Crash

by Joseph Monninger

  It had been brutally painful to climb down the rope from the plane and to walk through the icy water, but now the pain had turned into something violent and stiff. His hand, when he moved it subtly toward the fire, displayed lines of blood. He knew he should tell someone that he had sustained an injury, but he felt reluctant. He did not know these people — he had only met them a week ago, when he was flown to America for a casting session. He was an outsider here, a feeling he was not used to at home, and it did no good to pretend otherwise. He supposed he should speak to Mr. Eggerts, who wanted them to call him Seldon, but Mr. Eggerts seemed preoccupied by the dog, Buford. No, it was better to wait and see how things would go. When he saw how things arranged themselves, then he could decide what to do about the warm place.

  He moved closer to the fire. He listened to Seldon talk about rescue. The man’s mouth moved, but Suryadi had difficulty taking in the words. Because he was the show’s producer, Seldon knew the timetable, when they were expected in Alaska, who would be aware of the plane’s disappearance. Suryadi tried to listen, tried to follow Seldon’s reasoning, but he felt himself fading in and out of consciousness. Cold pressed against his back. The entire forest, as far as he could see, pressed against his back. The fire could not give him enough heat. He shivered. His body needed something he couldn’t give it.

  “… I’m sure the pilot filed a flight plan. That’s the law,” Seldon said from his position across the fire. “And when they see we haven’t arrived, they’re going to come looking.”

  “Seldon’s right,” Mr. Eliot said. “As horrible as our situation is right now, we have to stay optimistic. There’s no reason not to think they are on their way. Or will be first thing in the morning, anyway.”

  “We should have a signal fire ready,” Titus said. “There’s plenty of wood. We have that going for us.”

  Suryadi nodded, though he wasn’t sure what he was nodding for. The warm place felt bigger, wider beneath his shirt. The dog had already been over twice to sniff at him. Suryadi wondered if blood didn’t attract bears. If blood attracted sharks under the water, why not bears in country like this? It was possible. If the dog could smell it, then a bear could smell it.

  “We need to keep collecting wood,” E said when the two older men stopped talking about rescue and flight plans. “That’s what we should be doing.”

  Suryadi looked at the girl called E. She was very pretty. He had seen her on YouTube, in a singing video, before he had met her. She was the first person he had ever met who was somewhat famous. She would be a star someday, he imagined. Maybe she already was.

  “We need to stay in teams. A buddy system,” Titus said. “And everyone should stay where they can see the fire.”

  “There are blankets on the plane,” Web said. “Maybe we should get some blankets.”

  “I don’t think we should go on the plane again until we can see what’s what,” Paul Eliot said. “That’s my opinion. Maybe in the morning we can go on.”

  “In the morning,” his dad agreed.

  And that’s when Suryadi felt the warm place pull something away from his center of gravity. From his balance. He squatted down, his eyes on the flames, and he wanted to say something, something about the shark and the fisherman, the eyes of the fisherman as the man had rested on the canoe, his ribs white and brilliant in the harsh sunlight, the glistening water winking and playing and pretending to be innocent behind him. He remembered the man’s eyes, the expression the man had that said everything he needed to know about his injury, or about sharks jamming their teeth deeper into his side.

  That was the last thing Suryadi thought before he tilted sideways and fell, his head missing the outer ring of the fire by inches.

  “It’s so dark,” Web said, his arms half-filled with sticks of wood. “We are sitting ducks if any zombies attack.”

  “Shut up,” Paul said, his body bent over a bunch of white driftwood. The driftwood, Web reflected, looked like bones.

  “I’m just saying,” Web said, surprised that Paul didn’t want to play along. They had talked a lot about zombies and about comics in general. It was an old conversational thread between them. “We’ve got nothing. Not one zombie weapon.”

  “I’m more worried about bears,” Paul said. “And the cold. The cold can kill us. It’s not pretend.”

  “Still,” Web said, not sure where he wanted to go with the conversation.

