Chapter Text
Six pairs of underwear and socks, three shirts, an extra pair of the cool camo trousers he now wore instead of his traditional breeches, a towel, a comb and his toothbrush. Josua managed to fit everything into his backpack. Tomorrow the big day was finally here, he would take his first steps outside the lands of his birth, breathe fresh, new, free air, see a world without leaning walls and wooden houses, see TVs and big cars and trains, everything bathed in colourful blinking lights, and perhaps there would even be people he had not known since he was tall enough to make Kurt move the brännvin to the high shelf. Josua was beyond excited.
He looked around himself to check whether he had forgotten something. The room he had in Berit's house was small, but cosy. His bed was more or less the same as the one he had in his father's house, but instead of giving him a view into the silent pines behind the homestead, here the window opened onto the little group of houses that clustered together with Berit's in a friendly huddle, warding off the first chilly winds of autumn.
He liked it here; the other families were much closer and he talked to people these days more often than at Skinntöijar. The way to the communal square was shorter too and in the mornings he was gently woken by the soft moos of Karlsson's cows.
Still, at times he walked past his former home and thought that it looked pretty sad sitting there between the groups of pines and birches, hiding behind the tree trunks like a scolded child. Josua told himself that it was not a permanent farewell, more of a.. break. But really, he did not quite know how to approach his house any more, how to look at the walls that were his home for so long. He always felt a stab of longing, maybe pity too, but mostly apprehension, like if he entered he might not know how to get out any more.
Last weekend, he had gone fishing with Klas and Kenneth, and while Klas had gotten the campfire started, Kenneth had suddenly spoken in a soft voice Josua had never heard before.
“I know they all must have told you that time heals all wounds and all that, but you know it's okay if you're never fully okay with what's happened. You don't have to make it go back to how it was before, that's not your responsibility. You also don't have to build things up new, you still have everyone here in Gambämark. It's all yours to choose, don't let anyone pressure you.”
Josua had watched the floater of his fishing line gently bob on the lake's surface, thinking of the trip ahead. He had met with his father in Berit's kitchen a few times to discuss the itinerary, but despite Kurt's visible unease when Josua mentioned visiting bigger cities, he never outright ruled them out. However, he did suggest that maybe they would build up to Vaasa with the trip and leave the really big places like Åbo and Helsinki for a later date.
Josua was fine with that, he knew as long as Kenneth's friends Matti and Magnus lived in 'the big smoke', as Kurt still called it, he would always be able to visit.
However, he had a hunch that this was not what Kenneth had been talking about.
Looking at his stuffed backpack, Josua felt a bright fizziness rise in him and he knew he was probably not going to be able to sleep well tonight, his arms and legs felt like ants. With a grin, he lifted his backpack and padded through the door towards the living room. Berit had promised they would have a little farewell hot chocolate, and he hoped she was making good on her word already. He was disappointed.
In the adjoining room, he found Mrs Lundin from child welfare. He had spent most of the previous day sitting across from her at the table in Berit's kitchen, answering increasingly invasive questions about his relationship with his father and Kurt's parenting, his early childhood, the rebellion against Kurt, and other prompts that were, to him, unrelated to the situation at hand. Mrs Lundin had explained hey were designed to assess his 'psychological state and development'.
He had not enjoyed the session and quickly realised that Mrs Lundin's soft-voiced line of inquiry served to assess not just his mental state and the extent of Kurt's tyranny, but whether or not the state should take custody instead of his father or another Gambämark citizen. Despite Berit's solid presence, Josua had grown so agitated that Mrs Lundin was forced to promise him that nothing would be decided against his will, though Josua was not too sure about the truth of that. Berit's sceptical scowl had not helped.
Now, however, Mrs Lundin was not carrying her signature clipboard and pen, though the uncomfortable questions returned. Josua knew she legitimately did worry, at least in her capacity as a social worker, but he just wished she would stop asking questions that made him second-guess every assumption and conclusion he had already come to. This evening was no different.
“You're still sure about this, Josua? If you need someone with you to tell your father no, I can come along, just say the word.” Josua dropped his gaze and shook his head.
“No, I really want to go on this trip. With papp, I mean. I want to finally go outside and if papp is willing to take me, then maybe this really is the start of something new. He's been much nicer lately, with the other villagers too, I really think he's trying to make amends!”
Her gaze softened.
