by Lisa Stowe
“Guess we’re going to keep that fire built up the rest of the night then, huh?”
Ethan sat back down on the log he’d been leaning against and added a piece of wood to the fire. “You guessed right.”
His affected nonchalance seemed to work as Zack relaxed a little more. The young man also added wood, and then sat near the fire, using a long stick to poke the flames. Ethan noticed Zack periodically glancing around and understood. His back felt too exposed, with nothing but the black night behind him. Nothing but mountains and wilderness and whatever walked among the trees.
It was going to be a hell of a long night.
16
Some time before dawn, when the mountains felt dense and ancient and the night at its darkest, the low growling of Bird roused Anya. They were both in bed and she had even allowed the dog under the blankets. She pushed the heavy quilts away from her face, feeling cold air seep in. The fire must have gone out because there was no glow and no warmth. She listened intently, wondering what Bird had heard.
He growled again but didn’t charge the door like he normally did when wild animals came too close. Instead he pushed up against her and she once again felt him trembling. She rose up on her elbows, peering into the heavy blackness of a night with no ambient lights from electronics or streetlights. Nothing here gave out light once the sun went down.
After a few moments of quiet, she collapsed back onto the pillow, resting a hand reassuringly on her dog. And that was when she heard odd slobbery sounds outside.
Was it the bear? The boy? Injured? No. They were hallucinations born of shock and loss. Weren’t they?
Anya threw back the covers and out of long habit her fingers found the headlamp beside the bed. She flipped it on then grabbed the heavy flannel robe Devon had left.
All that took only a few seconds but it was long enough for Bird to beat her to the door. He stood, blocking it, staring at her with eyes that glinted yellow in the headlamp beam.
“Out of the way, Bird.”
He refused to move. He wasn’t growling. His hackles stood straight up though, and if anything he shook harder.
“Bird! Move!” She used her obey-me-now voice.
The dog didn’t budge.
That gave her pause. It wasn’t like Bird to disobey.
Anya went to the small window hoping the headlamp beam would shine outside. Which it didn’t. The glare off the pane almost blinded her. She switched it off and wiped her watering eyes. Then she cupped her hands around her face and peered out the window. That didn’t help either.
The odd gasping breathing seemed closer now, almost at the window. Maybe the boy hadn’t been a hallucination after all. Maybe he was out there, scared and alone. Somehow he’d managed to find his way to her cabin. Maybe he’d followed her trail. Anya opened her mouth to call out, to tell the boy to come around to the door.
Bird whimpered. Once, softly. And her blood chilled at the sound. Her dog was a fighter. Yes the earthquake had rattled him, but typically he’d be going mad trying to get out the door.
If he was afraid, she better be, too.
With knees knocking, she stepped away from the window. Backed slowly into the deeper darkness of the room. She made her way to Bird, still by the door, and squatted next to him. Where was her rifle? By the bed where she always left it. It would only take a few steps to cross the small room and get it. She wouldn’t even need the headlamp.
But she couldn’t move. Couldn’t get her legs to support her. Couldn’t find the courage to leave the side of her dog. As if that proximity protected her.
There was a shuffling outside, a scuffling along the outside wall. She’d had wild animals do this before. Raccoons on the roof, black bears at the windows, especially before winter when food was scarce and the scents of her cooking wafted out into the forest. But those sounds didn’t freeze her in place, didn’t terrify her. A scratching sound now followed the top of the doorframe. No raccoon reached that high. And a bear would be clawing, not…not almost fingering, seeking.
She was still shook up from the quake. That was it. Just jittery like Bird. She dug her fingers into the thick fur of the trembling dog. She tried for a deep breath to ease the rapid-fire panic of her tripping heart. She failed.
The sound of heavy breathing was on the other side of the door now. Right behind her. The heavy slab of wood moved, shifting inward slightly. Anya quickly put her hands against the door and pushed back. As if she could hold the door shut, hold whatever it was, out. The door moved again and the iron bolt squealed.
