Leave No Trace 3

Wrong is Wrong

“It must be Otter,” the Cubs agree. If any of them could survive on their own, it would be Sten. “He can’t swim that far… Otter could … He’s somewhere on the island still; the stuff that has gone missing.” But everyone takes something to eat when nobody's looking. They all have their secret hiding places where missing items can be saved. “Otter must have stolen stuff … right! All he had was his gotch and fleece.”

“Sten is pretty smart,” Someone says. Stephen looks at Lech. Stephen knows about Sten’s camping pack.

“I bet he’s over there. I bet he found a cabin! … I bet he’s dead, the fire is from some Indian… First Nations … whatever! … Maybe he tried to swim over, but he drowned.” There is agreement. Despite the secret stashes, the Cubs want to believe they are the smart ones, sticking together, listening to Vili.

Stephen takes his collecting bag down to where tender plants flourish and snails eat them. He balances on a rock and calls out to the distant shore, Sten! Just once, as loud as he can, and the final consonant is a lingering exhalation. There is no answer; just the wisp of smoke along the shore and a wink of red high on the rise beyond. Stephen returns to gathering and filling his empty belly.

Joey does not like Stephen much. The ten-year-old never says what he is thinking. That’s funny, because the boy is friends with Lech, who says everything he is thinking. Vili wants the boys to like him. Joey thinks this is an act. Liking is just a trick. Vili liked Joey until he decided he liked pussy Alistair better. That still bothers the thirteen-year-old. Lech is still in Joey’s tent. Joey won’t trade him. Lech hates being used like a girl, and that is one of the things that makes Joey’s day (and night). Stephen is in Ronald’s tent and Ronald is a pussy whose puny balls still need to drop.

“You know that’s wrong,” Joey tells Stephen.

The boy stops to look at him. The boy manages to look clean when everyone else is grubby. Even Stephen’s briefs look clean. The Cubs have their clothes back, but Vili patiently explains that while they will get rescued, winter is coming. That phrase is worth a laugh, but the boys have lived past joking, even if their hope has not died. Vili explains that while the weather is good, they need to save their camping clothes. Contradicting his own advice, Villi wears cutoff jeans trimmed to the crotch, his revolver, and a fishing vest. He cradles the rifle as if a bear might rampage in and snatch a boy away at any moment.

Stephen’s look says nothing. Joey nudges Cam and drops off the ledge. He whacks his cane against a rock, adding to the tip’s disintegration. Stephen simply stands there. Like dappled light, anger and a ferocious need to understand cross Stephen’s face, then it says nothing again. He does not resist when Joey shoves him against the boulder. His hands go up to steady himself as Joey yanks his underwear down. “Wrong is wrong,” Joey states by way of explanation.

Joey did not need a month to decide he did not like the missing Sten either. Two days were enough. Somewhere between Stephen and Lech for use of words, Sten manages to annoy Joey. Joey guesses the boy is dead, but he cannot be sure. Joey does not like boys who can do anything just for the joy of doing it. These are puffballs. We can eat them, just quietly. That’s poisonous, just saying this, not making what he knows a satisfying put down. Sten could probably rub goody-two-shoes together to start a fire.

“Otter is dead — and so will you — if you don’t — listen when — we — tell — you — what to — do!” Joey punctuates his phrases with a vicious swipe of the frayed cane. This gets Joey the reaction he needs. Tears are streaming down Stephen’s cheeks and of course, he trembles. It’s not the awful beating that makes Stephen sob. Stephen’s friend is gone.

Joey shoves Stephen so he faces him. “You don’t look sorry. You should show us,” Joey suggests. Joey grins at Cam before setting his cane on Stephen’s thin shoulder. The pressure is suggestive. Vili likes to be liked, but Joey wants to be envied. He is thirteen, the only Scout with hair on his balls. Maybe he does it just to see the look in the younger boy’s eyes. “You think you can give as good as my girlfriend?” Joey taunts Stephen. Cam gives Joey a nervous-sickly grin. Cam is younger too.

Wish me luck, Dad

Seventeen life vests (two extra), somehow, they make a raft. Sten shifts them around the pontoon deck. The straps will tie together (somehow). The pontoon has two tubes with a platform between them. Something like a rubber dingy, the boy decides. The Bimini above his head is drumming with rain. It appears this is too valuable to cut up. One vest will keep a boy from drowning; he thinks of simply floating them over to the island. Create the pontoon shapes, join them with some cross pieces. Not too much wood, as little rope as possible, paddles?