  It was cold. Way cold. He had no socks on, no overcoat, no sweater. It had been hot in LA, almost ninety, when they had taken off, and Web had worn his usual polo shirt, baggy shorts, and orange Crocs. Wardrobe would make him wear whatever it wanted him to wear once they got to the shoot, so it made no sense to worry about clothes for the plane ride. So now he was dressed for a Los Angeles August afternoon, for the sweet couch in front of his basement game station, to be honest, but he had been rerouted to the tundra. It was worse than zombies.

  “It’s freezing,” Web said. “Let’s get back to the fire.”

  “We need as much as we can carry.”

  “I’ve got my load.”

  “But I haven’t. And we’re on the buddy system.”

  “The fire is right over there,” Web said. “Titus is being a little heavy-handed, don’t you think? We’re not babies.”

  Paul didn’t answer. He finally had his arms full of brittle-looking wood.

  “Okay,” he said.

  “You think they’ll come looking for us?” Web asked, his arms aching with the weight of the wood.

  “Of course they will.”

  “What if they don’t?”

  Paul began walking back to the fire.

  “We’re in serious trouble if they don’t,” Paul said.

  “That’s what I’m saying. Did you see that kid Suryadi keel over?”

  Paul nodded. At least Web thought he nodded. It was hard to see in the dark. It was hard to even walk in the dark, because Web nearly stumbled twice on the uneven river stones. It was like walking on marbles.

  “He’s paired up with Jill,” Paul said. “They’re staying by the fire.”

  “I know that,” Web said, feeling his arms begging to drop the wood. “She’s completely zapped.”

  “Shhhh.” Paul shushed him.

  Web stumbled the last few steps and chucked his wood on the pile beside the fire. His hands felt frozen, and his legs burned from the aftermath of so many mosquito bites. He inched over to the fire. People had dragged over larger rocks or pieces of logs for seats. He plunked down on a gnarly pine stump and leaned as close as he could to the flames. The fire was decent. It was nearly too hot on your front, but your back was in the Arctic.

  He looked over at Suryadi. The kid lay on the ground, his eyes straight up at the stars.

  “Where’s your buddy?” he asked the kid, but his voice was drowned out by Seldon dropping an armful of wood onto the pile. Still, they were supposed to stay together, even the two lame-os at the fire. If he had to stick with a buddy, then he expected everyone else to stick with a buddy.

  “Where’s Jill?” he asked, and the kid lifted his hand and pointed toward the forest behind them.

  Jill walked like Frankenstein’s monster, her hands out in front of her, her eyes searching for the light of the fire. But it was dark. It was all much darker than she could have believed, and now the forest seemed to stretch in every direction without any borders or definition. If you had told her ten minutes before that she could get lost by slipping into the woods to go to the bathroom, she would have said that was crazy.

  I’m just going over there, she had told her so-called buddy, Suryadi. She didn’t tell him why she had to go over there and she didn’t particularly care if he figured it out. She was buddies with Suryadi, the Indonesian boy with the bloody shirt, and she wasn’t about to ask him to accompany her into the bushes even if he was able. What she really wanted, what she felt down in her belly, was the twin need for her sister. She wanted Jenky, her other half, her best friend, but that, she knew,
wasn’t going to happen.

  That isn’t going to happen, she told herself again. Ever.

  That was impossible to think about, to make sense of, to get a handle on. She shut it out as much as she could, and after she finished in the bushes, she looked around, ready to hurry back to the fire, but the fire wasn’t there. It wasn’t anywhere. She smelled wood smoke, sort of, but even that didn’t seem to come from any specific direction. Insects swarmed around her and made finding her way back to the fire even more difficult. She felt — in the darkness, with the mosquitoes churning around her, the incessant buzz in her ears, and the bug taste in each breath — that she might go completely nuts.

  Not a little nuts. Not pretend nuts like when you couldn’t find your pen at school or the container of yogurt you had hidden in the fridge. She felt on the edge as she had never been on the edge before. And she was uncertain if she could hold it all together.

