The Alex Crow (19 page)

Throwing up all over
the place has a way of ending therapy sessions.

Larry was not pleased. He was sitting outside Jupiter when Max, Cobie, and I—covered from my knees down in vomit—came through the cabin's screen door and made our way across the grounds toward the spider cave. My feet sloshed in hot acid puke.

Mrs. Nussbaum, fanning the air in front of her nose, followed.

“What the hell?” Larry said.

Cobie Petersen shook his head grimly. “Puke. A bad one.”

“Puke volcano,” Max added.

Then, because I thought about puke volcanoes and smelled the hot stench vapors rising in the humid afternoon from my shoes and socks, I threw up again on the grass beside the dining pavilion.

And if I hadn't completely emptied myself out, I would have thrown up some more because I had to reach down and take off my sneakers and socks so I could toss them into the washing machine and get undressed without fouling my shorts and underwear with puke. It was a disaster.

“That was like a miracle or something,” Cobie Petersen said.

“Perfect timing on the subject change, Ariel,” Max agreed.

I showered, and Cobie Petersen and Max took the janitor's bucket and mop and went to work in Jupiter, which was a touching and very brave thing to do.

- - -

The day of the final Camp Merrie-Seymour for Boys competition came.

They sent us out after breakfast. Each team was given a nylon backpack with our map, directions, compass, and food. They gave us food because they anticipated most teams would be gone for at least six hours. Max and Cobie, who wore our team's pack, theorized that while we were gone the counselors would be getting wasted and drunk, and maybe even having an orgy or something with Horace's last condom.

The other planets had all scattered in their separate directions into the woods.

Cobie, who told us to not be in a hurry because rushing something like this magnifies the degree of error, spread our map out on the dirt while I read the first line of instructions to him.

“Fifteen hundred meters southeast from starting point to Sugar Creek ford point, marked with wooden sign and pink trail ribbon.”

Cobie Petersen took our compass and laid it on the map beside the compass rose. Then he took a small pencil they'd put in our team's pack and drew new lines on the map.

Max asked, “Dude. Are you
trying
to get us lost?”

“Compasses are off about ten degrees from actual north here. It's called declination,” Cobie explained.

“How do you know that?” Max asked.

“I just do, is all. I'd never make it home some nights if I didn't know shit like that.”

“Someone's going to die for sure,” Max said.

Robin Sexton rocked side to side, his eyes half closed, nodding his chin.

Trent Mendibles, uncooperative as usual, had his back to us, hands on hips while he stared silently at Jupiter. Larry sat on Jupiter's front steps, his arms folded across his chest.

Exasperated, Larry said, “Are you fuckheads going to get going, or what?”

Max whispered, “That guy's such a dick. I am so sick of Larry.”

We folded up our map, and Cobie Petersen, our general, led us off into the woods of the George Washington National Forest. And although I trusted Cobie Petersen's leadership, I also knew we were not moving in the right direction.

I said, “I hope it's okay if I say this, but isn't southeast more
that way
?”

I pointed off toward our left.

“I know that,” Cobie answered. “We're taking a little detour first.”

This was Cobie Petersen's plan in action.

- - -

It didn't take much convincing at all to get Robin Sexton and Trent Mendibles to agree to wait in the woods near the well house while the three of us completed Jupiter's mission without them. Cobie Petersen made a reasonable point: Nobody ever specified in the rules that we all had to stay together.

All Jupiter needed to do was get our flag.

Cobie Petersen persuaded Robin Sexton and Trent Mendibles to hide in the woods by bribing them with the bottle of vodka we'd stolen from Larry. He instructed them: “You two can have as much fun as you want drinking and talking about online fantasy games while the rest of us go out in the copperhead- and bear-infested forest to win the prize for Jupiter. Only, you both better be here when we get back. And keep your clothes on after you start getting drunk.”

Trent Mendibles snapped out of his constant agitation. He actually smiled at Cobie Petersen, and said, “Hey, thanks, Petersen. You're an okay dude.”

Trent Mendibles lifted the bottle of vodka in front of his chest like it was some fantasy broadsword, magically charged for beheading ogres and stuff.

Cobie Petersen raised his hand and nodded at him. “Fellow Jupiterian and hairiest dude I know, I salute you. Just remember: Keep your pants on. That stuff will make you do crazy shit.”

When we'd put enough southeasterly distance between our deadweight castaways and us, Max said, “Dude. Are you serious? They're going to die if they drink that much vodka. We'll get in so much fucking trouble.”

Cobie Petersen laughed. “The bottle is ninety percent water. I dumped almost all the vodka out yesterday when we were at breakfast. Those idiots will sit there all day
pretending
to get wasted. And when we get back, I'll bet you anything at least one of 'em's going to be naked, too.”

“Are there really copperheads out here?” I asked.

- - -

We found our first marker—the one tied near the bank of Sugar Creek—in less than twenty minutes, which was good time considering we had to make our way through hilly and thick woods. And although Cobie Petersen claimed to have no experience orienteering with a compass and topographical map, I couldn't imagine anyone being much more adept at it than he was.

