by Lindy Zart
My lips press together. Oh, I am definitely being punished.
“I feel like we’re in The Hunger Games,” Avery mutters from my left. “Who does this anyway?”
“Duke Renner,” I growl, for once in agreement with her.
“I thought we weren’t allowed to bring anything,” Avery remarks.
I look at her.
“Your pocketknife.” She gestures to my shorts. “We were told to not bring anything but ourselves. Isn’t that considered illegal?”
“Illegal?”
“You know what I mean. Against the rules.”
I study Avery’s features. “I would think you’d be glad I had it. Otherwise, you might still be trapped by a deadly tree.”
Her jaw goes taut. “I think the idea was to get me untangled without using a weapon.”
I shrug. “I’ve been wondering…how did you manage to get your hair caught?”
“You know what an even better question is?” She glares at me.
“Why has Duke forsaken me?”
Avery continues to glower at me.
I sigh and briefly explain about the pocketknife, “I don’t go anywhere without it.”
“Why?”
I climb over a boulder almost as big as me, calling over my shoulder, “If I tell you, you’ll just make it into a slogan and sell it on me. You’re good at that.”
AVERY
We all have parts of ourselves we dislike. Some we can help, and others, we cannot. I’ve always hated my freckles and wavy hair. I can’t permanently do anything about either of those.
I carefully heave my frame over the monstrous rock that decided to make its home in the middle of a trail. I scratch my palms and knees in the process. Once I get over it, and by that, I mean, I basically let myself fall over the side and ungracefully land on my feet, I lean over with my palms on my knees and take a moment to catch my breath. Sweat trickles down the sides of my face, stinging my eyes when some drips into them.
“We’re wasting daylight,” Ben says snippily.
“Coming,” I say hoarsely.
I want people to like me, and because of that, I sometimes don’t stay true to myself. The need for approval is strong, and knowing from where it stems, doesn’t negate it. There are times I’ve done things I regret, or acted in a way that isn’t really me, all to impress someone. I study Ben’s profile as he takes in the scenery up ahead. I had control over whether or not I hurt Ben, and I did it anyway. Because I thought the bigger picture outweighed Ben’s feelings. Because I made a mistake I can’t fix.
My chest spasms, tight with pain, and I straighten. I slowly make my way toward my coworker and teammate, my muscles overtaxed and noodle-like. I’m not used to this much physical activity. Exercising is not my friend.
I stop beside Ben, my heart pounding with gusto. He takes one look at me and wordlessly offers a bottle of water.
“Thanks,” I rasp, chugging the water so fast it dribbles down my chin.
“Easy, we need to make that last,” Ben warns, moving to take the bottle from me.
I almost growl at him, but grudgingly relinquish the water.
He hands me a piece of jerky and I chomp down on it, tearing off a small piece and chewing it into oblivion until I can swallow it without the fear of choking on it. I do this until it’s gone, my stomach longing for more. I don’t even bother asking, the look Ben gives me saying not to waste my breath. I grimace and turn from him.
A wind forms, strong and cool. I close my eyes and tip my head back, letting it wave over me. This, right here, this is nice. The rest of it? No. But the breeze is like heaven to my burning skin and downtrodden disposition. It’s enough to put a little pep back into me.
When it passes, I lower my head and open my eyes, surprised to find Ben watching me. Noting the intensity with which he views me, my mouth pulls down. What is he thinking? He quickly looks away, his throat bobbing as he swallows. I decide I probably don’t want to know. I’m sure it’s something hellish, like he wishes I’d break out in scabies or something. I’m not even entirely sure what that is, but it sounds horrible.
“It’s beautiful out here,” Ben says softly.
I turn a critical eye on the world below and beyond us. The landscape blurs the farther out it goes; its rolling hills blanketed with dense greenery and brown soil, and higher still, mountains are tipped in gray and white. Endless, and vast, it stretches out for miles and miles. Land layering land layering land. My opinion shifts from adverse to appreciative.
“It looks like it goes on forever,” I remark, watching as clouds shift and part. It’s dizzying to see from this height, and to know with a few steps forward, I’d be rolling down the side of a mountain. I put more space between me and the ledge.
A bird caws in the distance and I hum to block out the sound, refusing to look at anything but what is directly before me, which is a sloping incline. If I don’t see them or hear them, they aren’t really here. As another bird joins the first, my stomach lurches.
Over the undesirable sound of nasty flying creatures, I shout, “Can we get moving already?”
Ben gives me an odd look. “Why are you yelling?”
“I just like to yell,” I yell.
His eyes narrow. “Since when?”
“Since now,” I get out around clenched teeth, lunging forward when Ben doesn’t move fast enough for me. He can stay here if he wants, but I am most definitely not.
“You want to tell me what’s going on?” Ben easily catches up to me, keeping pace with my light jog.
“Not really.” I huff along, feeling as if my chest is going to collapse on me. I have exercised more today than I have in the past decade. It’s horrible and I hope to never have a repeat of it.
Something flies in front of my face and I swat at the air as I go motionless, closing my eyes so I don’t have to know what it is. Of course, I ask anyway. “What was that?”
