Ends of the Earth

Her foot slipped wildly as the tree suddenly shifted. She cried out as her ankle was caught between the ground and the trunk. Gingerly, she tried to pull her foot free, but it was wedged in tight. She sat up and pushed at the solid weight with all her might.

It didn’t budge.

Maggie shivered helplessly. She couldn’t stop more tears as she realized there was nothing she could do to move the tree. It was too big. At least it didn’t really hurt. She was cold all over, almost like she didn’t feel anything at all anymore. For the millionth time, she wished her dad was there to fix it. He always fixed everything.

Sinking back to the ground, she pressed her cheek to the grass and shut her eyes, wishing and wishing her dad would find her.

Blinking, Jason lifted his head and peeled a woodchip off his cheek. He was on the ground, Ben huddled close behind him, and—

Maggie.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he braced as the grief scoured him all over again, leaving him an open, bleeding wound. He had nothing. He was nothing. This was it. The world had become a black tunnel, and he’d never get out.

He’d failed. It was his job to keep his baby girl safe.

Jason prayed he’d wake up and this terrible nightmare would be over. That Maggie would be there in the door of the tent, tickling his foot and telling him he was a lazybones.

That he would never see her again was impossible. He was still breathing. The planet still spun on its axis—it must since the sun blinked out from behind moving clouds, the weather finally clearing as the afternoon brightened.

How?

How was the world still turning? How was he not dead too? He should be. Maggie was everything. How could he still breathe, heart still beat? He should be dead.

Again and again in his mind he saw it—Harlan Brown’s grin as he mimed slashing Maggie’s throat. Did she know what was happening? How much did it hurt? How long before…

No. No, no, no.

His arm was asleep under him, and Jason inched away from Ben’s grasp. Ben had spooned up behind him, and now breathed deeply, his face slack. Jason had cried himself to sleep, and Ben had clearly given in to exhaustion too.

Pushing to his feet, Jason stumbled and rolled over his ankle, but it didn’t hurt. He was numb now, gazing around at the sun-lit trees, blue sky revealing itself patch by patch. He shivered as the cool breeze whispered, part of him wanting to drop back to the earth and huddle close to Ben—wanting Ben’s strong arms around him again, his deep murmur gentle, his skin smelling of pine.

Maybe that was just the trees all around, but Jason would always associate it with Ben now.

He wrapped his arms around his stomach, looking left and right as if there would somehow be an answer. As if Maggie would somehow appear, whole and real and alive.

Something rustled near his feet, and he blinked at the stark white…pages? Reaching down, Jason’s trembling fingers grazed the paper. Standing tall, he mechanically flattened a page against his thigh.

He stared at his own drawing, the breath whooshing from his lungs as if he’d been punched in the gut. There were Maggie and Ben on the Road to the Sun, Ben kneeling and pointing to something in the distance of the valley, Maggie beside him in her too-short capri pants, tipping her head to follow the trajectory of Ben’s finger. Jason had drawn them mostly from the back, with just a hint of their faces, eyes alight.

Through the unbearable ache of grief, fury flowed like the river at his back, crashing over rocks and slicing through solid ground, flooding him.

Fists clenching, crumpling the paper again, Jason wanted to howl at the moon and tear Harlan Brown apart with his hands and teeth. He wanted to rip into him until he saw bone, until the bastard’s guts stained the earth.

Eyes darting everywhere, Jason was untethered, his knees about to buckle under the agony.

Then he saw it.

It was on the ground beside Ben, resting innocently. Jason’s eyes darted to Ben’s still, handsome face as he took one step, then another.

Bending, he wrapped his hand around the rifle. It was heavier than he’d imagined, but the weight was reassuring somehow. In the shadow of the lean-to, Ben still slept, and Jason didn’t blame him. He’d done more than Jason could have hoped.

Now Ben could rest. He was safe, and he’d earned it. Jason’s lips burned to bend and kiss him again, just once.

If he ever saw Ben again, he’d tell him how grateful he was. For now, he smoothed out the drawing once more and left it tucked in the shelter of the lean-to by Ben’s head. Jason hoped he’d see gratitude in the strokes of charcoal.