She needed her rifle. Badly.
Swallowing down the bitter copper taste of fear, she forced herself to her feet. She’d have to pass in front of the windows. But it was so dark, surely nothing would see her move across the room. Holding her breath she ran to the bed and felt around beside it until she found the cold barrel of the rifle. Sliding her hand down to the stock, she lifted it. Braced the butt against her shoulder. Tried to hold it steady.
And then waited.
The cold night air eddied around her bare feet, wrapped icy fingers around her ankles, climbed to her knees and made them shake harder. Moments passed. Bird left the door and came to her, pressing against her side. She ran a quick hand over his head and down his neck, feeling his hackles still up.
The shuffling, lapping sounds moved around to another wall. Anya heard a scraping noise, and something scratched at the window.
She couldn’t breathe. It was going to crash through the glass. The rifle suddenly felt too heavy to hold, the muscles of her arms watery.
Nothing happened.
After several minutes, or maybe hours, Bird sighed heavily. Touching him, Anya realized his hackles were back to normal. She was so cold her joints ached and her nose ran. Sharp pain in her biceps warned her she couldn’t hold the rifle up much longer. But still she stood, straining to hear.
The deep mountain night was quiet. Whatever walked out there in the woods had moved on.
Anya stepped stiffly back toward the bed, propped the rifle against the wall, put the headlamp on the table, and climbed under the quilts without taking off the robe. A pocket of warmth still held and she slid her ice cube feet into it. Bird, without waiting for permission, nosed under the bedding and plastered against her. She was grateful for his furry warmth and familiar doggy smells as they shook together.
But she felt very, very alone.
~Day 3~
1
The rain had stopped but heavy clouds hung low down the sides of mountains. Curtis bent, stretching to touch fingertips to the ground. His spine popped as he slowly straightened. He’d slept, fitfully and shivering, curled tightly on the backseat of his crumpled car with a musty smelling blanket tucked around him. He kept starting awake, convinced the ground was shifting under him, that the car was tilting into a fall that would never end. Every time he woke, he’d see faint light from scattered fires refracted across the shattered windshield.
He put his hands on his hips and twisted side to side, making his spine pop a few more times. The ache in his head had dulled to the point where Tylenol would probably help. He pulled his pack from where he’d stowed it on the front seat and dug around in a pocket for the bottle. He downed two capsules with the last of his coffee, now cold, then capped the thermos.
He had his cold weather gear in the pack. He’d need bottled water and some food, which he could get from Betty. The store, though damaged, still had some supplies. And she’d be willing to help since he was going on a quest to find Henry. And maybe fix the repeater tower.
But once inside the store, Betty crossed her good arm over her splinted one and shook her head.
“I don’t have anything to spare.”
Curtis looked around the store. Half-filled cardboard boxes blocked the small aisles where Betty had clearly been up all night, packing. Most of the supplies left on the shelves were broken, shattered, or spilled.
“But, your boxes…”
“I’ve been thinki
ng about what you said yesterday.” Betty wouldn’t meet his eyes. “About no help coming for a long time.”
“I said that?” Curtis thought back. “Oh, right. Well, it’s a strong probability, for sure.”
“Exactly. And the Lord helps those who help themselves. So I need to hang on to what I’ve got. Who knows how long it will take to get supplies. If I give away everything now, what will happen in the winter? I need to think ahead.”
“Well, you don’t need to give things away,” Curtis said, thinking through worst-case scenarios. “You need to barter. You know, trading something someone else needs for something you need.”
Betty stared at the floor as wind whistled in through broken windows and gaps in the collapsed back wall. She looked up to meet his eyes. “So what would you have that I need?”
Curtis thought about what might be in the car or in his pack. “You can read the novel I’m writing since there’s no television or smart phones working. And if need be you can use the paper to start fires with.”
“That doesn’t sound real valuable to me,” Betty said.