Ben answers carefully, “A bug.”
“It felt really big and seemed to have wings, like a bat…or a bird.”
“It was a fly.”
“No way.” I crack open one eye to find Ben staring at me. I snap, “What?”
“Bats aren’t out during the day. You do know that, right?”
My skin suddenly itches, imaging phantom bugs crawling on me. Or real. They could be real. Tiny, microscopic, disgusting bugs. I scratch at my arms and legs. “There are exceptions to everything.”
“Sure, but it wasn’t a bat.”
“Are there bugs on me?” Panic escalates, taking my sanity with it.
“No,” Ben replies slowly.
“Are you sure? Because it feels like there are.”
He continues to watch me, finally asking, “Are you having a mental breakdown?”
I scratch harder. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Well, I wouldn’t exactly be sad about it.”
I make a sound from deep in my chest.
“Was that a growl?”
I stop scratching long enough to glare at him. “I hate bugs.”
“Got that.”
I navigate the land, pretty sure we’re descending directly into hell. The tight feeling in my chest is getting worse, as is my scratching. “There are no bugs on you,” I tell myself, right before one lands on my shoulder.
I shriek as I jump up and down, swatting at my shirt. The bug is attached to the fabric, clinging to me for all it’s worth. I hit myself harder in desperation. The bug is large, and black, and ugly. So ugly. As I spin around, I run into something hard and unmovable.
Ben stares down at me, gripping my un-bugged shoulder with enough force to keep me still. He holds my gaze as he calmly removes the bug from my shoulder and flicks it away. I look at the ground, my face flooding with heat now that that ordeal is over. That was a little embarrassing.
I straighten my spine and go about my walk as if nothing happened. My eyes briefly meet Ben’s. He lifts his eyebrows.
I give him a dirty lo
ok and walk faster, my back stiffening at the faint sound of chuckling behind me.
3
BEN
Avery looks around, her expression less than cheerful. The sun is slowly lowering in the sky, mocking us with each hour that passes without us making any progress. Her tone is biting when she says, “Shouldn’t we have found the next checkpoint by now? Or, I don’t know, possibly the lodge?”
Or people. Other people would have been nice to see at this point. I’m really surprised we haven’t run into anyone by now. I’m almost concerned. Are we so far spread out that it would be impossible to stumble upon our coworkers? Or have they all already gotten to the lodge? Not the most heartening thought.
“This is where the next flag should be.” Woods stand before us, not a hint of a red flag in sight. I scratch the side of my head, my eyes searching again and again for something that isn’t there.
Avery’s tone is particularly peevish as she demands, “Then why haven’t we found it?”
“I don’t know.” I turn in a circle, taking in the vastness around us. “Why don’t you ask the trees?”
With sweetness coating her tone, Avery says, “Why don’t you kiss my ass?”
I shoot her an irritated look, mostly because I’d probably enjoy it. “Check the map again.”
“You check the map.” A trifold pamphlet flies my way.
I snatch it out of the air, meeting Avery’s grumpy look with a deadly one of my own. It doesn’t seem to faze her. She drops to the ground, crossing her arms and legs before turning her face to the side. This is another side of Avery I haven’t seen. She keeps them all well-hidden. I guess seeing her in such a sour mood wouldn’t look good for her office image. I’d love for Duke to witness Avery right now and know what she’s really like.
Although, being stuck in the mountains even has me in a bad mood, so maybe this is not the best example.
“We aren’t in the right place,” I announce.
“How do you know?” Avery looks at me suspiciously.
“This is near where we started, I’m sure of it.” I study the landscape that looks the same in every direction I turn. “We’re going in circles.”
“How can we go up two hills and end up where we started?”
“I don’t know, but we did,” I retort angrily.
“But how do you know that?”
“I don’t!” I lower my voice and add, “Not for sure.”
Avery jumps to her feet, her eyes like live flames of golden wrath. “Then don’t say you do.”
“Something isn’t right,” I insist.
I swing the backpack off my shoulders and dig through it, pulling out a compass. I study the map, looking from it to the compass, and then I drop my hands and look at nothing, my vision going fuzzy. I don’t know where we are, and looking at the map or compass for guidance is meaningless.
Before the trip, I read a bunch of articles about surviving in the wilderness, but it didn’t prepare me enough for what’s before us. According to where we should be, we need to head north. Only, I don’t know if we are where we’re supposed to be.
“This is such bullshit,” I swipe an arm across my sweaty forehead and take my glasses with it. I lean down and shove them back on my face, the lenses smudged with fingerprints now.
“Give me the map.” Avery motions for me to hand it over.
I think about whipping it at her like she did to me, but somehow show restraint.
“Maybe there are landmarks that will help us figure out where we are.”
I snort, but keep my comments to myself.
A frustrated sigh leaving her, Avery lowers her hand and lifts her golden head. “We should have been tying things to trees.”
“That’s a good idea.” I look at Avery. “Got any rope handy? Ribbon? No?”
“I’ll use my damn shirt,” she announces scathingly, already tearing at the hem of her shirt.
A couple minutes go by with me enthralled by Avery’s antics. She grunts and tugs and jumps around as if she’s practicing some space-themed dance move. When it finally happens, the ripping sound is unusually loud.
