Half Way Home (19 page)

Everyone, that is, except for Vincent, who stood off to one side, looking up through the dripping veil of gray. When I spotted him, I stopped laughing with the others. I felt miserable taking so much joy out of being alive while all he could think of was Britny.

He turned in place and seemed to search the canopy overhead for something.

I watched him as he silently blinked away the falling rain.

“It’s no use,” Karl said. He set down the machete and wiped the rain off his face. He was the third to attempt a fire, throwing sparks into bombfruit fibers piled up under one of Tarsi’s little tents. He was also the third to give up.

The vinnie had been dragged thirty feet or so across the moss before being roughly cleaned. Somehow—and maybe it was just my growing hunger—but I felt better about the process with the thing having arrived already dead. Even though I knew it had been killed just as violently and quite recently, there was something about it being hidden from me that made the ordeal more palatable. Like someone else could shoulder my shame and bear it for me.

Whatever the reason, we had fresh steaks cut from its body and wrapped in pieces of torn leaf, and I actually had a sliver of desire to eat some. But alas, we had no fire to cook with.

“I say we set off for the mine,” I told the others through my chattering teeth. Tarsi reached her arm around me and rubbed me from shoulder to elbow, trying to help remove the shivers. All of us were cold and wet and gradually realizing how miserable our day and subsequent night would be if we stayed put and it continued to rain.

“We might as well be walking,” Kelvin said. He peered out at the mountains and shielded his eyes from the pestering rain. “Anyone know which way the mine is?”

“Just a little ways around the tree, back in the upward direction and then straight out,” Mindy said casually.

“You saw it on the way down?” Kelvin asked.

“Fourteen times,” she said, pushing her hair off her forehead. She looked at the rest of us. “What? None of you were keeping up?”

“No, but we’re glad you were,” Samson said.

“Is everyone okay for walking, then?” Tarsi asked.

We looked at each other, all of us dripping wet, even those who held scraps of tarp and torn sections of their leaves overhead. Despite the state we were in, shivering and soaked and still coping with the death of a friend, we seemed better off in spirit than we had been a few days ago while working on the rocket. There were unanimous nods and murmurs of assent. I drank from my water pouch and passed it to Tarsi. Jorge walked by, taking the lead, and we began the slow, soggy hike partway around the tree and toward the presumptive colony mine.

After a few hours of hiking, Mindy gave Jorge directions, and we veered away from the base of the tree and toward the mountains. It took a few moments to see what had triggered the change in direction—then I caught a glimpse of a module through the rain. The two vehicles sat nearby, still and lifeless.

Beside me, Kelvin leaned into the rain, holding up the scrap of leaf he’d been using to keep the water off his head. He slapped me on the shoulder and pointed.

“I see it,” I told him.

The chatter picked up in our group, our pace noticeably increasing. I looked up through the falling droplets at the tangle of the underside of the canopy. It was hard to believe we’d recently been so high. Looking ahead where the cover came to an incredible end, it seemed even more amazing that we might soon walk on the ground and yet see sky above. Even if it was still full of clouds.

It was well past lunchtime when we reached the mining site, but not once had anyone suggested we stop to eat. As we left the cover of the canopy, the moss gave way to a tangle of tall grasses and woody shrubs.

The faint line of a muddy road could be seen working its way back toward the trees, presumably toward our distant colony. The grasses grew up around it, giving the path a disused and neglected look. A small area around the module and tractors had been cleared of anything that grew, the packed and trampled soil reminding me of base.

We angled straight for the module, hoping to get inside and out of the rain. Several people further up the line alternated between yelling Mica’s and Peter’s names.

Jorge halted by the door to the module; he fumbled with the latch for a minute, then turned and looked to Karl, who stood behind him, dripping wet.

“Locked,” he said.

Kelvin and I walked around to the other side of the module, looking for a window or another door, but found neither.

“Let’s at least get under one of those tractors,” Tarsi said, catching up to us.

By the time the three of us circled around the module, we saw a few others had gotten the same idea. We joined them under one of the mining dozers, the clearance much lower with its treads than our wheeled tractor back at base.

“Maybe they didn’t come this way,” Mindy said.

