Walking over to her, I sat beside her, hugging her close.
Her body was hot again.
Another fever.
“I’m hungry.”
“I know. Me too,” I said, looking around the forest.
Her voice was thin, almost lost in the whisper of wind threading through the pine needles. I rummaged through my pack, searching for anything edible, but all I found were a few crushed crackers and the last remnants of a granola bar. Without a thought, I handed it to her, watching her swallow with a desperation that made my own hunger feel somehow less urgent. The forest seemed to shift closer around us, the dark pressing in from all sides. I forced a smile, hoping it would mask the unease gnawing at me, and kept my arm around her shoulders, both of us huddled against the mounting cold and fear.
“Tomorrow, I am going to go scavenge for supplies. See what I can rustle up.”
“I can help.”
“No, Mandy. I want you to stay here where I know you are safe.”
“Do we live here now, Jackson?”
I didn’t know the answer to that. I was only twelve. I knew eventually Child Services would show up again, and well, I knew what they would find. Then they would start looking for me and Mandy. There was no way I was ever letting those people put me or Mandy in another home. Not ever again.
“I’ll keep you safe, Mandy. I promise.”
She yawned. “I know, Jackson.”
As she drifted off to sleep, I kept watch, listening to the mountain speak to me. It was one of the few times I could actually relax, almost as if this mountain was always meant to be my home. Everything I needed, I knew the mountain would provide. Shelter, food, running water. It was all here. All I had to do was find it.
Night fell hard and sudden, like a curtain drawn across the sky. I could hear coyotes yipping in the distance, their howls echoing off the slopes, and each sound made my heart pound just a little faster. I kept my eyes peeled for any flicker of movement beyond our small patch of moonlight, every snap of a twig or rustle in the undergrowth sending my imagination spiraling. Despite my fears, I tried to remember everything old man Marshall had taught me about surviving out here—how to read the wind, watch for tracks, and keep enough dry wood for a fire. I told myself again and again that if I just stayed alert, we’d be okay.
I wished old man Marshall still lived on the mountain. He would protect us. He had no problem going up against Uncle Vernon. At times, I would have sworn that Uncle Vernon was afraid of old man Marshall. In fact, with old man Marshall around, everything was good. Not great, but good. I attended school, ate three meals a day, and there were no more whippings. Then the old man left, and the door to Hell opened up. But while he was here, he taught me as much as I could learn. From simple survival skills to tracking—something I excelled at.
Sometimes late at night, I would lie awake wondering if maybe things would have been different if the old man had stayed. Maybe Mandy and I wouldn’t have ended up hiding, always looking over our shoulders, clinging to whatever scraps of safety we could find. But there was no point in wishing for what we couldn’t have. All I could do was hold on to what he’d taught me and hope it would be enough to keep us both alive.
It was a long night, and even after Mandy’s breathing evened out in sleep, I found my mind wandering restlessly. The embers from our small fire glowed faintly, casting soft orange halos on the rocks and reminding me of all the places we’d called home—each one temporary, each one a little harder to leave behind.I tightened the blanket around Mandy and stared into the darkness, determined to be strong enough for both of us.
Out here, I had to be.
By the eighth day, I knew Mandy was in trouble. She needed a doctor. She had a wheezy rumble when she breathed and a cough that sounded gritty; she cried ’cause it hurt so bad. But it was the fever that made her skin feel like liquid fire that worried me. Nothing I did seemed to help, and when dawn crept over the ridge the next morning in tentative streaks of pink and gold, pushing away the night’s shadows, I sat there wondering what to do. Bleary-eyed, hungry, and cold, I listened to the first tentative bird calls and watched the world come back to life around us. For a moment, hope flickered in my chest—maybe we really could make it here, just the two of us. But I knew better than to let my guard down. The mountain was both sanctuary and test, and every day meant surviving just a little longer, holding out for whatever came next. When Mandy finally stirred and blinked up at me, I managed to offer her a weary smile. “Ready for another day?” I asked, trying to sound braver than I felt.
She twisted to face me as her body was once more wracked with shivers, and sweat beaded across her forehead. That was when I heard the first snap of a twig. Everything moved fast as I grabbed my machete and stood, facing whatever was about to come through that clearing. I didn’t care what or who it was, animal or human, no one was taking Mandy from me. Gripping my machete tighter, I stayed deathly still and dared not breathe as I watched a man and a boy, a smidge younger than me, step out of the tree line only to see the man put his arm out to stop the boy.
I don’t know how long the three of us stood there staring at each other, but I readied myself for another fight when I heard that man clearly say, “Dylan, run back to the clubhouse and getyour aunt Roxy. Run as fast as you can and tell her to bring her medical bag.”
“But, Uncle Leroy,” the boy whined, moving closer to the man.
“Go now, Dylan. Do as I say and run,” the man softly ordered as the boy turned and bolted from the clearing. The second the boy was gone, the man slowly held out his hand as he lowered his rifle to the forest floor, laying it on the fallen leaves at his feet. Standing back up to his full height, he kept his hands out in front of him. “My name is Leroy Franks. Are you okay?”
I said nothing as I gripped my knife tighter.
I never took my eyes off him as I inched closer to Mandy. She needed me to protect her, and I wasn’t certain I could trust this stranger. The name Leroy Franks meant nothing to me, but his actions spoke louder than words—he’d put down his rifle and sent a kid for help without hesitation. Mandy whimpered, her fingers clutching at her blanket, and I tried to comfort her, whispering low that help might be on the way. In that moment, I realized how desperately I wanted to believe that someone out here might care enough to lend a hand, even if I still couldn’t let my guard down completely.
“Can you tell me your name?”
“Jackson.”
The man smiled tentatively. “Hi, Jackson, and is that little lady your sister?”
I nodded.