“Josua,” she gently said. “We see this every week. Parents who suddenly swear they'll turn their lives around, they'll change, quit drinking, fighting, gambling, whatever it is, who swear that they'll never do anything to hurt their children again. Two months, they usually make it, at most, before we're called back by a concerned teacher or neighbour, or aunt. I know this is difficult for you to hear, but your father fits the profile of these parents. He has a high need for power, for control, and he's not above using violence to enforce that. Frankly, the only reason he is not going to jail is that the other... villagers did not file a formal report.”
Josua was quiet. He knew she was right. His father had a temper, was quick to anger when he thought his authority was being questioned, which was often. But he had been much more quiet since the wall opened, still tried to get involved in some of the organising committees, but not to the point of violent domination any more. He also promised to do better, to stop trying to control either Josua or the other citizens, and that this trip was going to be his way of proving that.
Josua was not sure what to think, but Mrs Lundin said the alternative was that the state took guardianship over Josua. He guessed the chances that it was transferred to someone from Gambämark were slim to none, the authorities were not exactly pleased with anyone within the secessionist sect. As much as he wanted to see Outside, not being able to call Gambämark home was a daunting prospect, one that scared him more than he wanted to admit.
Mrs Lundin handed him a small mobile phone, luckily one of the ones with buttons. Berit, as Gambämark's liaison with Finnish officials, had gotten one recently and showed Josua the basics. It was a little more complicated than the walkie-talkies they used, though not by much. Josua turned the mobile around in his hands, looking at the small screen, pixels huge and square and black. Mrs Lundin handed him a cable as well.
“It's fully charged and I saved my number and that of the local police directory. The battery will hold for several days if you don't use it. Perhaps it's best if you don't show this to your father for now.”
She bent down a little, trying to catch his downcast eyes.
“Do you promise me, Josua, that you'll call someone the second something even so much as feels weird? Either me or someone from the police will always be ready to come and get you.”
Josua nodded quietly. This was not how he envisioned things to go. He always dreamed of flying through open doors into the colourful breadth of a world open as the grey-blue sea. Instead, he got government bureaucracy, an ancient Nokia, and the threat of being taken from his home and not even being able to choose where to go. And his father was still hovering over everything, despite not even trying. Josua grit his teeth and suppressed the urge to pout.
After Mrs Lundin left, Josua packed away the mobile, diligently wrapping it between his towel and underpants. Berit must have noticed the now tense line of his shoulders, because she sighed and held out a hand.
“I'll save my number as well, so you have someone to call without immediately alerting the authorities. But promise me you'll call 112 if there's any actual danger.”
Josua hummed, pensive, as Berit took the phone and started typing.
“Do you also think it's a bad idea? The trip? That it's,” he swallowed. “Dangerous?” Berit pursed her lips.
“I don't think Kurt would do anything to hurt you intentionally, but you mustn't forget, Kurt also hasn't been Outside in fifteen years. I know he likes to pretend otherwise, but he doesn't always know what he's doing.” She hesitated, but did not elaborate further.
“And it's not a bad idea to have your own phone with you in case of emergency. ”
Josua nodded and took back the phone, turning to his backpack again. Autumn was approaching fast, he would probably need at least one extra jumper. Just in case.
Behind him, Berit bustled towards the kitchen.
“I'll go see about that hot chocolate now! We want you to have a good night's sleep before your big trip, after all!”
Josua smiled. They probably all worried way too much. The trip was going to be great, it was going to be his big outing, his first steps into freedom and adulthood! This was the evening before the first day of the rest of his life and there was nothing and nobody who could stop him from seeing, hearing, feeling, just experiencing everything that was out there. Outside wouldn't know what hit it.
The sun set over the rapidly cooling Baltic and Kurt took a deep breath. Three hours of police interrogation at the mobile station they put up in his hall for the week. No, not his hall any more, the community assembly hall. The child welfare representative had also been there, standing straight and towering over his seat at the other side of the table, despite her short and round stature.
“We have determined that there is no immediate threat for his well-being, but there will be a more thorough inquiry into whether the best thing for Josua's development would not be to be housed with a more... stable family that can help him integrate better into Finnish society.”
