud. Tej’s truck wheels spin and the side windows disappear in a spray of mud. Tej white-knuckles the steering wheel.

  “Might be too early in the spring to be on this road, Tej.”

  “We’re almost through,” he says, his teeth clenched.

  “We could turn around.”

  Tej throws me a look. “We’d waste hours going back, Liam. We do not want to do that.”

  Through the mud on his side window I peer down at the stump-strewn slope. The truck fishtails, and suddenly I’m getting a good view of that downhill run.

  “You’re too close to the edge!”

  Tej cranks the steering wheel. Plumes of mud plaster the side of the truck. I feel the back end slew, then drop, as a wheel catches the crumbling shoulder. I’m pushed into the seat, like I’m in a dentist’s chair that’s tilted. Tej mats the accelerator. The engine whines as the back wheels start to spin. Then the truck lurches backward. I cram my foot against the floorboards, as if that will make the truck hold the road. Tej mutters a curse and the wheels grab, and then they slip again. The truck tips and I lean toward Tej, who is flattened against his side window. We’re both swearing now. As the truck starts to roll, Tej’s Coke can leaves the cup-holder and hangs in the air an instant before erupting on the dash. Coke runs up the inside of the windshield, and then it streams sideways as we continue to roll.

  My teeth slam against my tongue and I taste blood. My shoulder and then my head crack against the side window. Old snow in the ditch swipes the side window and fills it with white. Then I see trees, and sky, and I know we’re going over again. That’s when I close my eyes.

  I don’t know how many times we flip, but when we stop, we’re suspended upside down in our seat belts. At some point the air bags blew and now droop from the dash. The air feels dense and it’s too quiet. I take a careful breath and wait—for the truck to roll again or careen down the mountain, but it doesn’t. We’re stopped. I heave open the door, and then I push up on one hand against the headliner of the truck, easing the pressure off the seat belt so I can unbuckle it. I tuck my head and roll. It isn’t pretty, but I manage to get out of the truck.

  My legs liquefy, and I grab the door to steady myself. The truck’s front end is jammed solidly against a three-foot tree stump. Good thing, because otherwise we’d be tinfoil at the bottom of the mountain. I stumble around the steaming undercarriage and haul open Tej’s door.

  His hair is hanging in black spines and his dark eyes are the size of quarters. He’s scrabbling with the seat-belt buckle.

  “My truck.”

  “I’m fine, thanks for asking.”

  Tej gets his buckle undone, and for a second I think about letting him drop on his head. But I pull him from the truck. He wobbles a bit, and then he stands, looking at the truck, at the crumpled steel and the twisted bumper, at the tailgate plowed upside down in the mud.

  “Wrecked,” he says. “Totally fubar.”

  I wait for Tej to say something more but he is silent. His eyes are wide open, staring. I shuffle my feet. “You can fix it.”

  Tej gives himself a shake. “Not here, obviously. We need a tow truck.” He yanks his hood up on his blue rain jacket and brushes the hair out of his eyes. After a minute he fishes his phone out of his pocket, opens it and then closes it again. He doesn’t have to tell me: There’s no service this far into the bush.

  The daylight is almost gone. I say, “Maybe we can get a ride out on a logging truck. We could come back tomorrow to get the truck.”

  “We were on this road most of the afternoon and didn’t see a truck. Something tells me we won’t see one anytime soon, not with this rain, not even if they use this road anymore.”

  It was Tej’s idea to take the old logging road. Like he can read my mind, he says, “We could have waited the entire long weekend for them to clear the accident off the main highway.” He shoves a duffel bag under the truck out of the rain. Our gear was in the bed of the pickup. Tej’s snowboard is scattered in pieces. I can’t even see mine. Rain is running down my neck.

  “Maybe they’ll send someone.”

  “Who? Our parents? “ Tej kicks a sleeping bag under the truck. “Our parents think we’re on the highway to Whistler.”

  “I mean when we don’t call. They’ll get worried and start looking for us.”

  Tej shakes his head. “I never call. My parents expect that I’ll be okay or that I’ll deal with it.”

  “I call. Sometimes a few days late, but I always call.”

  “Well, I’m not sitting here for a few days waiting for an imaginary rescue.”

  Chapter Two

  Tej reaches into the truck and grabs a road map from the overhead console, only now it’s on the floor, of course. Rain drills the map as he unfolds it. As he studies the map, his eyebrows knot.

  “So?”

  He folds the map. “If we stay on the forestry road, we can walk out in a couple of days.”

  My tongue is sore where I bit it and I chomp it again. “Walk? For a couple of days?”