Just beyond the stern, Sten sights a beaver. It took some time, but Sten concluded his fire kept more than predators away. This deep in the woods, fire is uncommon-dangerous. The creatures shy from his smoky boat and Sten carries the scent everywhere he goes. You know, and yet you don’t know, he tells himself. Even now, his fire in the barbecue is a perpetual bed of glowing coals. Today, the heavy rain is his friend.

“Wish me luck, Dad.” He tried this once before with a porcupine. He lost his first hunting arrow that way. The first animal collapsed into the river. But Sten shot it, and the homemade arrow design was a success. He is afraid to move closer. Sten tries the shot from where he is standing. The animal staggers from the light arrow’s impact.

Sten is on the move and Tarzan’s off the stern into the swift water. His prey wins the race to the water’s edge, but a desperate knife plunges into its side. The two-year-old beaver is 30 lbs. The triangular arrowhead took it at the pelvis, the knife blow ends it’s struggle. After that, it is a battle with the river. Sten is 70 lbs (wet again). It is easier to keep his knife buried in the beaver. Wet beaver pelt needs a handle. He slips and almost loses everything. S. Clemensen CillED A. BEaver in the Year 2016. Maybe Sten will carve that later on a tree.

The beaver smells like pork. Sten impatiently cuts slivers off the cooking meat, savoring it. Fuck fish, he tells himself. He now has an embarrassment of riches. The mess on his deck won’t last two days before it starts making him sick. He knows enough to understand that. Denys’ bag of beef jerky feels like where this all started. A glance to where Howard lay, that’s where this all started.

Stennnnn! Stephen’s call still echoes in Sten’s ears. He has to return to the island. The fear of doing that drives away the exquisite pleasure of the meat. Build a raft, but first he has to cook the meat until it snaps like a dry twig. He flips the meat with his knife and scorched fingers. Mentally checks his wood supply, then starts to slice the meat paper thin with Howard’s knife.

The Cold will Kill Him

The moon was full when Sten found the pontoon boat. It is full again. There was a current between the island and his side. This is water funneling into the Pontoon River (as Sten calls it). Sten has hiked along the shore, wondering briefly if it was possible to just keep walking back to civilization. He does not have to imagine what Howard would think of that. The swim across a month ago was no picnic. Now he has to brave the channel again. He does not want to risk it the water or the man on the island.

The beaver meat and his precious tools are locked as best he can beneath a cushioned bench. An extra line secures the pontoon boat to the shore. With no fire warding creatures off, Sten fears Brother Bear will tear his way through the flimsy boat. He does not want to leave his pontoon boat unguarded, but this must be done.

Even Sten’s fleece is left behind. He shoved a bag of jerky and three matches in the pocket of his fleece and shorts. He only took the clasp knife his father gave him last Christmas. If things go wrong, nothing valuable will be lost. He can bide his time in the Scout camp. Escape will be a swim away. He steps into the cold water with two life vests on.

The water is summer cold. 65 degrees is too cold for Sten’s thin body. The fleece weighs him down, but without it, the cold will kill him. Twenty minutes in the water. He comes out too close to the campsite, knowing if he stays any longer in the water, he will not make it out. It is hard to move quietly as he staggers like a zombie away from the tents. He needs a fire, if his frozen fingers will work for him.

Sten stays by the shore where he can dash to the safety of the water. He does not know the island as well as its inhabitants. This is enemy territory now. He does not know what to do. There is no clever way to talk to Stephen. He won’t leave his boat for long. Sten is thrifty with his fires. By the second night, the killing chill has left his body and his fleece has dried to a comfortable dampness.

If the Scouts and Cubs still forage, Sten has seen no sign of it. The island is large, so they might be on the side facing the great lake. Stephen will not come to him, so he must go to Stephen. Sten imagines strolling into the camp. What would they do? Maybe they would be relieved to know he is okay. The boys would hug him. He might snuggle into his sleeping bag flanked by happy friends. Sten could sit with everyone, and maybe he made a mistake running away. Maybe Vili was not so bad. Get a grip, he shot Howard! Sten has no idea why that happened.

Rosy Mummies

Foraging in ignorance has its penalties. Pickings are lean and some boys have no trouble pooping. There are tearful gut aches too. Something new has given Stephen the runs. He is not lying when he pulls away from Ronald, I’m gonna crap. Definitely a buzz kill for the Scout, whose nocturnal jonesing is mostly just to keep up with Joey, anyway. It could be a game, like it is in Mike’s tent, but Stephen treats it like some science experiment in school. Bernie giggles at Ronald’s rude reply.

