by Lindy Zart
“Great.” Ben stands there, looking around as if he’s searching for something, but he isn’t sure what.
I cross my arms. “Have you even fished before?”
“Yes, I know how to fish.” Annoyance tightens his tone. “Just because I’m a city guy and don’t know shit about surviving in the wild doesn’t mean I don’t know how to fish.”
“I don’t know, Ben, you seem to be doing okay so far.”
Ben’s eyes shoot to mine. “Thanks.”
I shrug. “You’re welcome.”
“You’re doing good too, Avery.”
We share a moment where the air becomes electrical and sway toward each other. Before I’m fully aware what we’re doing, we’re undressed and I’m against a bumpy boulder and Ben’s inside me. It’s hard, fast. Primal. There’s another warning in my head, a buzzing that tells me I’m tempting fate to tip in a certain direction with this kind of behavior, but then Ben moves just right, and I forget it as my body finds release and pulses around his. He joins me, pulling out at the last second, his face buried in my neck, one hand around his penis, the fingers of the other hand imprinted on my butt.
“I feel like I could do this with you every hour,” Ben says in a raspy voice.
My insides swirl at his words. “Are you saying you can’t get enough of me?”
He nuzzles my collarbone before straightening. “I’m saying you’re irresistible.”
“I only want to be irresistible to you,” I whisper, meaning the words. I don’t want anyone else. Just Ben. Whatever happens, wherever we go from here, it will be Ben.
He leans back to look into my eyes, the depths filled with nameless emotions that can only be shown, not told. Ben feels it too. He feels the something for me I feel for him. He caresses the side of my face and I close my eyes to better experience his touch.
When Ben starts to turn, I lock my arms around his waist and squeeze, resting my cheek on his chest to listen to the pounding beat of his heart. A breeze forms, warm and fragrant with wild blossoms. With the view of overlapping mountains in the distance and spindly, tall trees and us in each other’s arms, I don’t feel lost. Or scared. I do feel naked though, the reality of that creeping in as the wind cools and certain areas of my body react.
I pull away, Ben grudgingly letting go, and round up my clothes. I giggle when I realize we both left on our socks and shoes.
“What? What’s funny?”
“Us. We forget to take off our shoes.” I toss Ben’s shirt and shorts to him and make my way to the nearest body of water.
I clean up with the cold water, shivering the whole time. The clothes I put back on are slowly being reduced to stained rags, but they are better than nothing. Pinpricks dance along the back of my neck. I carefully straighten and look over my shoulder. Ben’s back is to me as he zips up his shorts. Frowning, I look for the source of uneasiness, but as far as I can tell, we are alone. I shake it off, deciding the idea of unseen creatures lurking about is getting to me.
“How are we going to catch the fish?” I ask when I reach Ben’s side.
He rubs the back of his head. For the first time, I notice his nose is peeling and his lips are cracked. “I was thinking maybe I can make a spear out of a tree branch and stab one. It’s worth a shot.”
“How are you going to make a spear?”
Ben flicks open the pocketknife. “With this.”
“What about the hunting knife? That would probably work better.”
“That would probably slice off a hand along with the wood. We’re not using that.”
Ben’s been very odd about the hunting knife we found.
“All right, so we make some spears and we stab some fish. Sounds fun.”
Ben squints at me. “You don’t sound like you mean that.”
“Does stabbing fish sound like fun to you?” I return.
He swallows, his skin turning a little green. “Not especially.”
Stabbing fish is not something I ever wanted to try, but I’ll do it if it means we get to eat something other than leaves and berries. I refuse to fillet them or poke out their eyeballs or whatever else is required, but I will stab them. I’ll stab the crap out of them, but not literally. Right? Literal crap will not come out of them when I stab them, will it? And we’re back to fish poop. Ugh.
I shake myself from my worrisome musings and focus on Ben. “How will we cook them?”
He just looks at me.
“We’re cooking them! I am not eating raw fish, no way.”
