Chapter Twenty Five
TWENTY-FIVE
Mushrooms. Berries. Burdock. Stinging nettle.
Wild ramps. Troy rattles off names like an incantation.
He sounds like a forager from simpler times.
But, in reality, he only knows these because there’s a guy on YouTube called the “Anarchist Vagabond” who makes videos about postapocalyptic survival.
The videos, Troy says, are calming to him because after he watches them, he feels like he could live in the midst of climate disaster.
And while most of them are about constructing water tanks or building a bunker, one component of the videos is foraging for edible plants.
“But have you ever actually identified these things in the wild?” Fran asks.
“That would be a no,” Troy says. “But I’ve watched the Anarchist Vagabond do it, like, a hundred times. He’s ridiculous at it!”
“Yeah, but the Anarchist Vagabond is not here,” says Fran. “He’s probably sipping kombucha in the comfort of his own home right now.”
“The Anarchist Vagabond does not have a home,” says Troy. “He is, in fact, a vagabond.”
An hour later you’re finally back on the water, paddling near the shore, looking for a trailhead that will keep you moving north, so you don’t need to walk through the tall brush.
Diana is in your boat this time, seated behind you.
Fran and Troy and Will are piled together in the other boat to your left.
The plan is this: Go as far as you can on the water.
Then stop to forage when you find a trail.
Within minutes, however, everyone is dizzy with hunger, and your canoes are barely moving.
Still, you make your muscles do what they need to do, working hard to slice a path through the frigid blue water.
Diana’s paddle keeps getting stuck to the lily pads that cover this lake like a patchy carpet.
When that happens, you get to stop for a moment and watch the spruce trees shimmer like a mirage in your lightheaded vision.
If you look up, the sun sends spots dancing in your eyes, so you try to stare straight ahead.
The pain in your head is back, but only intermittently, and it’s hard to tell if it’s from the cut or just hunger pangs.
In the boat next to you, Troy is defending his anarchist hero as both Fran and Will start lobbing skeptical attacks on his character.
You turn and watch Diana peel a floating leaf off the blade of her paddle and chuck it across the lake like a Frisbee.
You haven’t had any one-on-one time since your moment in the tent after the rain, and you were surprised when she asked if she could paddle with you.
But now that she’s here, she’s not saying much, and you get the feeling like maybe she’s waiting on you to break this silence that’s been growing between you.
The other boat is far enough away that you could probably have a real conversation, but everything you want to say is something you shouldn’t. Eventually, it comes to you. Something you’re surprised you haven’t asked yet.
“Hey,” you say. “Why did you come on this trip?”
She sinks the wooden blade back in the water and pulls it through with a small exhale.
“You know, I’m asking myself the same question right about now,” she says with a glazed look in her eye. You watch her face for a moment, waiting for it to change, but she doesn’t seem to be paying attention to you.
“I’m serious,” you say. “Why did you sign up for this? How did you find out about it? You haven’t told me.”
You both paddle for a moment. Closer now, Troy is talking about composting worms in reverent tones, waxing poetic about something called a “red wiggler.” This prompts a dirty joke from Will that you can’t fully hear.
“I mean, when you think about it,” you say, “it’s pretty coincidental that we both ended up on the same trip. There have to be a few of these. I think my parents were looking at, like, four different options. And it’s kind of a weird thing to do, right? I mean, it’s not everyone’s idea of therapy.”
You can feel yourself talking too much. And you know if you don’t stop soon, you’re going to say something stupid. But Diana saves you from yourself by letting you know you already have.
“Case,” she says. “Are you a total idiot?”
This is not what you were expecting, so it takes you a minute to reply.
“Um. Maybe?”
She stops paddling again, and you turn around, thinking you’ll see her tangled in aquatic plants. But you don’t. She’s just looking at you. Her hair’s up in a ponytail, so you can see her face clearly. Her eyes are narrowed, and there’s the beginning of a sunburn on her nose and forehead.
“It wasn’t a coincidence.”
Your neck is straining, but you don’t turn around again.
“When you weren’t calling me back,” she adds, “I talked to your mom one night to see how you were doing. She told me about this trip, and that you had agreed to go.”
“You talked to my mom?” you say.
“I thought maybe she told you,” says Diana.
Now it’s your time to turn red, the heat rushing to your face.
“She didn’t,” you say.
There are blisters on your hands already, but you tighten your hold on the oar grip.