It is early enough that Stephen can hear the conversation coming from Vili’s tent. Alistair and Denys, pampered people, are recalling the real gaming world with interjections of Vili’s deep voice. The Scoutmaster is everybody's friend until he gives Joey a regretful nod and someone gets a beating. Vili’s good boys, Alistair and Denys, never feel the cane.

It is understood that defecating must be done well away from the camp at the shitlog. Then it is best to squat in the nearby water to clean. The moon provides enough light for Stephen to study the further shore. He absently rubs as deep as his finger will reach, then gropes for the grit between the rocks. Still squatting in the frigid water, he uses it to pumice his hand. What soap there is has been sequestered in Vili’s tent for the common good. Stephen is nether-numb when he stands up.

Damn, that’s cold; how did Sten stand it? Stephen wonders. A fish breaks the water just in front of him. Stephen stares at the spot. Another splash to the right. Howard claimed that if you held a torch at night, the fish will come to you. Stephen thinks this is worth a try. He shivers from his shoulders right down to his knees. They have zipped their bags together, so Ronald will warm him when he gets back. Inevitable jokes about frozen buns and how small Stephen’s dick is. The third rock hits Stephen’s head.

Deep breath and face some familiar tormentor. Sten is there by the shitlog, half in the shadows. Stephen’s first reaction is to check the clustered tents about the dying fire. Then he picks his way across the rocks to reach his friend. “You’re okay,” Stephen starts.

“I heard you,” Sten replies. They stand very close, eyes constantly sliding off each other to look about, watching for bears or wolves.

“You’re okay?” They ask at the same time.

Sten is not clinical about it. Stephen is always Stephen, another skinny boy expecting to grow buff someday. They have always both been boys who could suck their tummies and cheeks in and look like rosy mummies (before they burst out giggling at each other). Stephen is a boy to measure yourself against. Not just height and palm to palm, but quietude and generosity. “You’re cold,” and that is the least Sten can say about the shivering boy in front of him.

“Coming back, it’s not a good idea. You’re like “he who cannot be named” around here. I donno, your Hitler or something. It’s weird.”

“I’m not coming back here. I came to get you,” Sten smiles.

Stephen nods thoughtfully. He does not smile back, but Sten has learned to read a smile from Stephen. Stephan’s smiles shines through his gravitas and reaches his close friends. “It’s a long way to swim,” Stephen replies.

“I brought a life jacket.”

“You found the boat!”

Sten nods his head vigorously. “Yep, I have so much to tell you, but we’ve got to go! Can you grab some clothes? You’ve got some clothes, don’t you?”

Stephen nods his head, then shakes it. “Vili gave them back,” Stephen waves off explanations. “Ronald is in the tent. He’d get suspicious.”

“Then just come with me, we’ll figure out some clothes. I’ve got some stuff.”

Stephen frowns. “We can’t leave Lech.”

“I only have two jackets.” Sten feels defeated. “Gosh, I wasn’t thinking! I guess you and Lech can use the vests. I — I don’t need it.”

“Lech is in Joey’s tent,” Stephen explains.

“I can’t stay!” Sten mumbles.

“I know,” Stephen agrees. “Lech and me, we’ll swim across, find you.”

“You can’t.” Two ten-year-olds with clothes to drag them down? They cannot do it without Sten. He won’t let them try. It is not the year’s difference. Stephen is two years older in his mind, always was since they met at Cubs. There are things a boy can do, and there are not. Sten knows his friends won’t make it. “Lech will drown, just ‘cause he can’t keep his mouth shut.” Sten laughs silently at his own joke, resting a hand on Stephen’s thin shoulder he doubles over. He knows Stephen is chuckling in his own way.

“Can you wait a day?” Stephen asks.

“No,” Sten thinks it through. “Look, here is what we’ll try. You can figure it out with Lech. Give me a couple of days to finish the boat.”

“You’ll bring the pontoon?”

“No, it’s stuck, but I’m working on something else. Give me a little time. I’ll light a fire again, in the same place. Next day —”

“Three days.”

“Okay, three days, at night —”

“In the morning, it will be easier to get away from the Scouts. They won’t be thinking about us so much.”

Sten agrees. He will be on the shore waiting for the boys to find him. Sten asks about his things. Stephen shakes his head. It has all been taken.

“Gotta go,” Sten tells his friend.

“Now?” Stephen looks doubtfully at the wide expanse of water.

