“We’ve gotta try again, Pup,” he said, and the animal raised his head, looking at Jak for a minute and then lowering his head again as if to say, no way.
“We have to,” Jak argued. “The longer we stay in here, the weaker we’ll get.” Sometimes Jak wondered if it was a meanness to keep Pup inside with him, wondered if his wolf instincts would get . . . less if he didn’t always have to use them. Pup was supposed to have a pack, a family of wolves who could help each other survive. Instead, Pup only had Jak, but Jak still needed him to help catch food, and mostly . . . mostly, he needed his friendship. Pup was his only friend in the whole world, and he knew he wouldn’t want to live through the war for this long without him. Jak might want to give up, but because of Pup, he never would. Pup had saved his life that awful, terrifying night, and many times since then, and now Jak would keep Pup safe and fed, or die trying.
Jak put on his warmest clothes, animal skins he’d stitched together, and a few items he’d traded with Driscoll for. He would have suffered through the walk to Driscoll’s place if he had something to trade for food, but not only did he not have anything he could give up, but Driscoll had told him that was one item he could not get. There wasn’t a lot of food in town, and even Driscoll had trouble getting enough to feed himself. Jak wondered if the war went on for many more winters and food grew less and less, if townspeople would start coming to hunt animals and gather the other food the forest could give.
Even now, when he thought of the war and the people Driscoll had told him were killing the children, that deep voice repeated in his head: Survival is your only goal.
A small tremble that had nothing to do with the storm raced through Jak as he stepped outside, squinting away from the stinging cold that burned his skin.
He gripped the pocketknife in his fur-wrapped hands, ready and willing to kill any small animal or bird he saw. The forest was still, though—quiet—even the winter birds too cold to sing.
Jak stopped at the top of a small hill, Pup a few steps behind, and saw what looked like a deer lying in the middle of an open area.
Jak’s eyes widened and for a minute he simply stared. Had the animal frozen to death right where it was? But no . . . he could see its blood soaking into the snow. He moved toward it. Had another animal killed it and then left it there uneaten? Why would they when food was so hard to get?
Jak’s stomach panged with hunger and he sped up his steps. He didn’t care why the animal was lying there. He only cared that it was and that it would take away the splitting pains screaming through his stomach.
“Get away from my food,” he heard, and he lowered to a crouch, whirling toward the voice, raising his pocketknife toward the threat. Pup let out a low growl, crouching down as well to attack. It was another boy like him, his blond hair past his shoulders, in a fighting stand, his left arm held out and something shiny in his hand. For a minute Jak was shocked quiet, and then his heart started booming in his chest, pounding in his head. They stared at each other, the other boy’s eyes shiny and . . . crazy, his face twisted into hatred. Violence. He came at Jak, his left leg dragging behind him. There was something wrong with it.
Jak raised his hands quickly, trying to let the boy know he was not a threat. His stomach cramped in pain again. “Did you kill this deer?” he asked, his voice shaky.
“Get away,” the boy barked, moving forward, swiping what Jak could now see was a hunting knife at him.
Jak jumped back, missing the blade. Pup snarled, moving forward. “Pup, no,” he said loudly, not knowing if Pup would listen or not. He needed to do something. And fast. “Whoa. Wait, wait. Listen to me, we can share it. We’re both hungry and there’s enough for two. More than enough.” He thought about offering his cabin, the blanket, somewhere to dry off and get warm, but he didn’t know who this boy was—he might be on the enemy’s side—and he wasn’t sure it was safe to offer him anything at all. He looked crazy, and Jak wasn’t sure his words were being heard.
But either way, he was not going to let him take all the meat on the ground between them. He could die if he did that. Pup could die too.
“We’ll split it,” Jak said again, louder, trying to make eye contact. But the boy’s eyes stayed on the meat, a look so hurting in his gaze that Jak felt it all the way to his own aching belly. “I’ll help you skin it and carve up the meat. Doing all that is long, hard work. I’ll do most of it,” he offered. “We can join together.” He searched for the right words, words to make the boy hear him, agree, but the boy looked uncaring about what he was saying. “What’s your name?” he asked, trying from a different side. “I’m Jak, I—"
The boy moved forward again very quickly, swiping the knife and Jak leaned back, the blade just missing him. Pup jumped forward and the boy let out a growl of his own, swinging the blade through the air, back, forth, back, forth. One of his swings caught Pup on the leg and Pup squealed in pain, blood spurting onto the white ground as he limped back, still growling, but not moving toward the still-swinging boy again.
“Stay back, Pup!” Jak yelled, holding his own pocketknife toward the boy, trying one more time to talk him out of what he was doing. “I know you’re hungry. I’m hungry too. I’m not trying to take your meat. I just want to split it. We can both eat. We can work together—”
The boy let out a screaming war cry and threw himself at Jak, and red-hot pain sliced down Jak’s cheek. Jak cried out, jumping back again and bringing his hand to his stinging face. His fur-glove-covered hand came away matted and dark with blood. Anger and fear mixed inside Jak as he gave up the idea of talking instead of fighting. This boy had left him no choice but to defend his own life. The next swipe might be across his throat. The boy in front of him was fighting to kill.
The two of them circled each other, their breaths coming out in small white clouds of air. They were close enough now that any knife swipe could be deadly. Something hot spiked through Jak, his heart like thunder in his ears. Maybe if I can knock the knife away from him, I can—
The other boy attacked, his body hitting Jak with a loud oof, and they both went down to the ground, the crunching sound of the snow top breaking below them. They each yelled and then they were rolling, grunting, as Pup growled and yapped in the background, faraway, or so it seemed like to Jak. He could only hear his own pounding heart and the sharp gasps of breath as the two fought to hold on, fought to be the first to use his weapon.
They rolled again and Pup’s growly bark got closer, the smell of him strong in Jak’s nose. “Stay back!” he yelled at Pup, rolling again, juggling with his knife, trying with everything he had to rip the other boy’s knife away from him. But his short call to Pup had given the boy the upper hand and he went back and swung down, catching Jak on the arm with his blade before Jak could roll away.
Jak yelped from burning pain and terror, throwing his body forward and stabbing his knife into the boy. Directly into his heart.
Everything stopped. The boy froze in his movement, his eyes widening and then dropping. Blood fell from the side of his mouth, dripping down his chin and onto the ripped-up, too-small coat he wore.
Jak grabbed the boy. What did I do? He can’t die. Not with a single stab. No! The boy’s eyes met his, the crazy fog in them clearing away. Their gazes locked together, breath mixing, though the boy’s breaths were getting w
eaker, further from each other. Jak’s heart sputtered when—for a lightning flash—the other boy looked . . . happy. He smiled before his body sagged, and both of them fell to the snow.
Jak sobbed, scooting out from under the dead boy, the boy’s body dropping to the ground. Jak pulled himself to his feet, shaky, standing over the body, shock making the world seem too bright, unreal. A dream. A nightmare. He’d killed a person. He felt something warm on his cheeks and realized he was crying. He brushed at the wetness before the tears mixed with blood could freeze.
He stared at the boy, his eyes moving over his ripped clothes, down to his twisted leg, and blackened foot, bare now that the handmade shoe had come off during their battle. Jak closed his eyes for a second, his heart squeezing.
I would have shared with you, he whispered brokenly inside himself.
Jak stared at the boy’s face, which no longer looked crazy, death making him look younger. And with a jolt, he recognized him. He was the blond boy who had gone over the cliff with him that night. He’d been living out here all this time too.
And whatever he’d gone through, it had driven him out of his mind.