A small smile captures and releases his mouth within a handful of seconds. “I’m thinking between the two of us, we should be able to get a couple fish and cook them over a fire.”
“Well,” I say briskly as I head for a particularly dead-looking tree. “Let’s find some branches and turn them into spears.”
I pause with my back to Ben, pretending to study the fallen tree branches. I need a moment to myself to savor that smile. There was a time, far too recently, where I never thought I’d see one of those on his face for me. It’s amazing how quickly things can change.
BEN
It takes a little time, but we scrounge up some thicker tree branches and sharpen them as best as we can with my pocketknife. It seems like early afternoon by the time we’ve fashioned a dozen spears that may or may not catch us some fish. It’s close to being a second night spent out here, cold and worried. I physically turn from the thought, wishing that put it out of my mind.
“Tonight, we feast,” I joke, holding up a spear.
The labor has been done in quiet, but it hasn’t been uncomfortable. Working in the shade of a large tree, we’ve exchanged nothing more than looks and an occasional grimace or smile. It’s been almost peaceful—as peaceful as anything can be when you’re lost and starving. Having purpose is good; it makes our situation seem less dismal, even if it really isn’t any less dismal.
“What do you think? Will they work?” Avery stands with her hands on her hips, looking like a different person from the one I’ve come to know. I’m suddenly hit with the knowledge that Avery’s right; I didn’t know her at all. I like this unpolished, fresh-faced, surprisingly fearless Avery much more than the too-perfect office one.
I straighten from my crouched position, my knees cracking as I do. The swelling has gone down in my ankle. I’m grateful for that small respite. “I think we won’t know if they work until we try them.”
She swallows, turning her eyes to the water. “We have to go in it again, don’t we?”
“If I remember right, leeches like stagnant, still water. If we stick to the faster moving parts, I think we’ll be okay. Let’s walk downstream until we find some.”
“Do you know how to prepare the fish, if we happen to get any?” Avery asks as we collect our spears.
I break out in a sweat that has nothing to do with the hot sun and everything to do with the queasiness running rampant through my stomach. As we make our way through overgrown weeds and grass that stings upon impact, I reply, “I know how. I just don’t like to do it.”
“Will you be able to?” Avery turns her head and lifts a questioning eyebrow. She walks with an armful of our spears, looking as if she fits right in as an outdoorswoman.
I fall into step beside her with the remaining spears. I hope it’s not a lie when I tell her, “Yes.”
We stop walking once we reach the faster-paced water. The water is clearer here. I can see rocks and pebbles and the occasional fish scuttle by. A soothing sound forms as water collides with rock. We each grab a spear and put ourselves on the cusp of where land meets water, and carefully move into the water.
Our eyes hold.
“Are we really going to do this?” Avery questions.
“Do you want to eat something other than mint leaves and berries?” I ask with lifted eyebrows.
Determination threads her eyes with prisms of gold. “You bet I do.”
We both look to the water.
After a moment, Avery asks, “
What, exactly, do we do?”
“You know, I’m not really sure?” I rub the back of my head with my free hand and study the water. “I guess we’re going to wing it and see what happens.”
Avery glares at the water and sets her shoulders. “Wing it. You got it. I can wing it.” She steps forward, her face set to ferocity. “Here I am, about to wing it.”
I open my mouth to express caution, but Avery plows farther into the water before I can speak. As she shrieks and hops and makes a sound halfway between a laugh and a cry, I’m hit with intense awareness of her. Her presence, her exuberance. Her light, her fire. Her. Whether it’s devious or commendable, Avery doesn’t do anything half-ass. And she doesn’t stay scared for long either.
Avery looks at me, her voice breaking my reverie. “Do I just jab at them?”
I take a stilted breath of air and meet her in the water. My boots are immediately heavy with water. At this point, I don’t care. “I think the trick is to stab at them before they actually make it past you. Move sooner than you think you should. They’re fast. And Avery?”
She looks up.
“Don’t stab yourself—or me, okay?”
