Brothers/Sisters

I wake up to a flash of mottled brown out the window. I jump, only to realize that it’s just a coyote sniffing at the back tire. It gives me a characteristic bemused coyote look—ears flattened, head tilted, disappointment in its eyes—and scampers off, undergrowth rustling after it as it runs into the pines, hopping over a felled tree and disappearing.

The day is dull.

Clouds spill out in the cracks between the trees again, lower today than yesterday. The mountains are blue knobs in the distance, mostly obscured by the pines from my vantage point. The clouds will probably clear up by the end of the day, but there’s no doubt now that fall is on its way. This time last year, I would’ve been starting my senior year of high school. Almost a month in, actually.

We’re in a loop-shaped picnic area; on Ask’s side, through a thin curtain of trees, sits Yellowstone lake, whitecaps visible over gentle waves.

Speaking of Ask’s side: it’s empty. Because of course it is.

I shift in my seat, stiff and aching. My stomach growls. There’s a sharp inhale from the front. But the two in the front are still deep in sleep or too comfortable to move. Likely the latter for Jason; I can’t see him sleeping in. But he doesn’t stir when I lightly tug at my door handle, ease it open, and step outside. I don’t shut the door all the way, just enough to block out any noise that might wake Carina and Jason. Carina especially; like it or not, she’s going to wake up achier than me.

The air is crisp and thin, as usual, carrying the scent of pine and a coolness that coats my lungs in tiny needles. I didn’t check the clock, but it’s probably eight or nine. On my side of the car, all I can make out is a horseshoe-shaped slice of packed-dirt road with a cluster of pines in the middle, where the coyote disappeared. It’s empty, save a battered pickup that was a vibrant red in its heyday, which almost certainly predates my parents’ births. It’s empty, too; a black pine-tree shaped air freshener dangles from a lopsided mirror in front of a ripped-up yellow seat.

I hear snatches of conversation as I step out further to stretch (update: neck still hurts, and my ribs have thoughtfully joined the chorus), but I’m not close enough to make out what they’re saying. Turning and rounding the car, there’s an area clear of trees that slopes into the lake; it’s not steep, but it does take me a few minutes to pick my way down it, stopping and sitting back halfway to get a better look at the two figures I spotted earlier.

One—Ask—turns when I knock a clump of pebbles into the lake. The other, clad in rubber overall waders, fishing pole in hand, doesn’t even twitch. Ask tilts his chin up, but it’s not an invitation. He goes back to his new friend, ignoring me entirely.

“—actually hate seafood,” she’s saying. Her dark hair is cut in a sloppy buzzcut and she has a hint of an accent that sounds some sort of northern or eastern European. She lisps slightly as she talks, a tendril of smoke rising above her head, slicing thinly through the thin air. “I ate a lot of fish as a child. Maybe that’s why. Spent ten years in Indonesia, but still didn’t get used to it...is calm here, though. Less crowded than over by the bridge.”

Ask says something I can’t hear. On purpose, probably.

The fisherwoman laughs. Something vaguely cigarette-shaped and approximately cigarette-sized falls into the lake. Ask picks it up and hands it to her, causing her to laugh even more. His jeans are soaked; the water where they’re standing is nearly waist-deep for him, knee-deep for the other. “No, you’re right. We’ve certainly scared them off.”

Ask mumbles something again, and they’re both silent for a few minutes.

“Sanitation,” she says, evidently replying to whatever Ask had said. “Trying to get better access to clean drinking water. It’s not exclusively an Indonesia problem,” she adds, cranking the reel. A thin line of fishing wire appears on the lake’s surface, snapping back and forth like an angry snake.

I’m distracted from my eavesdropping—is it still eavesdropping if half the conversation knows you’re listening?—when a fat black bird decides to alight a few feet away. Sometimes I forget that ravens are the size of small hawks, with a little fuzzy feathers under their beaks that make them look like grumpy old men. Ravens also aren’t majestic and horrific harbingers of doom, either; they’re more like beggar birds. As if reading my thoughts, the bird cocks its head at me, asking for scraps. Their smaller cousins, crows, are trash birds. Crows can rip apart a trashbag in three seconds flat.

The Omen of Scraps squawks sadly when it realizes that I’ve got nothing. It ruts around, probably hoping for me to change my mind, but flies off when it hears Ask sloshing towards us, almost entirely soaked. Blue flannel shirt, jeans, and—

“Why did you not take off your shoes?” I ask.

“Why would I?”

“That’s what you do when you get in a lake.”

“Ages didn’t.”

“Ag—” I look out over the lake, to where “Agnes” is still fishing. She jerks her arm back and casts the line out into the water again. “Agnes is wearing waders. Not shoes.”

“I could have stepped on a hook. People fish here, see.”

I can’t tell if he’s being facetious or sarcastic or whether he’s just casually informing me that, Hey, people fish here. Cool, right?

“Not like it would hurt or anything.” Something in my chest curls inward. I was trying to be caring, but it came out blunt. I should just stop saying things.

