by Jeff Giles
“Okay stop.”
Zoe let out a sigh. The right side of the car slipped off the road for the third time.
“You still love me?” Zoe said.
Val jerked the car back onto the pavement.
“Ish,” she said.
The road into Glacier was slick and empty under the moon. Val leaned down to fiddle with the radio when her pop station started to disintegrate, and nearly plowed into one of the ticket booths. Zoe unzipped her Survival Sh*t backpack, pulled out a white helmet, and strapped it on.
“You’re funny,” Val said. “Actually, I want one, too.”
Zoe unzipped More Survival Sh*t, and took out a second helmet. Val leaned toward the passenger seat as she drove, and Zoe set it on her friend’s head like a crown.
The deeper they went into the park, the less they talked. Val drove more slowly, which was actually a bad sign: she was nervous. A light rain started to fall, then turned to hail. The hailstones were no bigger than the head of a pin, but the noise—the insistent pecking on the roof, the way it was amplified in the dead air of the car—unnerved Zoe.
“How is Gloria?” she said.
“Is this the part where you ask about me because you feel guilty?” said Val.
“Yes,” said Zoe, “and the next part is the one where you forgive me.”
“It is?” said Val. “Really? Remind me if I forget. Gloria’s a mess. What do you expect me to say?”
Gloria’s anxiety and depression had burrowed in deep when, years before, she told the foster family she was living with that she was gay. Her foster father called her a vile word, then skulked out of the room like she’d contaminated it. Her foster mother grabbed the nearest object—a pair of scissors—and hurled it at her. She missed, but had thrown the scissors so hard that they stuck in the wall.
Gloria was twelve at the time.
The foster family kicked her out. The caseworker who drove her away made her sit in the backseat, which was protocol but made Gloria feel like a criminal. She’d since lived five years with a family that embraced her without qualification, but she never, ever talked about being a foster kid. Skin had never grown over the wounds.
Now, in the car, Zoe said, “Shit, I’m sorry. Is it the depression?”
“It’s everything,” said Val. “Part of the reason she gets depressed is that she’s exhausted from being so anxious all the time. If I text her constantly, I can usually get her out of bed for school. But, I mean, I’ve got to be like, ‘Are you brushing your teeth? Send me a picture of you brushing your teeth.’ And I can never get her to hang out with us. I mean, when was the last time you saw her?”
“I can’t even remember,” said Zoe. “I thought it was because you guys don’t like Dallas.”
“Gloria actually loves Hetero Norm,” said Val. “She thinks he’s sweet. Do not tell him that, I swear to god.”
They drove along the Flathead River now, the road tracing the bends in the water. There was a cliff rising only feet from the passenger side of the car. Off to the left, Zoe could just make out the black river. It reminded her of being in the boat with X, which reminded her of X’s father. She stole a look down at his picture.
“So we’re done talking about me?” said Val. “That’s all I get?”
“No,” said Zoe. “Sorry. I want to hear more. Please.”
The hail slowed, then seemed to disappear. Zoe hadn’t realized how much the noise had jangled her nerves. But the minute Val clicked off the windshield wipers, the storm started up again—fiercer this time. It was like someone was dropping nails from the cliff.
“The depression makes Gloria hate herself,” said Val. “She thinks she’s no good. You know how obsessed I am with her, right?”
“Dude,” said Zoe, “you made a Tumblr about her feet.”
“Right?” said Val. “And it’s got, like, a thousand followers! But she doesn’t believe I love her. She doesn’t see how I could.”
“X is like that sometimes,” said Zoe. “People have been telling him his whole life that he’s not worth anything. I want to hit them with a brick until they’re dead.”
“Aren’t they already dead?” said Val.
“Then more dead,” said Zoe.
“I texted Gloria twenty-two times last night,” said Val. “She didn’t answer once. She was too depressed.”
“You must have freaked,” said Zoe.
“Ya think?” said Val.
Headlights materialized in the distance, a pair of bright eyes coming toward them. Zoe winced, remembering Ronny the Unhinged Hunter. Val drove closer to the cliff to be safe.
