The New Wild

by Holly Brasher

  With the sun rising over hills topped with corn and wheat twisting in the breeze, the buffalo are back and stronger than ever. I can spot them from miles away. Their humped spines are chocolate-brown and furry, and double horns rise from either ear like tusks. This morning, their hooves pound the earth again, hundreds upon hundreds of them, hurdling over the land.

  I see them first and let out a whoop, super happy that they’re kicking once again, and Xander thinks I’ve lost my marbles. Maybe I have. But Kitten, that’s a different story. The minute she notices them, I feel her whole back tense up. As we get closer to them, her horn goes from its typical luminous gold, to a terrifying, mesmerizing, blood red. It’s lit from within, crazy bright, and it’s spinning around in its socket. My breath catches in my throat.

  I don’t even have the power to say anything before she gallops toward the bison at full speed. When we’re within spitting distance, she drops us, deftly crouching and tossing us gently to the ground. She charges toward the bison so fast we can barely see her. When she catches up to them, which doesn’t take more than a few seconds, they start making a groaning sound. They know what’s up.

  I brace myself for her to stab them all and get it over with in a giant bloodbath. But she takes her time, running with them for a while, herding them apart. Even though they’re huge, not one of them tries to fight her—they go with her flow. Eventually, she picks out a buffalo, the weakest of the bunch, and within seconds, she’s pierced it through the skull with her horn and killed it instantly. The hundreds of others flee as fast as they can, but she drops to her knees and digs into the flesh of the fresh carcass in front of her. Even from a hundred yards away, we can see the fur flying, the blood squirting into the sky.

  Kitten rips into the flesh for a long time, until the carcass is nothing but a skeleton. We walk toward her slowly, scared she’s going to turn around and head for us next. But she doesn’t. When we’re a few feet away, she looks toward us, her horn restored to its brilliant, golden shine, her eyes now calm and knowing. She motions for us to come aboard.

  Chapter 18

  It’s after sunset now, and the sky has gone from pink to purple to navy blue with stars flashing across it. All I want to do is find a creek and a flat bit of land to sleep on, but Xander’s hell-bent on getting to Montana.

  “I can smell it,” he insists. “We’re almost there.”

  “Yeah? What’s it smell like?” I say, trying to be funny and thinking he’ll say cowboy boots, or horse shit, or booze.

  “Home,” he says gravely, and suddenly, I know this is no time to joke. If his family is dead, he’ll be completely devastated. We’ll know one way or the other soon enough.

  The land around us has changed dramatically in a few hours. We’ve come out of the plains and into deep, evergreen forests filled with trees so tall they nearly edge out the sky. The air smells like pine. I pull off a few needles from a nearby branch. I remember Deb telling me pine needles steeped in hot water make a tea richer in vitamin C than ten oranges.

  It’s freezing cold, but we have our blankets wrapped around us, even on Kitten, which helps. In the moonlight, the whole forest is cast in the ethereal luminosity of the sky. Huge phosphorescent mushrooms glow neon green in the night. We stay away from them, even though we’re hungry. There’s no telling what they could do to us.

  Barn owls sit patiently in the tree branches, their eyes gleaming yellow. White flowers the size of plates grow under the thick tree trunks. They pop shut eerily when we pass. In the radiance of the moon, I can see some sugar maple trees, their trunks flowing with rivers of sap. We stop and collect some in Xander’s spare mason jar. Later, we’ll boil it over the fire until it’s a syrup, sweet as candy.

  All around us, the bubbles are floating again, each carrying a different bit of life. In the dark of night, I can’t make out what they are, but we both try to pop them anyway, on the off chance they’re growing something edible. The best may well be the pumpkin—when I burst its little sparkling sphere, a dozen orange squashes spring from the dirt. We grab three and roast them over the fire with the maple sap. It’s the best “pumpkin pie” I’ve tasted in years.