“Right. Don’t stab myself.”
“Or me,” I remind her.
Her eyes dance. “Right. Or you.”
On either side of the water are green-colored hills with taller, more robust mountains behind them. The sky is blue; the sun is bright. This is a picturesque scene—gorgeous really. If nothing else good can be said about this unwelcome journey, it cannot be argued that it isn’t beautiful out here. It’s breathtaking, smelling of fresh air and pinecones and nature.
Avery wobbles, eyes locked on the water around her ankles. I put out a hand to steady her, gently holding her elbow until she catches her balance. Almost a week ago, I couldn’t stand her—or so I told myself. Today, I’m helping her stand. Literally.
She thrusts her arm down, and the flimsy weapon cracks and breaks, three quarters of it floating downstream. Avery laughs as she turns to me. “We are exceptional makers of weapons.”
“We would definitely win any war with our flimsy tree spears.”
Her laughter turns louder, almost sounding like a cackle, which makes me laugh. The sun radiates around her, making her seem like a sun god with her golden hair and eyes. When the laughter fades, it’s just us, standing in water, staring at each other. Our faces are close, her eyes exceptionally pretty, and I want to kiss her. I can do that now. I can have the thought that I want to kiss her, or not even think it, and just do it.
“Be careful,” I tell her. “If you get too deep, the current will pull you.”
Her eyelids become heavy as she focuses on my mouth. “How much deeper am I allowed to go?”
My throat turns parched. She’s talking about us.
“Maybe I want to be pulled by the current,” Avery adds when I don’t answer. “Sucked under, spun wildly about, submerged in…you.”
I take a shallow breath. “Avery—”
She doesn’t let me finish, grabbing my shoulders to yank me forward. Our lips graze a second before I slip on the rocks and crash into the water, taking Avery with me. It doesn’t even reach our waists, but I’ve learned my lesson with water and Avery. Before there’s time for Avery to freak out, I grasp her under her armpits and haul her out of the deeper water until we’re both once again standing.
“It isn’t deep enough for me to get upset,” she informs me as she recovers the spear I dropped and stabs it into the water.
“Are you sure?”
Avery cringes. “Well, no, not really. Something just touched me.”
I laugh.
I think Avery is more surprised than I am when she lifts the spear and there is a fish wiggling from the end of it with its mouth gaping. She squeals and drops the spear into the water. I hastily retrieve it, lassoing her wrist as we make our way to land. Disbelief turns to amazement as I stare at the speared fish. With its colorful skin, it looks like a rainbow trout, and is about the size of my hand. I set it on the ground.
“I didn’t really think I’d get one,” Avery says, sounding almost disappointed.
“What’s the matter?” Eyes on the fish, my mouth goes dry as its tail moves side to side. The spear didn’t go deep and falls out of it and to the ground. That means I’ll have to do the rest—a thought that makes my palms damp.
Avery looks at the fish with sorrow in her eyes. “I feel bad for it.”
Turns out Avery is as much of a softie as I am.
“I’ll kill it as humanely as I can.” Stomach churning at what I’m about to do, I take my pocketknife, tightly gripping it.
Avery looks from the knife in my hand to my face. “What are you going to do with that?”
“I’ll explain in a minute.”
With a grimace on my face, I hold the fish as steady as I can and forcefully stab it behind its eyes. Avery squeaks, but I don’t look at her, determined to finish this. I twist the blade into its brain, making sure it does what it needs to do. Saliva forms in my mouth, bringing a bitter taste of bile. With my switchblade and a shaking hand, I gut the fish so that it can bleed out. That done, I sort of collapse to my knees, twisting away from the sight of the disfigured fish.
“Ben? Are you okay?”
I wordlessly shake my head, taking deep breaths as I fight to not vomit.
“I get that you know how, but I’m wondering if maybe you shouldn’t fish,” she says wryly.
I flip to my stomach, a short bark of sound leaving me. “I’ll be fine. Just give me a minute.”
