by Josi Russell
Sol had never seen his uncle so slick. Damen seemed to be buying it. He thanked the commander and shifted in his chair as if he were about to leave. But instead of standing, he leaned closer, across the desk.
“Look, Carl,” he said, “I have one more thing we need to discuss.”
Sol’s stomach tightened, thinking of the various ridiculous regulations that they may or may not be keeping at Silver Lake Ranch. Authority figures still made him nervous, and he began to worry about his mom, all alone out there in the ranch house. What would she do if the Leadership showed up?
Uncle Carl revealed none of Sol’s anxiety. “Sure, Damen. What can I help you with?”
Damen’s voice was low. “I want you to know that we’ve got a load of Stracahn headed through here in two weeks.”
This news stripped away some of Uncle Carl’s calm demeanor. “What?”
“The first integration is planned, and we need to get aliens out of Yellowstone at the West gate and down to the disputed zone. South Edge is the only town in Liberty that lays directly on that path.”
“Why are you moving them now? In the winter?”
Damen fidgeted. “Honestly? Because the anti-alien protesters outside the park have thinned considerably. Commitment to causes generally goes down when the weather is this cold.”
“So you think you can sneak them out of the park without people noticing.”
“Without as many people noticing.” Damen was blunt. “And once they’re integrated, people will see that having them here doesn’t necessarily mean the world is ending. When Spring comes, they’ll find that they’ve been living side-by-side with the Stracahn for months with no ill effects.”
“Who all knows about this?”
“Just a few people inside the park. I’m trusting you with it, too, because I need to ask for your cooperation.”
“What does that mean? Our cooperation?”
“Listen, I know how a lot of people have strong opinions about the Empyriad refugees coming to live near them. But this is happening, and it needs to happen as peacefully as possible.”
Uncle Carl was quiet a long time. “What do you want us to do, Damen?”
Damen was agitated. The silver fabric of his comfort suit flashed as he bounced his knee up and down. “I want you not to kill the aliens, Carl. I want you to let them come through South Edge safely.” Damen had a way of speaking slowly when he was being condescending. Sol heard that now.
Uncle Carl stood. “Damen, we’re not going to hurt anyone who doesn’t pose a threat to our families or our livestock.”
“See,” Damen jumped in, “that’s all I’m asking—”
“But,” Uncle Carl stopped him, “if they do, I’m not making any promises.”
47
“Karson, you coward!” Walt pounded on the door of Karson’s office. In his hand, Walt gripped a crumpled piece of paper, one of many that had cropped up around the Stracahn villages sometime in the bitter December night. It was an announcement of the first integration. At its bottom was a list of Stracahn who would be sent out of the park in less than two weeks.
Karson opened the door, and his eyes were weary. He held up a hand.
“I’m sorry. The list came straight from Damen, Walt. I don’t have any say in it.”
Walt stared. So that was it. Zyn’dri had shamed Damen, and now he was getting revenge. He pushed his way into the office, trying to explain that to Karson, but the man stopped him.
“No, Walt, you have to think of the bigger picture here. It just makes sense for Zyn’dri to go: she has the most experience with humans. She is skilled at communicating with us and, thanks to you; she’s got a grasp of the plants and animals on this planet that even the adults don’t have. She’s going to be vital to the success of this integration.”
“She can’t go, Karson.” Walt heard the pleading in his voice. He had only spoken like this twice in his life. The other time was when he begged the doctors to take back Sylvia’s diagnosis. It hadn’t worked then, either.
“She has to, Walt.”
Walt considered, long and carefully, before he spoke. He walked to the door and closed it, then stood in front of Karson.
“She’s doing something for Sylvia,” he said. Karson gave him a puzzled expression, so he went on. “Somehow, Karson, Sylvia is better when Zyn’dri’s here. She’s healing her somehow.”
Karson’s expression changed to skeptical. Walt couldn’t blame him. A year ago, he would have dismissed such a claim himself. But he was beginning to think there were layers of existence he had never imagined and power in the universe he had never suspected.
