The New Wild

by Holly Brasher

  From where Joseph dropped us, we walk on for days, stopping every night to pitch the tent along some tiny stream or pond if we can find one. The air has gotten cooler. Every morning, my jar of water is crusted over with ice. Xander and I try to keep our chins up, but neither of us is too proud to cling to the other’s warm body when we bed down. The tent is so cold you can see your breath puffing out of your lungs.

  I’d say we’re somewhere in Indiana now. The dark, lush forests have given way to shimmering fields of waist-high golden wheat, dancing in the wind. It’s near sunset, and instead of the swooping, purple-eyed bats or twinkling fireflies, we are eaten blood and bone by mosquitoes the size of my fingernails. I know they’re just trying to eke out a living, like us, but I still want every one of them dead. Xander takes rapturous delight in slapping me to kill them, especially when they’ve landed on my face. I slap him right back, but unlike him, I don’t hold back.

  “Hey!” he shouts, after a particularly strong blow.

  “What? That was a huge one. She wasn’t going down without a fight.”

  “Dude, if there isn’t skeeter blood all over my face right now, I swear,” he says, feeling his left cheek and pulling his fingers in front of his eyes. No blood.

  “Damn it, woman!”

  “Hey! I’m sorry! She musta flown off.”

  “You have got to be kidding me,” he mutters.

  “Sorry,” I offer lamely.

  “No you’re not,” he sneers.

  At dusk, we stumble upon a weird, overgrown junkyard. There’s a tiny stream running through it, along with some barbed wire peeking out of the brush, charred and swarmed with ivy. A blacked-out truck with one enormous blue beech tree shooting out of its sunroof sits askew near the center. I build a rip-roaring fire, and we cook up the emerald-headed pheasant Xander caught by hand this morning, then call it a night.

  I fall asleep quickly, as soon as it gets dark, and my dreams come on fast and clear. Mom, Bernard, and I are eating a picnic at Mount Tabor, looking over Portland, but for some whack reason, my mom is my age—pretty and goofy and weird and laughing at everything Bernard says. I’m so happy I wish I could stay in this dream forever. But sometime in the middle of the night, I’m shaken awake, and it all fades to black. The reality of the tent at what must be three in the morning smacks me in the face. I turn to Xander to yell at him for jostling me, but he’s still passed out, boar-snoring. I freeze. I could have sworn someone pushed me. All of a sudden I feel it again—a rumbling. The ground is shaking. Holy God. Earthquake!

  I poke Xander in the face repeatedly and shout in his ear. “Xander! We’re having an earthquake! What do we do? What do we do?”

  The whole tent is quivering around us, and I think the thin metal poles will collapse any second. Xander’s eyes are still glued shut. Typical.

  “Xander! We’re going to die! Wake up! Imminent death!”

  “Wha?” he barks, peeling his eyes open and sitting up quickly, hitting his head on the roof of the tent. “What? God! What is it?”

  “Feel that? The ground,” I say.

  He doesn’t say jack, just puts his palms down against the earth. “It’s rumbling all right,” he resigns.

  “Do we have to run from an earthquake when there aren’t any buildings?” I ask, panicked.

  “Uh, no, but this isn’t an earthquake, Portland.”

  “What do you mean? Of course it is!”

  Xander shakes his head. “No, dear. Listen to Montana, will you? I’d say we’ve got a whole herd of wild horses on our hands.”

  “What?” I gasp.

  “Dozens of hooves running,” he says, ear to the ground. “Maybe hundreds. They’re racing right outside.”

  For a second, I look at him in disbelief. Then I listen—really listen—to the rumblings underneath me. It’s true, the vibration feels like running. The pounding of the earth by a zillion hooves. But horses? Could horses really make the whole freaking tent shake?

  Slowly, I peak my head out into the night. I’m scared I’ll see them coming straight for us. But in the darkness, all I can make out are stars twinkling everywhere. The ground looks black, like nothing. But beyond the car-tree thing, way out over the fields, I think I can see a dark mass moving swiftly across the horizon.

