by G. M. Moore
“Spirit houses,” Cain said, slowly standing upright and stretching out his back. He suddenly looked perplexed, felt his forehead, found her yellow scarf, and untied it. “It’s an Ojibwe cemetery, probably the safest place we could have been last night. Good move.”
Tess smiled uncertainly, then recoiled when Cain shook out the bloodstained scarf and wiped his blackened face with it. “It didn’t seem so safe this morning,” she countered, then asked, “what is that on your face and what are spirit houses?”
“The houses are built to help the dead on their journey to the spirit world,” Cain explained. “People bring food and offerings there in the days following a burial.” He reached out, a sly half smile on his face, and wiped his thumb across Tess’s check. Her stomach fluttered at his touch. He looked at his thumb then held it up to her. It was black.
Tess’s eyes grew wide with surprise, and her hands flew to her face. Her fluttering stomach quickly knotted and dropped. With all that had happened what she looked like never crossed her mind. After a night spent sleeping outside, she must be a complete mess. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment as she rubbed them, then looked in anguish at her blackened palms.
Cain chuckled and handed her the scarf. With a repulsed look she refused it. “It’s only ashes,” he said, watching her wipe her hands and face on the poncho. “They covered our faces with ashes.”
She stopped wiping and snapped her head toward him. “They?” Alarm filled her voice. “Who’s they? No one was there but us.”
A knowing grin spread across Cain’s face. “The Ojibwe were there watching us, protecting us.”
“Protecting us?” she questioned, narrowing her eyes. “With ashes?”
“Yeah. The Ojibwe believe that young children are very vulnerable to the spirits of the dead. The newly dead are afraid and search for others to take with them on their journey to the spirit world. They often come to children in their dreams. Covering a child’s face with ash hides and protects him from the dead.”
“But we aren’t children,” Tess said.
“No, but something was in that cemetery. Didn’t you feel it?”
Tess took a quick breath and held it. She had felt it.
“Something was there that my people thought we needed protection from—besides the poacher,” Cain continued. “I had the strangest dream. …” His voice trailed off, his eyes searching Tess’s face curiously.
She quickly shook her head no. Tess didn’t want to talk about dreams. Not his, not hers, no way. She suddenly wanted very much to push hers out of her mind forever. There was something vaguely familiar about it. It didn’t seem like a dream; it seemed like a memory, a fuzzy memory. “You hit your head,” she finally said, pointing to the scab running across his forehead. “It makes sense that you would have weird dreams.”
“Maybe,” Cain answered with a shrug.
The look on his face told Tess that he didn’t believe her. She quickly busied herself, tying her long hair back with a band she kept around her wrist, and changed the subject. “So now what?” she asked.
“Now we eat. I’m starving. What do we have?”
Tess bit her lip, thinking. “Granola bars and water for sure. Maybe some trail mix.”
“That’s not going to do it.”
“We’ve got milk, or formula. Bottles of it,” Tess said as she dismounted the ATV.
“What? Why?” he asked.
Tess pointed to the pink-eyed fawn perched in the basket tied on the front of the ATV. “Ummm, for him. I’m assuming for him. Remember the fawn? They’re in your backpack.” She pulled the pack off the back rack and passed it to him. Tess tapped her temple. “You sure you’re OK? Bad dreams. Spirits.” She wiggled her fingers through the air. “Indians hiding in the dark. Now you can’t remember what you put in your own backpack?”
“Funny. But I didn’t pack it, OK.” Cain sat on the ground rummaging through the bag as he talked. “My we-eh did. He gave me strict instructions not to lose it.” He looked up, bewildered. “He’s got at least a dozen baby bottles in here. A map, matches, a compass, bug spray, a flashlight, toilet paper, a fishing kit—and a retractable dog leash and collar.” Cain made a face and held up the device.
Tess looked at the leash and then at the fawn. “That’s odd.” She watched Cain open the map and study it. “You were just supposed to get the fawn and go home, right?”
Cain didn’t answer. He sat staring at the map, mumbling something under his breath.
“What?” Tess asked, straining to hear. “What? We go home now, right?”
Cain shook his head, finally looking up again. “I knew it was too easy.”
“Too easy?” Tess questioned. “What do you mean? We were shot at yesterday. We were chased today. How is any of that easy?”
Cain’s face froze, and he looked stunned. “Shot at? When?”
“Last night when you were out of it.”