The next instructions told us to follow the creek downstream for one kilometer. At that point, we had to cross Sugar Creek (we were smart enough to take off our shoes and socks before doing this) and look for a fallen jack pine, and use it as a bearing for the next leg of the trip, two kilometers south, which would take us across Route 600.

I read from the numbered sheet we'd been given. “It says: ‘Be sure to look both ways before crossing the highway.'”

“Duh,” Cobie Petersen said. “Two more kilometers should just about get us to the flag.”

“Sounds like the flag's going to be on the other side of that road, because there's no other steps after that,” Max pointed out.

“We've totally got this, dudes. There's no way anyone's going to beat us,” Cobie said.

He was right, too. None of the other teams could possibly cover three miles as efficiently as we did. And although I was a little bit worried that even 90 percent–diluted vodka might get Trent Mendibles and Robin Sexton into some serious trouble, I also knew that leaving them behind was the best possible strategy if Jupiter was actually going to win this game.

In about one hour we had our flag. As Max had predicted, it was sticking up on the opposite side of Route 600.

The flag was about as tall as Cobie Petersen, hoisted on a white fiberglass pole, like you'd see on a golf course. And written across the triangular red flag, in thick black hand-printed marker, was
JUPIT
ER
.

I pulled the flag stick out of the ground, and the three of us slapped high fives all around.

Then Cobie Petersen said, “Let's go pick up those two dudes, then get this thing in. We'll be sitting there
hours
before anyone else shows up.”

“Wait,” Max reminded us. He held out his arms to hold Cobie Petersen and me from walking forward. “Remember to look both ways.”

Max was right. There was a car coming.

Well, it sounded like a car, but it was actually an old, beat-up U-Haul van that was rattling down Route 600 toward Cobie Petersen, Max, and me.

Near the front gates
of the city of tents stood two large administrative buildings. The buildings were more substantial than tents; they were permanent structures with actual doors and windows, wired with electricity, and comfortably heated.

The soldiers who came out to the hill that afternoon took those of us who could walk into one of those buildings. They separated us into different rooms: me, Paul, Jovan, and Étan.

Isaak and Abel were carried on stretchers to the camp's hospital.

I had stabbed them both in the legs—in their thighs to be exact, twice to Isaak, and three times to Abel, as deeply as I could jam that little knife into them. It was a mess. There was blood all over my hands and on the sleeves of my sweater, and the snow where it happened looked like candy.

I say
where it happened
as though I were a detached observer from the event, but I know this is not the case. I can still feel the thickness of the boys' muscles as the knife went in, how the handle turned slightly and wanted to slip from my grasp when they jerked away in horror and shock. It was all over in a matter of seconds, Max. The screaming was terrible. Everyone screamed, except for me: Isaak, Abel, Jovan, Paul, and Étan—barefoot and half naked, bleeding from his mouth and nose where Abel had been striking him.

And I was so mad when I did it, Max. It was as though my head and my heart were swarms of angry wasps. It was all I could do to stop myself from killing Isaak, and especially Abel. But I can't tell you either boy deserved it. Who am I to say who deserves anything in this life? I'm still confused by the whole thing—all those nine months I waited between lives in the tent of orphans.

So I sat in the room, alone, seated at an empty table for I don't know how long. I was shaking, but not from cold, because I remember how my hair stuck to the back of my neck with my sweat. I was also crying, with my head resting on my forearm, when the man came into the room and sat across the empty table from me. He put a bottle of drinking water down beside my hand.

This was the first time I met Harrison Knott.

“Are you thirsty?”

Major Knott was British. His voice sounded nice, you know the way English people sound, like they could never say or do anything mean at all.

I wanted the water, but my hands were shaking too badly, and they were still covered in Isaak's and Abel's blood.

“Here.” Major Knott opened the water bottle for me and gave it to me. “We should get you washed up.”

“How are they? Isaak and Abel?” I asked.

“That's an odd thing to ask,” Major Knott said.

Major Knott placed his hands flat on the table. “Well, I'm certain they won't die. They won't be walking for a while, but they won't die, Ariel. Your name is Ariel, right?”

I nodded.

“Is the boy all right? Étan?”

“He'll be fine.”

“The others—Paul and Jovan—you should never let them go back with the orphans.”

“And why do you say that?”

I took a drink and looked at Major Knott.

“You know what they were trying to do to Étan. They were going to rape him, like they do to some of the rest of us.”

“You?”

What could I say? He had to know what Isaak and the others had been doing all this time.

I nodded.

“Why didn't you tell anyone?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I don't know. I was new. Isaak—the boys beat me and held me down. It happened on the first day I came here. I didn't know what to do, so I waited. Somehow, I thought I would figure out what to do, but nothing came to me. I couldn't think about the future, you know? And then I tried to forget about it, probably the same as anyone else, if you ask the others.”