“Any ideas on breaking that door down?” Karl asked.

Kelvin banged his fist on the underbelly of the dozer. “We could use this.”

“For shelter, or to open up the module?”

“Or both?”

“I’ll go see if it’s unlocked,” I said, scampering back out into the rain. I stopped, turned around, and ducked my head back down by the rear of the dozer, peering inside at the others. “If it cranks,” I said, “stay put. I won’t be moving it.”

Nervous laughter trickled out from under the machine and followed me around to the ladder hanging out past the treads. I climbed up, gripping the slick rungs with my pruned fingers.

As I stepped up to the landing, I became overwhelmed with nostalgia, or at least a sense of familiarity. The mining vehicle was identical to our old construction tractor from the deck up; standing there flooded me with memories.

I tried the handle but found it locked. Cupping my hands around my face, I leaned against the door and scanned the dash, looking for any lit indicators or sign of operability. A rock would probably get us through the glass—I turned to see if any big ones could be seen in the mud below, and that’s when I saw Peter, running through the mud and toward the tractors.

I scrambled down the ladder, dropping from a few rungs up and into a puddle, then rushed out to meet him.

“Porter!” he said as soon as he recognized me.

I clasped his arms and beamed at him, the rain just starting to get him wet. “Where’s Mica?” I asked.

“In the mines where it’s dry. She—” He shook his head and looked past me toward the dozers. “Who all is that with you? Is Julie there? Did Colony send you guys?”

I shook my head. “Colony didn’t send us. We ran, just like you.” I thought about his other question, and the fact that Julie was the nearest thing we had to a doctor. “Is Mica okay?” I asked, pulling him with me toward the dozer.

“She hurt her chest in a fall up on the canopy. She—well, let’s get you guys in the mine. Is Julie—?”

“She’s not with us,” I said. We ducked our heads under the rear of the dozer, the metal shell reverberating with shouts of joy once everyone recognized Peter. I helped Tarsi out, and the others followed, each taking turns greeting Peter and transferring some of our mud and wetness to him.

“Where’s Mica?” someone asked.

“Gather your stuff up,” Peter said. “Let’s get into the mines where it’s dry. This way.” He hurried off through the downpour.

We splashed through the mud after him; I deliberately ran through a few puddles to wash the caked mud out between my toes. Tarsi and Kelvin jogged along beside me, Kelvin having a hard time with his heavy pack full of raw vinnie meat.

A few hundred feet past the clearing, where the stone face of a small rise jutted up from the grasses, the open mine could barely be seen. I only spotted it by looking the direction in which Peter was heading.

The mouth of the mine was just a darker rectangle on the charcoal rock; it looked like nothing more than a shadow cast upon a shadow. Then we were nearly upon it, and I could see the perfectly square hole cut out by the mining dozers. We hurried inside, through a puddle of collected rain that came up to our shins, and then up a gentle slope. Beyond, the mine leveled out and began its plummet into the mountain.

At the top of the rise, a dying fire let off a bit of smoke but hardly any light. A form lay beside the fire, flat on its back. I shook my head vigorously and pulled off my shirt, wringing the water out of it as I approached Mica. Kelvin and Tarsi walked with me; the others stopped by the pool of water to wash the mud off their feet.

The three of us huddled around Mica, who had her eyes closed and her hands clasped over her sternum. Peter watched us from below, where the others bombarded him with questions, their voices echoing off the rocks in a sharp cacophony.

Mica’s eyes cracked open; she looked up at us, her eyes wide with surprise. “Kelvin? Porter?” Her voice came out as nothing more than a mere whisper.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, kneeling down beside her.

“Cracked a rib, I think.” She coughed, her shoulders arching back as her chest lifted up from the bed of grasses beneath her. The agony on her face as she fought to suppress the spasms made me wince with empathized pain. I rested my hands on her arm and looked down the rise toward Peter, only to see him excusing himself from the others and hurrying up toward us.

“What happened?” Kelvin asked.

“Fell in a hole up in the canopy,” she said hoarsely. “Just a bruise, I thought. Been getting worse.”

Peter joined us at her side; he reached for a pouch of water and held it to her lips. Mica obliged him by taking a few sips before she waved him away.