  Chapter 12

  When I tell Xander it seems like they’re headed the other way, he flops down again and passes out, devil-may-care. The rumblings get softer and softer until I fall asleep, too. I have weird dreams again, this time about a massive earthquake, and I hear a child wailing sometimes, like something god-awful is happening and she can’t do anything to stop it.

  When I wake up, the sun is shining through the opening flap of the tent. I look outside, and the wheat and grass look like stocks of gold, so bright they hurt my eyes. Either I’m going crazy, or I’m still half-asleep because I can still hear that crying sound, loud and unmistakable.

  I poke Xander. “Do you hear that?” I ask.

  “Mmm…” he says, snuggling deeper into his half of the blanket.

  “Xander, someone’s crying.”

  He lifts his head up slowly, opening his eyes. He tilts his head from side to side until his neck cracks. “What-you-say-woman?”

  “Listen,” I urge. “What the hell is that?”

  The wailing has gotten so loud it sounds like it’s right outside our tent. I cannot take care of a baby, or a kid, or shit right now. We can barely feed ourselves.

  “There’s only one way to find out,” Xander says, eyebrows raised gamely.

  We cautiously open the flap and crawl out from under the canvas. I hold the axe in my right hand, in case some toddler is getting mauled by a bear out there.

  I scan the perimeter. To the right of the big tree, an absolutely enormous yellow horse is lying in the grass. It’s so large we can only see its rear, but it appears to be caught in the barbed wire that seems to be everywhere in this junky junkyard. Its whole body is struggling and shaking, trying relentlessly to break free and stand again. I can’t believe a horse is making those awful cries—they sound so human.

  Xander looks over at me, wide-eyed. I can tell he’s scared.

  “Give me the axe, Jackie,” He says softly.

  I hand it over without a fight.

  He slowly approaches the back of the horse, which starts squealing louder and louder. It’s such an unnatural sound I want to cover my ears.

  “Both the back and front legs are tangled up in that shit,” Xander says. “Jesus.”

  Xander takes a step closer, and the horse whinnies so loudly I swear I jump ten feet into the air. He murmurs, “There, there, pony,” in his deep, soothing voice, and the horse flips out. It starts screaming and bucking its legs, trying to break free. Every time it moves, though, the barbs in the wire dig deeper and deeper into its honey-yellow coat. I can see several places on its hind legs where blood slowly trickles from the cuts.

  “Xander, stop!” I call after him. “I think it’s scared of you.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  At the sound of his voice, the horse freaks out yet again, squealing so loudly Xander almost drops the axe.

  “Okay! Okay!” he says, backing up to stand next to me. “Here,” he whispers into my ear. “You try.”

  I haven’t been near a horse since the seventh grade when Mom treated me to a trail ride at Mountain View Resort. I remember they gave me the slowest, meekest-looking horse, and even it terrified me.

  I creep up slowly behind this one, muttering niceties the whole time. “Pretty horse, just relax, I will free you soon.” My heart is pounding.

  It’s definitely not scared of me like it is of Xander, because I can walk right up to it. It cries softly. The axe is useless. I toss it on the ground and delicately lift the wires with my fingers, untangling them as I go. Girls have a lot of practice with such things. My jewelry box at home was always full of a huge jumble of clumps I had to loosen.

  When I get the hind legs free, the hor
se sighs with relief, its whole back rising up and down in a satisfied moan. I make my way to the front legs. As I get closer, I get a good look at the horse. Its fur may be honey yellow, but its mane is platinum blond, cascading down its head in such shiny, straight strands they look Made-in-China fake. The horse suddenly lifts its head from the tall grass to get a look at me, and my heart almost stops in my chest. It’s not a horse. It’s not a pony, a stallion, or a mare. I can hardly believe it myself, but there’s a three-foot long, gleaming gold dagger coming out of its forehead. It’s a goddamned unicorn.

  “Xander?” I say, softly.

  “What’s wrong?” he says.

  “This is…” I’m scared to say it. I’m going to sound ridiculous, and he’s totally going to laugh. “This is a unicorn,” I spit out quickly.

  “What?” he says. Apparently, I was not only speaking quickly, I was unintelligible.

  “This. Is. A. Unicorn,” I enunciate.