  “Or we can go cross-country. It won’t take more than a day, max.” He points with his thumb down the mountain. “We’ll drop down over the next ridge and hook up with the main road. Then we hitch a ride into town.” He pushes the rest of the gear under the truck and scrambles in after it. “We’ll leave in the morning
.”

  I watch his feet disappear under the truck. “How do you know which way to go?”

  His voice is muffled. “The forestry road runs east of the main highway. We walk west.”

  “You don’t think it’s a bit more complicated than that?”

  I hear Tej crack a Coke, then a spraying sound, then Tej curses. I guess the Coke is a bit shaken up. I stick my head under the truck to find Tej wiping his hands on my sleeping bag. I crawl in and grab it from him. Under the truck the rain pings like we’re in an oil drum, but it’s dry Reasonably dry. Tej has taken the most sheltered spot, next to the tailgate; I’m sitting in a small stream of rainwater that runs under the bed of the truck.

  “Shove over,” I say.

  He shakes his head. “It’s my truck.”

  “It’s not much of a truck anymore.”

  “You’re an idiot, Liam.” But he shifts his legs so I can move in beside him. Now my ass is out of the water, anyway. I rummage in a duffel bag and pull out a sandwich. It’s slightly mashed but it’s food—my school lunch from hours ago. I take a big bite and then offer him the sandwich. He waves it away. He says, “Tomorrow at this time, we’ll be in a Whistler hot tub with a couple of Aussie babes of questionable virtue.”

  “I’ll be happy when I’m back in Tremblay with Jordan.”

  Tej yawns. “She’s probably not wasting any time thinking about you.”

  I ignore the barb in his voice. I poke him in the side and say, “A little jealous?”

  He snorts. “Not of her. Not of anything in Tremblay.”

  He drains the Coke, belches, draws his sleeping bag around him and lies down. He fits this space better than I do—I have to keep my knees bent. The bed of the pickup is uncomfortably close to my face and makes me feel like I’m in a coffin.

  I say, “Chances of us getting to Whistler are about as good as you ever meeting any babes.”

  “How long have we been friends, Liam?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer. He says, “Since first grade. Now we’re in twelfth grade, so that’s what?” He pauses and pretends to count on his fingers. “Twelve years? In all those years, when have I ever been wrong?”

  Tej doesn’t know the meaning of wrong, which isn’t the same as never being wrong. I say, “You don’t know anything about hiking through the mountains.”

  “It’s not exactly Everest, Einstein. And I’ve done some hiking.”

  “You’ve hiked. Yeah, right.” Tej spends every waking hour at school or studying. He got early acceptance at three big universities. He says I should go with him, get a job, share a place. “People disappear in the mountains, Tej.”

  “You want to sit here and wait for someone to find us? They’ll find our sorry skeletons. No way. We’ll walk out.”

  I finish the sandwich and wish I had another one. Could be Tej is right. Could be that tomorrow at this time we’ll be sitting in McDonald,s with a tray of burgers AND the Aussie babes.

  The light is gone and it’s so dark I can’t see Tej. I can’t see my hand in front of my face. It’s so dark we could be in a coffin. Panic creeps into my throat and I take a deep breath.

  Tej’s voice is quiet, calm. “We’ll be fine, Liam.” I feel his hand on my shoulder, a touch so quick it could be accidental, and then it’s gone. “Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

  Chapter Three

  “It’s barely drizzling now.” Tej, ahead of me, peers up at the sky from under the hood of his jacket.

  Dense cloud drapes the alpine meadow. The mountaintops are invisible. Everything looks gray.

  Tej says, “We’re making good time. We should be out to the highway by late afternoon.”

  Late afternoon. I shift my backpack to a different sore place on my shoulder. My feet are soaked and my shoes gnaw the back of my heels. “I’m starving.”

  Tej rolls his eyes. “We ate breakfast.”

  “Two granola bars are not breakfast.”

  Actually, I’m more thirsty than hungry. I stick my tongue out to collect drops of rain. “And that was hours ago.”

  We’re following a trail made by about a zillion elk as they traversed the alpine meadow from the valley where they wintered. The soft earth of the meadow is dug deep with their tracks. Far across the valley, the north-facing mountain slope is still covered in snow.

  Water from the melting snowpack trickles in small channels and I stoop to collect some in my cupped hands. It’s cold, almost ice, and it burns the back of my throat. My hands feel raw and I jam them back into my gloves. Rounded hummocks of new grass line these channels and I pick a stalk to chew. At least we have good gear. We packed for spring snowboarding conditions high on the glacier, so we have rainproof jackets, pants and gloves. We have food—power bars and dried fruit. We had sleeping bags in the truck. Tej likes to think that we’ll end up in some babe’s cushy condo, but it hasn’t happened yet—we always end up sleeping in the truck. But we didn’t bring the sleeping bags. We left almost everything behind with the truck so we could walk fast. Now I wish I’d packed a few of Tej’s Cokes.

