The Last Tent at Dawn

Deniz arrives at the bus depot at half past five. The sky is still dark. Orange lamps shine over rows of sleeping coaches.

He is fifteen, and he has a plan. Today the hiking club chooses who gets the last club tent. It is for the mountain weekend. Deniz wants it more than anything.

He walks across the cold ground with his bag on his back. The air smells of oil and old rubber. Somewhere, a door bangs.

At the gate, a girl waits with her arms crossed. It is Mirza. She is also fifteen, and she is also in the club. She smiles when she sees him. It is not a nice smile.

"You came," she says.

"So did you," says Deniz.

They do not like each other. Mirza always wins the club race by two seconds. She wins the map prize too. Deniz counts these things. So does she.

A tall woman in a yellow coat comes out of the office. She is the club leader. She holds a clipboard and a small cloth bag.

"Good morning, you two," she says. "Only two of you came. That makes my job easy."

"Where is everyone?" asks Mirza.

"Sleeping," says the leader. "I told them seven o'clock. I told you two half past five. I wanted to see who really wants this."

She puts the bag on a bench. She takes out two envelopes. "The club has one tent left," she says. "It is the only one in the club store. I hid it in this depot."

"One tent," she says. "One winner. The rule is simple. This depot has six clues. The first person to find the tent wins."

Deniz looks at Mirza. Mirza looks at Deniz.

"Start," says the leader, and she hands each of them an envelope.

Deniz runs. His shoes slap on the hard floor. He opens the envelope while he moves. Inside is half of a torn page. It says:

Look where the big buses sleep. Find the number that does not sleep.

He frowns. It makes no sense. He runs along a row of coaches. He reads the numbers on the front windows. Twelve, fourteen, sixteen. Nothing.

At the other end of the depot, Mirza reads her own half. It says:

Find the sign that knows the time. Count what it does not say.

She spins round. She looks up at a big clock over the garage door. It shows 5:41. She stares at it for a long time.

Ten minutes pass. Neither of them finds anything. Their paper halves shake in their hands.

They meet at the water tank in the middle. Both of them are out of breath.

"You have a half too," says Mirza.

"Yes," says Deniz. "Give me yours."

"No. You give me yours."

They stand there. Neither of them moves. The sun is not up yet, and their breath makes small clouds.

Then a coach engine starts somewhere. The sound is loud. A bus driver in a blue jacket leans out of a window. "Move, kids! I need to turn here."

They jump aside. The driver looks at them, shakes his head, and drives away. His light shines over the two pages in their hands.

For one second, the torn edges look the same.

"Wait," says Mirza. She holds her half next to his. The edges fit together like two hands. "The leader tore one page in two."

They put the pieces together. Now the page makes sense.

"That is one clue," says Deniz. "Not two."

"Yes," says Mirza. She does not smile now. "We need each other for this."

She says it like a bad word. He nods like it hurts.

They look at the big clock. It shows 5:53. Deniz walks toward it. Under the clock hangs a sign. It lists the bus numbers.

"It does not say a number thirteen," he says slowly. "It goes from twelve to fourteen."

"Thirteen is not sleeping," says Mirza. "Because it does not exist."

"So the clue points to the coach after the gap," says Deniz. "Fourteen."

They run to the long row where coach fourteen stands. Deniz drops to his knees. Under the front wheel, a bit of paper sticks out.

It is the second clue. It needs a high place. Mirza is taller. She stands on the step of the coach and reaches up. Deniz holds her bag so it does not fall.

The third clue sits on a roof. The fourth sits in the driver's cabin of a coach. Its door is broken. Only one of them is thin enough to go in. Only the other can read the tiny writing in the dark.

By the fifth clue, they stop fighting. They hand things to each other without saying a word. Mirza holds the light. Deniz writes the words on his hand. He reads, she thinks, and they run.

The last clue says: Luggage hold, coach nine. Lock needs four numbers.

They find the coach. The hold door is shut with a number lock. Deniz knows the first two numbers. Mirza knows the last two. They find them on different clues.

"Seven, four," says Deniz.

"Nine, one," says Mirza.

He turns the wheels. The lock clicks. The door swings up.

Inside lies the tent bag. It is dark green and made for two people. On top of it there is a white card.

Deniz picks up the card. He reads it out loud.

"One tent. Two campers. I never said who sleeps in it. Put it up together."

He reads it again. Mirza grabs the card and reads it herself. Then she bursts out laughing. It is a real laugh this time.

"She tricked us," she says.

"She did not," says Deniz. He smiles too. "She told us the truth. It was just a very short truth."

The leader walks up behind them. She leans against the coach with her arms crossed. Her yellow coat shines under the lamp.

"Two people, one tent," she says. "Try it on the hill. Then tell me if you still want to race."

Deniz lifts one end of the tent bag. Mirza lifts the other. It is heavy, and neither of them can carry it alone.

The sun comes up over the garage roof. Far away, a coach driver presses his horn.

Beep.