The New Wild by Holly Brasher Read Free Book Online

helps out by planting a
wet one right on my mouth. That gets me up quickly.
    “Get up now, child. It’s your day.
I packed some things for you.” Deb gives me the knife and flint, a small copper
pot with a lid, the dead uncooked chicken we killed, and a scratchy, wool
blanket covered in dog hair. I love it.
    “Deb, I don’t know what I would’ve—”
    “Oh, you would’ve done fine ,”
she says, though it’s completely obvious to both of us I wouldn’t have. Her
phony confidence does make me smile. “See? You’re feeling better already,” she
says.
    “It’s all smoke and mirrors,” I
say.
    “Well, I’m not worried. You’re
still here for a reason, don’t you go forgetting that. Mother Earth spared us
once, I think she’ll keep you safe now.” Her eyes are kind and calm, and I know
I’ll always remember them.
    She gives me a giant hug and tells
me I can always walk right back here and stay with her as long as I need.
    “Thanks, Deb,” I reply, but I know
I have to go.
    “I mean it, kid.”
    I salute her as I slowly wind my
way out of her garden and into the woods. She smiles at me, but I can see
sadness in her eyes.
     
    * * *
     
    The sun
beats through the trees, casting its dappled shadows over everything. I reach
down to Bernard’s compass, still hanging around my neck. I lift it up into the
sunlight, prying open the lid. It’s still perfectly intact. Against the flat of
my palm, the dial wobbles its way toward north. I face that direction, then
pivot on my heels forty-five degrees to the left until I’m facing due west.
Home.
    The world has really changed. When
I got to Camp Astor, I noticed a sparrow or two—that was it. Now, on the
charred, pebble path that used to be Interstate 449, I see strange creatures everywhere:
chipmunks with bright pink tails, an adorable baby gopher with the coloring and
spots of a leopard, a bird a bit larger than a hummingbird with a neon-green
pompom on its head and red tail feathers. I can’t believe this.
    The foliage has transformed, too. Before
“it” happened, all the greenery was dry and wilting in the summer heat. Now
it’s thick, lush, and filling the air with a sugary scent. The jee-bows dot the
landscape; tiny ones even peek out of the cracked pavement. They’re white when
I first see them, but as I get closer, they turn deeper and deeper shades of red,
like they can sense my fear. It’s amazing. I would give anything for my camera
right now. If I make it home, nobody’s going to believe the things I’ve seen.
    I’m well out of the woods now,
walking by what used to be a big box store. Mom and I used to spend lots of
time in shops like that, getting stuff for the house. My heart physically hurts
when I think of her, of the memories we share. This store to my right is still
a box-shape, but now it’s a big, soot-black one with vines growing over it,
cramming their spiraled tendrils into the cracks. I wonder what Mom would think
of that.
    All of the sudden, there are
bubbles floating all around me, just like the glassy shimmering ones I used to
blow when I was six. A big one bobbles past, and I see a sheer image of a
sycamore tree inverted in its sphere. I lean in a little closer for a better
look. A dragonfly darts out of nowhere— pop! — and the
sycamore is bigger than life, standing an inch away from my nose, rooted in the
earth. I step back, bewildered. For a second, I think I’m hallucinating. I run
my fingertips over its scratchy trunk. What is going on? My heart pounds in my
chest. Maybe these bubbles are just like the dandelion seeds that float through
the air in spring, carrying their pretty parachute seedlings to germinate in
the earth. I picture a wise old woman blowing the bubbles the way I used to
blow dandelions, making a wish as she does it. My heart is beating so hard I think
I might go ahead and have a heart attack, but this stuff is so cool I would
hate to die and miss whatever trippy stuff Mother Nature still has up