Sten shakes his head, “Too cold. Tomorrow, when it warms up.” He is the one swimming alone, going back to the endless northern forest, but Sten is the one who asks, “Will you be okay?” The answer is a shrug.

Stephen waits until Sten hops confidently away into the darkness before he turns back to the tents. Sten has always been amazing, what he can do. Stephen smiles softly at the way Sten can always be so wonderfully Sten. Stephen can take or leave Cub Scouts, but he can’t take or leave Sten.

“Took you long enough,” Ronald grouses from the sleeping bag. “I hope you shit yourself out.” When Stephen’s icy body slides into the sleepingbag’s warmth, Ronald complains. “My dick is going to freeze and snap off.” Bernie giggles from his corner. Stephen just lies on his stomach. Ronald’s heat begins to warm him and he organizes his thoughts. The poking does not bother Stephen like it bothers Lech. Bernie sniggers and fingers himself when Ronald starts his clumsy thrusts and piggish grunts.

Trust Joey

Lech has a shiner again and the left corner of his mouth is puffy. That concerns Vili. The man never connects Joey’s anger with his own past interference. Vili was a looker, not a shower until he realized he could charm the fresh recruit with extra attention, and Joey was charmingly charmed two years ago. Vili learned he had a boy-radar. Each of the four Scouts he selected for this trip was more malleable than the ones he left behind. Who knew how this would turn out? Vili has become philosophic.

Stephen would make a wonderful boy, if his surface silence hid romantic depths. Stephen exhibits mature constancy and passion. Alistair is anxious-eager, Fem-vulnerable. Each boy has his weakness. Vili plays Alistair’s delight off Denys’ predictable need to be accepted. His tent boys vie for his attention.  Boys pair up. It is nature’s way. The first day on the pontoon boat, Vili knew who Stephen was paired with. Vili can see the packs form and reform. Stephen is a shadow missing his Peter Pan. Vili could exploit that, or manipulate the thoughtful boy through his other friend. “Let’s take a look at that shiner, sport,” Vili gestures to Lech.

Lech is not a boy that could attract Vili; too junkyard dog, too pugnacious. The Slavic cast of his wide-set eyes, Mongol madness in his genes, perhaps. With Joey tapping his cane in the dirt beside the man, the boy’s slough eyes slide once that way, Lech drops the firewood by the pit and comes over to Vili. The man checks the facial damage, then like a track veterinarian, his hands examine the ten-year-old’s conformation. Is there any boy I’m not attracted to? Vili smiles kindly at Lech.

“Still wood to gather; today the plane might fly closer. The fire was not big enough last time. “Be prepared” eh?” Vili’s fingers are pinching warm flesh so close to— then on target.

Lech turns to Stephen. “Let’s go Steve.”

“Fuck no,” Joey blurts out.

“Language, Joey,” Vili reminds sternly.

Joey ignores the man. “Shit for brains,” he is pointing his cane at Lech. “Stephen is the only one of you who knows what food looks like. You get the wood like Vili says.” The cane shifts to Stephen. “You look for food.” Lech looks to Stephen for an answer. Stephen shrugs apparent indifference.

Walking along the shore later, Vili tries to talk to Joey. “It is a relationship, Joey. You’re older. They will look up to you. Why do you have to be so hard on them?” Vili has his hand on Joey’s neck. It shifts to ruffle Joey’s hair. The boy feels the gentle pressure that recalls the near-sacramental service Vili expected in their private time in the Church basement. The other boys are walking just ahead. Ronald stalks imaginary game, a blunt arrow knocked in his bowstring. There is little chance of success. Alistair and Denys are making too much noise. Vili’s tent-boys should be foraging about the forest floor, but instead they play tag along the rocky shore.

Joey ducks away from Vili in rebellion. The man never thinks about the way he simply dropped Joey’s heart in the trash and picked a younger boy. Joey was the special one, sharing Vili’s important secret, then (poof!)  he wasn’t. “You need to understand. I hope you can make Alistair feel part of the troop.” Vili hardly handles relationships well, for a grown up man. Joey told Vili he did not care. He still hides his confusion as best he can.

“You’re the leader, Joey. That’s why I left the older boys behind this trip. If something happened to me, you would be in charge.” The rifle comes off Vili’s arm. He holds it up where Joey can touch it. His hand is drawn to the satin stock.

Alistair and Denys are screaming wildly on the rocks. They wave their arms about. The lake is vast on this side of the island. A Barrows Bearhawk is skimming above the farther shore on course for the northern outlet. Vili watches his doom.

