D-Boy

Chapter 1-1

Chapter 1

Colorado, 1999–2000

Derek would never forget the last time he saw his parents, even though he couldn’t remember their names—no more than he could remember his own name, the one they’d given him.

His father was driving, his mother beside him, her hands clasped over her belly, as if to protect her unborn child. Derek was in the backseat, watching the road curve through the mountains, rocky heights on one side, a steep drop on the other. A sharp turn ahead, his father taking it carefully, a loud bang as he did—swerving, tearing metal, the door springing open. Derek was flying.

Michael told him later he must have been thrown free from the wreck. He found him at the base of the cliff and thought he was dead at first “like whoever was else was in the car, though they didn’t make it out. Then I felt the flutter of a pulse. So I brought you here.”

‘Here’ was a small cabin deep in the forest. It was Michael’s home. Had been forever, Michael told him when Derek finally woke up. That was a week after he’d found him, according to Michael.

Derek was around sixteen, give or take, or so Michael figured. Derek didn’t know. He’d been battered and bruised, with a bad abrasion on the back of his head and one broken leg. Michael had set it in a splint made of roughhewn branches then took care of him until he regained consciousness

The man was old, at least in Derek’s eyes—maybe fifty, maybe more. He never said exactly. Gray-haired and scarred, with deep-set blue eyes and a kindly smile—when he smiled—which wasn’t often. A recluse, he said he had lived the last twenty plus years on his own, deep in the mountains. “Got no use for people,” he told Derek.

“What did they call you, boy?” Michael asked, soon after Derek finally awakened.

Derek frowned. He had no memories of anything except the moments before the crash. “I don’t remember,” he replied, scared and feeling terribly alone, even though Michael was right there beside the small bed.

“Humm. Then we’ll have to come up with a name for you for now. I had a friend once, only real friend I ever had. His name was Derek. That suit you, boy?”

He nodded, and so he became Derek. No last name, just Derek.

When he asked, which he finally did—although he didn’t want to know, Michael said he had heard the sound of the crash while he was out hunting.

“Loud enough to wake the dead, so I went to investigate. Wasn’t nothing left but a burned out hulk at the bottom of the cliff by the time I got there. That’s when I found you, like I said. Hoped maybe whoever was in the car got thrown free, so I looked and there you were. I’m sorry, but your folks didn’t make it.”

Derek cried then, even though he’d been sure they were dead, and Michael had held him until he stopped. After that, they never talked about it again.

A month after Michael had found him, the splint was off Derek’s leg and he could walk without the home-made crutch Michael had devised. However, he limped a bit since the break hadn’t been set quite right.

“Now what do we do with you?” Michael asked late one evening after they’d eaten a meal of venison and home-grown vegetables. “You’re moving okay now; you’re healthy again. So what do we do, send you back into the world to fend for yourself?”

Derek shook his head vehemently. “Why can’t I stay here with you? I don’t have a family now.”

“That you know of, but you might, and they might be looking for you.”

Derek thought about that and shrugged. “Not too hard or they’d have sent people searching for me.”

“Maybe they did; maybe they didn’t.”

“If they had, they would have found me.” As he said that, he had a sudden feeling that being found might not be the best thing for him, although he didn’t know why. He shuddered.

Michael put his hand on Derek’s shoulder, stating firmly, “No one would have found you if they were looking. Nobody’s ever found this place, not even hunters—too far away from anywhere.”

“Why?” Derek had asked that before, and Michael’s reply had always been the same. He didn’t like people.

This time he said, “It’s safer. No one can hurt you, kill you, kill your friends, your family.” Michael’s eyes darkened and Derek knew he was remembering something bad.

“But you want to send me away so that can happen to me.”

“Naw, not really, but you’ll want to go soon enough. This ain’t no life for a kid, even though I sort of like having you around. You’re not bad company, all told. Still, you maybe should go back and see if you can find family. The wreck must have made the news. You find the story, find out who you are, get on with your life.”

Derek thought about that. “Could, I guess. But I like it here. At least here I know I’m safe.” Again, he didn’t know why that was important. He just somehow knew it was.

Michael nodded. “‘Safe as aces’, as my friend, Derek, used to say before things went south.”

“I can help around the place. You can teach me how to use the bow and how to fish. Then you can take it easy.”

“You calling me ‘old’, Derek?” Michael asked, giving him one of his rare smiles.

“Older than me,” Derek replied, grinning a bit.

“Now that’s a given. Tell you what. I’ll think about it.”

Michael did and two days later he told Derek, “You can stay.” Just that, short and sweet.

Derek almost cheered. “So now you have to teach me things so I’m useful. Like, like—” he looked around the small cabin “—like we need another bed so I don’t have to keep sleeping on the sofa.” He’d moved to the sofa the week after Michael had found him and he’d finally awakened, insisting it wasn’t fair for him to have the only bed.

“I can do that. And show you how to hunt, if you have a good eye and a steady hand.”

Derek pumped a fist in the air. “When?”

“Today. We need fresh meat. You think you can shoot a cute, little bunny rabbit?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “As long as it’s not Thumper.”

“You remember that story?” Michael asked, watching him.

Thinking about it, Derek nodded. “I guess I do. Sort of. I remember Mom reading it to me when I was little.” His face lit up. “Hey, I just remembered a bit of my past. Not much, just that. Probably because of what you said, but maybe it’s a start?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Michael got up suddenly, going to get the bow and the quiver he kept the arrows in. “Let’s see how you do.”

Derek c****d his head in question at the sudden change of subject. “It’s good, isn’t it, that I might be starting to remember?”

Michael just shrugged as he headed out of the cabin. Derek was right behind him, uncertain what was going on with him. It wasn’t until they were deep into the woods, well away from the cabin, that he figured it out.

“Hey, just because I remember doesn’t mean I want to go back there—wherever there is. I like it here.”

“You might change your mind. Get bored. Want some excitement. Want friends.”

“You’re my friend.”

“I’m an old man, Derek. But now’s not the time to talk if we want to catch supper.”

They returned to the cabin around noon with a brace of rabbits and a squirrel. Derek wasn’t certain he could actually eat squirrel until Michael pointed out to him that he already had. “What do you think was in the stew we had a week ago? Chicken?”

As it turned out, Derek was very good with a bow and arrows once he got the hang of it, so it became his job to hunt while Michael did the fishing in a small stream several hundred yards behind the cabin. They both tended the garden and soon were taking turns cooking.

The new bed got made, with rope crisscrossed to make a base for the straw mattress, over which they laid the sleeping bag Derek had been using as a blanket on the sofa. When he asked, Michael told him he sometimes, very rarely, hiked to a small town fifty miles away to get basic necessities like the sleeping bag and the few clothes he owned that he hadn’t made himself. Clothes he now shared with Derek.