Page 22 of The Last Man on Earth
“Supposed to be this weekend.”
“You don’t seem all that excited.”
I shrug. “I got more important shit to worry about right now, don’t you think?”
“Fair enough.”
I finish my bottle, then set it aside, thinking the oddest thought, that maybe I should create some kind of trash system so that we’re not sitting around in a pile of empty bottles and packages. But then I remind myself I’m doing too much, because we’re leaving today. Any minute now.
“I’m thinking about going to find the ocean,” I say. “It’s gotta be nearby. I could start a fire to attract attention. Or spell out help in seaweed or some shit.”
Ariana laughs right to my face. The sound is like a blade cutting through my flesh. “I’m starting to think you watch too much TV.”
My teeth grit. “You know what? Fuck you.”
Her smile vanishes. “You’re oversensitive.”
“Nah,” I snap. “I just recognize when muhfuckas look down on me. I been dealing with that shit my whole fuckin’ life.”
She crosses her arms in front of her, pursing her lips. “I’m sorry, but you’re immature. And spoiled. And young-minded.”
“That’s cuz you older than I am. How old are you?”
She squares her shoulders. “I’m thirty-seven.”
“See, that’s what I’m sayin’. Of course you see me like that.”
“Don't put that on me. You only have yourself to blame for how people perceive you.”
“Whatever.” I stand abruptly, brushing dirt off my palms. “I’m going to get my muhfuckin’ Dora on. You sit yo ass right in that spot and drink that goddamn water.” I give her a stern look. “You better be ready to pee when I get back.”
She laughs again, even louder this time. “You’re hilarious.”
For some reason, the sound softens something inside of me. As I walk away from our little camping spot, my chest puffs out. I’m kinda proud of myself for making her laugh like that, especially after everything we’ve been through.
Damn.
We done been through a lifetime’s worth of shit in two days.
It don’t even feel real yet.
I start walking. The forest swallows me fast. It’s green and thick, with hella paths that blend into each other. It’s peaceful out here, but the deeper I get, the more I realize I don’t know where I am or what the fuck I’m doing.
I wonder if knowing what to do in the wilderness is something people are born with. Or maybe fathers teach their sons how to do it, like when they teach them how to hunt and fish. My daddy didn’t teach me shit about survival. Or anything, really.
Birds scream overhead, sudden and sharp, making my heart pound. I keep moving anyway, breaking branches to mark my path. My shirt clings to my back. Sweat stings my eyes. The ground dips, then rises, uneven enough to twist an ankle if I’m not careful.
I stop and listen, keeping my body still. The ocean sounds a little bit closer, but I can’t tell what direction the sound is coming from.
I look around, noting how the light shifts in different spots. But everything else looks the same—same trees, same rocks,same tangled vines. I glance behind me, searching for the branches I broke, but I don’t see them.
My chest tightens.
I walk in a circle, I think. Ten steps this way, twenty steps that way. Panic is setting in fast, whispering in my ear that I fucked up and I’ll never find my way back.
Deep breath.
Focus.
