Verita

by Tracy Rozzlynn

  “Hey, it’s okay. You don’t need to explain anything,” I offer, seeing the pain on his face.

  Ryan just shakes his head and continues. “The old highway was cement with two lanes on each side, a grass-median in the middle. For as long as I can remember, there had been talk about repaving it, but it never happened. When it rained, huge lakes of puddles would form all along the highway. Only locals ever drove it, but they never drove it slow. I had just entered a large lake of a puddle, when I noticed the brake lights of the car in front of me slam on. I was already in the puddle, so all I could do was take my foot off the accelerator and watch in horror as the car in front of me spun around. Somehow, by the time I reached it, it had zipped across the grass median into the oncoming traffic. I thought we were safe, until I heard my dad swear. The car to the right of us must have reacted to the spinning car, because all of a sudden he slammed into us and caused us to spin across the median.” I gasp, causing Ryan to pause. “Somehow I straightened the car out and came to a stop right on the shoulder of oncoming traffic. I was still shaking when my dad laughed and threw his phone at me, and told me to get some experience reporting an accident. Of course, I dropped the phone on the floor, so I unbuckled—” A heart-wrenching sob chokes Ryan off, and I instinctively wrap my arms around him. It’s hard to see him in so much pain. It’s a while before he’s finally able to continue.

  Wiping his eyes, and staring far away, he says, “The original car had caused a chain reaction on both sides of the highway. While I was leaning across the front seat reaching for the phone, an airborne SUV crashed into the top of us, killing everyone else and pinning me. It was a big accident, and it was a long time before they could get to me. All I could do was listen for signs that anyone was there, but all I heard was the rain.” He pauses. “The pods kept my nightmares away, but here—” He gestures towards the igloo’s roof, and the relentless pounding rain that must sound like he’s back, trapped in his car.

  “Oh, Ryan, how terrible,” I gasp. “If it’s still raining tomorrow, we’ll find somewhere to sleep where it’s not falling on us,” I offer, unable to think of anything consoling to say.

  He shakes his head. “It’s not practical to waste time and energy for a spot to sleep just because I have a bad dream or two.”

  I start to argue, but the stare he gives stops me.

  After several nights of barely any sleep, last night’s nightmare and the continued rain, Ryan and I are despondent. The only thing that keeps us moving and walking is not knowing what else to do. We’re now out of berries and only have the jerky left. It’s so early into our trip, and already our outlook is bleak. We know at this rate we will never make it back home.

  It’s still pouring rain at the end of the day. Ryan feels horrible about the black eye he’s given me, but he still refuses to spend time and energy looking for a spot out of the rain. Instead, he curls up on the metal floor of the igloo, as far away from me as he can get. I try to offer him the sleeping bag, but he insists I keep it. Inevitably he starts to toss and turn, but instead of shying away from him, I get as close as I can. I wrap my arms and the sleeping bag around him, and coo reassuring sounds into his ear as you would do with a child. It seems to work, and soon he’s sleeping soundly.

  Blissfully, I wake up to sunlight filtering through the vents of the igloo, and realize that I feel rested. I close my eyes and listen to a bird, or some other animal, chirping in the distance. That’s when I hear Ryan sigh, and realize he’s still next to me, his arm draped over me. Startled, I bolt upright, and he grunts as he’s tossed over onto the metal floor.

  Seeing his shocked expression, I quickly explain, “You started tossing in your sleep, I put my arm around you, and you calmed down again. You didn’t have any more nightmares after that.”

  The silence is unbearable as I wait for his response. Finally, he shrugs and says, “I’m just glad that we both finally got a decent night’s sleep, and that I don’t feel like the walking dead.” Then he starts to unzip the igloo as if nothing happened, asking, “Do you feel like jerky for breakfast or do you want to try some foraging before we resort to it?”

  We are both relieved and hopeful that traveling will be much easier now.

  It is. Over the next several days, we develop a pattern. We stop to forage for food when it presents itself, and approach the river only to refill our canteens as needed. We walk through the day until sunset and then settle in for the night in the igloo. We now sleep with the sleeping bag zipped up, and Ryan’s arms curled around me. As intimate as the position seems, it’s simply a necessity. It keeps the nightmares at bay.