He closed his eyes and began rubbing his temples. “OK. OK,” he said. “That’s all the more reason you need to go home.”
“Me? What about you?”
“I can’t go back, not yet.”
“I don’t understand. Why can’t you go back?”
“My we-eh didn’t pack this for Stone Lake,” Cain explained, grabbing the backpack. “He packed it for Manitowish Waters.”
“What?” Tess asked sharply. “That’s several hours away, by car, on a paved road. The ATV can’t have much gas left.” She suddenly felt very small in the vast forest surrounding them. “You can’t seriously be thinking of hiking there?”
“Yes, I am. I’ve got to take the fawn there. Alone.”
“But I don’t understand,” Tess said. “Why does the fawn need to go to Manitowish Waters? It’s safe now. Your we-eh will keep it safe. He can just drive it wherever it needs to go.”
Cain shook his head. “It won’t be safe until it is in Manitowish Waters. And I’ve got to take it there.” He looked Tess unyieldingly in the eyes. “And you’ve got to go home.”
Tess slid a hand inside the green poncho draping her body. She felt the conch shell necklace tucked in the front pocket of her cargo pants. She opened her mouth to speak, but Cain quieted her with one raised hand. “Look,” he said firmly. “I am very glad you were there last night. Very glad. But your role here, whatever it was supposed to be, is done. This is my journey, foreseen at my birth. I don’t expect you to understand.” He paused, studying her face for a moment. She sat very still, looking at him as earnestly as she could. He sighed and continued. “Legend is that a herd of woods ghosts roams the area around Manitowish Waters. A secret sect of the Midewiwin protects the herd. Albino deer are very sacred to us. Seeing one brings the gift of an omen. Killing or injuring one brings a curse. You can’t just drive your car there and drop off a deer.” Cain’s voice turned melancholy. “Although, I guess that’s what I thought. …”
Great, Tess silently sighed, even more weirdness. Now we’re dealing with a secret sect, a whole herd of albino deer, and omens and curses thrown in for fun. She didn’t really believe in any of it, but her gut told her that she was not supposed to go home—not yet. Maybe she was afraid of facing her father, maybe she just didn’t want to leave Cain Mathews or maybe, just maybe, there was something to all this Indian spirit stuff. She wasn’t sure which was motivating her to stay, but she knew she held a trump card in her pocket.
“I don’t know about all that,” Tess admitted out loud. “But I do know that an eagle delivered this to me yesterday.” She pulled out the conch shell necklace and watched Cain’s face explode with astonishment as she handed it to him.
The boy stammered, cleared his throat, and croaked out, “An eagle?”
Tess nodded. “Basically dropped it at my feet.”
“Whoa,” he replied, taking the necklace from her. “Way cool.” His face instantly calmed and brightened
. “I can’t believe this. I thought I had lost it.”
Tess was a little shocked at his reaction. Cain didn’t question her at all; somehow it was completely reasonable to him that an eagle would deliver a necklace to someone. He really believes, she thought, everything his we-eh has told him, he believes. She took the opportunity to press on. “So it looks like your we-eh wants me along on this trip, and I know you are not going to leave me here in the woods all alone. Right?”
The boy slowly nodded.
“I don’t know where we are. Do you?”
He cocked his head toward her as he fastened the ring of shells around his neck. “No, not exactly. I think we are on the far side of the Lac Courte Oreilles reservation.”
Tess gave a conciliatory shrug. “OK, maybe we are, but you said you can’t go back, so it makes sense that we go forward. Together. We will come across a town sooner or later and—”
“And you will call your father and tell him to come get you,” Cain interjected, smiling smugly.
Tess hemmed and hawed for a moment but could not think of a good reason why not. “Fine. It’s a deal.” She returned Cain’s smug smile. “Until then, get out that compass and point us toward Manitowish Waters.”
****
When Wes Thayer arrived at the Ojibwe cemetery later that morning the mysterious fog had burned off and the grounds looked surprisingly serene. He sat on a tree trunk draped in shadowy shade, shotgun resting at his side near one of the moss-covered spirit houses. A few yards away one of his men administered first aid to his Uncle Earl. The sight of Earl’s charred swollen hands had sickened Wes. How could such a thing happen to a man like that? he wondered. When he thought of his uncle, agile and cunning came to mind, not clumsy and careless. His hands, Wes blanched, images of red peeling skin and blackened flesh flashing through is mind. His boxer’s hands gone—and maybe for good. Wes lowered his head and clasped his hands together silently cursing their run of bad luck. Finding that albino doe and her fawn had led them to nothing but trouble. They were able to track Earl to the cemetery easily enough, but one man was still missing and now one was horribly injured. Was it all worth 10,000 lousy dollars? Wes didn’t think so. He made his mind up then and there to let those kids and that albino fawn go. He’d make up something to tell Clyde. What, exactly, he didn’t know.