“Probably not,” Curtis scanned the store around him. “But juices in that cooler aren’t going to be real valuable to you before long, either. Or the lunchmeat in your deli cooler.”
In the end, he traded Betty his manuscript, two pens, the blanket from his back seat, and an old collapsible snow shovel they’d found in his gaping trunk. In exchange he stowed in his backpack three bottles of cranberry juice, four slices of sourdough bread, and a small stack of turkey and Havarti slices. And the most valuable thing of all, a cheap plastic flashlight with fresh batteries. Betty traded the flashlight for his taking a few minutes to kneel and pray with her for their salvation. Curtis didn’t share her beliefs, but he thought it wouldn’t hurt anything to support her. Plus, he got a flashlight.
He felt a brief sadness leaving the novel behind to be fire starter. Even if it was bad, his mother had enjoyed it. Leaving it felt a little like admitting he might not see her again. He clamped down on that fear before it fully surfaced and headed for the door.
When he came out of the store, the Sheriff’s deputy was headed across the street to the still-smoking ruins of the museum. Curtis was itching to start on his quest, but deciding someone should know where he was, he trotted over to Max.
“I’m headed out to look for Henry,” he said.
“Alone?” One of Max’s eyebrows went up. “You sure you want to do that?”
“Oh, I’m sure I don’t. But people either don’t want to go or have important things to do here. I’m also going to look at the repeater and cell towers to see if they can be repaired.”
“Uh-huh.” Max stared at the museum remains and poked a glowing coal with his boot.
“And I wanted to tell you there was a big wild dog over by the church last night. It might have been injured.”
“Uh-huh.” Max took a shovel and threw dirt over the hot coal. “We got lucky with the rain last night. This fire could have spread through the whole town. Did you say a dog?”
“Yes.” Curtis nodded. “A big dog. A really big dog. I told it I wouldn’t hurt it.”
“You talked to it.” Max turned toward him. “Wonder if it’s the same one Maggie saw. Her dog from hell. Maybe the one that left tracks by your car the night you found that hunk of meat on the hood.”
“Tracks?”
“Remember I said I’d go poke around up by the Hole the night you found that hunk? When I was up there I saw huge dog prints around where you’d parked.”
“So some dog may have attacked Henry?” Curtis’s heart rate bumped up. “He might be out there bleeding from a dog attack?”
Max shrugged. “No way to know, and now there’s too much going on here for me or Casey to head out into the woods looking for Henry or a dog from hell.”
“Well, I can’t imagine any dog coming from hell. That is, if hell exists. There are some interesting theories…wait. I’m getting distracted. I need to go. If I don’t go I’ll never make it back.”
“That’s certainly true.” Max smiled.
“No, I mean, I’d like to make it back before dark.”
“Better get going then.” Max caught his arm, smile fading. “Seriously Curtis, think this through. You shouldn’t go alone.”
“Oh, I know I shouldn’t. I’ll let you know when I’m back.” He patted Max’s hand and hoped it felt reassuring.
What he wanted to do was grip the man’s sleeve and drag him along.
His car started in spite of the crushed front end, which he supposed was one of the advantages of having an engine in the back. He still had a quarter tank of gas. He’d drive as far as possible on the damaged road then walk from there.
Come night, whether he ended up on the back seat again, or out in the woods somewhere, he’d probably be sorry he traded the blanket. But Betty was a hard person to negotiate with.
As he drove past destroyed homes and shattered lives, he wondered what the coming days would hold for everyone in town. In an area where driving to a grocery store meant a couple hours on the highway, most people kept full cupboards. So that would help depending on how badly everything was damaged. And he knew there were people in town who hunted. So if it did take weeks, or months, for assistance to start making its way up the Sky valley, there might be those who would be able to feed the community.
As long as everyone didn’t react like Betty and close themselves off.
Curtis understood, in a way. How did you balance keeping your own family alive against helping those around you? It was a moral dilemma societies had faced through the ages. When he found Henry, he’d bring it up and they could sit around a fire and have a long debate while they ate turkey sandwiches.