  As we make our way into the forest, I start to hear buzzing. At first, it’s soft, like a lawnmower in the distance. But the deeper we get into the trees, the louder it sounds, until it’s roaring in our ears. It’s hard to tell where it’s coming from, but Xander figures it out pretty quickly. The bees had all but disappeared thanks to our cellphones and crop dusting, but they’re everywhere now, working so hard to play catch-up that they’re pollinating at night. The air hums with their vibrating wings. I’m allergic—if I get stung even once, I swell up like a water balloon—so Xander swaddles me tighter in a blanket and pulls me against his chest. His heart pounds against my back, steady and strong. When I turn to look at him, my nose brushes his cheek and we both start to laugh. Xander’s eyes focus on me, and for the first time, it feels like he’s staring straight into my heart. I smile at him, and his lips turn up into a sweet, loving grin.

  I can’t wait anymore. I lean back and push my lips against his. We kiss softly at first, then feverishly, and it’s better than I ever imagined. Our tongues find one another easily, teasing the other instinctively. For all the fires I’ve seen and made in the last few months, this is hotter than them all. My skin is electrified—I wouldn’t be surprised if I saw sparks literally flying off us, cracking in the air. I’ve only kissed three other guys, and I didn’t like any of them a quarter as much as I like Xander. No other kiss has ever come close.

  Chapter 19

  For the next few days, I try to play it cool, like my heart isn’t doing summersaults every time I lock eyes with him. Like I haven’t come to realize I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anyone. I can’t help it. He used to be such an asshole, but part of me wonders if that was his way of dealing with insecurity or hidden fears of not stacking up. He’s been taking such good care of me, it’s like he’s a whole different person now. A very sexy person.

  For a while, we can’t keep our hands off one another, kissing and huddling together whenever we have the chance. We’re not having sex any time soon—I can hardly wrap my head around the consequences of pregnancy right now, not to mention we’re both pretty gross from all the traveling and lack of showers—but just the kissing and touching feels incredible and gives me something happy to focus on.

  But the closer we get to Xander’s hometown, the more distracted he is. He doesn’t care about anything but getting there, and he’s hardly talking to me anymore. Usually, he’s at least good for a few sarcastic comments, but these days, his face is tight with worry. I’m sure he’s wondering if they’re alive, going over everything in his mind that could point to the answer. I know, because I’ve been doing the same thing.

  We’re about sixty miles from his house, he guesses, when we see the remains of another body splayed out in a blackened car.

  I feel his body quaking behind me. When I turn around, his face is all red, his brow furrowed. He’s looking really pissed off.

  “What is this, anyway? What is this?” he shouts, flustered.

  “What do you mean?” I say, looking behind me into his eyes.

  “This apocalypse bullshit. People killed for no reason. What did they ever do wrong? What is Mother Nature trying to prove?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine, Xander,” I say. We’ve talked about this topic a lot, but now that we’re getting closer to home it’s at the top of both of our minds.

  “I mean, really. What is the deal?” he yells.

  I look back at him blankly. I don’t know the answer to that one any better than he does. The only thing that makes even a bit of sense was what Deb said—that the people still alive respected Mother Nature deep in their souls. I start to wonder if Xander’s family fit that mold. I know he does—he takes no delight in killing dinner and feels guilty killing a fly. But sometimes people are the opposite of their parents.

  “Do y
ou think,” I gulp, “that they’re dead?”

  “They’re not dead. They can’t be dead.” His voice is thick but level.

  “Only a handful of people survived the Burning, Xander, and a lot of them couldn’t make it in the new wild,” I say. I’m thinking of all those poor people we saw decomposing in Chicago. If only they’d known how to eat, how to defend themselves.

  Xander looks down and drops his head onto my shoulder. He looks like he’s about to cry, or punch something, or both. He covers my ears with his hands.

  “I WANT THEM ALIVE!” he screams into the snow-topped mountains, into the sky. “I WANT THEM ALL ALIVE!”

  Me, too.

  * * *

  Fortune, Xander’s hometown, was built deep in the Braggard National Forest the year they discovered oil in those mountains. The closer we get to his house, the more I think he doesn’t have a prayer. Every home we come across is massive—McMansion after McMansion—but they’re all burnt to a crisp, with trees now shooting out of their roofs and birds nesting on their porches.