“This morning, Gloria called and said she’d been curled in a ball on the floor all night,” Val said. “Slept in her clothes. Even her sneakers and her coat. I’ve seen her when she’s like that. I’ve had to pick her up off the floor. This morning, she goes, ‘If you need a different girlfriend, it’s okay. I wouldn’t want me either.’ ”
The oncoming car pulled over. Val fiddled with the wipers.
“If Gloria finds out I lied about where I am tonight, shit’s gonna blow up,” she said. “I can’t give her another reason to hate herself, or think I don’t love her.”
The driver got out of his car, and tried to wave them down.
“He wants us to stop,” said Zoe.
“No way,” said Val. “Right? I’m not stopping. Not in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere. Not after that freak Ronny.”
“Okay,” said Zoe.
“What do you mean, ‘okay’?” said Val. “Should I stop or not?”
“You said you weren’t stopping! I’m just saying okay!”
The man was only an outline. He’d pulled his coat over his head to shield himself from the hail. As they got closer, he waved more urgently.
“I mean, anyone who’s out here right now is nuts—including us,” said Val.
Zoe could see her hands tighten on the wheel.
“Okay,” she said.
“Stop saying that!” said Val. “I mean, would you stop?”
Zoe groaned.
“Probably?” she said. “But I make bad choices!”
“You do make bad choices,” said Val. She nodded to herself. The white helmet jiggled on her head. She floored it past the other car. “I’m not stopping. No way. Sorry, creep.”
They shot past the man, feeling too guilty to even look at him.
“Are we assholes?” said Val.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure,” said Zoe.
Soon, the road forked, and the dark, rippled surface of Lake McDonald came into view. It was just past ten o’clock. The black sky was streaked with blue, like something had been scratching at it.
Zoe saw lights glinting through the trees down by the lake. Houses. Timothy Ward lived in one of them.
They were close.
As they wound around the lake, Zoe reread the article about X’s father. She liked him more every time she read the story. He was a wildlife biologist who studied and cared for the bear population in the park. It sounded as if it was the only job he’d ever had, or wanted, which Zoe found touching. She was also struck by the fact that he’d lived alone on a lake for many years. Solitude almost seemed to have been passed down from father to son.
Val hit the brake, and she and Zoe jerked forward in their seats. Val let out a string of profanity.
Startled, Zoe looked out the windshield.
There was something dead in the road.
NINETEEN
“What the hell is that?” said Val.
She was so unnerved that Zoe had to remind her to put the Jeep into park and switch on the hazard lights.
“Dead animals,” said Zoe.
“What kind of dead animals?”
“I don’t know. I can’t tell from here.”
“Well, I can’t get around them. And I’m not driving over them. Screw this. We’re going home.”
“Wait. Just wait.”
Zoe unbuckled her seat belt, and searched Dalla
s’s backpacks. She found two powder-blue raincoats. She tried to hand one to Val.
“You’re giving me that like you think I’m gonna get out of the car and look at dead things,” Val said. “In what universe?”
She thrust the car into reverse so hurriedly that it landed in drive instead. The car lurched forward.
“Stop!” said Zoe.
She took Val’s hand off the gearshift, and hugged her to calm her down. Their helmets clacked together.
“Stay here,” said Zoe. “I’ll check it out.”
“No, no, no,” said Val, each word a rising note. “We’re going home. Look at those things. I draw the line at really obvious omens.”
Zoe pulled a pair of work gloves from the backpack. They were the creepy kind with rubberized fingertips that look like they’ve been dipped in blood.
“I’m not going home,” she said.
“Yeah, you are,” said Val. “This does not have to happen tonight. Only you think it does.”
Zoe pushed her door open.
“Go if you want to go,” she said. “I won’t be mad.”
“You won’t be mad?” said Val.
Zoe walked away before her friend could say more. Behind her, Val punched at the horn, and shouted, “You suck, Zoe Bissell.”