“You’re an ass.” Without another word, he strides up the hill, raining pebbles into the water below. I look at the lake, at the still-rippling waters, at the minnows that dart around in the crystal-clear water. At the stones as they sink to the bottom.

I push myself off the slope, finding little rock imprints in my palms. Unlike Ask, I have to half-crawl back up to the car, less graceful by a wide margin. To be fair, I’m less graceful than most people.

A car door slams, but Jason and Carina are both outside the car. Jason reaches up, stretching, while Carina has both hands on the roof of the car. She leans forward as if nauseous, tangled hair forming a curtain around her face, relying on her left hand to keep her braced against the car. Neither greets me. After a few more stretches, Jason stalks off into the trees, his intentions obvious.

Ask is already in the back seat, but he sees me and moves to the middle. He leans forward, over the driver’s seat, and—with a low schnick—essentially locks the rest of us out of the car. He then settles back in the seat. Fine. I’ll deal with him later.

“My head is killing me,” Carina says. She takes a deep breath and leans away from the car, hands dropping to her sides. There are bags under her eyes. “Jason always keeps painkillers in the glove compartment, but I guess I’m not getting any of that soon.”

“Sorry,” I say.

“Why?”

For not being a better friend. I nod to Ask, who’s got his arms crossed and is staring straight ahead. “He’s mad at me.”

“I’m not even going to ask.” She pops her neck and groans, but it’s not all hangover.

“Isn’t it a little early for you?”

She ignores the friendly jibe and picks at the makeshift splint on her thumb. Her eyes gleam, but I know she’s not going to admit that it hurts. “What even was last night?”

“Your superhero origin story.”

Carina snorts. “Sure. Better learn to throw a punch right, then.”

I look back, over the glassy lake. The blue-white mountains in the distance lord over the lake like greedy dogs haunched over food. Trees line the edges, inching upwards in blackened backwards streams. I remember looking out at the lake in May, when sheets of ice would still cover most of it. Agnes wades further in the lake, a black spot against the clear blue. I pull my focus back to Carina. “We need to get you to a clinic or something.”

“I don’t know how I’m going to explain this to my parents.”

“Tell the truth?”

“Very funny.”

“Seriously, though. I think we could go to Mammoth or Old Faithful. There’s probably some there.”

She just shrugs. “You know the area better than I do. And it’s not that bad really. I thought, while we’re here, we could sightsee. Go to the falls and stuff.”

“We need to get you taken care of first.”

“Okay, grandpa.”

“You know Jason’s going to agree with me.”

“God damn you caring people.” Turning from the lake, she tries the door handle again, but it doesn’t open. She bangs on the window a few times, eliciting a shrug from Ask.

“I would love a granola bar,” I say. Ask hears this and shrugs again.

Jason walks out of the woods and does his best to crabwalk down the hill so that he can dip his hands into the cool water and splash his face. After another vain attempt at convincing Ask to open the door, Carina shrugs and joins him.

I cross to the other side of the car, away from the lake. “Roll down the window, Ask.”

He doesn’t move.

“I know you can hear me.”

Still no response.

“Do you want an apology or not?”

He purses his lips at this and reaches toward the window crank, but stops and shakes his head.

“You can’t storm off dramatically every time you get mad.”

I get an unintelligible mumble, but nothing else.

“I’ve got a lighter in my pocket that you can have, without stealing it. And you can borrow my phone for a full day.” I immediately regret the last part, but he actually considers this. Then he reaches toward the crank and rolls down the window.

“Ask—”

“Lighter.”

I fish around in my pocket and hand it to him. He flicks it on, watching the flame for a second, before shaking it like a match and setting it in the seat next to him. Leaning an elbow against the open window, he says, “I didn’t have to open the window. You knew I could hear you.”

“But you wouldn’t’ve been able to reply.”

“Like you wanted me to?”

“What—what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You were going to give me a sorry spiel. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it,’ like that. People don’t want interruptions when they give those. I was doing you a favor.”

“Then what do you want me to say? That I was kind of shitty to you?”
He stares ahead. Doesn’t matter if there’s glass between us; he can still play this game.

Over by the lake, there’s a splash and a high-pitched laugh. Standing on my toes, I look as far as I can over the car, but I can’t see anything down the slope, just agnes and her fishing pole further out. But the splash was closer.

Jason. Carina.

I lean down, pressing my forehead against the window’s upper edge. I don’t want the other two to hear this.

“Well, y’know what, Ask? I’m not Dave. I’m not compassionate. I’m not kind. I don’t try to help my friends when they’re in pain, even though they’d clearly do the same for me. I’m shitty to everyone.” My mind drifts back to last night. “I’m just a shitty person, and if you want me to apologize for that, then I will. I don’t know who you were with before, but I’m sorry, Ask, if you were hoping for a better example of humanity. Because you’re not getting it in me.”

“I, I, I,” he replies. “There’s the spiel. Feel better now?”

“Do you?”

“I don’t know. I thought I would.”

“Then what would help?”

There’s a bigger splash, followed by a bark of laughter, but I still can’t see what’s going on in the lake. The clouds have begun to clear, leaving blue in their wakes.

