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“Kayden, stop it!”
A high-pitched squeal adds audio background to our hushed argument.
“It doesn’t matter if it makes sense. It’s what’s happening.”
“Okay, but you told me the drug could have effects on you… is this one of them?”
“It might make me hyper-sexual and hyper-aggressive. It won’t make me think the military is looking for me.”
“Are you sure?”
“The rats didn’t become paranoid.”
“And how would you have known if they had?”
He stops at that, because it’s a good question.
“Those rats could have been convinced the walls were talking to them for all you know. That drug could easily be turning you insane. Maybe you should stop taking it and see if the military stops chasing you.”
His jaw clenches. “I don’t like your tone, Briarlee.”
“Well, there’s nobody else here to tell you these things. Bratty kids aren’t a SEAL team, are they?”
“Just because it wasn’t anyone from the military this time, doesn’t mean they won’t be coming. If you don’t believe me, that’s fine. You take the car and go back home.”
“And what, leave you in the woods with no way out? I’m not doing that.”
“You’re not my caretaker. I’m yours.”
I don’t know if that’s true or not. He’s massive, but maybe he needs me to take care of him, even if he doesn’t want it. If these are paranoid delusions, someone needs to get him the care he needs. And that someone might have to be me.
* * *
Daniel
I see the doubt in her eyes. Briarlee has always been an open book to me. She came with me because she got caught up in the drama of it all, but she doesn’t really believe it. I suppose I can’t blame her. There’s an old adage: if you hear hoof beats, think horses, not zebras. I suppose it does seem more likely to her that I’ve gone mad on my medication than the military is actively stalking us. I know the truth, but I also know that’s what people with mental illness issues always say, so telling her that isn’t going to help.
The worst part of this is that if I do a good enough job of keeping away from the military, she’ll never see them. There will never be any real evidence. So I’m making a claim I can’t prove, and I’m expecting her to believe it without evidence. Not exactly scientific.
“We’re going to wait until they leave,” I say. “And then we’re going to park the car deeper in the forest, take our things out and carry them deeper. I want to go fully wild.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea? I mean, I already need a shower.”
“I’ll lick you clean if I have to,” I rumble.
She smiles, but only a little. The woods aren’t really her scene. Briarlee is used to being comfortable. She’s used to things coming easy to her without really having to try. One night in the woods was romantic. But hiding from every sound isn’t. And having to wait while this family rampages around the parking lot isn’t either. I curse the fact that I left the car out in the open like I did. The only saving grace is that I’m pretty sure not one of the people performing in the family circus out there have noticed it, or anything else for that matter.
We sit about two hundred feet from the parking lot, listening to screams and laughs, usually followed by a parental shriek. They’re having a picnic. This could go on for hours.
“Get some rest,” I say, pulling Briarlee into the space between my legs as I sit with my back against a tree. She cuddles up with me, but I feel the stiffness in her body. She’s not happy. Not even when the sounds of the forest start to overtake the sounds of the family beyond. There are thousands of birds here, most of whom seem to be interested in competing for some kind of bird talent show with their calls and trills.
It takes some time, but Briar starts to relax and then even doze, curled up against my body as I stroke the hair back from her head. She hasn’t showered. Her hair is getting messy. She’s going to complain about that I’m sure, but I think she looks as beautiful now as she ever has. Maybe it’s because she’s fully mine to protect. As mad as she might be with this situation, she feels safe enough to sleep. There’s a trust that has always been there between us, and I hope it always will be. We’re going to need it over the coming days, maybe weeks.
After about an hour, the family decide they’ve had enough of nature. I hear squeals about flies and how it’s boring and they can hardly get reception, though apparently the boy can. Eventually their car rumbles into life, that perfectly pristine SUV that just justified its existence with this one trip into the wild, though it remains as pristine as ever.
