The New Wild by Holly Brasher Read Free Book Online Page B

anything bigger. Or anything with teeth.
    The sun sinks lower in the sky. It
must be about four or five o’clock. I’m terrified to go to sleep alone. I
consider setting up camp in a clearing of aspen trees when some bubbles ferry
past, each carrying something different. One’s got a weeping willow shimmering
inside; another holds a fig tree. I charge after the willow, thinking it’ll be
nice to sleep under one, then reach out and pop it and then the fig tree bubble
for breakfast. I’m so absorbed in them I almost don’t see it, stuck in the side
of an already-established old tree, so shiny and implausible it could be a
mirage.
    An axe.
    I yank the ax out of the tree
trunk and swing it around. Holy balls I love this thing! I’m picturing
myself now, Last of the Mohicans —Last of the Stumptown Girls,
really—kicking ass and taking names with my blade of steel. I’ll fight
bears left and right, take down poultry with one deft blow. The axe is heavy in
my hand, the blade perfectly sharpened. My heart skips a beat. I feel like I’m
queen of the forest.
    Bubbles float all around me. I
spot a rose bush bubble, and I pop it in a heartbeat. Its petals are
Pepto-Bismol pink, and unlike every other rose bush I’ve ever seen, it towers
over my head. The roses themselves are the size of fists.
    Using Deb’s trusty knife, I cut a
handful of blooms and weave myself a crown to shield my face from the sun.
Goddamn, I must look hilarious—covered in dirt, ganglier by the minute,
bubblegum-pink petals as a hat. But who’s going to see me now? It’s been hours,
and nothing’s keeping me company but the deer periodically cutting through the
woods.
    As though the universe has read my
mind, I hear something crunching in the bushes. Something way less
graceful than a deer. I pray it’s not a bear. Axe, schmax—I know I’m
helpless. Nevertheless, I rear back with the blade high in the air, ready to
strike.
    A crop of strawberry-blond hair
attached to a full-fledged man emerges from the brush. I let the axe fall,
stunned.
    Xander .

Chapter 6
     
    My stomach
churns and I’m so mad I could spit. I can’t believe that, of all the wonderful
people who died that night, this dipshit made it through Mother Nature’s
little test.
    Xander’s covered in soot, wearing
cargo pants and a torn, holey beater. His skin is so burnt from the sun he’s
peeling and red all over, his eyes watery and yellow where they should be white.
He looks awful, like he’s going to faint. But a butterfly, of all things, seems
to be nesting in his red hair. It’s resting peacefully on the top of his head.
    “What the fuck are you doing with
my axe?” he breathes. His voice is hoarse.
    “Well, nice to see you, too.” I
chirp. “It’s my axe, I found it.”
    “I left that here and I need it.”
I forgot how deep his voice is—deep and calming, like those old dudes on
the radio.
    “Finders keepers, man. You
shouldn’t have been so careless.”
    His green eyes grow wider and
wider. “Give it back, Jackie,” he seethes.
    I sigh. It’s nice to actually see
somebody I know, even if he’s the asshole who hurt Sarah and contaminated
my shit. I notice he’s not carrying a pack. I wonder if he’s eaten or even
drank water in the past two days. That would explain the ‘tude, and also why he
left something so important as an axe behind.
    “How the hell are you even here?
What have you been eating?” I ask, perhaps somewhat insensitively.
    He scoffs, disgusted. “How the
hell are you even here? You really wanna know what I’ve been eating?”
    “Yeah,” I say.
    “Fruit. Worms. Bugs,” he says
bluntly. “I tried to catch a loose parakeet, but he got away.”
    “Oh yeah? I hear chipmunk meat is
super good and easy to come by.”
    A weak laugh escapes Xander’s dry
lips. That is, until he sees my face and my knuckles whitening around the axe’s
handle. He shuts up, but I can tell I’m gonna have to wait for that apology.
Idiot.
    “Sooner or