  That’s why she walked like Frankenstein’s monster. That’s why she kept running into everything.

  She had never been in woods like these. Or woods even close to these. She and Jenky used to play in a rhododendron patch on the side of the house. That was as close as she had ever come to being in the woods. But now logs ran everywhere, up and down, on the ground and as leaners, and she supposed she should stop and try to figure things out, or call, but she felt the sizzle of adrenaline zipping through her veins.

  It was easier to move than to think.

  Easier to move than to remember.

  Then, far away, she heard someone calling her name. It came faintly through the woods, and at first she didn’t want to answer. She didn’t want them. She wanted Jenky, or her parents, or anyone who would really understand what it meant to be without your twin for the first time. The first time in your life. At the same moment, though, the bugs started drilling into her neck, under her hair in the back, and she knew they had found a vulnerable spot. She slapped at them and tried to brush them off her skin, but a thousand insects replaced the ones she shook away.

  She called for help.

  It was weird, though, because she couldn’t remember making the effort to call for help an instant after she had done it. It was as if a voice had come up through her lungs and out of her mouth, but it didn’t belong to her. She had not generated it. It simply shot out into the blackness and seemed to go up and up and up as if she had tried to hit a high, operatic note. Laced into the call, she detected elements of panic and terror that she didn’t feel consciously, but they were undeniable. It was the call of someone drowning or falling, and it came again, shooting up through her mouth and throat, and she slumped down onto the wet logs when she finished and listened to people shouting back and forth.

  Over here, someone yelled, a boy.

  Over this way. Jill? Jill, where are you?

  It’s too dark! someone shouted.

  Then suddenly someone with a light stood in front of her. It was nearly like magic.

  “Got her!” someone yelled.

  It was a boy. It was Titus.

  “You should have a buddy,” he said.

  “He’s injured.”

  “Well, still.”

  Then a few others crashed up through the woods next to Titus. Two had flashlights. The light was painful to look at.

  “Just follow us out,” someone — not Titus, but she couldn’t see who spoke — said. It was a girl.

  Jill nodded. She followed them again like Frankenstein’s monster, her hands up to protect her eyes from the twigs and branches that tried to impale her.

  Then, before she knew what had happened, someone had her beside the fire again, and the flames jumped up and made the sky orange, but only for a second, only spark by spark.

  It was late, sometime well after midnight, when Walter Eliot tapped Seldon Eggerts on the shoulder and whispered in his ear.

  “Can I talk to you?” Walter Eliot asked.

  Walter watched Seldon Eggerts shake himself. Seldon had been half-asleep beside the fire. The basset hound had curled beside him. They both looked up, half-awake, fully annoyed.

  “What is it?” Seldon asked.

  “I need to talk to you,” Walter said. “Over there.”

  “Over where?” Seldon asked, sitting up slowly and looking around him.

  “Away from the fire,” Walter said. “You know, adult to adult.”

  Seldon sighed and slowly pushed himself to his feet. The dog uncurled and shook itself. Walter led them away. He saw Seldon nearly fall, then catch himself. The dog trotted easily beside him.

  “What is it?” Seldon asked when they had gone about twenty yards from the fire. “It’s freezing.”

  “A little farther,” Walter said. “Sound carries over water.”

  Maybe it was getting lighter, Walter thought. He certainly hoped so. His body ached and his nerves felt on edge. But he needed to go over things with Eggerts. That much was clear.

  “Okay,” Walter said when they reached a sufficient distance.

  “What’s this all about?” Seldon asked, his voice betraying his annoyance. “Why did you wake me up?”

  “I figured we needed a chance to talk away from the kids,” Walter said, his voice low and straight between them. “About our circumstances.”

  “What about our circumstances?”

  “I just figured tomorrow … well, we should have a unified front. We should have a clear plan.”

  “There isn’t a clear plan. That’s the nature of these things.”

  “I mean about rescue. About our chances.”

  “Are you asking if I think someone is looking for us? I don’t know. No one knows. I would imagine they are, but you never know. In case you didn’t notice, this was a small plane. It’s not part of any airline. It’s a guide service, really.”