“I’m serious, Karson. Something has changed since she came to live with us. She—”
Karson cut him off, “Look, I’m sure it’s been very nice to have her with you, Walt. I expect it’s been lonely since your son died.”
Walt slapped the desk between them. “Don’t—” his voice trembled with anger now, “don’t imagine you know anything about what happened then or what’s happening now.”
Karson shook his head. “I’m sorry, Walt, but when that crawler leaves here, Zyn’dri needs to be on it.”
The late autumn chill was so much more bitter when Walt left the office. The gold of the trees seemed duller, the wind blowing down from Purple Mountain seemed crueler. He thought, suddenly, of Caldwell. Walt had never before understood him, but the anger and fear he felt now made Caldwell’s choice to strike out at those in power and flee to the backcountry more fathomable.
Walt navigated the spider to Hayden Valley Village, where Sylvia was carefully constructing an itinerary for the integration. She hadn’t burst onto the radio in a panic as he’d expected. Walt figured she hadn’t seen the list yet.
But there it was, on the desk next to her. Her back was to him as he entered, and Walt felt shattered. He couldn’t bear for her to turn around. For thirty years he had lived with the image of her hollow eyes the morning they had found Sean, small and perfect, killed by a single blow from a grizzly’s massive paw. It had only been one blow. After that, the bear had left him untouched. For that, Walt had always been grateful.
But now, how would Sylvia ever bear it? Though she was so much stronger now, Walt feared what it would do to her.
“Honey,” he said, quietly.
Sylvia turned to him with a smile. “Lunch already?” she said.
Walt was taken aback. He sat in a chair at the side of her desk.
“Are you all right?” he asked, as gently as he could. He gestured to the list, not able to even reach over and pick it up. “You’ve seen this, huh?”
Sylvia nodded, and though he saw her lips tighten slightly, she forced herself to smile. “I have, and I'm all right.” She said. “I just got off the phone with Karson.” She picked up the paper, and he saw her hand was shaking. “There’s nothing he can do. There’s nothing we can do to keep her here.”
Walt shook his head. This was not his wife. He felt her fear and anguish, but she was not revealing any of it. Was she just going to allow this to happen? Walt leaned forward and laid a hand on her knee.
“What about the backcountry?” he said in a hurried whisper, “With the anti-aircraft field above the park, they won’t find us. They didn’t find Caldwell.”
Walt saw her eyes soften. He felt the warmth of her hand on his cheek. “You and I could be happy living like fugitives, Walt, but that’s no way to raise her. She can’t live like that.” Sylvia glanced away from him, out the window by her desk that framed a perfect picture of the wide Yellowstone River, shining silver in the gray afternoon. Then he heard something he never thought he’d hear from her.
“We’ll have to move to the Rockies, Walt.”
Her words took his breath away. He stayed quiet for a heartbeat, then said softly, “Leave the park? Honey, are you serious?”
Sylvia nodded. “If she can’t stay here with us, then we’ll do what it takes to be where she is. We’ll move to the integration area with her.”
She took Walt’s hand, “She needs us, Walt.”
“What about Yellowstone?” He asked, “What about our work here?”
There was a sad acknowledgment in her eyes as she spoke. “Yellowstone will go on with or without us, Walt. It never really needed humans as much as they needed it.”
***
Zyn’dri’s charcoal eyes were wide and scared when they told her what was happening.
“I’ll be all alone?” she asked, her voice trembling, “with them?” Zyn’dri was holding the paper, gripping it until it crinkled.
“For a little while,” Walt explained, “but not long. You’ll go with them, and the Park Service says we can leave two weeks later and join you.”
He saw that she wanted to cry. He saw that she was looking back and forth between them and that her world was shattering. Walt reached for her. He enfolded her in his arms, and Sylvia moved to embrace them both.
Every night after that, Sylvia held Zyn’dri until the child was asleep. Walt scrubbed the apartment until his knuckles bled. He stopped when Sylvia came out.