He clenched his fists into the fabric of his breeches. Naturally, he had protested, sputtering something about his rights as a father, not ripping Josua from the familiar surroundings of his home, and his son's good health which obviously proved he had taken decent care of him over the years. No malnutrition had stunted his growth, his body bore no scars besides one on his knee from falling from a pony and one on his finger from a woodcarving accident, he could read, write, do additions and multiplications, and was clean and well-dressed.
But he knew he had been dealt a bad hand, that the fact Josua had not been sleeping at home and that he had ordered his own son to be arrested spoke against him. Closing his stumbling defence by telling the child welfare lady to mind her own business had been a bad decision and, judging by her angry note-taking, the final straw.
There would be more sessions, but at least the trip had been approved, thanks to Josua's desperate insistence and Berit's testimony that he was not actually a child-beater. His own word was obviously not being taken seriously by those government pencil pushers.
He picked up a stone and hurled it out to sea. It did not even pitch; it simply dropped through the surface with a deep, hollow thunk. The ripples disturbed the rhythmic pattern of the waves for only a few seconds, before it was like the stone had never existed, never flown through the air and into the water.
Kurt kicked his foot and turned back towards the village.
His living room felt much larger these days, though he did not know why. It was not like Josua used to spent a lot of time there before, usually keeping to his room, the kitchen, or roaming somewhere through the village. There were books leaning against his armchair in a little haphazard heap. He had started to read more again, but anytime one of the mostly unnecessarily introspective books talked about feeling helpless and walls closing in, he felt his gut toil and put the offender back onto the stack.
It was ridiculous, after all, he was certainly not helpless. Sure, he might have lost his position as leader, but that did not mean he lost all his authority - he was still Gambämark's founder, and yes, he had lost his way in the last few years a little, but surely everyone would soon remember how he had held together their little ragtag group of forest settlers in those confusing first months, how he had given them structure, rules that shaped everything into tangible and defined lines, gave everyone something to hold onto, and besides, the walls were certainly not closing in on him; if anything, they moved away, leaving him behind in a widening, cold space, empty of everything but himself and the evergreen trees around his house. He wrapped his arms around himself.
On the windowsill sat a little horse that Josua had carved from a piece of birch. Kurt had given it to him with the warning that this was only practice wood and that birch was not particularly stable, but Josua had thrown himself into it as he did with everything, head first and with an unwavering trust that it would turn out fine. It did, Kurt had to admit the horse was a fine piece of work, though Josua had not yet sanded it and it was still awaiting its coat of paint.
Kurt took it from its lonely perch and turned it in his hands. When he had sat with Josua and talked about the trip, he had seen the same sunny glow light up his son's face and it chased out some of the cold that sat at the core of his bones lately. At least, it did until Josua seemed to draw back a little, his face dimming like he was going to get scolded for leaving the light on past midnight. Kurt had felt like he had been doused in ice water, and with a strong feeling of dread he could not help but wonder whether his son would still take to the birch wood and carving knife with the same enthusiasm as he had just a few months ago.
God, he was pathetic, sitting here in the half-dark, clutching an unfinished wooden horse that was not even his son's best work and fretting like an old woman. Josua was simply growing up and realising that an adult man had no business grinning like every day was Christmas. It was cute while Josua was still a child, but a man had to have some decorum, and his son was growing into it, so why did that thought make Kurt clench his jaw and pour all sentimental over a simple piece of wood? Birch was for burning, that was what his father had always said, after all.
He knew that Josua growing up also meant he could not keep him behind their towering walls any more, but he felt sick just thinking about everything they might encounter in the unknown of Outside. There were cars everywhere, lorries and pick-ups and Josua did not know his way around traffic, and especially not the streets of Österbotten, and what if they lost sight of one another and Josua got lost; he was used to be able to trust any adult in Gambämark, how could Kurt make sure Josua knew about stranger danger?
What if some untrustworthy figure approached Josua while Kurt was not paying attention and Josua did not even know how to defend himself, or worse, willingly went with them? What if those Outside people with their consumerism and sugary goods and fancy food additives and plastic clothes and huge-screened electronics and blinking lights on every corner ensnared his easily excited son, made him one of them, glued to screens and poisoning his body with gene-manipulated food?
Speaking of which, what about his allergies? Kurt was not sure Josua had even seen a pineapple or a peanut, how would he know what to avoid? He pushed himself out of his armchair and briskly walked into the bath where he kept an extra supply of epipens. After he had made the medical response team that were the first to enter Gambämark after the wall opened conduct an allergy test on Josua, he had stocked up on the potentially lifesaving medication. Of course, Josua had several at Berit's house too and had promised to pack some, but one could never be too careful!