  Ryan insists on being the one to try any new food we find. Fortunately, we seem to find a lot of opal berries growing around little side streams. I’m also surprised at how quickly my ribs feel better. After just a few days, I feel back to normal again. Ryan must have done a heck of a job taping me up.

  As we travel, we fill our time by asking each other questions.

  “So, you and Brody?” he says to me out of the blue, letting the words hang in the air.

  “What do you mean?” I ask warily.

  “He just doesn’t seem like your type at all. You guys are really opposite.”

  “First of all, I’m not a guy,” I chastise.

  He rolls his eyes at me. “I know that.”

  “Well, you’re right; we are opposite, but haven’t you ever heard the phrase ‘opposites attract’?” I answer coyly.

  “Of course I have, but you’re such a strong, smart, confident woman, and he’s seems like a misogynist that prefers his women to be docile; seen but not heard.”

  I take a moment to respond. I’m not used to anyone viewing me that way. “I’m not sure if I should thank you for the compliment, or hit you for calling my fiancé a woman-hater.” I suppress a shiver: I’m still not comfortable with the word ‘fiancé’. Ryan just shrugs. “He occasionally has Neanderthal tendencies, but I’m quick to correct him on them, and he’s well aware that I will never be docile or quiet. The majority of it is a show for his friends. I’ll never understand a male’s need to appear to be uber-macho in front of other guys,” I admit. “But the way he makes me feel when I’m around him more than makes up for those moments.” I blush, realizing I’ve said more than I intended.

  He just nods. There’s a strange look on his face that I can’t read.

  Attempting to shift the focus back onto him, I pry, “So, what about you and Kelly? I would have picked you for the type who likes a woman with substance. Kelly strikes me as the prom-queen-Barbie-doll type, mostly concerned about appearances.” I notice a touch of sarcasm – or is it jealousy? – has crept into my voice, so I give a light laugh to indicate I’m kidding.

  “Ouch, don’t hold anything back. But seeing how you were honest about Brody… No, she wasn’t in school long enough to be voted prom queen, but yes she has moments where she can be a bit shallow. In those instances, I simply remind her of the more important things. But like you said, the way she makes me feel makes her nuances worth it.” He smirks as he throws my own words back at me.

  “Nuances. That’s an interesting way to word it.” I pause and then add, “Isn’t Kelly a bit high maintenance? I mean, come on, the girl intentionally wears her clothes a size too small and has bribed one of the inventors to create a perfume just for her.” I bite my lip, knowing I’ve said too much and stepped half into the realm of cattiness.

  “What? Her clothes fit her fine; she’s just curvy. And if she’s creative enough to get a nice perfume, then good for her.” Ryan gives me a scalding glare, and I cringe.

  “Sorry. I got bit carried away. I just think you deserve better.” I give him my best puppy-dog face.

  “Fine,” he huffs. “I suppose Kelly would be what you’d call ‘high maintenance’ if we were back on Earth.” Ryan hesitates. “Fortunately, there are no status symbols here – no fancy restaurants or gifts to buy. That makes the relationship with Kelly pretty easy. I just give her the atten
tion she needs, and she’s happy.” His voice catches on the last words.

  “Okay, she’s happy, but what do you get out of the relationship? It isn’t just one-sided, is it?” As soon as the words escape my mouth I regret my candor.

  “No, it’s not just one-sided,” he refutes. “I like spending time with Kelly. She makes me feel—” He blushes, uncomfortable sharing whatever thought is on his mind.

  “Yeah, Brody makes me feel that way too,” I admit, sparing him from completing the sentence.

  From that point on, we stay clear of the relationship topic.

  Chapter 20

  At the beginning of our second week, we decide to follow a side stream that feeds into to the main river. We’re hoping to find some berries and a place to wash up. There’s no hiding the fact that we both stink, and our clothes are starting to get stiff from layers of sweat and dirt.

  The beautiful sight we find awes us. The stream is fed by a small lake that has a waterfall running into it. The bottom of the lake is lined with white rock that reflects the light. We can see all the way down to the very bottom. Surrounding the lake are more bushes of opal berries than we can count.