  Moving at a full gallop, we’ll be there any minute, but Xander can’t wait a second longer. We round one final bend, careen up a long gravel driveway and over a hill, and then we see it. Xander’s mouth drops open, and he holds his hands over his eyes, but there’s no going back.

  The house is just like the others—coal black, crawling with foliage. I’m scared to go near it. Scared all three floors will come crashing down the minute we set foot on the front stoop, but Xander barrels inside. This is the moment of truth, and part of me would rather keep believing a lie than risk knowing what I’m terrified he’ll find.

  He’s in there a long time, much too long. I don’t hear any crashing sounds, though, which is good, just black crows calling. I look up into the ominous gray sky and beg for their lives. I’d rather lose an arm than watch him go through the pain of losing his family.

  Then he stumbles from the house carrying three charred skeletons, his eyes red and blotchy, his face twisted into an expression so anguished, I let out a sob. He falls to the ground and pulls them all to his stomach, holding them there with both arms and rocking back and forth. His cries have terrified Kitten, who is backing away from us. My chest physically hurts watching him go through this, the agony of losing his mother, his father, and his baby sister all at once. I run over and throw my body around his. We cry together, our bodies heaving in sobs. They were everything to him, and now his everything is gone.

  * * *

  Xander tries to dig three shallow graves in his backyard, but the earth is too cold to penetrate. He ends up swaddling them all together in our biggest blanket and placing the bodies in a clearing of lodgepole pines under a pyramid of cut branches. His eyes have wept all they could—now they are empty. Lifeless. All I want is to make him feel better, but I know there’s no use. There’s nothing that will take this pain away.

  We set up camp that night next to the makeshift burial site, looking up at the clearest skies I’ve ever seen. The stars are bright, but the Northern Lights drift over them in an ever-changing rainbow of hazy color, first blue, then emerald green, then deep royal purple. I sit by the fire, hugging my knees to my chest. Xander lies on his back, staring into space. I can see his suffering. I can hear it in every sigh that leaves his body. I lie next to him all night long, watching his chest rise and fall, brushing the flies away from his face. Nothing will ever be the same.

  Chapter 20

  I wake up wrapped in Xander’s warm arms, my heartbeat ticking in time with his. The Montana air is ice-cold, especially when I have to pull away from him to pack up camp. Today is really frigid, and the whole sky swirls with clouds that look like they’re about to dump snow on us at any second. The air smells clear and clean, like after a fresh snowfall. We can see our breath in the air and Kitten’s, too, seeping from her nostrils in long, spiraling billows that dissipate in the wind.

  Xander’s eyes are filled with sadness over the loss of his family. He said he found them all right where he thought they would be—his dad on the charred recliner, his mom in front of the microwave, his sister in her twin bed right next to her tiny, melted cellphone. I don’t know where I would find my mom. The kitchen, I guess. She’s always cooking something up. I can’t bear to think about it.

  Before we leave he asks for some time alone with them. Even from in front of his house, I can hear his sobs. I feel like I’ve lost him. But when he finally comes out, his eyes look clearer, like he’s reached a kind of peace. His lips turn up into a sad sort of half-smile, and I know somehow he’ll pull through.

  We climb aboard Kitten and start to ride west, bracing ourselves against the wind. I lean back and kiss Xander every few minutes. It feels so good to be able to do that whenever I feel like it.

  We’re not a mile from his house when something comes barreling out of the undergrowth and scares Kitten so much she rears back on two legs.

  “Holy crap! What the hell is that?” I shout.

  A tiny, hazel-brown something is rolling around on the ground in front of us. Xander hops down with the axe, prepared to defend me, God love him. But when he gets closer to it, he starts cooing.

  “Jackie, it’s a puppy! A real-live puppy!” He picks it up in his arms and holds it against his heart. “A bloodhound.” He looks back at me with eyes that beg, like if he doesn’t carry it with him on horseback he’s gonna go ahead and die of sadness.

