1/2986 by Annelie Wendeberg Read Free Book Online Page A

anything brilliant, especially not the few times I accompanied him up to the reservoir. I held his box and he called me “sweetie.” It made me suspicious. No one ever calls me sweetie without demanding niceties in return. Only when he left that day did I realise that he’d said it because he wanted to be friendly. He never said it again.
    Runner is different, more…grating. I don’t mind, really.  
    My chest produces an involuntary sigh. I want this apprenticeship deal to be real. But I’ll probably pull an epic fail in the next few hours.
    Should I wait for the rain to stop or should I… There, I don’t even have a clue what to do. He didn’t ask for anything heroic or cool or difficult. Stay alive, Micka. Can’t be that hard, can it?
    I check the contents of my pockets, although I know what I packed. A knife for whatever purpose, pieces of an old shirt, wool. How ridiculous! Menstruation hygiene items, of all things. I could use a pullover and food instead. Maybe a sleeping bag, too. Not that I know anyone who possesses such a thing. Okay, what are the first things I need to find? Water, food, a dry place to spend my nights.
    The nearest food supply would be the orchard in the valley with its peach, apple, and pear trees. It might be a bit early for harvest. I could eat rabbits, too. I’ve often hunted them during school holidays using father’s air rifle. I wonder if I should break into our house tonight and get the gun, my woollen pullover, some food, and a blanket. But if anyone sees me, I’m screwed.  
    My aching butt reminds me of the clumps of hemp in my pockets. I take them out and I’m about to throw them into the stream when an idea hits me: Traps!
    I comb the fibres with my fingers, twist them into two long threads, then ply them tightly and secure them with knots on either end. My hemp yarn is barely the length of my arm, but it’ll have to do.
    Once the rain lessens and the rumbling is far on the other side of the valley, I set off to find a rabbit trail. I install my snare between two sticks and hope that my human-stink will be washed off soon enough and that the rain doesn’t make the hemp so soft the rabbit can rip it apart. Or chew it apart.
    That could be a problem. I decide to observe the snare. A nearby oak provides shelter and an elevated position. I scramble up the trunk along thick branches and pick a spot not too uncomfortable to sit. My legs are drenched and I’m shivering when I remember it’s not even midday. The rabbits won’t come until nightfall. I’m damn nervous. I have to get my brains together.
    I plop off the branch and go for a walk, slowly drifting towards the valley — always careful to remain invisible — before making my way back into the forest. People will be working in the community orchard now. I’ll have to wait until nightfall, but then I can’t keep an eye on the snare and go down to pick fruits.
    Hands in my trouser pockets, I stare at my boots and try to think. This absurd situation makes my brain frizzly.  
    What is the most important thing I need?
    Yes! A shelter for the night. Something that keeps the rain outside and my body heat inside, but it must be built so that I can disassemble it fast enough — Runner doesn’t want a search party to find me, so they shouldn’t find my shelter either. The food issue will be tackled later. All is cool.
    With my priorities set, I collect material for my temporary home. The spruce trees provide branches for a roof and twigs for bedding. The construction is finished around noon, or around what I suspect to be noon, because my stomach roars. When was the last time I ate something? I had an apple yesterday morning before my finals, and that’s it — an apple in twenty-four hours because I was too nervous to eat anything. And now I’m trembling with hunger and cold.
    Okay, no problem, I think.
    I trod to the reservoir — no one seems to be looking for me just yet — and get my fill of water. My belly makes