Walt watched and saw, not for the first time, the sheer strength that made Sylvia remarkable. Zyn’dri had become theirs, in every respect, and having her torn from them was torture. But Sylvia didn’t let on. She kept up a running commentary on their new lives in the Rockies, painting pictures of the warm summer days and cozy winter evenings.
48
Zyn’dri loved snowshoeing. Trudging along on the crust of the snow dampened the tumultuous voice of the Earth below her. She still didn’t know what tormented this planet. It seemed, here on the surface, so serene.
That’s how she had felt every day since Walt and Sylvia had told her that she would be leaving Yellowstone without them. She only showed them her Stracahn face: the mask of calm that she wore even when her mind and soul were in turmoil.
Added to her fear of leaving was the specter of the night, the wolves, and the Avowed. Since the night they’d found O’neva, Zyn’dri had been terrified that the bearded Ranger, the same one who had killed the little semballa, would come back.
Walt had assured her that the Ranger was dead. But there was a ghost of doubt behind his eyes, and when she asked to go back and see, Walt had grimaced. “Sweetie, that wouldn’t be good.” He’d said. “The wolves will have gotten to him. We’ll let the other Rangers take care of his body.”
So Zyn’dri was left with a vision of his wild beard in the moonlight, and with the knowledge that he had killed her people, and with a grisly image in her mind of his body half-eaten by wolves. Together, they made a terrifying phantom that lurked at the edge of her consciousness.
“Careful,” Walt called as they walked. “We’re getting close to a stream here.”
Zyn’dri slowed and let him catch up with her. He was more transparent. He had been snappy and gruff with everyone outside the apartment, and overly gentle and tender with her and Sylvia. She knew he was upset and afraid and trying to pretend he wasn’t. In fact, whenever he talked about the looming integration, his voice was forced into cheerfulness. He was afraid that she would be afraid.
Sylvia was quietly, calmly, optimistic. She talked of the Rocky Mountains and how their lives there would be even better than they were here. She spoke of a cabin they’d build and promised Zyn’dri would have a loft with western-facing windows so she could watch the night sky until the star that was Empyriad’s sun appeared each night. Zyn’dri held the idea of the warm loft in her mind as she pulled in the icy air. Though the sun made this slope a single blinding sheet of light, Zyn’dri’s toes and fingers and the tip of her nose were still stinging with cold. Sylvia and Walt had bundled her up in a thermal suit and tucked hot packs in her pockets, but Yellowstone in winter was bitter.
Walt came up next to her. “Okay. They should be around here somewhere.”
It would, Zyn’dri knew, probably be her last backcountry trek in Yellowstone. She had seen the big fences at the West gate. She knew that once she went through them, it was likely that she would never be back.
In front of her, the snow suddenly opened up, and dark water caught the sunlight as a stream flowed away from them. Not far along its length, it joined a river, and the water flowed along its icy banks. As they approached, a mass of brown on the opposite bank caught Zyn’dri’s attention. She walked carefully forward and stared as she realized that what she had thought was a log was actually a squirming mass of fur. Five large river otters were writhing and playing in a pile.
Without warning, one popped up from the mound, its long tail arched and waving behind it, and slipped into the stream. It emerged moments later with a large fish. The other otters snatched it and a chase ensued. Some otters ran, others dropped to their bellies and slid effortlessly after the fish. The fish was passed around, snatched back and forth, and tugged until all five otters got a mouthful or two.
The otters crowded together and dropped to their bellies, grooming and rolling and periodically popping their heads up to stare in Zyn’dri’s direction. She was delighted by them.
Walt kept a low profile as he spread a blanket on the ground. The two sat on it and watched as the sleek animals frolicked.
“This is my favorite part!” Zyn’dri whispered as the biggest otter arched down and slipped into the water. “How do they do it without making a big splash?”