Three boys turn to look at the man, and Joey watches the plane. Vili pulls himself together. “The fire boys. Yelling and waving your arms about is not going to bring them closer. This is what we have been waiting for.”

“Be prepared,” Ronald says.

“Exactly,” Vili smiles.

“I can go! … We’ll come with you!”

“No!” Vili barks. The boys stop in their tracks. “Joey, you go. Go quickly, plenty of wood, throw anything that will make smoke on the fire. Make it black, Joey.” The teenager turns around slowly. He nods his head and races off.

Vili goes down to where the boys bounce anxiously on the rock. Alistair still waves a hand at the distant plane. “I think they see us!”

“No, it is too far away still,” Vili answers. As if to crush his aching heart, the plane makes a lazy turn that brings it low to the water. It retraces its path along the shore as if something has caught its attention. Then the plane climbs again and swings back to its former flight path.

The boys are warm against his sides. He bends to kiss each face lightly on the temple. “You see boys? I told you they would find us.” Alistair touches Vili’s back, reassured. Vili takes a knee between the slender boys.

“Will they come this way?” Denys wonders.

“They’re going away,” Ronald points out in frustration.

Vili’s hands brush the two boys’ tense buttocks. It turns their chests slightly toward his face. He lets his fingers slip under their underwear, then around the hips to rest on twin pelvises. “There is a big river over there. It makes sense to follow it for a bit. Don’t worry, they will turn back this way. They want to find us, don’t you think?”

Alistair looks down at him with hopeful eyes. “Trust Joey,” Vili adds. Alistair nods and hugs Vili. His bare chest, so soft, so hard, mashes into Vili’s face. Not to be forgotten, Denys comes closer and hugs from his other side. My boys, Villi says. “It’s turned this way,” Ronald announces. Vili closes his eyes and breathes in the welcome too ephemeral closeness, while he can. “They see us or they don’t. What does it truly matter?” He consoles himself. His little camp won’t last until the Fall. They will starve or freeze if rescue does not reach them. He will try to hold on to his boys as long as he can.

Trust Joey; the thirteen-year-old is the only one he can trust. The searchers on the plane will see their camp, or they will not, but there will be no black column of smoke rising from the island. Vili can trust Joey to see to that.

They watch the plane come down along the shoreline towards their island. “I can’t see it, where did it go? … It’s on the other side of the trees boys … The guys, maybe they will see the guys! … Perhaps, if they are on the shore … Stephen always goes along the shore … Then they might see him … They’ll see the fire … Of course they will, boys.”

All You’ll Find is Bones

“Damn it, take a swing around this island, take us back to the river there. I saw something yellow, like the pontoon’s sun shade!” Jerrik Clemensen pounds his palm against the back of the pilot’s seat.

“Stop fucking with my seat!” The heavy man complains. He keeps the old Barrows Bearhawk on its path over the shoreline. “Just keep your eyes out for the damn boat. If they tried to go down that river, all you’ll find is bones.”

“That’s my son you’re talking about!”

“Sorry, jeeze,” the pilot bites his tongue. Four weeks off and on with this guy in his plane was four weeks too many. “They probably never came this far. It’s thirty miles from the place they should have been. What you saw there, it was probably a dead tree in the water. Search and rescue has been all over this quadrant.”

Jerrik is back to studying the serpentine coast of rocks and shadows. “Not here,” he replies, “not this lake.” Damn drunken fishermen, Jerrik curses. Camping at the narrows, they swore no boat had passed them by. Dumb fucks probably out poaching in the woods, Jerrik groans silently.

“Probably hit a reef somewhere, that old boat went out without a Garmin. Bastard rates it for fifteen passengers, my ass. Kelly Cardinal is a crook, you bet on that.”

Jerrik blinks his bloodshot eyes. The forest is endless. “Pontoon boat is not going to sink. It’s out here somewhere. Boys all had life vests. Can’t say anything about Vili Žitnik, don’t know him. Howard Palmer, I trust him.” Jerrik’s voice is dead tired.

Sten idolized the old man. Jerrik feels the twist in his belly when he evokes his son’s name. He knows Howard pretty well from church. Thirteen young boys including the scouts, Howard never took them out without his satellite phone. There was always some scraped knee needing to hear his Mommy’s voice. If there was trouble, Howard was not too proud to call help in.

“We should come back and take another look,” Jerrik decides.

“It’s your dime,” the pilot replies.