But she didn’t abandon her.
The animals were a mountain lion and a ram. They’d died in a bend of the road. On the right, the jagged, slate cliff rose into the darkness. On the left, the mountain tumbled precipitously down to the lake. Val’s high beams were still on. The light shot past Zoe. The wet road looked like a shining snake.
The mountain lion lay on its side, its tawny fur wet, its body curled. It seemed to have died peacefully, but when Zoe stood over it, she saw a ring of blood, almost like lipstick, around its mouth. She wondered if it had been hit by a car—or accidently chased the ram off the cliff.
The ram’s eyes were still open. It had died afraid. The poor beast’s neck was twisted backward, its teeth were shattered, and one of its big spiraling horns had broken off. The larger section lay in the road ten feet away. All that was left on the animal’s head was a stub like a devil’s horn. It was coated with blood.
Zoe began dragging the mountain lion to the side of the road by its legs. She could feel how stiff it was, how dead.
From behind her came a gale of noise.
Val was leaning on the Jeep’s horn, as if to say, What are you DOING?
When Zoe got the mountain lion into the weeds, she forced herself to look at it a last time. She felt a pang, like the cat was still alive, like she was deserting it and it knew. She shook off the thought, and went back for the ram.
It was too heavy. She grabbed a foreleg and a hind leg, but got nowhere. She pulled again, harder. Still nothing. She was on the verge of crying when she heard Val get out of the car.
Val had lowered her head to protect her from the hail, and thrust her hands into her raincoat. Zoe knew how much Val hated being there, knew how much she owed her, knew that nothing she could say would be adequate.
She took in Val’s helmet and blue raincoat.
“Do you have to copy everything I wear?” she said.
Val didn’t answer. She peered at the ram out of the corner of her eye, disgusted.
“Don’t look at its face,” said Zoe. “It’s messed up. Just look at me.”
They gripped the ram’s legs, and dragged it toward the shoulder of the road. Val struggled not to look down. Her face trembled with the effort. When they’d been at it for a while, Zoe checked their progress, and saw that they were barely halfway there. They jerked the ram a little farther. It streaked the road with its blood.
Zoe could see that Val was angry. They had a conversation with their eyes.
VAL: If I can’t look down, YOU can’t look down!
ZOE: I just had to see how close we are.
VAL: Are we close?
ZOE: Do you want me to lie?
VAL: OF COURSE I want you to lie!
ZOE: We’re super-super close.
VAL: SHIT! I’m going to throw up.
ZOE: No, you’re not. Just keep looking at me.
VAL: I hate you for making me do this.
ZOE: No, you don’t.
VAL: No, I don’t. But would you do this for ME?
ZOE: I would EAT this thing for you.
VAL: GROSS! Now I’m DEFINITELY gonna throw up.
ZOE: Ha!
VAL: Do you think we’re close NOW? Don’t look. If you look, I’m gonna look. Just tell me if we’re close—and remember to lie.
ZOE: We’re super-super close.
VAL: SHIT!
They left the ram in the weeds with the mountain lion. Val tore off her rubber-tipped gloves and stalked away, recoiling when she saw the swoosh of blood in the road.
Halfway to the car, Val slipped on the hail—Zoe saw the sickening moment when both her feet were in the air—then crashed onto her back.
“I am done,” she said. “I mean it. Are you coming with me or not?”
“We got them out of the road,” said Zoe, helping her stand. “You want to give up now?”
“I wanted to give up a long time ago,” said Val. “I am all about giving up! Are you coming.”
She said it tensely, not bothering with a question mark.
Zoe knew Val was right: X’s father could wait. She couldn’t keep endangering people. She looked around, surprised by how far her obsessiveness had carried them. The hail was relentless. It bounced high off the road, like something boiling in a pot.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m coming.”
Val returned to the car. Zoe looked back at the ram’s broken horn, which lay in the road, a spiral in the moonlight. It seemed wrong to leave it there. She went back for it.
