Linked

Seventeen : Shiver

Only a pair of fools would camp on the beach and make a fire to warm Corin's soaked skin. Not that either of us know how to make a fire, anyway, so the point is moot. He is wrapping the odorous fleece blanket from the boat around his waist, after zipping himself back into his insulated jacket, when he notices a narrow dusty path cut into the weeds leading down an incline to our bay. We stumble up it, the dirt sticking to our damp bodies, and find ourselves on a packed earth walking track, deep in shadow. It recedes into the distance ahead of us and behind, curving into the tangled mountainside. The trail appears to be deserted. Corin points through the cedars and pines on our left. His hand trembles. Immediately he shoves both into the side pockets of his jacket. I don't say anything, pretending not to notice.

"See the fence? A few feet back?"

I step closer, resting a palm on the rough bark of a fat cedar with roots running like varicose veins across the track. Slicing through the dense, dark forest runs a simple chain-link fence, about eight feet tall, with no end in sight. Round-leafed bushes and thorny brambles weave through the wires, making it a third of the way high before giving up. Trees have been cut down in order to keep the fence a straight line, you can see glimpses of their wounded stumps smothered beneath the dank undergrowth.

"We should go over," I immediately suggest. "Someone could come around the corner of this walking track at any moment."

"Correct." Corin replies. "Also some exercise might warm me up. Are my lips turning blue?" He pouts at me dramatically, which looks hilarious, but I can't muster a laugh. His lips actually are outlined by a soft, bruised blue. It's obvious he's putting on a brave face, but I can see he is clearly suffering.

"There's no barbed wire, is there?" It's hard to tell in the gloom beneath the treetop canopy, and it's not exactly a sunny summer's day.

"Nah," Corin says breezily, grabbing hold of a nearby branch and hoisting himself up. "Why would anyone in their right mind want to climb over?"

"We are."

"Maybe our minds are wrong."

"Frenchwood thinks so," I admit with a dry chuckle.

I grip the same tree and follow him up, looking at my feet rather than up his blanket-skirt. It's easy to get to the other side. Climbing as high as the fence, we shift onto it, lowering our bodies down until we're holding the top of the smooth metal construction, then let our outstretched bodies drop. The forest floor is cushioned by layers of decomposing pine needles so the landing isn't bad, just a bit squishy. Together, in companionable silence, we trek further and further into the bush, as far from the track as we can manage. My thighs burn as we venture steadily uphill, batting branches from our faces and snapping twigs under our feet. We crunch into a couple of apples from yesterday's breakfast buffet as we walk. Then I start to worry whether the silence is less companionable, more that Corin isn't doing so well. He's been lagging a few steps behind for a while now. I reach out and grab his hand. It is like holding a chunk of ice.

"Let's stop here," I announce. We are beneath what look like maple trees, with large, dry leaves coating the ground around us. The light is fading fast. Slim slivers pierce the thick canopy, but they are weak and not warm at all. I don't know what I was thinking, leading us into the mountain like this, with no real idea of why.

"Okay," Corin says, relief palpable in his voice. He sits down to rummage through his backpack. He pulls out his socks and yanks them on, followed by black boots not dissimilar to mine.

"Take the blanket off and put your pants on!"

He looks surprised at the command, almost as surprised as I am at having to utter such a sentence, but does as he is told, hands shaking. Meanwhile, I gather some of the leaves into a pile, like a nest, for us to curl into. I don't know what I'm doing, but I need to feel like I'm doing something.