Ray flipped a completed form onto a second, smaller pile. He had finished about a quarter of the salvage logging permits. His stomach gurgled, and he mourned the loss of his Snickers.
Byron tapped Ray's shoulder and said, "I'm out. You coming over?"
"I'm staying," Ray said. "I need to finish these."
"You fail to grasp the essential nature of government work, grasshopper," Byron said. "Come smoke a bowl with me and learn non-attachment."
"I missed a lot of work today," Ray said. "And Tallahassee-."
"Tallahassee can eat me," Byron said. "Don't be lame."
"You're the one who asked Jim to give me more work," Ray said.
"I just didn't want him to fire you," Byron said. "Do what you got to do. I better visit one of my lady friends, anyway. The queue's getting a little long."
"Queue?" Ray said.
"One of them's British," Byron said. "See ya."
"Wait," Ray said. "I'm dying. Do you have anything to eat in your truck?"
"Just some Pop-Tarts," Byron said. "And you shouldn't be eating that crap."
"You eat that crap," Ray said.
"I've got nine reasons I'm allowed to," Byron said.
"Nine?" Ray said. "Wait, don't!" Too late. Ray's hunger had slowed his reaction speed. By the time he'd objected, Byron had already lifted his shirt and begun pointing at his abs. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.
"Number nine is that they fit my macros," Byron explained.
"Why would you think that I want to see that?" Ray said.
"I don't," Byron said. "But what's the point of crafting a masterpiece if you can't put it on display?"
"I hate you," Ray said.
"Come on," Byron said. "You want chocolate or rainbow sprinkles?"
-
Ray entered the parking lot and walked over to the injured pine tree. The jackhammer still lay on its side, but the tree's root no longer glistened. The sap had darkened and thickened, forming a scab. The scab radiated warmth and sloughed off when Ray touched it. Beneath the scab, the root looked raw and exposed, but whole. Ray's arm tingled from his fingertips to his shoulder. He turned his right hand palm-up. No trace of his injury remained, not even the thin white scratch.
"Byron," Ray said. "Would you come here for a second?"
Byron held up two boxes of Pop-Tarts and said, "Which one do you want?"
Ray walked circles around the pine tree, examining it from top to bottom. He placed his hand on its trunk; nothing happened.
"It's a simple question," Byron said, walking closer. "If you don't decide, I'm giving you the sprinkles."
"Something's wrong," Ray said. Byron dropped the Pop-Tart boxes and ran towards the tree.
"Call it in!" Byron said.
"Call what in?" Ray said. He looked down. The jackhammer operator lay at his feet, staring unblinkingly at the sky. One of the operator's arms pointed up, the other was flexed at his side. Blood dribbled out of his mouth and down the side of his neck.
Ray reached out to touch the operator.
"Don't move him," Byron said. "He's got a concussion. Jackhammer must have caught him under the chin." The operator's arms began to relax. Byron held his ear next to the operator's mouth.
"He's breathing," Byron said. "He's lucky we came out right after it happened. Lucky that you saw him."
"I didn't," Ray said. "I must have walked past him three or four times."
Ray knelt by the fallen jackhammer. A pink slug-shape lay there in a splatter of blood.
"Is that-" Ray said.
"He bit right through," Byron said. "Better get some ice."
-
The jackhammer operator wore a cervical collar and lay on a backboard. A few Forest Service employees gathered around to watch him being loaded into an ambulance. Byron was in his truck with Steve on the passenger side. Steve held a bowl of ice water in his lap. The bowl held a plastic bag, and the plastic bag held something wrapped in gauze.
"Should I come too?" Ray said.
"We've got this," Byron said.
Ray said, "Will they be able to reattach his tongue?"
Byron shrugged and said, "I just stabilize people. It should help that we got to him so fast."
"How can you tell when he was hurt?" Ray said.
Byron stuck his arms out like a fencer and said, "You only do this for a few seconds after you get hit."
"But I haven't heard that jackhammer for hours," Ray said.
Steve banged on the side of the truck and said, "Let's go!" The ambulance was pulling out of the driveway.
"Don't worry about it," Byron said. "You probably saved his life."
-
The remaining Forest Service employees dispersed, leaving Ray alone in the parking lot. He picked up a crushed cardboard box that had been marked by a tire tread. Crumbs and rainbow sprinkles poured from the torn container.
"Oh, come on." Ray said.
The wind scattered multicolored dust across the broken asphalt. A dog barked nearby, and Ray smelled white fringetree and honeysuckle.
"You look like a faery," Dread Girl said from across the lot. She was carrying the same basket, but Ray could not see its contents or Rex.