  I don’t know how far we’ve walked. Tej is in the lead, as usual. I follow the bobbing hood of his blue jacket as he picks the trail. He’s a good foot shorter than me, always has been, and there’s nothing to him. But he’s strong. Tej and his family moved to our town partway through first grade. The teacher put him in the desk in front of me. Back then no one was moving into our town; they were all moving out. We hadn’t seen a new kid in town, ever. And Tej was small, smaller than the kindergarten kids. The other boys and I probably laughed at him. Anyway, he pissed himself. No one else noticed. I did, because the puddle was right in front of my feet. I didn’t say anything. At recess he showed up on the soccer field wearing his gym shorts. He walked into our soccer game like he owned it. He was fast, but more than that, he knew what to do with the ball. Tej is like that with all sports. He makes up for his small size.

  Tej calls back to me, “There’s a carcass up ahead. It looks like your dinner plate on rib night.”

  Tej and I have been friends for a long time. That makes up for his big mouth. Mostly.

  Just off the path, a flock of crows haggle over the bony remains of what looks like an elk calf. Tej pauses, and I take the chance to rest. I sink down to the ground to watch the birds. Whatever got the elk didn’t leave much behind. Elk bones shine white among the black of the crows. A patch of brown elk hide flaps like a small flag.

  Tej tosses me a power bar. I say, “Just one?”

  “We have a ways to go. We don’t want to eat everything at once.” He sits down on the ground beside me.

  “I do.”

  One crow is using its big black beak to saw into the spine bones of the calf. Another snags the bit of hide and flies off with it.

  I tear into the power bar. The bar is hard to chew and I wish I had a bottle of water. Tej is eating his bar in small bits. I finish mine and watch him eat his.

  “A bear has been through here,” he says.

  I follow his gaze just off the trail to a pile of black scat. “Nice.” I wrinkle my nose. The poo is pebbled with red. “What’s it been eating?”

  Tej leans closer to the pile. I think about pushing him into it, but of course I don’t. He says, “Looks like bear berries from last fall. Berries that stay on the bush over the winter are sweet.”

  “Bear berries?”

  “Kinnikinnick is the real word. Bears love them.”

  That’s the other thing about Tej. He actually pays attention in biology.

  “Any shoelaces in that scat?”

  “Bears don’t eat people.” He toes the grass around the pile. “Good thing too, because this bear can’t be too far away.” He points to the fresh green grass under the scat. “What bears really like to eat is dead things.” He points to the elk. “Like that.”

  We’ve seen bears when we were fishing and along the highway. My dad says that when he was a kid, bears used to come into town in the spring. You can’t be afraid of bears or y
ou’d never leave the house. You just have to give them enough room. I glance around me.

  Tej elbows me. “You want the rest of this?” He hands me his half-eaten power bar.

  I grab it and cram it into my mouth.

  Tej shakes his head. “You’re as bad as those crows. Come on, let’s get moving.”

  No complaint from me, not if there is a bear anywhere close. I take a last look at the elk bones and start walking again.

  The trail drops down into a grove of aspen. The leaves on the trees are so new that the branches seem to glow green. Here the trail breaks into strands between the trees. In some places I have to turn sideways to fit between the tree trunks. Despite the drizzle, I’m starting to sweat. The ground is roped with tree roots and everything is slimy with rain. The white bark of the trees is gashed by the elk that eat the bark in the winter. I’m so hungry I think about the bark. But it’s water I want. The power bar is like a brick in my belly and it’s sucking up all my moisture. When I see a rivulet of meltwater, I kneel down and take off my gloves. As I scoop my hands into the tiny stream, I notice a flattened smear of mud along the water. The back of my throat sticks together.

  “Tej!” It comes out as a croak. I try again. “Tej!”

  He stops and turns back. I point to the track in the mud. “Bear.”

  Tej stoops to examine the track. He whistles.

  The track is twice the size of my glove, a fat five-toed pad marked with curved claws. Big claws. I know from the size of the track, but the claws confirm it. Black bear tracks don’t show much claw.

  “That’s a good-sized grizzly.”

  I can’t trust my voice, so I nod.

  Tej straightens up and says, “If we’re going to make it before nightfall, we better pick up the pace.”

  “Nightfall?” I scramble to my feet and follow him.

  He speaks without turning his head. “I thought we’d be out by now. The trail must not follow a straight line.”

  He plows through the undergrowth and branches snap in my face. I say, “Like the elk herd made a nice straight path for us to follow?”