Walt responded with something about how the otter evolved but knowing how was not enough. She wanted to know what made it happen so quickly. But she couldn’t observe like Walt was always telling her to do because the otter moved with such speed.
Now he was gone, and she sat impatiently waiting for another otter to dive. She was ready when he did, and she quickly began to trace the time design. She knew she shouldn’t, knew this was probably not an appropriate use of that design, but she tried it anyway.
The otter stopped, perched on the edge of the river. It and everything around them was still and serene. Zyn’dri continued the pattern, slowly, steadily, in the snow before her. She watched every movement the otter made, each tiny whisker as it flexed and bobbed. She glanced at Walt. His eyes were half-closed in a blink, but they were fixed on the screen where he was recording the otter info.
The otter, his back legs gathered under him, was frozen with his nose plunged into the still river. Zyn’dri could see the ripple of the fur on his strong back. She could see every inch of him clearly. When she had studied him entirely, Zyn’dri smiled and completed the design.
The river began to flow again, and the otter slipped into it, the tip of his tail disappearing. The otter resurfaced at his frantic, wriggling pace, and Walt’s taps and scrapes on the screen continued. Zyn’dri looked around. Nothing seemed worse off for her having slowed them for a moment. If only she could find a way to stop time for good and keep the day she had to leave from dawning.
“What’s that?” Walt was gesturing toward the snow at the edge of the blanket in front of Zyn’dri, where she had traced the design. Quickly, she swiped it away.
“Just another design.” She quickly corrected herself, “another tay’ren.”
Walt turned to her, laying the screen down. “Zyn, how are you doing?”
The question was jarring. She knew that she would be sent away in just a few days. She would leave the wonders of Yellowstone behind to live as one of a passel of Chantha children who would be more or less looked after by Pyrsha’s family in the new place.
Walt and Sylvia would come soon, she told herself. She tried to control her voice when she said, “I’m doing fine,” but it cracked on the last word.
She thought Walt would start talking in that cheery way. Thought he would paint her Sylvia’s rosy picture and try to make her stop feeling terrified and sad. But he didn’t. Instead, Walt reached a long arm out and draped it around her shoulders. He looked down into her eyes, and she saw tears there before he looked back at the otters on the river. They sat in silence.
***
The next three days passed too quickly. Integr
ation Day arrived bitterly cold.
Walt and Sylvia woke Zyn’dri long before dawn.
Their breakfast of sausage and morels, Zyn’dri’s favorite, was subdued. Sylvia kept telling Zyn’dri to stay close to her Chantha family and that they would join her soon. They bundled her up in the best of her winter clothes, for which Zyn’dri was grateful as they left the little apartment. The sun was still hours from rising. The wind was still and the world was black.
Sylvia held Zyn’dri’s hand, sitting in the back of the spider with her all the way to Old Faithful Village. There, in the midst of glaring floodlights, rows of Leadership soldiers in red uniforms were ushering Stracahn onto a big rust-colored crawler. They threw dark shadows onto the wall of the Vault behind them.
That crawler would take Zyn’dri out of the park. It looked to her like a Western Balsam Bark Beetle, which had an elongated body and a blunt head. Six flat legs sat motionless, waiting to move the crawler along the ground.
Walt hated bark beetles because their presence turned a healthy thick fir tree into a ragged yellow forest skeleton. They burrowed under the bark of the tree and cut it off from everything that gave it life.
The park was dark and brooding around them, the lights too bright. When the loading hatch of the crawler cast its shadow across them, Sylvia dropped down and took Zyn’dri in her arms.
“When you feel scared, just look North. We’re here, loving you every minute. We will get there as soon as we can.”
Zyn’dri didn’t want to let go. She didn’t want to turn and make her way up the narrow steps of the crawler. She didn’t want to sit on the hard bench and gaze out the dirty window. But she did, and Zyn’dri kept her eyes on Walt and Sylvia, begging them with her eyes as the crawler whooshed to life and began its slow creeping toward the West gate. The fear in their eyes paralyzed her.