"I can't help it," Ray said. "It's my cheekbones." She rubbed her thumb against her index and middle finger as though sprinkling magic powder.
"Oh," Ray said. "You mean like Tinkerbell."
"You say the strangest things," she said.
"I haven't eaten lunch," Ray said. "It makes me dumber than usual."
"Why are you here, Ray?" she said.
"I work here." Ray said.
"I see," she said. A flicker of sadness. Ray was becoming a student of her facial expressions.
"Why are you here?" Ray said.
She took the crushed box from his hands and said, "May I have this? My friend would enjoy it."
"Who, Rex?" Ray said.
"Rex only eats what he kills," she said. "But Wilson can't get enough sugar. What nourishes you?"
"You mean food?" Ray said. "Um, salmon skin hand rolls. I like Satchel's Pizza, but mostly for the salads. And I've always liked broccoli even when I was a kid. But not with cheese sauce, that's disgusting."
She said, "I want to show you something while there is still sun. Then I want you to show me something. Deal?"
"Deal," Ray said.
She took his hand and led him away from the pavement. Her thumb caressed his palm.
"Your hand feels better," she said.
"Like new," Ray said. "I must have super-platelets or something."
"I'm glad," she said. "Bare your feet." He complied.
"Are we doing yoga?" Ray said. "Because all I know is tree pose." He tucked one foot into the opposite leg and struggled to balance.
"Something older," she said.
"What's older than yoga?" Ray said. "Tai chi? Falun gong? No, those are newer..."
"If I kiss you, will you be quiet?" she said.
Ray nodded. She upheld her bargain. Ray fell out of tree pose. She lay her long fingers on his brow and stroked his eyelids shut. Her fingertips rolled down his cheeks, traced the corners of his nervous smile, and reunited amidst his chin scruff. He trembled. She cupped her hands around his neck.
"I want to tell you something," she whispered.
"Okay," Ray said.
"I have seen you before today," she said. "Watched you."
"When?" Ray said.
"I was in the deep forest," she said. "But when you left, I did not know that you left to come here. I do not like this place."
"Wow," Ray said. "I'm not sure what to say."
"Are you angry with me?" she said, nibbling on his neck.
"No!" Ray said, opening his eyes. "I just wish I'd met you before."
"Eyes closed," she said. "I did not know whether I could trust you, before."
He complied and said, "You can trust me."
"I do trust you," she said. "Do you trust me?" Her fingers traced Ray's throat and came to rest on his jugular notch. Ray swallowed.
"Yes," he said. His toes curled into the earth.
"Don't breathe with your nose," she said. He opened his mouth to inhale, and she covered it. Without thinking, he kissed her palm. She indulged him for a moment, then tightened her grip.
"Don't breathe with your mouth," she said. "Breathe with your skin."
Ray held his breath for as long he could. He grew dizzy to the point of collapse, but she held him upright. How was she so strong? He could bear it no longer. His nostrils flared. He began to inhale.
She pinched his nose shut. Ray's eyes shot open, full of panic. Dread Girl smiled beatifically.
"I won't hurt you," she said.
Ray felt shame at offering his trust, then withdrawing it so easily. His fear of disappointing her overcame his fear of death, and he closed his eyes again. His panic receded. Ray neither held his breath nor exhaled it. It merely left him, recognizing that it was no longer necessary. Ray did not miss it. The wind danced on his sun-warmed skin.
"Let the soil welcome you," she said. "Trust it. Sink in it. It will support you."
Dread Girl placed her palm against Ray's chest and spread her fingers wide.
"I'm going to stop your heart now," she said. Her words had the opposite effect.
She said, "Don't be afraid. You don't need it." Ray's heartbeat slowed, then stopped. His body stiffened.
"Let me in, Oakenheart." she said.
He did. She released Ray, but he did not fall. The taste of her bled through his skin. He felt immovable, buttressed by a thousand thousand years of soil and root. His hunger pangs were distant memories. His arms, his trunk, felt sturdy. Ray could shoulder the heavens, or at least his share of them.
"Open your eyes," she said.
He did.
"Now see," she said, turning him to face the Field Unit. An angry crimson stain engulfed the entire building, flickering and pulsating obscenely and reeking of decay. That poor squirrel, Ray thought. That poor owl.
Ray felt his skull buckle, felt daggers of glass pierce his breast and his wings, felt his fur fall off in clumps and his body waste away trapped in labyrinthine halls. He fell to his knees, clutching his chest. He wanted to vomit. Everything hurt: his back, his neck, his jaw.
Ray's heart collapsed like a submarine gone too deep, too far, too fast. The cold, black sea took him. He could not reach the surface; he did not even know which way to swim. He could not see, and he could not breathe.