  I turn and to Ryan and ask, “Are you up for a nice long break?”

  “You read my mind.” He smiles and starts unlacing his boots.

  “I’ve been craving a bath so much.”

  I closely inspect the water and happily don’t see any areas where anything dangerous could be hiding. Satisfied with my inspection, I dip my hand in. The water is warm.

  Ryan sniffs himself and makes a gagging noise. “I certainly could use one. Skinny dipping?” He looks at me with a crooked smile.

  “You wish. We need to wash our clothes, anyway.”

  I take my boots off and dip my toes in the water. It’s so warm – it reminds me of a bath. I jump in, and Ryan quickly follows.

  The water feels unbelievably refreshing and invigorating. I swim to the side and grab the soap I have in my backpack. I smirk at the memory of my team giving me a hard time over packing soap with my toothpaste and toothbrush; they thought it was overkill.

  I remove my shirt and pants. I scrub them in the water as best as I can, and then lay them on one of the warm white rocks to dry. I wash myself and my hair, then I offer the soap to Ryan so he can do the same. At last I feel human again. Once Ryan is finished, I reach up and put the soap on the rocks to dry. The movement reminds me of the tape still on my ribs.

  “Hey, Ryan, can you take the tape off me? I don’t think I need it anymore.”

  “It hasn’t been long enough for it to have healed,” he scolds.

  “It must have just been bruised. How about you take the tape off and if it starts bothering me again I’ll let you tape me back up?” I offer in my sweetest tone.

  “We don’t have much tape to waste,” he grumbles, but seeing my disappointed face, he relents and says, “Fine, it’ll give me a chance to examine it again anyway.” I can’t help but grin in satisfaction.

  “Thank you,” I say gratefully and swim over to him. I hold my arms up, and slowly twirl in the water as Ryan untapes me. He pokes and prods the area for a bit, but nothing hurts. He gives me one final hard jab to make sure I’m not pretending. In response, I splash some water in his direction.

  “Hey! Are you trying to re-break it now?” I squeak, and dodge his returning splash.

  “Just promise you’ll tell me the second it starts bothering you again.” He sounds stern.

  “Cross my heart.”

  We swim for a while. For a brief amount of time, we forget our predicament and play like we’re kids again. After that, we sprawl out on the warm stone, and let the sun dry us off. Eventually our clothes dry and we are able to get dressed.

  “Darn it!” I swear as I feel the elastic snap back against my hand.

  Ryan turns, looking quizzically in my direction. “What’s wrong?”

  “My hair elastic just snapped on me, and I don’t have another one,” I growl with frustration. I feel tears welling up and threatening to spill down my cheeks. I know I’m overreacting, but I also know that I can’t help myself right now.

  “It looks nice down,” Ryan offers helpfully, still unaware of my mental turmoil.

  I snarl at him, and plunge into a rant. “The problem is I’m not going for looks, but for practicality. I don’t have a brush, my hair is a tangled mess, and now I can’t even tie it back out of my face.” Despite the relaxing morning we’d had, my eyes flash with anger. It’s a small thing, and I shouldn’t get so upset over it, but my anger is directed at everything: being stranded in the middle of nowhere, not knowing if we will survive the journey home – even my parents for dying on me. The tears brimming in my eyes start to cascade down my cheeks. All the frustration I’ve been keeping pent up since the flood begins to burst out of me.

  “Come here, sit down.”

  Ryan pats a spot on the ground aside of him. I stand motionless.

  “Please.”

  He asks nicely, but I just cross my legs and plop myself on the ground where I am. Sighing, he walks over to where I am and sits with his legs straddled around me. “Lean back and relax. Just let me know if I hit any snarls,” Ryan directs me, as he places his hands on my shoulders and pulls me to him. Then he begins raking his fingers gingerly through my hair.

  Still in tantrum mode, I start to pull away, but he grabs my shoulders and starts massaging them. “Shh, just relax for a bit,” he murmurs into my ear. “You put too much stress on yourself.”

  “Look who’s talking,” I retort.

  “If you relax, I’ll relax.”