“Would you like to see a doctor or something?”

“I'm not hurt.”

“I meant someone to talk to. Maybe you should talk to somebody.”

“I'm talking to you. I don't want to talk to anyone else. I'm tired of everybody. I'm sorry I ever came to this place. I should have died a dozen times by now.”

Major Knott leaned back in his chair and sighed.

He said, “I apologize, Ariel. Come on, then, let's get you washed up.”

Major Knott pushed away from the table and stood, obviously waiting for me to get up, too. And I thought, what was this man apologizing to me for? What could he have ever done—or not done—that would make anything different for me?

I was still shaking when I got to my feet. Major Knott patted my shoulder and said, “You'll be okay, son. Everything's going to be okay now.”

Major Knott took me to a bathroom with tiled walls. It was so clean, it was like a hospital. He showed me how to run the shower, then left me there alone and told me he'd wait outside and that I could take as much time as I wanted to.

Let me tell you how pure it felt to stand under that hot water, Max. It was almost as though I were being born again. Do you know, this was the first time I'd bathed in hot water since my fourteenth birthday?

When I came out, Major Knott was waiting in the hall for me. I was wearing my pink undershirt; I'd left the sweater Garen had given me on the bathroom's floor. There was too much blood on it.

Major Knott understood what I'd done. He knew the orphans had nothing more than the clothes we wore. He said, “I'll see if we can get your sweater cleaned for you. But it looks as though we'll have to find you some new clothes, anyway. How would that be? You may have to dress like a soldier, though.”

“I'd rather not dress like a soldier.”

Major Knott looked at me and nodded. “Well, perhaps a doctor then. We'll find something else for you to wear, son.”

- - -

I never went back to the orphans' tent after that day.

Also, I never asked what happened to Isaak and his friends. I only know that they did not go back to the orphans' tent, but Étan did. So maybe things were better for the boys there, at least for a while, until someone else like Isaak showed up. Because that's the way things usually work out if you wait long enough, isn't it?

For as long as I'd lived in the misery of the orphans' tent, and before that with Thaddeus and the soldiers and then the small family with the wagon, I'd forgotten what it felt like to be indoors, inside somewhere quiet and warm.

Major Knott's offices were like a palace to me.

We had dinner that night in a small kitchen for officers, and when I told Major Knott it was the best food I'd eaten in my entire life he laughed and said there was something terribly wrong with that. But it was the truth, and Major Knott's comment made me feel confused, and also afraid that he was going to kick me out and send me back to sleep on the frozen floor of the orphans' tent with the other boys.

I mean, why wouldn't he do that? It was where I belonged, after all. Major Knott knew the truth about what had happened that day on the hill—as well as what Isaak and his sergeants had been doing to some of us before then—so why wouldn't he send me back? Everything was fixed now; the way it was supposed to be. No more trouble.

Sometimes there is something endlessly selfish and cruel in saving others, Max.

Do you know what I thought about while we ate dinner? I thought about sitting in a chair at a table. I couldn't remember the last time I'd sat in a chair to eat. And I missed the feeling of that little knife I'd wrapped in a rag and kept tucked inside my belt for eight months, too. Sitting across from Major Knott, wearing my pink undershirt, I suddenly felt naked and embarrassed.

Major Knott asked, “How did you come to learn English so well?”

I shrugged. “In school. I also learned to speak French. I like languages.”

“And you came here to the camp on your own? You don't have any family?”

I shook my head.

“I walked here with a man and his wife. They had a baby with them. That was more than eight months ago now. They gave me these clothes and let me walk with them.”

“You've been managing well since coming here?” Major Knott asked.

I thought about that word—
managing
—and how ridiculous it was. I wondered if Major Knott actually thought I could have been the manager of the events of my past eight months. And there was something about the things the major said to me that made me feel guilty and afraid. Maybe it was just because I hadn't spoken to anyone since coming here, so now, faced with this assault of words and sentences, I found myself seeing again the events of my first day in the orphans' tent, and I could smell those dirty boys and taste Abel's hand over my mouth.

“It's the worst place I've ever been,” I told him, “I wish I could go home.”

- - -

After dinner, a soldier brought a set of powder-blue hospital scrubs and some new socks for me to sleep in. Major Knott waited for me to change, and then gave all my dirty clothes and even my shoes to the soldier, along with instructions to do the best he could with them.

I didn't realize how filthy my things were until I'd changed into the sterile hospital uniform. It felt soft and loose—like the Pierrot costume I'd worn for so long—and the socks were so warm on my feet. Major Knott let me sleep on a couch in what he called a “break room.” There was a refrigerator, stove, coffeepot, and even a television in it. He told me I could stay there until he figured out the best thing to do with me, and he promised to find somewhere better so I wouldn't have to go back with the orphans. I'd just have to be patient and trust him, he said, and wait for things to work out.

As far as I was concerned, the couch in the break room was the nicest place I had ever been in my life.