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“Just leave the dog alone,” Daniel said. “I like dogs.”
“You want to make friends with that dog, you go ahead,” Raph said, but he sat back down and Daniel kept rowing. They rowed all the way out to the plane. Bo seemed to realize that they were too far gone to do anything, but he watched them with those pricked, wary ears.
And then he threw up his head and howled. The howl went on and on, the most horrible, sorrowful thing I’d ever heard. He howled and howled as the cabin burned, as the men got into their plane and lifted away into the sky.
When they were only a speck on the horizon I walked out of my hiding place. Bo sat by the shore. No longer howling, just whimpering and growling and pacing like he couldn’t figure out what had happened and what he was supposed to do.
“Bo,” I said. He whipped his head toward me with a snarl. His body vibrated with tension. I put out my hand, palm out. “Come on, Bo.”
He snuck toward me step by step. His nose pressed against my palm. I slid my hand up over the side of his face to his ears, and dug my fingers into his fur. A shudder went through him. I sank to the ground, and he crawled up next to me, tucking his huge bulk against me. I wrapped my arms around his ruff.
We sat like that while the fire burned. It burned into the night, which this time of year was still light until its very core. When the sun finally set, I shut my eyes and lay down on the beach. Bo lay beside me, his warmth at my back. Somehow, I slept.
I HAVE BEENon my own for more than a week now. Maybe more than two. I haven’t kept track very well of the number of days, the number of nights. We’re well into summer, and summer out here isn’t long. I remember Dad saying that. Which means I have maybe a week, maybe three at most, before winter comes.
I am not prepared for winter. I almost did not survive these first days, but I know I will not survive the winter the way things are going right now. I have the same feeling now that I had when I woke up on the beach with everything burned down. A certainty that things have to change, and fast, or I will not make it to the next week.
I can fish a little. Not well. I’ve caught a couple of animals, mostly by accident. And I’ve lost some of those to the fox, creeping into my camp whenever Bo is away.
I’ve found a few more supplies—odds and ends scavenged from the cabin, when I could bear to go back there. Not much. It’s not enough to get me through more than a day or two at a time, much less months of winter, of snow and ice.
I have a week, maybe three, to figure out how to survive. I don’t think I can. But I’m sure as hell going to try.
