Free Fog by Annelie Wendeberg

stream, but in different directions. He’s walking farther downstream from me.
    Soon, I stumble upon an enormous bathtub.
    Water is thundering off the broad rock and straight into a pool rimmed by fern and blooming shrubs. Old cypresses shelter the secret place. The water reaches up to my knees when I stick my legs into it, and quickly grows deeper with each step. Soon, my feet lose contact with the sand and rocks below. I wash the white clay off, and pick clumps from my hair. The drumroll of water is mesmerising. I swim and let the waterfall push me down. Thunder in my ears and on my body makes me feel as if I’m in a small, pulsating universe of my own.
    Thoughts of Runner and his drowning attempts creep in unbidden and I kick myself upwards, gulping fresh air when my head breaks the surface. I can still hear the sound of his voice, the taste of it is still on my tongue. Detached, that’s how he seemed. It made his story even sadder, tightening the grip it still has on me. I wonder if he ever learned to enjoy a good swim.
    I roll in the pool until my skin is all goosebumpy, then make for the shore. The air is warm despite the light rain. I pick up the bandages that lie in a disorderly pile next to my clothes, dunk them into the pool and rub them clean. Although I’d rather not think of wounds caused by bullets, knives, or explosives, I know we’ll need the bandages one day. Who of us will make it? whispers in my mind.  
    ‘Shut up,’ I hiss and wring the water from the fabric.
    Movement catches my eyes. Dark shapes flit underneath the water’s surface, and form a group of ten or fifteen in a corner of the pool. I snatch my clothes, get dressed, and run back to where I left Runner.
    He’s leaning against a tree, his eyes sharp, brows drawn low. Droplets are rolling off his hair and into his lap where he holds the SatPad. ‘Can you do your planning and analysis thing while we catch fish?’
    He shrugs. ‘Sure.’
    A few minutes later, each of us holds a stick with line, hook, and an impaled, wriggling insect into the pool.  
    ‘Did you ever learn how to swim?’ I ask cautiously.
    ‘Of course I did.’
    ‘Are you good at it?’
    He narrows his eyes at me. A warning.  
    ‘Yep, that’s what I thought. I can teach you.’  
    Runner is totally busy staring at the fish circling his bait.
    ‘There’s only one trick to it,’ I continue. ‘You have to allow the water to carry you, to pull you down, and lift you up again. You have to go with it, not against it. It’s like flying. Only…safer.’
    My heart clenches at his sudden paleness. Then a fish bites and I have to let Runner off my hook.  
    ‘I’ll start a fire, you clean the fish,’ he says, as he slaps the wriggling animal next to me on the rock, and walks away. I whack its head with a stone; eyes and tail relax at once. It looks a lot like a rainbow trout, only without the prism of colours. Since the fish is too small for both of us, I wait until another one bites, then I scale and gut the two, and head back.  
    Runner has already straightened the green tarp high above a small pile of wood. We can’t keep the fire burning long. Once night falls, the glow would be visible outside the cover of the tarp.
    Silently, we watch the flames spring to life. I wrap the two fish in broad leaves and place the packages into the embers. The sizzling of food and crackling of the fire mingles with the sound of rain tapping on the tarp above our heads. The scents of wet earth and forest, of burnt wood and frying fish wash over me. This is all I need to feel whole. I don’t miss my former life one bit.
    ‘So,’ I say once I’ve swallowed the last bite of my lunch. ‘Will you tell me now what you are thinking?’
    ‘I believe the BSA came here to stay. It’s only an assumption. I need more information from Kat before I can be sure.’
    ‘Like what? I mean…what information do you need?’  
    ‘If their forces are small, say ten to thirty men, we could