He was only able to drive a couple blocks. The road out of town was impassable, with so many trees down that he could barely see the big chunks of pavement that had heaved upwards as the ground shifted. He parked the Bug off to the side, got out, and shouldered his pack. For the briefest moment he considered locking the car, but then pictured Betty, arms crossed, unable to give.
He left the keys in the ignition. Maybe that quarter tank of gas would help someone out. It wasn’t like the car would do much good anyway, with the bridges gone.
When he shut the door and turned, he saw the tall and lean form of Rob, a red kayak over his shoulder, and wearing a life vest and helmet. Curtis glanced at the river that raced beside Avenue A, broad and full of debris. The Skykomish was so powerful that even on a calm summer day the rapids were rated the most difficult Class V.
“What are you doing with the kayak?” Curtis asked. “Surely you’re not going rafting?”
Rob smiled his typical amiable grin as if the river was an old familiar friend. And it reminded Curtis of the stories of Rob taking a kayak out in floodwaters. For fun.
“I’m hiking upriver to Skyko One,” he said.
Curtis thought about the old houses gathered under tall evergreen trees. “Skyko One is on the other side of the river. And there may not be anything left.”
“Exactly,” Rob said. “I’m going to cross the river and check on them. Bring back anyone I can. That old river rat, Malcolm, has a raft we can use to evacuate people.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Something moved in the life vest and Curtis jumped back, letting out a small yelp of fear. Rob laughed and tugged the vest forward a little. Tucked inside his wetsuit was a tiny ragged and mangy dog with one eye filmed with cataracts.
“You’re taking a dog?”
Rob shrugged. “I inherited my mom’s dog when she died. He’s older than dirt. Don’t want to leave him behind. He can help me scout the river.”
Rob left with a wave, walking up Avenue A as if he was headed for a normal river run. Curtis thought about what lay ahead of the man. Getting across the river. A two-mile slog through the destroyed landscape. He might get lucky and find some of the road remaining. Rafting people across to town. Repeating the whole thing.
/> Just to help in any way.
Something in Curtis’s heart warmed the disappointment that Betty’s behavior had left. Rob was helping people and Curtis would do the same. Encouraged and feeling a little braver, he turned to face the remains of the road out of town.
He wished though, that he’d been able to drive a little further. It was going to be a long walk.
And a hard one. Curtis had to climb over downed trees, their branches catching at the pack and his clothes as if wanting to hold him. The torn pavement made walking more like scrambling. Or stumbling. There wasn’t a single tiny piece of the road that was easy passage.
He’d gone about a mile when he heard voices and saw movement up ahead. He paused, wiping his coat sleeve across his forehead. Coming toward him was a small group of men and women, one carrying a toddler in a sling contraption on her back.
“Everyone okay?” he asked when they got close enough. A few faces looked familiar. “Are you from Sky Country Club?”
The club was a sister community to Skyko One, but on the same side of the river as town. A few people lived there year round, but most cabins were owned by weekenders. As the people drew nearer, he saw the stress and fear in their wide eyes, their shaking hands, their thrown together clothes.
“There’s no Sky Country Club left,” one of the men said. “Most of the houses went into the river. The bank just gave way, man.” He pressed fingers to his eyes as if to block the images.
“Then everything just sort of heaved up,” the woman with the toddler said, tears starting to track down her cheeks. “And the ground just dropped. We’re the only ones who managed to get out of our homes in time. Everyone else…” She drew in a hitching breath and didn’t seem able to continue.
“Everyone else is gone,” another man said, his voice blunt. “Gone into the river.”
“How bad is town?” a woman asked. “We’re going there for help.”
Curtis saw hope light up in their eyes. He thought again of Betty and her crossed arms, the cardboard boxes.
“Town’s been hit pretty hard, like everywhere, I imagine,” he said. “But there are fires to warm up by. That should help.”