The horn was oddly heavy. Its interior was hollow and slick with blood. There was something mythological about it, something malevolent. Zoe wished she’d never touched it. She walked to the roadside a final time, grimaced at the ram’s frantic face, then set the horn down beside it, like a wreath. She was twenty feet from the car when Val pounded on the car horn again: four long blasts.
She looked at Val: What?! I’m coming! I’m five feet away!
But Val kept honking. Zoe slid her hands under her helmet to cover her ears.
Val pointed at her frantically. Zoe couldn’t figure out why.
Then she realized Val was actually pointing behind her.
Zoe turned in her helmet and raincoat, slow as an astronaut. Only now did the honking cease. The world rushed back in to fill the silence. Zoe heard the hail, the wind, the sound of Val rushing out of the car to help her. Why did Val think she needed help?
The ram.
It was on its feet, and charging.
Zoe wasted a half second wondering if it was a different ram. No, it had only one horn. The other was just a shattered stalk. She wasted another moment wondering if maybe the ram hadn’t really been dead. No, she’d looked right at it. She’d seen the blood around its mouth.
She tried to tell herself she was safe from whatever darkness this was. Regent had said not even a lord could take an innocent life.
It was no comfort now.
The ram flew at her with its head down, like it was rutting season. Zoe turned toward it, and bent her knees to brace herself. She told herself the animal would swerve at the last second, but every time its hooves hit the ground she felt a jolt, as if it were running on top of her heart.
She crouched low, like a wrestler. She’d grab its horns, or what was left of them, and twist them toward the ground. That was what you were supposed to do if this happened—except that this was never supposed to happen. Rams never charged at humans.
She didn’t have time for another thought.
The ram slammed into her stomach, and knocked her backward. She landed hard, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t stand up. It was like she’d been cracked open.
The animal ran at her again. Zoe reached for its horns. She couldn�
��t get a grip on the busted one—it was too small, too slick with blood—but she grabbed the other and tried to twist the ram away from her, which infuriated it.
Zoe kept her head down so the helmet took most of the blows. It was like the ram thought she’d stolen its other horn. The way it was raging, driving into her, bullying her backward—it was like the ram wanted its horn back.
Zoe kicked and flailed. She heard herself scream, preposterously, “I don’t have it!”
But then Val got to her. Val was there. It was going to be okay. Val was bashing the ram with a backpack.
MORE SURVIVAL SH*T.
Zoe lifted her head—a mistake. The ram sliced her cheek open with its horn. The blood felt warm on her face.
Val struck the ram again and again. She was in a rage of her own. The backpack tore open, spilling out flashlights, protein bars, bandages, rope, a whole mess of things.
The animal gave up on Zoe—and turned on Val.
It knocked her to the pavement, pushing her toward the weeds and the steep slope beyond the road. Val was on her hands and knees, trying to crawl back to the car.
Zoe searched the pile from Dallas’s backpack, hands shaking. She found a can of bear spray and a knife. The knife had a six-inch serrated blade, with a notch at the tip for gutting animals. Zoe put it in her raincoat. She’d use the bear spray if she could.
She rushed to Val. The storm had let up, but the road was speckled with hail. It looked incongruously festive, like a parade had just passed.
“I’m here,” Zoe told Val. “I’m here, I’m here.”
She grabbed the ram’s horn, and tried to spin its head toward her so she could spray it in the eyes. The ram thrashed back and forth. It was obsessed with Val now and refused to turn.
Zoe tore around to the front of the animal, her boots nearly sliding out from under her. She’d try for its eyes one more time before resorting to the knife. She’d never stabbed anything, living or dead. It occurred to her that she didn’t even know which the ram was.
The ram slammed Val’s back with its forehead. Its horn got stuck in a rip in her raincoat. It yanked her up and down, trying to shake loose. Zoe couldn’t get a clear shot at its eyes.
She drew the knife from her pocket, and stuck the animal in the side. She felt the blade pierce the hide, heard it sink into the flesh. It was a nauseating sound. Zoe knew, even then, that she wouldn’t forget it.