“So, that means…”
“I came because of you.”
She says it quietly, but you almost drop your paddle in that moment.
Because Diana is exactly right. You are an idiot.
It never once occurred to you that this might be the reason.
From up ahead, Fran is staring at the two of you.
The sun is so bright, but when you close your eyes, Troy starts yelling about something.
You open your eyes again, shielding them with your hand, and you see him standing up in the wobbly canoe and pointing.
“Trail! Trail!”
“You’re tipping the boat!” says Fran. “Sit down, man!”
Troy turns back to you and motions with his paddle.
“That’s a trail!” he screams.
“Troy!” shouts Will. “Down! Now! Or I will end you!”
He pulls Troy back down by his pants. You and Diana start paddling again, inching toward what seems to be a trailhead. It’s a small rocky beach, with a worn path beneath some overhanging brush.
“Then all of this is my fault,” you say.
No response. Just the sound of a submerging paddle.
“In a way, I guess,” she says.
It’s unclear how serious she is being. But hunger is scattering your thoughts, so all you can do is nod your pounding head.
“I’m serious,” you say. “I think…”
“How do we stop this?” Diana says.
“Well, I mean if we can find Silas that would be key…,” you say.
“No,” she says. “I mean, how do we stop the boat. We’re right by the shore.”
A rocky shore. In your lack of attention, you’re drifting toward a rock. And though you stick a paddle deep in the lake, your canoe immediately slams into the blue-gray outcropping and you jerk to a halt.
At first glance, nothing seems to be broken, but you immediately hop out and soak your boots, examining the front of the canoe.
Diana gets out more calmly. And you don’t say anything to each other as you both clamber up some wet rocks to the shore.
You’re still lost in your thoughts as Troy volunteers you to go on the first foraging mission with him and Fran.
“We have two days to make it to the drop,” says Will. “So you can’t take too much time. Bring us some calories. Don’t poison us. Is that possible?”
Troy salutes him.
Will and Diana are going to stay back and make a fire so you can cook whatever you find. You look at Diana once more.
“If I hadn’t told you at Perkins that night,” you say. “If I’d been a better brother…”
Diana looks at you intently.
“Not now,” she says. “Go. Forage.”
Moments later, you are tramping aimlessly out into the woods, and Troy is describing plants. “So ramps are gonna have two leaves and a stem with a reddish hue…”
But you can barely hear him.
You’re thinking of Sean, and the way he used to tease you about all the things you were oblivious to.
How did you get this far in life? That was his favorite refrain.
Case! Seriously. How did you get this far in life without seeing that Dad hates his job?
How did you get this far in life without knowing Aunt Gretchen is an alcoholic?
How did you get this far in life without noticing that your social studies teacher is so hot?
How many other things have you failed to notice? How many people have you misread? And how much is the anxiety to blame, the way it cloisters you in your own brain, chanting the same daily refrains?
“I’ve never been this hungry,” says Fran. “It hasn’t even been a full day, but goddamn, dude, I would punch a baby lamb for some veal right now.”
Troy wipes his nose with his arm.
“I don’t think there are any lambs in the North Woods,” he says.
He walks over and kicks a fallen branch with his boot, checking to see if there’s anything growing under it. You remember what you’re supposed to be doing and immediately point to a plant with small purple blooms.
“Can we eat those?” you ask.
“That’s bittersweet nightshade,” says Troy calmly. “It will legit kill you.”
“Oh.”
And so you plod on, taking up the back of the patrol.
An hour passes somehow. The hunger is an actual ache in your body at this point, clenching your abdominals.
Fran manages to find some dandelions, which are on the edible list. And Troy takes some cattail shoots that are supposed to taste like cucumbers when peeled.
But all of it only fills a single shirt-basket.
It’s a pathetic harvest, and as you stagger back the way you came, you can already imagine the reaction from the hungry troops.
No one speaks when you return and dump it all in the single cooking pan you have.
And since the pan has been over the fire, it all starts to sizzle, giving off an awful smoke and a smell you can only describe as burnt lawn.
It cooks down to about a handful of food apiece, which is chewy and tasteless and dirty.
And when it’s gone, everyone looks a little like they’re about to cry.
Even Troy, who seemed so pro-anarchy-foraging in the canoe.
Finally, after the shock wears off and Diana starts packing up the cooking utensils, Will stands and looks at all of you.
“Guys,” he says. “We’re going to have to kill something.”