What if Josua got distracted by something and left his backpack behind, or the needle of the epipen he was carrying was faulty? No, it was best to pack some more. Naturally, Kurt had already carefully tucked three into the front pocket of his travel bag, but two more could not hurt. He should also put one into the little pocket he had in his jacket lining.
He stood before his bag, bulging mostly with extra clothes for Josua and two blankets. The tent he would carry separately. He looked at the clock. Nearly midnight. Devil, it was cold. But he was not tired yet, his limbs buzzed with a cold kind of electricity that he knew would not let him rest. Had he forgotten something?
There were boxes of cooled oatmeal, cut into bars, and rye sandwiches already waiting on the kitchen table along with some smoked trout that was wrapped in several layers of wax paper to combat the smell. Three jars of cooked beetroot were sitting there too. Josua had loved beetroot as a toddler and would stuff his face with slices of it until he looked like some mythical creature that lured people into the woods with its cuteness and then ate them in huge toothy chunks. It had been adorable.
Kurt surveyed the provisions. Then he froze. They had nothing sweet to eat. The oatmeal did not count, it did not taste much like anything but rolled oats, just like Kurt preferred them. But Josua had a sweet tooth and he was going to take him on a week-long trip without any sweet foods! Of course, they could buy some sweets somewhere, but they would be too sugary, Josua would not be used to that and get a sugar shock or something like that. No, Kurt had to do something.
Frantically, he rustled through his cupboards until he found a small, half-empty bag of wheat flour, some yeast (good thing he restocked), a little pouch of sugar, and even some cinnamon and cardamom in little tins. There was a little milk and butter in the pantry as well. He quickly melted the butter over the lamp's flame and mixed it with the milk so he could whisk the yeast into it.
Merging everything together in bowl, he felt like his vision narrowed, the only thing he could perceive was the bowl with the dough and the kitchen surface in front of him; everything else was dark as if the night had crept in through the windows, into his house until it smoked through his kitchen. He ignored it in favour of cursing at himself for forgetting that he would have to let the dough rest for at least an hour before baking.
He threw a cloth over the bowl and looked around. The dark peripheries were not receding, simply moving with his focus. One hour. He sighed and tapped the beetroot jars. Then he went back into the living room to inspect his bag again. Two tool knives would be enough, would they not? He would not need an extra pair of shoes, the work boots were more than sufficient and he doubted they would go anywhere fancy enough to wear his special dress shoes with the gold buckles. Soap, did he have soap? He checked. Yes.
What now? The oven! Kurt rushed out of the house towards the stack of cut birch. The September wind hissed wet and humid around the corner, still carrying deceptive flakes of warmth in some of its gusts. Kurt swore; it was a little wet, so he tried to wiggle some logs out from the lower, more protected rungs of the woodpile. The wood was rough and chafed as he pulled at it. To his surprise, the sensation drove back some of the humming in his veins.
The oven was small and, until his falling out with the village, he had rarely used it to prepare food. With some wood shavings, the birch slowly caught the lapping flame and cast a deep yellow glow over Kurt and the kitchen. He held his hands out to warm them, but it seemed like the heat penetrated no deeper than the upper dermis. His hands stayed cold at the core. Was that a sign of circulation issues? He pressed a hand to his chest. His heart felt odd, it had for a few good weeks. What if he had a heart attack while he was driving tomorrow, with Josua in the car, at that? God, he had to monitor himself closely for any signs while they were away.
He was snapped out of his thoughts by the damp wood popping loudly. He looked at the clock. The dough was ready.
Half an hour later, Kurt wrapped the steaming bullar into more cloths and placed them beside the other supplies. The clock struck two and he sighed. He needed to get at least some rest if he was going to be driving tomorrow. The black in his vision had ebbed back a little, and he hoped he could chase it away entirely with a few hours of sleep.
He went into his bedroom and put the horse on the little table next to his bed. Surely, he would sleep well now that the smell of bullar was driving out the empty whiff of old wood and the oven had heated the house a little. But as he turned off the lamp and darkness fell and the bullar in the kitchen cooled into the night, all warmth seemed to hastily flee out the window.