  “So you don’t know if the pilot filed a flight plan?”

  “I assume he did, but I don’t know for certain. Why are we talking about this in the middle of the night? We can’t do anything about it right now.”

  “I thought we might be able to be more frank without the kids listening in.”

  Walter watched Seldon reach down and pet the dog. That was that thing, he realized. That was that thing that other people did around him. People often appeared annoyed somehow with him, and they did things like that: stapled papers or pet dogs or put files together. Walter had never been certain why he brought out that behavior in others, but he knew he did. In everyone but his son. His son never betrayed his lack of interest that way.

  “Listen, Walter,” Seldon said, standing up from petting the dog finally, “if you think I’m in charge of this mission, then you need to think again. I have no idea what to do. I don’t think anyone does. As far as what’s behind us, or ahead of us, for that matter, I have no idea. The pilot came highly recommended, so I imagine he did file a flight plan. And I also imagine he put out an SOS, but I can’t say for certain if he did. Maybe the plane has a beacon on it. I don’t know. I have no idea where we are. We were going north from Anchorage. That’s about as good as I can do.”

  “Near the Brooks Range,” Walter said, mostly to reassure himself.

  “If you say so. In the morning, we may have a better idea. It’s possible the radio works on the plane, but I doubt it. Even if it did work, I’d be the last one to get it operating. I have no desire to be Cub Scout leader here. Frankly, Titus knows much more about this type of thing than I do. He’s an Eagle Scout, at least. I can’t speak for you, but I bet he knows more than you, too. So why don’t we go back to sleep?”

  “I thought it best to have a plan when they wake up.”

  Seldon bent and petted the dog again.

  “We’re in trouble,” Seldon said. “We’ll try our best to fix things. That’s the whole plan, as far as I can see.”

  “I just thought as adults …”

  “These kids aren’t stupid, Walter. They know the situation as well as we do. If someone doesn’t come to get us out of here, we’re dead meat.”

>   “You really think so?”

  Seldon nodded. Then he turned around and went back to the fire.

  Fuel was not a problem, Titus realized. Gathering fuel might be. Getting people to see the need to plan ahead definitely would be, but fuel was plentiful. Wherever the lake was situated on a map, deep forest surrounded it. Mounds and jumbles of wood cluttered the shoreline and to gather it simply required time and energy. Titus imagined the wood had been lifted onto the shore by the ice during the winter. When you sighted along it carefully from the side, you saw that it probably represented the high-tide line.

  Or high ice line. Or snow line. Or whatever.

  But that also meant you needed to build your structures farther away from the water than the line.

  That’s what went through his head.

  The other thing that went through his head was the sunrise.

  It came from behind them. At first, it appeared as if the dark had simply slipped away like a sheet pulled back to reveal old, dusty furniture. He tipped forward on his knees and put more wood into the fire. It was a good fire now, hot and filled with coals, and he had to look away to gauge the sun’s slowly building strength. He saw the beach, the rocky shore, for what it was: nothing more than a thumbnail, a point of land that stuck out into the lake’s body. The light revealed no new landmarks, nothing to give a framework for where they had landed. Yes, he saw mountains off to the north, and he saw more trees than he had ever seen in his life, but nothing showed any sign of human habitation. No smoke trails, no church steeples, no bridge spans. Nothing but trees and water and sky.

  He stood and walked to the water’s edge. He squatted next to it and washed his face and hands. That was a survival technique, he remembered. Keep things orderly, keep to routines, establish rules even when there were no rules. Wash your face, brush your teeth, comb your hair. To do otherwise was to give in to the animal side of things, the impulse you felt to go running blindly through the woods like a startled deer. Or like a startled Jill. She didn’t know how lucky they had been to find her. She didn’t realize how easy it was to let the forest swallow you. Even though it had felt like no big deal in the end, Titus knew they had avoided a bad situation. He knew he had to keep an eye on her. She was not in a good place mentally.