(6) Sasha and the Collar Girl Part 6

The end of the story

Sasha and the Collar Girl

Part Six

Our mood was dreary as we slowly traveled to our next camp.  Sasha never spoke to me unless it was with a snap in her voice and with fury on her face.  Even nature’s foliage seemed to be distraught and angry.  Limbs hung in our way, slapping at us as we passed.  Noxious odors blew by.  Tree roots reached up, causing the horse to stumble.  Thorns from unfriendly bushes stabbed at us from the side, and a contemptuous wind arose, smacking our faces with painful droplets.  Sasha’s blond hair, short of her shoulders by inches, blew haphazardly, giving her a crazed look.  But we did move out of the Fog Pool zone.

Before dusk arrived we found a rocky semi-flat camp in a grove of widely spaced Jeffrey pines.  Sasha jumped down and began unhitching the horse, so I grabbed the tent.  We worked in silence as we usually did, but this silence could not have been described as companionable, it was more sullen.  I was tired of Sasha’s misdirected anger, and though I did not voice my discontent, I’m sure it was evident.

But our habits were ingrained by then, so we could not help but work together when we built a fire and prepared our dinner.  By then, Nature had finished punishing us, so the wind died and the rain ceased.  It was not a cold night, but when Sasha left our camp to use nature’s facilities, I quickly unrolled our bags and zipped them together in the tent, lowering the flap to hide what I had done.  I felt as though we needed to be together that night, but I knew she was more likely to accept this if the positioning of our bags was completed before we retired.

She returned and sat down, her face weary and lined, looking much older than her seventeen years.  I had found some dry oak, and the fire spark merrily as if trying to cheer us.  As we sat on our tarps, avoiding the wet ground, a bit of peace settled over us.  After a time, the clouds dissolved, and the stars lit up.  Our sadness was not gone, but it was abating.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked.

She shrugged.  “Nothing to talk about.  She was stupid.”

I thought over her words, and then I asked, “Do you believe Master O would think that?”

“Master O” was what we called Oksana, the young woman who had created the Peterburg Ninjas for us younger kids when she was fourteen years old.

“Maybe.  Maybe she would think it but not say it.  Maria wouldn’t think so, but she’s too nice.”

Maria was married to Reverend Don, a Methodist minister.  They lived at Davis Brown Farm.

“What do you think the Chief would say?”

Many of us from Petersburg were in the habit of asking this question when we found ourselves in a quandary.  Mike was the first to accept that the Fog had changed our world, and he had always worked to keep us alive.  He was a very practical person.

Sasha’s blond eyebrows furrowed as she considered my question.  I had asked this by chance, but I was glad that I had asked, because for the first time that day, I saw reason take the place of anger or sadness on her face.  Her answer was slow and drawn out, as if she was still considering her words as she spoke.

“I think… I think the Chief… he would say that we did all that we could, Kim.  We did all we could.”

“Yes, I think you’re right, Sasha.  If the Chief was here with us, he would have tried his best, and he would be sad, but he would say that we had done what we could to help her, but it just wasn’t enough.”

“She was lost by the time we found her.”

“Yes.”

Not long after that, I went into the tent and crawled into our bag.  I turned toward the canvas and pretended to sleep.  When she opened the flap and saw what I had done, she stopped at the entrance.  I waited to see what she would say or do.  Then I heard her sigh.

“Move over.”

My pretense had failed.  I should have known it would.  She climbed into our bag and lay on her back.  After a time I heard her emit a strange snort and then another.  I was puzzled at first, as then as the snorts continued, I realized that she was trying to quell cries.  I turned over.

“Come here.”

She didn’t argue, instead she turned, and I slid my arm under her shoulders, turned her on her side, and drew her face against my chest.  After a few moments, she gave up and let out loud painful sobs.  She cried a long time that night, and I held her in my arms and gently covered her head with my hand, so her hair would not be dampened by my tears.