He shuddered again. Then, without knowing why, he took the little wooden horse and squeezed it in his fist until the wood pressed against his bones.
Josua stood by the door and tapped his feet impatiently. He had his backpack strapped securely to his back, even though it would soon be packed into the boot of the Volvo Klas and Kenneth had bought off a nearby farmer.
His father just had to get here and then they would go. Outside. See the whole of Österbotten, maybe even more. Josua took a shuddering breath.
“What are you doing by the door, Josua? You have ten more minutes, you should sit down a little. He's not gonna leave without you, you know?”
Josua groaned and took off his backpack again, but did not shift away from the door. He did not think he could stand the kitchen's homeliness right now, his mind was firmly trained on the open gates, the big towns and promising horizons calling his name with a fervour he could not deny. Behind him, Berit sighed.
“Here, at least take this with you.” She bustled towards him with a tin box. He sniffed it.
“Kanelbullar?” Berit nodded.
“I know how much you like them, so I thought I'd make sure you have adequate provisions.” She winked. Then she narrowed her eyes at him.
“And they're just for you, you don't have to share them just because your father is a greedy pig.”
Josua nodded dutifully, not daring to say that he would rather go and try everything people ate outside. He certainly would not tell Berit, nor anyone else, that he could not stand the sight of home-baked bullar right now, not while there was a whole world of unknown flavours just minutes away.
“Thanks. For everything.” He smiled at her and she raised a hand to cup his face. That moment, an engine sputtered closer, finally stopping outside where it died an audible croaking death.
“That'll be your father.” Josua nodded, took a deep breath, and stepped outside.
Kurt was already tugging open the boot, careful not to jostle the new rear window Klas and Kenneth had put in at Mäskis-Gunnar's scrapyard. The car was filled to the roof with various bags and camping gear, even though they had agreed to spend two nights at most in the tent. A whole arsenal of food took up nearly half of the car's storage and Josua felt himself grow impatient again.
Did no-one understand that this was not just a little trip to the woods you just needed some supplies for? That this was supposed to be about experiencing, yes, even tasting new things? He suppressed a groan and instead gave his father a thin-lipped smile. Best not to ruin the mood already.
“Good morning, Josua, did you sleep well, are you ready for the big trip?” Kurt grinned at him in a way that he probably thought was confident and fatherly, but ended up looking like he had had a mild stroke, one corner raising much higher than the other.
To make matters worse, he was still wearing the traditional Gambämark ensemble, hat included, and had tucked his thumbs into his trademark breeches to pull them up, stockings white as ever. Josua at least had his more modern camos and had thrown a brown jumper over his traditional shirt. But the way his father was dressed, there would be no mistaking where they were from. Berit seemed to agree with him.
“Are you wearing that Outside?” she gaped. Kurt straightened up.
“Of course, I wear this everyday! Just because the wall is now open doesn't mean we have to dress in these ridiculous skinny jeans and running shoes now! They fall apart after mere months anyway, all this outsourcing is leading to terrible quality, I'm telling you!”
Josua hid a sigh. Baby steps, he reminded himself, but he could not chase away the hot feeling of embarrassment creeping into his cheeks at the thought of Outside people seeing him with the walking and unfortunately loudly talking anachronism that was his father. For now, he just stuffed his backpack onto the backseat and tried to focus on the positives.
“Hello papp. Yes, really looking forward to the trip, it's really exciting!”
“I'm glad, son, I'm glad. Well, jump in, then!”
From his seat, Josua gave a last wave and grin to Berit while the Volvo jumped into motion with a sputter, turning onto the village road and through the gates. Josua's heart seemed to fill his whole body, even as for the first few minutes he could only see trees and shrubs, not to different from the wall's other side.
But there was something that felt bigger, wider, so full of potential, and he could swear the air smelled a little sweeter.
A few more minutes and the Volvo started sounding a little less like it suffered from pneumonia as Kurt seemed to get the hang of the gears again. Josua did not miss the way Kurt's fingers clenched around the stick despite the cheery attitude he was trying to put on, knuckles white and crampy, but he decided to pretend not to notice.
Other things were more important now, like the roll of very slight, soft hills stretching southwards in front of them, their shapes new and unfamiliar. Or the strange low building made from concrete and plastic signs and big windows that advertised petrol and diesel, or the long ramp leading down from one particularly impressive hill, possibly man-made.