  Xander pauses for a second, blinking at me. Then his face collapses into a relaxed smile.

  “Riiiiiight,” he says.

  “It is,” I insist.

  “You know, hold that thought. I’m gonna go ask the sparkle fairy over there if I can borrow a cup of sugar. I’m making cookies for the Queen.”

  “Xander, I am not fucking kidding,” I say through clenched teeth. I don’t want to set the unicorn off.

  “Uh huh.”

  All right, fine. If he wants to play that way, I’ll show him myself.

  I can’t believe this thing. As I softly pry the wires away from its front legs, unlocking their screwy puzzle, the unicorn lifts its head and looks straight into my eyes. It’s breathing heavily. The tall grass blades in front of its nose rustle with each exhalation.

  When all the wires are loose from its front legs, the unicorn rocks back and forth and rolls onto its feet. I can hardly breathe. It looked big lying down, but standing, it must be thirteen feet tall.

  “Oh, my, Jesus,” Xander says, looking up in disbelief. “Hot damn.”

  “Told you,” is all I can say. I can’t really think right now. This is the craziest, most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. Crazier than the jee-bows and the purple bats combined. I instantly think of May—she would’ve shit her pants to see this.

  For a moment, the unicorn stands there and we stand there, too, both of us staring at the other. I pull all the barbed wire away from it so it doesn’t get caught again, and the thing rears back on two legs, whinnying. I run to Xander, and we crouch behind the tent. She gallops in circles around us for a few minutes, takes a sip or two from the stream, then stands still in the golden wheat behind me. I’m still crouched down, but it puts its wet muzzle right on my head. I squeal.

  Dumb-ass Xander reaches out his arm to pet it, and the unicorn lunges at it, opening its jaws to bite. This is no greeting card unicorn. It has fangs like a tiger, and most-definitely eats meat. We scream at the top of our lungs. When Xander backs away, it turns its attention to me. It steps closer, softly, gingerly. It’s almost like she’s trying not to scare me.

  “That thing is in love with you, Jackie,” Xander says softly, trying not to irritate the beast.

  “No it’s n—” I start to say, but then it pushes its flat snout against the space between my eyes and breathes heavily like—yes—like it’s in love. My whole body shakes. We stand with our faces pressed together like that for several minutes. Its fur is surprisingly soft and silky, and it smells oddly sweet, like cinnamon. There’s a big, white patch of diamond-shaped hair on her chest.

  “All right woman, what are we gonna do, stand here all day? Let’s get outta here,” Xander says. I know he’s right. But this is so freaking awesome I want to enjoy it for a little while longer.

  I rub the unicorn’s forehead and run my fingers through its mane. When I scratch behind her ears, she starts to purr, softly, like a cat. Her whole chest is vibrating with the purring sound, but Xander’s totally over it. He’s rolling up our tent and rolling his eyes at the same time.

  “Help me, will you? This stuff isn’t going to pack itself.”

  I pick up a few of our dangling items—tin cans and a loose glove—and look back at the unicorn. She’s still staring at me, unmoving.

  “Let’s get a move on,” Xander says.

  “‘Kay,” I say, patting the unicorn’s long, doll-like hair.

  “See you later,” I whisper.

  We start to walk away from the sunrise, west, out of the junkyard and into the endless plateaus of rolling wheat. I hear four hooves clomping along behind us.

  “It’s following us,” Xander says softly.

  “I know,” I say.

  I look back and catch it strolling about ten feet behind, keeping pace and looking straight at me.

  “Shoo!” Xander shouts, waving his arms. The unicorn bares her teeth at him. But then she turns to me and arranges her snout into what I can only describe as a smile.

  “This is so weird!” I whisper.

  “Tell me about it.”

  “When did people believe in these again?” I ask him.

  “Shit, I don’t know. Do you think I keep up with unicorn facts?” he says incredulously.

  “I feel like all that unicorn lore started in the Middle Ages. That’s what I remember,” I say, looking back into its huge brown eyes. “I can’t get over that they’re real now. She’s so pretty.”

