“Mr. Koerig. How would you like to become a butcher?”
Toby knew that spending this much time in a cave was unhealthy, both physically and mentally. Even prehistoric cavemen probably didn’t spend this much damn time in caves. It was a sign of a sick, sick brain.
He couldn’t help himself.
He just knew that if he waited long enough, someday Owen would walk through that cave entrance.
And one day, he did.
C HAPTER E IGHTEEN
“Where in the name of fuck have you been?” Toby demanded. “You selfish, inconsiderate, uncaring dickhead. Do you think I can even describe what I’ve gone through waiting for you?”
Then they hugged.
“I can’t believe you’re back. You haven’t gone completely wild, right? You’re not going to kill me?”
Owen gave him the thumbs-down sign.
“You still remember! Can you talk now? Do you speak fluent English? Where have you been? You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”
Owen signed: Home.
“Yeah, you’re home now. Or are you just surprised that I’m in your home? I’ve taken pretty shitty care of the place, as you can see.” Owen’s eye seemed to have healed just fine. His arm had a bare patch and a scar where the bullet had hit it, but there was no indication that he was having any problems using the limb.
Owen tapped his belly.
“You’re asking me for food? Fifteen seconds after you get back? Get your own damn food.”
Owen tapped his belly, then pointed at Toby.
“You want to give me food? I don’t want to eat anything you would scavenge. Where the hell have you been?”
Owen repeated the food gesture.
“Don’t get impatient with me. You’re the one who’s been gone for a couple of years. You want me to get food?”
Yes.
“Food for me?”
Yes.
“So you want me to get food for myself? You mean pack food, like for a trip?”
Yes.
“Why?”
Come with me.
“Are we going somewhere far?”
Yes.
“Okay, I’ll go home and get some stuff. Will you still be here when I get back?”
Yes.
“Do you promise?”
Yes.
“What are you going to do while I’m gone?”
Sleep.
“Fair enough.”
Toby filled his backpack with food, mostly granola bars that had probably gone stale in his pantry but which he assumed were still edible and nutritious. They were certainly a lot healthier than the crap he’d been eating for the past couple of years. He refilled the thermos with water, and double-checked the first-aid kit that he always carried. He’d used up quite a few of the Band-Aids from chips of cave wall hitting his arms and face, so he added a few more from the bathroom supply.
Toilet paper, a poncho, a spare set of shoes, and he was ready to go.
There was a carton of chocolate ice cream in the freezer. Owen would love that. He probably hadn’t enjoyed a treat in years. But it would melt before Toby got back to the cave, and he didn’t want to drag an ice chest out there along with his heavy backpack.
And, most important, Owen didn’t deserve ice cream. Why even consider such a thing? What Owen deserved was a great big punch in the nose.
Still, he was elated to have him back.
He hiked back out to the cave, half expecting Owen to have abandoned him again. But the monster lay on the ground, curled up, fast asleep. Toby lay down next to him. He couldn’t fall asleep-he still had concerns about his personal safety-but he did snuggle with the monster until sunrise.
As they walked, Toby realized that he’d regained his appreciation for the beauty of the forest. Sunlight streamed through the canopy, illuminating a world of green. Birds chirped. Flowers bloomed. The entire forest was filled with the potential for discovery, for adventure.
And, yeah, it all sounded like a bad greeting card, but Toby didn’t care. Despite a lack of sleep, he was wideawake. He was as excited about this journey as if he held a skull-and-crossbones-adorned treasure map, leading him to the location of a long-buried pirates’ stash of gold, silver, and jewels. He was in a cobweb-filled corridor of a pyramid, avoiding poison-tainted death traps while seeking the sarcophagus of an ancient emperor. He was seated in the cockpit of a plane he’d built himself, flying over the South American jungle, searching for a lost tribe.
Owen led, of course. Sometimes Toby spoke to him. More often, he remained silent, lost in happy thought.
He got tired more quickly than Owen, and insisted on more rest breaks. When Owen balked, Toby reminded him of the whole “gone for two years” issue and Owen relented. They never rested for very long. Toby was too excited to resume their journey.
As darkness fell, Toby built a makeshift shelter out of some branches. It was about as makeshift as you could possibly get, but it only collapsed once during the night. This time, Toby had absolutely no trouble falling asleep. He dreamed of his mother making him a peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwich, her wrists unscarred.
The next day they came upon a large pond. They splashed around in it for nearly half an hour. Owen jabbed a fish with his talon and threw it into his mouth whole, chewing it rapidly and then offering Toby a scale-tainted smile.
“You could have at least left me the tail or something,” Toby said.
After a few minutes of effort, Owen hooked another one. Toby built a small fire, used a branch as a skewer, and cooked up the fish perfectly. He ate most of the meat. Owen ate the head, tail, and bones.
They swam some more, until Owen indicated that it was time to leave.
The bugs seemed a lot worse in this part of the forest, but Toby buried his face into Owen’s back and was still able to get a decent night’s sleep.
“How far do you think we’ve come so far?” Toby asked, as they walked side by side. It had to be at least fifty miles. Maybe closer to seventy-five. “Are we almost there?”
Yes.
“This is going to be worth the trip, right? It’s not going to just be a slightly larger cave? Because by ‘long trip’ I kind of thought you meant a few hours, and I never asked Mr. Zack for the time off. I’m in the butcher department now, so we spend a lot of time around knives. Just thought you should know.”
Toby took a bite of his tasteless granola bar. Even with raisins, or what purported to be raisins, it was pretty bland stuff. He hadn’t really researched it, but he assumed that Magellan had much better cuisine during his travels.
“You need to hunt us a deer,” Toby said. “A nice big plump one. Venison. Lots of venison.” His stomach growled.
Owen began to jump up and down, almost like a baboon. Toby had never seen his friend act this excited.