He guessed it was for ski-jumping. Mäskis-Gunnar had built a smaller version from boards and bits of tin sheets welded together with old coke cans. The demonstration had involved a rather spectacular fall that, Josua was sure, any ordinary human would have sustained serious injuries in, though Gunnar was probably immortal.
He wondered how a jump from the large ramp would go; it looked professional and highly technical and there were colourful signs along the edges with names Josua had never heard of. Who was this Karhu they kept advertising?
He was startled from his thoughts by the sound of a throat clearing.
“There are some bullar in the back, if you want them.” He felt his father's gaze slip towards him, quickly and oddly urgently. “Cinnamon, not blueberry.”
“Oh, Berit gave me a whole box already,” Josua chirped, pointing towards the backpack on the backseat. Then he paused. Did Berit and the others not impose an embargo of baked goods for Kurt? He turned towards his father whose face was now stony again. No, not stony. Josua could not quite place the emotion his father seemed to try and hide behind a carefully neutral expression. It was not happy.
“Where did you get the bullar from? I thought Berit still-”
“I made them,” Kurt interrupted. “Last night. Thought I'd give it a go, see if I could still do it.” Josua gaped. He had never seen his father in the kitchen, their food had usually been made by Berit or one of the other women of the village. He assumed Kurt was simply too busy to cook or bake and at this point Josua had thought that it just was not something he did, ever. Thinking about it, he remembered his father did find the time for other hobbies, reading and moose hunting, for instance, sometimes even carpentry – he built Josua's study desk.
“You used to bake?” His father's eyes were glued to the road.
“Sometimes. Before. Haven't since we founded Gambämark.”
“Oh. Why not?” Kurt sighed and Josua regretted asking. His father often got annoyed with him when he asked too many questions. At home this would not bother him any more, he knew now that it was his father that should be a bit more patient, but here, in this confined space, dependent on Kurt's goodwill and driving licence, he was not too keen to jeopardise the mood. Kurt loosened and clenched his fingers around the steering wheel.
“It's not a leader's job.” The final two words were punctuation enough and told Josua that this conversation was over. Did this mean Kurt really no longer saw himself as leader? The way he was lingering around building sites and committee meetings seemed to suggest differently, like he was waiting for an opportunity to wiggle himself back into a position of command. Not that the other citizens would let him, nor the police.
But if his father was really making progress, trying to be someone besides elected leader, even if the change was as small as taking up the baking tray, perhaps Josua should encourage him.
“Maybe I'll try one on the next stop then. Double the bullar, that's great!” He tried to muster up his usual broad grin, but felt it fall a little flat, as did everything with Kurt lately. His father nodded, but did not smile. However, he also did not look quite as tense any more. Now it was Josua's turn to sigh and stare out the window again.
Unlike the other Gambämarkians, he had more or less forgiven his father for the last few months of his authoritarian rulership. He saw how Kurt hovered at the edges of everything, back stooped, shoulders rounded, head still raised defiantly, but now in defence rather than attack. He looked a bit pathetic.
His father's attempts at regaining some power also annoyed him, he wished he would just learn his lesson and find something different to do, gardening or farming maybe, though the image of Kurt in dungarees made Josua cringe. That was just plain wrong.
Forgiving did also not mean forgetting the way his father seethed and raged after he declared Josua a traitor, the mad steel of his gaze as he ordered Berit and the others to be arrested and cast out. He wanted to believe that Kurt had recognised the errors of his ways and was trying to become a better man, he really. But then he caught his father in a mood like this again, tense and on edge and stewing on something bad, and suddenly felt like when he had run away from the central freezer, short-breathed and angry and more than a little scared.
Berit had told him it would take time, it certainly did for her even though it was her decision not to punish Kurt so harshly. The baking embargo and social ostracisation was not so much formal punishment but simply a consequence of his actions. Everything else they would have to figure out along the way.
For now, the only thing that mattered to Josua was the way the houses started clustering closer and closer while street lamps lined the road like birches and cars tore past them like colourful ball lightning. The bright signs of the supermarket they chased past promised unexplored riches beyond his wildest dreams, and the families pushing carts across the parking lot were like the inhabitants of exotic lands. Josua felt excitement jitter through him again. This was the trip of a lifetime, they were really doing this, they were Outside, they were going to see everything he ever dreamed of. His stomach felt light and it was like he was flying.