  “Can I keep him?” he says, softly. I can tell he’s scared I’m gonna say no.

  The answer is, undoubtedly, of course. I’m not about to let that puppy starve to death alone. Besides, he’s fun, and we need a little fun in our lives, especially Xander, especially now. Before he gets near us, Xander takes off a piece of my sweater and wraps it around the dog’s neck, so he has my scent. When Kitten smells him, she stops whinnying, thank God. I did not want to see her horn start spinning. After everything else, I don’t think we could handle adorable puppy bloodshed.

  Xander decides to call him Droops, for the saggy skin that hangs in ripples over his tiny frame. He has big feet, big ears, and a tiny tail, and his beige coat is a few shades darker than Kitten’s. Xander puts him right against his chest and swaddles him with his coat. Droops licks his neck and face all over, and for the first time in weeks, Xander laughs out loud. He leans in to kiss me, and I press my back to his chest, practically squashing the dog. I don’t care—nuzzling him is worth it.

  The farther we get up into the Bitterroot Mountains toward Oregon, the colder it gets. My hands are chapped red, my teeth chattering. In front of me, Kitten’s mane is crusted with frost. Xander holds me and Droops as tightly as he possibly can, but it’s no use. We’re numb.

  We’re somewhere up in Lolo Pass, Xander says, when the snow comes softly down and dusts every inch of us. At first, it falls like powdered sugar tossed gingerly over the crest of a great cake, but after a while, the flakes start swarming in such a flurry, it’s like we’re trapped beneath the glass of a bone-chilling snow-globe. I’m immediately taken back to the last day a huge blizzard hit Portland.

  I was eight, maybe nine, and Mom and I woke up early to listen to the radio to hear if school was cancelled. We whooped and hollered when they said my school had a snow day. When her work at the law firm was announced closed, too, she picked me up and twirled me around the kitchen. She was so excited to spend all day alone with me. We sledded down Suicide Hill, heated cocoa over the fire when the electricity went out, and curled up together in her big downy bed to read until we fell asleep.

  Today, all the fun and excitement of a snow day is gone. I’m fucking freezing and I feel like my fingers are going to fall off and maybe take my nose with them. Every breath I suck into my lungs feels like a dagger of ice being pumped inside my chest. To make matters worse, we haven’t come across anything to eat in a day and a half. No bubbles carrying nut trees, no ground squirrels, no nothing. We’re starving. Deb said humans can fast for up to a few weeks, but we’re using up so much ene
rgy moving west I doubt we’ll last longer than a couple days.

  Every once in a while, we stop to try to get a fire going and warm up for a while, but it’s almost impossible with all the snow. Xander uses his body as a shield against the wind, but even getting sparks from the flint is hard. The twigs are too damp. Nights are better, because that’s when Kitten’s horn glows with a light so bright and fierce that heat emanates from it in waves. It sounds crazy, but part of me wishes it were night all the time, so we’d always be warm.

  We cross through snow banks six feet deep, past towering redwoods trimmed with icicles. Red-eyed vultures circle above us, waiting for their next meal. We’re camping along a frozen lake in what I’m guessing is Idaho, and I truly start to believe we’re going to die. We’re both so weak from hunger we can’t even talk anymore, and so goddamned cold I don’t think either of us can feel a thing. I think my whole body has frostbite, from forehead to toe. They say hell is a hot place, full of fire and brimstone, but I think hell is a day without even the hope of warmth and your stomach is so empty it’s scraping itself from within.

  It’s broad daylight, but all three of us—including Droops—are piled on top of one another in the tent, squeezing each other as hard as we can to unite any remaining body heat, when we hear Kitten start to growl and see a bright, red light shining through the canvas roof.

  Xander sticks his head out the door. “Holy fucking shit,” he mutters.

  “Is it us? Is she coming after us?” I ask, my breath shallow. “I always thought this might happen.”

  Xander comes back inside the tent, his eyes wide. “No,” he says gravely. “We gotta grizzly on our hands.”

  “A grizzly…bear?” I ask, my voice tight with fear.