“I-I don’t know. I’m sorry, Garrett, but I still don’t know how to handle all of this.”

“This?”

“Life.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t mean to sound harsh earlier. I was just trying to point out that you don’t have to worry about fish hooks being a real hazard.”

He doesn’t refute me like I expect him to. “Not good for aesthetic, though.”

“Most people don’t care about aesthetic when it comes to feet.”

“You would be surprised, actually.”

I lean against the edge of the window again, listening to the birds. More laughter drifts up from the lake. “So what was it like?”

It takes a moment for Ask to register that I’ve restarted the conversation. “What? What was what?”

I’ve been asked my share of awkward and obnoxious questions, so I take a minute trying to figure out how to word my question. “Being...born? Did you just, like, wake up one day?”

“I guess. Nothing spectacular. Gradual, maybe, so that there wasn’t a big shock. They learned their lesson with that. I think it’d be weird not to remember. You don’t remember anything before you were, what, three?”

“Some people do. But not most.”

“So I wouldn’t remember any of my life to this point and for two years yet. But that’s another thing—I’m not a baby. Or a child, or teenager, or adult. Where’s my maturity level supposed to be at?” He kicks the seat in front of him. The back seat is all wet, and now there’s an oval print on the back of the driver’s seat. Wonderful.

“And why Alessandro? Just because he was the director’s son?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

“Because he was perfect.”

“For what?”

“To make me useless.”

I sigh. I thought we were done with this. “You’re not—”

“Don’t. That’s not what I mean.” He takes a breath, and then stops mid-exhale. “I don’t know why I do that. By useless, I don’t mean lacking in value. I mean….well. Passerini was fourteen when he died, so I guess that makes me externally fourteen. That was an advantage. Theoretically.”

“Why does that matter, though?”

“Garrett. What could you do with someth—someone like me? Think. Fourteen, and baby-faced fourteen at that. Too young to really sexualize. There’s that. And I’m small enough to not be a hazard in case someone thought it’d be a great idea to order me to go around hurting people...and if the whole synthetic neurotransmitter thing didn’t work.”

I don’t really understand the latter part of what he said, and I don’t comment on last night’s fiasco. Size doesn’t matter when you’ve got enough force behind a blow to break someone’s nose.

Ask guesses my thoughts. “I said, ‘Theoretically.’ But why does this interest you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because I didn’t think something—someone—like you was a possibility? Because whatever shit you’ve gotten involved in—or your project people back at the university—whatever it is, I’m involved now. Dave didn’t want me to be, and I can see that now, but it doesn’t matter. And I don’t want Dave or those two idiots—” I nod toward the lake. “—to get hurt.”

“That doesn’t seem like something a shitty person would say.”

“You don’t know me that well. But...if—if you’re ‘useless,’ then what was last night?”

“I’m a pretty good external hard drive.” He picks up the lighter and flicks it on again. “Good memory. Lots of it, too.”

“Then what was he after? Files?”

“Yeah. Don’t ask what files, though. I can’t access a fourth of the shit in my head. And I’ve tried.”

“Files?” I repeat, incredulous.

“Dude. If they can make a me, then what else do you think they’ve got? You think I’m the finished product? I’m just an experiment. And my trial’s over, so I’m just a really expensive flashdrive at this point.”

Ask puts the lighter down, reaches across the driver’s seat, and unlocks all the car doors, ending our conversation.

Carina and Jason emerge from the lake soon after; Carina’s jeans are darkened up to her knees, and Jason’s even more soaked than Ask was. Even his hair is dripping. Both are grinning like little kids who’ve been let loose in the toy aisle, though Carina cradles her bad hand.

“You had fun,” I say.

“Yeah,” Jason says, shaking water out of his hair. Carina pushes him lightly, and they laugh. “Guess I’ll need a change of clothes.”

“There’s an RV park by the campground,” I say. “We could go by there before heading to Old Faithful. I’m sure there are showers there.” I don’t add that I spent a week at the RV park when I was eleven with my best friend at the time, whose family owned a small camper. I also don’t add that public showers freak me out almost as much as—or maybe even more than—public bathrooms. But that’s the price you pay for enjoying nature. Though we haven’t done much of that.

“Why Old Faithful?” Carina asks.

“That or Mammoth. There should be clinics at both, since Mammoth has people living there and Old Faithful is the most tourist-y thing in the park.” Mammoth is a guess, but I could swear I saw medical something at Old Faithful last time I was there.

“Garrett—”

“He’s right,” Jason interrupts. “You should get that hand checked out.”

Carina sighs. “It’s just my thumb, and they can’t do much about that.”

“Still, it’s good to check.”

“So, what do you think?” I ask.

“I could go for a shower,” Carina admits. Jason nods in agreement. From the car, I can hear the thwick-hiss-thwick-hiss of a lighter being flicked off and on.

We don’t talk about the fact that whoever tried to kidnap Ask might still be there, or whether he’ll look for us. Shower first, then shit, we silently agree. Whatever this shit is.