  He moves his hands from my shoulders, back to my head, and begins massaging my scalp. Then he continues to run his fingers through my hair to brush it. I close my eyes and give in. It just feels so good.

  “Thank you,” I manage to whisper. Ryan just shushes me.

  I lose track of time as Ryan continues to alternate between massaging my head, shoulders and back, and brushing my hair. By the time he stops, I am nearly asleep.

  “Hmmm,” he mumbles to himself. Even though my back is towards him, I feel him stand, and I hear him rummaging through our packs. I remain sitting, and tilt my head back, enjoying basking in the morning sun, and the calm relaxed feeling he has given me. I hear him let out a long, slow breath of frustration, but I remain where I am. If he really needs help, he’ll ask.

  “Aha!” I hear him exclaim. Curiosity gets the better of me when I hear the rustling of some underbrush. I open my eyes and glance his way to see him with a Swiss army knife out, cutting at a branch. I shake my head and get back to relaxing.

  I must have dozed off while he was working on his project, because the next thing I know, he is gently nudging me awake.

  “How long was I out?” I ask as I rub the sleep from my eyes.

  “Not long, but I figured you needed it.” I feel him lift my hair off my shoulders. “May I borrow your head again, my lady?” I laugh at his horrible impression of an English accent, and lean my head towards him to give him better access. Besides, who am I to refuse a second head massage?

  But instead of combing or rubbing, I feel him twist my hair. I automatically turn to see what he’s up to. “No peeking!” he chides, and gently presses his palm against my cheek and turns my head back around. I feel a bit more twisting, some gentle tugging, and finally something being slid into my hair.

  “Voila, you’re done,” he announces, this time in a terrible French accent. He tugs me to my feet and turns me to face him. “You look fabulous,” he flamboyantly croons as he turns me around to model.

  I reach up and feel my hair. He has twisted it into a bun, and used two branches that he’s whittled smooth to secure it – like you would do with a pair of chopsticks. Touched, I feel my eyes becoming glossy, and I quickly blink the moisture away.

  “Thank you,” I whisper and smile, afraid anything more would make my voice crack. But it’s enough. His smile beams back at me.

  With my
hair tamed and myself relaxed, we lazily enjoy a lunch of berries. We finish by filling our containers with all the berries they can hold. We have enough to last us for several days, even eating generous portions.

  I awake the next morning to hear something tapping on the igloo. I roll over and see that Ryan is awake too. He presses his fingers to his lips. We sit for a moment, wondering what is trying to get in. Then I hear a familiar chirping and cooing.

  “Caper?” I ask warily.

  I’m greeted by a symphony of his chirps and coos. Quickly I climb out of the sleeping bag, and I begin to unzip the igloo. But Ryan grabs my hand before I can finish.

  “Are you sure it’s him and not another meerkit? We have our packs filled with berries right next to us.” He continues to hold my wrist.

  “It’s him. What do you need him to prove it to you?” I grab my hand back.

  “Just be careful,” he says wearily.

  I unzip the igloo just enough to let Caper in, but not a larger meerkit, and call to him. His familiar face bounds into the igloo. He greets us both, warmly purring and wrapping his body and tail around us as he circles us.

  “We missed you too, Caper,” I laugh. I’m overjoyed to see his familiar face.

  “Maybe this means we’re closer to home than we thought,” Ryan says hopefully.

  “I’d like to think that, but it’s more likely that meerkits cover a larger area of territory than we guessed.” I sigh. “But if Caper decides to stay with us, we definitely have better odds of making it home.”

  “True,” Ryan says as he rubs Caper’s head. Ryan may not admit it, but I think he’s as happy to see Caper as I am.

  Over the next several days, Caper proves himself the best scout we could have asked for. The opal berries turn out to be Caper’s main food source. He knows where every patch of berries is located along the river. Sometimes Caper even leads us to lakes with side streams that don’t branch out of the main river, but lead west toward other bodies of water. We quickly stop questioning his insistence at detours, and just follow as he leads us to both water sources and berries. It seems that wherever the berries grow in abundance, there is more white marble rock and a pool of water. I wonder if the berries are capable of growing in any other conditions. I use two of our smallest containers to collect both water and rock samples.