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CHAPTER ELEVEN
REN
* * * * * *
2001
FOR FIVE MONTHS, we lived in that tent.
We walked to new campsites when we wanted a change or if I felt we’d overstayed. We never settled too close to civilization, and I always ensured we had enough supplies to last two weeks completely self-sufficient.
Della grew every day, to the point where she was too heavy to carry along with my backpack for long distances, and had to trot awkwardly beside me for short lengths.
The longer we chose trees to house us and stayed alive by hunting and foraging, the less fit for society I became.
I adored the open air, freedom, and ability to do whatever I wanted whenever I pleased.
I loved jumping in the river naked. I loved napping under a bush with the sun kissing my skin. I loved being quiet and not having to fight to survive.
Life away from people was the easiest path I’d ever chosen, and I wouldn’t give that up.
For anyone.
But that was before winter hit.
For five months, the weather stayed consistently warm before gradually growing colder and colder. Our tent no longer kept the icy chill from our bones, and the sleeping bag wasn’t warm enough to exist without other forms of weather protection.
My shorts and sunglasses were traded for jacket and beanie, and I ensured Della wore all her clothes, including a layer of mine, tied in places and pi
One night, as ice started forming on the grass before we’d even crawled into the tent to sleep, I faced a decision I’d been putting off since my last hunt in a local town and a raid of their lacklustre supermarket.
I regularly visited towns to supplement our diet of meat and fish with things my body craved—sugar, salt, and carbohydrates. I had no qualms about stealing and did my best to break in as subtly as I could and only take things that would go u
We were a couple of days’ walk from the last town and too far north according to the chilly air and the way Della shivered even hunched close to the fire.
Winter was fast approaching, and if I didn’t change our circumstances, we wouldn’t make it.
So I put aside my reservations of people and houses and began the long journey to the next congregation of matching homes and cloned society, doing my best to go south as much as possible to outrun the frosts determined to freeze us.
* * * * *
We found a township on the second day, and for a week, we hid in someone’s garden shed where the rickety wooden walls and faded newspaper taped to the only window held the wintery blast at bay.
Our diet consisted of pre-packaged sandwiches and over-processed meats—thanks to a forage to a local store—and we chased the awful taste away with orange juice and soda.
Every hour spent in town, sneaking in shadows and staying hidden, drained me. I hated being surrounded by people. I hated watching my back and suspecting everyone.
I missed the simplicity of nature and the basic rules of win or lose.
Trees couldn’t lie to you.
Bushes couldn’t hurt you.
Humans were complicated creatures, and smiles were full of poison.
I didn’t let Della come with me on any of my explorations, not because I worried she would prefer to trade our wilderness life for a family who didn’t want her but because I feared she’d be stolen from me.
She was cute and smart and far too brave for her own good.
She’d make anyone an excellent daughter or special task giver like the girls Mr. Mclary invited into the house.
She had to be protected at all costs and kept hidden from everyone.
On my third scout for food, I ran past a bookstore with local newspapers displayed in the window. The black and white pictures stood out from squashed lines of unreadable text. Ever since seeing Della on TV, I’d studied the images of children on magazines and stories in newspapers, searching to see if the Mclarys were still searching for us.
I didn’t know what I’d do if they were hunting for my one and only friend.
Over the past few months, Della and I had fallen into a habit we were both content with. She learned so fast—intently watching me do chores around the camp, until one day, she’d try to copy me as if she’d been doing it her entire life.
Collecting firewood—or more like fire sticks—she’d scatter them around instead of pile for an easy blaze. She’d fist the slippery soap and smear it on clothing without rinsing—mainly because she didn’t fully grasp what she was doing and also because she was ba
She even tried to steal my knife one night after watching me sharpen the end of a stick to grill a fish over an open flame.
I’d drawn the line at that.
I liked her with ten fingers. She didn’t need to copy me in everything and end up with nine.
Out of the two of us, Della talked constantly while I said hardly anything at all. She’d point at things all around us: sparrow, rock, plate, mug, water…waiting for me to name it before storing away the sound to be used later.
It hinted at yet another future complication in our life.
Education.
She was a sponge, and I only had a limited amount of knowledge for her to soak up. I could teach her how to live on nothing and not only stay alive in the forest but flourish, but I couldn’t teach her the things that people learned in schools.
I couldn’t show her what a real family was or how parents made you feel. I didn’t know those things myself, so how could I pass on such details?
Throughout the months when she grew from baby to toddler, I grew harder and older but also softened thanks to her sweet i
She taught me not to be so narrow-minded, granting a fleeting chance to be a child again when such a novelty had been stolen from me.
I often found my heart swelling with warmth for my young, tiny friend and cracking in pain knowing this life we shared couldn’t go on forever.
She would eventually need more.
She would eventually outgrow me.
But for now, at least, I’d upheld my side of the bargain and kept her safe.
As we hung out, hidden and miserable from the weather in some stranger’s shed, I played the naming game with Della and answered her eager finger as it flew from mower to sickle to drill to axe to rake. Rusted tools rested unused and forgotten, draped with cobwebs and dusted in beetle carcasses.
She repeated the words quietly like an eager parrot, her eyes aglow with learning.
We couldn’t light a fire, so we spent our evenings huddled together in the sleeping bag, looking for ways to entertain ourselves.
This place reminded me of the farmhouse, and for the first time in a while, the fear I’d constantly lived with returned, and I locked my attention on the only entrance as Della grew drowsy and crawled into the tent I’d haphazardly put up amongst discarded household junk.
She grumbled some made-up language of baby tongue and badly phrased things I’d taught her until I obeyed her commands to come to bed and grudgingly agreed to tell another bedtime story.
Somehow, she’d latched onto the stupid retellings and stared at me with dreamy eyes and utmost contentedness on her pretty face whenever I succumbed to her demands.