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He could just leave. Maybe he should. But he won’t. He’ll come after me. And I’m not even sure he’ll care about getting the crate at this point. I’ve lied to him once. He’s not going to let me do it again.
He’s going to come for me, and he’s going to kill me. Unless I kill him first. Or unless I get away.
Until now, I’ve had a choice. Revenge was a choice. I could have left the crate, stayed hidden, waited for summer and Griff. Taken my chances with the wild. But it’s not a matter anymore of choosing between Raph and the winter. Raph isn’t going to leave me to the elements and hope the forest kills me before someone comes to save me. He’s going to hunt me down and kill me.
It’s getting dark. My eyes are good at night and the sky is clear, which means light from the moon and the stars. Raph’s eyesight won’t be that good. He hasn’t been out in the wild like I have. He’ll need light, and that will make him easy prey.
Prey. Like a rabbit or a fox or a deer. That’s all.
Prey that can bite back.
I can do this. I can kill him. I can get us home. Get us help. And if I don’t, then—
Then I made it this far.
I PACK A fresh bag, since Raph took the one I had. I bring a little food. A knife, fishing line, things that might be useful. I take my bow and my quiver of arrows, and then, after a long debate in perfect silence, I walk outside and find the grenades.
When I stored them, I wrapped them in cloth and plastic to keep them dry. Now I unwrap them, two round, dark blotches. Deadly fruit.
I put them in my bag slowly, take them out again, consider. I have seen enough movies to understand the general principle of how they work, but there are still unknowns. I can’t be certain how far I’ll have to throw one, how much damage it would do. But Raph has a gun and all I have is a bow. I need some kind of advantage.
In the end I only take one. I feel safer that way, like there’s less of a chance I can screw something up.
Bo drags himself out of the cabin. I send him back in with a snap of my fingers and a scowl. I can’t shut the door. If I don’t come back, he’ll be trapped in here. But he can’t come with me, not in his condition.
I have to do this by myself.
He keeps trying to follow me. Finally I sit in the doorway, Bo stretched out next to me, and stroke his side until he drifts into a fitful sleep. Then I creep away.
This time, he doesn’t follow.
My fingertips are gummy with blood from his fur. I rub them off in the snow, hands shaking. He can’t die. He can’t leave me alone. He wouldn’t. He won’t.
I don’t know exactly where I’m going yet. To find Raph, that’s all. Before he can find me.
I walk without much purpose and realize I’m heading back to the blackberry patch, where I saw him last. As good a place as any. I keep low and go slowly. Keep my ears trained for any rustle or sigh, but it’s like the whole forest has hushed up for the night. Tonight belongs to us, the human interlopers.
It’s the first time in weeks I’ve felt like something that doesn’t belong out here, that isn’t part of the forest, at least in some small way. The forest doesn’t care that I’ve been here for so long, that I’ve become part of its every day. It won’t help me just because I’m less of a stranger than the men with their plane and their guns.
I creep closer to the edge of the clearing and spot the remains of Raph’s search for the crate. The heater still pumping out warm air. The hole, barely more than a few inches scraped in the hard ground. And Daniel, lying on his side with one arm twisted awkwardly under him. I watch for a long time, but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t breathe. Dead. My fault.
The uncertainty, not knowing if I killed him or not, was sickening. This is nothing. A pang of regret, less for killing him than for the fact that he’s here at all. If anything, I’m relieved to have the answer.
I killed him. And now I know that I can kill a person. A human being.
I walk toward the north end of the lake. Out on the ice, the plane crouched, waiting. Maybe Raph is there. Guarding it from me. Maybe he’s searching for me, and the forest will take care of him. It takes back what it can. Daniel’s dead body or Raph’s living one, it won’t care.
But I won’t be that lucky.
When I get close to the old cabin I make a wide circle, searching for signs of Raph. The only thing out of place is a fire down by the shore. In its light, the pilot sits leaning against the same rock as before. His eyes are closed. My rifle is across his lap.
I unsling my bow from my back and put an arrow to it. He’s too far away for a good shot, and I don’t trust him not to wake up if I try to creep closer, but I can’t just leave him there. Not if I want to go for the plane or go after Raph.
I lick my lips. I have to risk it.
Then I see a shape across the clearing. Bone-thin, slinking through the trees. The wolf-dog, hungrier and more desperate than ever after a desolate winter. He tests the air with his nose. The moonlight glints off his eyes, a horror-movie effect that sets my hair on end.
The pilot jerks. Not asleep, then. And he’s seen.