“Can you get an infection without breaking the skin?” Peter asked the three of us.

I shrugged.

“I don’t know,” Tarsi said, “but lots could be going on inside her.” She reached down and grabbed the hem of Mica’s top and slid it up her stomach all the way to her breasts. She dropped the hem of the shirt and covered her mouth—we all gasped at the sight.

We were used to the sight of malnourishment, but Mica looked like she hadn’t eaten at all in days. Ribs had become ridges; her muscles were concave. As she sucked in a painful breath, I half expected to see her spine rise up along her emaciated stomach. The nasty contusion on her chest just turned the sad into the dreadful. One side of Mica’s torso was a dozen shades of purples, blacks, and reds. It looked like a bruise that had come to life and spread as a virus might.

“That’s more than cracked,” Kelvin said. “How far did you fall?”

Mica swung her eyes to look at Peter, who glanced at Kelvin. “Ten feet? Maybe more?”

Kelvin glared at me, no doubt thinking I was lucky to not be in her condition.

“I don’t know what to do,” Peter said. “When I saw you guys, I figured a group from the colony had come to take us back in. Part of me—I was actually hoping you were—”

Mica waved him off, then started coughing again, causing all of us to tense up. Bone and bruise seemed to writhe under her skin with each spasm. Peter put his hand under her neck and brought the water to her lips as several of the others joined us by the sad excuse for a fire. Leila crouched down, patted Mica’s foot, and whispered a greeting.

“What were you hoping?” I asked Peter.

“That you’d take us back to the colony and fix her,” he said.

“I’d rather die right here,” she croaked.

I looked at the fire, which was nothing more than a pile of smoldering grasses. There were some scrub bushes growing beyond the edge of the canopy that seemed to contain a bit of wood, but all of it had been soaked by the rain. We needed to dry out, get some food in us, and rest up.

“I’m not letting you die right here, so stop talking like that,” Peter told Mica. “In fact, just stop talking.” He gently pulled her shirt back down and turned to us. “If you guys hadn’t shown up, I was thinking about breaking into the dozer and using the radio to tell Hickson where to find us.”

Mica shook her head but didn’t say anything.

“He’s as liable to shoot her as patch her up,” Kelvin said.

“We need to get that fire going,” I said. “Let’s dry everyone out, get her some decent food and water.”

“Decent food?” Peter scanned our faces. “You got something besides bombfruit?”

“Vinnie meat,” Kelvin said. He swung his pack around and pulled out one of the leaf-wrapped cuts.

“Is that what you call the fuzzies?” Peter asked.

Kelvin nodded. “After Vincent. But I like fuzzies better. Or just giant-ass caterpillars.”

“While you guys are playing taxonomist, I’m going to work on the fire,” I said. “I need your machete.” I held my hand out to Kelvin, who gave it to me handle-first.

“You got a source on dry wood?” he asked.

“I’m hoping it’s only wet on the outside,” I said. “I’m gonna round up some of those little trees out there, bring them back in here and skin ‘em.”

“Good idea,” he said. “I’ll help.”

“Well, then I’m heading back to the canopy to get some bombfruit,” Tarsi said. “We need the husks to get anything started.”

I looked out the mine’s entrance, back toward the tree in the distance. It would take her at least an hour to get to the very edge of the canopy and back. I wanted to veto the idea but knew she was right. Relenting, I nodded. “Take someone with you.”

Tarsi smiled and pecked me on the cheek. Kelvin and I went down the slight rise and recruited the boys by the pool. Together, we sloshed through the water and back into the rain, so fixated on helping Mica we had completely forgotten about our cold and wet exhaustion.

Another thing I had forgotten about in all the excitement was the sound of the tractor engine I’d heard from the canopy. The one making its slow but steady way around the massive trees and toward us.

Two of us peeled the bark off as fast as we could, but we were barely able to keep up with the fire. Meanwhile, a group that had been born together naked tried our best to overcome innate taboos as we stripped and worked to dry our clothes. We hung our garments on wet branches by the fire; on smaller sticks, whittled sharp, we propped vinnie meat directly over the growing flames, and the smell of charred protein filled the mine, making it difficult to wait for it to cook fully.