Avery lets out a cry of triumph as an uneven tail of pink fabric dangles from her hand. She lifts it with a raised eyebrow, part of her midriff taunting me as she does. I swallow around a dry throat. I tell myself to look away, but I don’t. Avery went from hating everything to do with outside to survivalist instincts. She is one surprise after another.
Eyes riveted to the small expanse of lower back shown as she goes on her toes to tie a dirty pink knot around a low-hanging tree limb, it takes me a moment to realize something. “I have a red flag in the backpack. You could have used that instead of your shirt.”
Avery blinks. “Well, I guess it’s too late for that now.”
Her unfazed expression pulls a short bark of laughter from me. “It is indeed.”
Eyes sparkling, Avery nods toward a clearing to our left and away from the wooded area. “Come on, let’s keep walking in that direction.”
“Sure. Why not? It isn’t like either of us know where we’re going. Let’s make it interesting.”
Avery narrows her eyes. “Was that sarcasm?”
“Maybe.”
BEN
Fifteen minutes later and another hill ascended, the silence is broken. By me. And lamely.
“Are you going to keep tearing parts of your shirt off?” I ask, the question on repeat in my head until it comes out of my mouth before I can stop it.
“Why?” Avery gives me a sidelong look.
Because I want you to, is the unbidden thought that pierces my mind.
I shrug, aiming for nonchalance. “You’ll get cold.”
She goes still abruptly, and I almost run into her. Avery glances at me. “Did you see that?”
“See what?”
Avery turns in a slow circle, her head tilted back. “There are birds.”
I frown. “Yeah. There usually are outside. It’s where they—now, don’t be too stunned by this—live.”
Wide eyes lock on me. “I don’t like birds.”
“You don’t like birds?”
Avery tugs at a string on the hem of her torn shirt, her next words a low mumble. “Scared of them, really. Terrified. I have nightmares about them.”
It’s my turn to go motionless. From badass to coward to bat shit crazy, I’m getting whiplash from all Avery’s different personalities, and that’s just today. “Are you serious?”
“I had a bad experience with one once, all right?” Her voice is high.
“Did it happen to flip you…the bird?”
Her eyes trained on something overhead, Avery flinches. “I’m not joking, Ben.”
“I have to ask one thing: did you seriously not realize there were birds out here before now?”
“I tried not to notice.”
I stare at her.
“I hummed. It helped.”
“What’s a little bird going to do to you? If anything, the worst you have to worry about is it pooping on you. You are washable.”
The words come out through lips that don’t move. “It isn’t little—and there’s more than one.”
I frown.
Carefully raising an arm, Avery points up.
I follow the direction of her finger. A massive tree slants down the hill not far from Avery, the limbs crooked and thick. It looks as if millions of black leaves cover the branches, and it isn’t until one caws and takes off that I realize why the branches droop so far down. The tree is filled with crows, not leaves. I readjust my glasses and turn to Avery.
She hasn’t moved; she doesn’t appear to be breathing.
I watch the birds for a moment. They seem to watch me back, one in particular keeping its gaze trained on me. . The sight of Avery’s pale face and shaking form chips away at my resentment until it all but disappears. I sigh, hoping this isn’t all an act. One never knows with Avery.
In a low voice, I meet her gaze and say, “Tell me what to do.”
“Make them disappear?” Her tone is hopeful; her expression says she knows better.
“Sure. I’ll wave my magic wand I keep right here in my back pocket”—I pat the backside of my gray shorts— “and that’ll be the end of the crows.”
“Yes.” Avery nods her head rigorously. “Do that.”
A crow separates itself from the others, twisting its neck to peer from me to Avery. I think it’s the same one that stared at me. I watch it, literally jumping when it turns its head and I’m hit with its eyeless wonder. A jagged scar resides where an eye should.
Awe coats my voice when I say, “Do you see that? That crow is missing an eye.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Avery screeches
I readjust my glasses, but the crow remains the same size. It’s proportionate to a small cat, and with its one eye missing and a jagged white scar in its place, badass for a bird. It caws, and a strange choking sound leaves Avery. I face her, watching as what little color her skin holds drains away. She isn’t joking. She’s afraid. Or she’s playing one of her games again. It’s too bad that I can’t be one hundred percent positive either way.
Releasing a sigh, I take a step closer. In a low voice, I tell her, “It won’t hurt you, I promise. Let’s just keep walking. It will go away.”
She focuses on me. A crease forms between her eyebrows, splitting the smooth skin. Her eyelashes are impossibly long. Damn, she’s got beautiful eyes. “Are you sure?”
Even with knowing I’ll most likely live to regret it, I soften at the fear in her voice. “Positive. We’re probably in their territory. We’ll leave, and everything will be fine. Trust me.”
“Okay,” Avery says softly, nodding. “Okay.”
We take slow, small footsteps, Avery’s eyes finding the crows again and again. She continually knocks into me, bringing her scent and warmth each time. It’s maddening to the baser part of me I try to tramp down in regards to the woman beside me. If only my brain was the lone high-functioning part of my anatomy.