  The unicorn gallops in circles around us, stopping us dead in our tracks. After the third or fourth time around, she slows and pauses right in front of me. She turns so her back is to my right and softly, gingerly, kneels to the ground.

  “Oh my God,” Xander whispers.

  “What?”

  “She wants you to get on.”

  “No,” I say. There’s no way.

  “Jackie, she wants you to get on.”

  I look over at her. She’s looking right at me, every so often flicking her eyes back to where the saddle would sit if she were wearing one.

  “Holy crap.”

  “You better do as she tells you, woman. I would not wanna mess with that pony,” Xander says.

  I inhale deeply. I can barely catch my breath. I can’t believe I’m about to throw my leg over a freaking unicorn the size of an elephant, with fangs for teeth, no less. I crouch a little and slowly swing my right leg over the small of her back. When she’s got her legs bent under her like this, she’s about as tall as my mom’s mahogany four-post bed. It takes me a second, but eventually, I’m nestled into the inverted arch of her back. Her whole body is warm, and so soft, softer than any horsehair I’ve ever felt. The minute she knows I’m steady, she pushes up on all fours and starts to walk.

  “Jackie, you are not leaving me here to schlep while you ride off into the distance,” Xander says, jogging after us.

  “Hey, it’s not my fault this horse don’t like wang,” I laugh.

  “Just let me try to get on,” he says. He reaches for her coat, placing his hand on her rump for only a split-second before she jumps three feet into the air and glares back at him, shrieking.

  “Okay, okay! Nevermind! Sorry I bothered,” he backpedals.

  “Ha! Walk, boy!” I say, though I honestly feel bad for him. All this walking is hard work. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep it up.

  “Oh my God, Jackie. I hate you so much right now,” he grumbles, trailing behind us.

  Chapter 13

  I ride the unicorn for an hour before I start to feel comfortable, like I can breathe again, like my heart isn’t going to pop out of my chest and burst into a million pieces. She’s walking pretty slowly, probably trying not to freak me out, which is good for Xander. If she went any faster, I think we’d leave him in a swarm of our dust, choking on air. He’s not happy, but us girls are carrying all the bags and the tent, so all he has to do is put one foot in front of the other. We walk on this way for a few days, me riding on the unicorn, Xander walking calmly beside us. Every night, the unicorn chases fireflies for a while, t
hen curls up next to me. We always assume she’ll be gone by morning, but come daybreak, she’s still there, purring at me. We decide to call her the Kitten from Hell, Esquire; Kitten for short. I don’t know how we’d move without her carrying me and all our gear. I only wish I had a camera to capture it. If I ever get home, my mom’s never going to believe it. Bernard would be so jealous he’d disown me.

  It’s funny looking at Xander now. He’s so different from the asshole I met at Camp Astor. I mean, he definitely has his moments. But this morning, in the golden wheat fields, walking so determinedly he could be marching off to war, there’s something so beautiful about him. He catches me staring.

  “What?” he says gruffly.

  “Oh nothing,” I say, brushing my hair back. “How is it down there?”

  “Incredibly relaxing, thank you,” he says. Always Mr. Sarcasm.

  “How is it up there?” he says.

  I look down at him.

  “Never mind, I don’t want to know,” he says, shaking his head.

  We keep walking westward, as fast as Xander can move. I wish to God he could ride. If he could, I’d be kicking her up to a full gallop, and we’d home in weeks instead of months.

  These rolling plains look like they’ll go on forever. It must be about high noon now. The sun is beating down on us in full force. Without it, we’d probably freeze. The jee-bows we pass turn brighter and brighter shades of orange as we approach. What could orange mean? My heart starts to thump a little louder.

  “Jackie, what is that?” Xander says, his voice deeper than normal.

  “What?” I say, swiping down at my chest. He’s talking like a weird bug is crawling on me.

  “No, out there. What the hell is that?”

  His long, muscled arm points ahead and to the right. In the distance, black rectangles shoot up jaggedly out of the plains. They’re the tallest structures we’ve seen in months, basically the size of skyscrapers.

  “Jesus, Xander, I don’t know,” I stammer.

  “Well, whatever they are, we’re heading right for them.”