Avery kneels beside me, rubbing circles into my back. Her touch is soothing. She gives me a sympathetic look when I lift my head and meet her eyes. I exhale slowly, wiping a hand across my perspiring forehead. Avery continues to rub my back, the nausea fading as she does.
“It’s called spiking and bleeding out,” I tell her once I can speak without my stomach clenching. “It’s supposedly the kinder way to kill fish.”
Avery offers, “I’ll fillet it if you tell me how to do it.”
“This is embarrassing,” I mutter.
She shrugs one shoulder, offering a small smile. “I think it’s kind of sweet.”
19
AVERY
More often than not, I miss, but by the time Ben notices my exhaustion and calls it quits, the sky has transformed from blue to gray and we have a total of four fish. That’s four more fish than we had hours ago. I look at the bled-out fish with pride, feeling more accomplished than I have in months. I caught those. First time fishing, with spears even, and I got four fish. It lets me know I am not as inept with this outdoor stuff as I thought.
“You’re better at this than I am,” Ben announces.
Ben wasn’t able to spear any fish, and although he made a half-hearted effort, I don’t think he’s too upset by that. The spiking and bleeding out took its toll on him. Poor guy. He looked physically ill by the whole experience. And we still have to fillet them.
“It’s probably because you lost your glasses and can’t see well,” I tell him teasingly.
“Right. That’s it.” He winks at me, his hair flopping over his forehead. He’s sporting a thick stubble at this point and it gives him a wicked look that does funny things to my insides.
Ben views the four fish set out in a row, his expression troubled. “I’m glad it’s almost over.”
“I’ll do the filleting, if you tell me how to do it,” I tell him again, running a hand along his forearm.
Ben meets my eyes, his alight with something soft that makes it hard for me to breathe. “We’ll do it together, how’s that sound?”
“Sounds like a plan, partner.” I give him a quick kiss and he lightly trails his fingers down my back and across my hipbone.
With the scent of fish heavy in the air, we work as a team, cutting the meat from the bone and skin with quick movements. Ben only gags once. I turn my head to hide a smile. That done, we get the fire going in time for dusk to blank
et the world. Everything is done together, and efficiently. This odd sense of belonging overcomes me. I look at Ben as we cook the fish on sticks over the fire, knowing I’ve found something close to home. I don’t want him to leave Sanders and Sisters. I don’t want him to leave me.
“You’re getting good at fires,” I tell Ben, swallowing back my dreary thoughts so that I don’t put them into words.
Bellies full for the first time in a while, we sit beside each other and watch the crackling, snapping fire. Crickets chirp along with some incessant buzzing sound that comes from the trees. Right now, it doesn’t feel like we’re trapped so much as on a camping expedition. When I don’t think about everything bad that could happen, this is even enjoyable.
He shifts until he’s behind me, one leg on either side of mine, and wraps his arms around my waist. Ben brushes my hair to the side, causing me to shiver, and marks me with his lips. “I better be with all the practice I’m getting.”
“I wonder what everyone is thinking about us right now,” I muse, drowsy from the food and Ben’s fingers as they play with my hair. “Do you think they’re still looking for us?”
“Duke won’t give up until we’re found.” Confidence runs true in his tone and it makes me feel better that Ben has such solid hope, and that it’s in my father.
“I never told my mom, but I always tried to envision what my dad looked like.” I close my eyes, a smile on my face. “Most often, I pictured a tall, lean man with golden hair and eyes and a strong jaw. For some reason, he always wore a cowboy hat and boots. It wasn’t clear what he did, but it had something to do with ranching.”
I hear the smile in Ben’s voice. “Other than the height and the jaw, that sounds nothing like Duke Renner.”
“I imagined they had a torrid love affair, but he was promised to another. That it broke his heart that he couldn’t be with us.” I continue softly, “Or, I wondered if he’d died, and that’s why he wasn’t around, and that’s why Mom wouldn’t talk about him.”
Ben’s arms close around me more, his head near mine.