Wes raised his head and caught the gaze of his uncle who was sitting up, elbows resting on top of a spirit house,
bandaged hands framing his face. Wes smiled sympathetically at the man. If someone could help him conjure up a believable lie, especially one to tell his father, it was Uncle Earl. Wes unclasped his hands, slapped them decisively on his thighs, and stood up. He slung the shotgun over his shoulder
and was making his way to his uncle when he heard the drone of a distant motor. The noise grew steadily louder. Whoever was coming was coming in fast. With one directive nod, Wes sent the man at his uncle’s side over to the cemetery path. Wes lowered the shotgun from his shoulder as he continued to walk. Just as he reached his uncle, a black ATV came flying into the glade. The sport vehicle, with its high carriage and angular edges, and the rider, with his dark tactical sunglasses and black clothing, looked more like a monstrous insect than a man and machine.
Only one person that can be, Wes thought wearily as the man on watch backed away and the vehicle barreled forward, swerving to an abrupt stop. Wes dropped the barrel of his gun toward the ground and raised his chin to the man on the ATV. What is T-Rex doing here? he questioned, eyes narrowing to slits as the wiry man scurried off the ATV and, with spider-like speed, appeared at Wes’s side. The young man automatically took a step back. Rex Thompson, aka T-Rex Thompson, was not someone Wes liked to deal with. The Vietnam vet had earned his nickname during one too many tours as a Marine sniper. He was cold-hearted and destructive, and now, at sixty one, T-Rex was as ruthless as he was unpredictable. The man suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder and still had flashbacks to the war—scary flashbacks. As a young teen, Wes had witnessed one of T-Rex’s episodes at a barbeque. He and some friends were lighting off firecrackers in steady succession. Pop! Pop! Pop! One minute everyone was laughing and having a good time, the next they were screaming and running as a glassy-eyed T-Rex grabbed one boy by the throat and squeezed, lifting him, choking and flailing, off the ground with one arm. Ever since that day, the man’s very presence put Wes on edge.
“Well, well what have we here?” T-Rex asked, casting snide eyes on Wes and Earl.
“What do you want Rex?” Earl replied flatly.
The vet smiled almost giddily. “Clyde sent me,” he chuckled. “Said you can’t send a boy or a grandpa to do a man’s job.”
Wes saw his uncle’s face redden with anger, and he quickly spoke up. “That right?” he asked as coolly as he could, his grip on the shotgun tightening. “You can tell Clyde we’ve got this.”
“No can do, man. No can do.” T-Rex chuckled again. “You ain’t got no albino doe, now do you?” He shot a look over to Earl. “Ain’t got no fawn either.”
Earl bristled, pushing up off his elbows as best he could. Wes warned him off with a slight shake of the head. The injured man held Wes’s gaze defiantly for a moment, but then settled back down.
T-Rex sneered. “That’s right.” He paused for a moment, the giddy smile returning. “Don’t worry yourselves too much, though. We don’t need that doe. Not anymore. Buyer wants the fawn now—for $20,000.” He paused, waiting for their reactions. Wes tried not to give him one but knew surprise was all over his face. “Oh yeah,” T-Rex assured. “Guy must think he’s Michael Jackson or somethin’. Wants it for his personal game reserve. I’m here to bring the fawn in—alive. Those kids,” he shrugged, “maybe not.”
Wes’s stomach clenched, and he exchanged a worried look with his uncle as T-Rex turned his attention to the Ojibwe burial ground. Snorting with contempt, he pointed to skid marks and tracks leading out of the cemetery. “Easy peasy,” he said, giddiness returning again. He turned to Wes with raised eyebrows and a tantalizing smile. “Got to run now, boys.” With that, he scurried back on the ATV. A knot formed in the pit of Wes’s stomach as he watched the monstrous man and machine speed from the cemetery. Those kids are in it deep, he thought, a dark despair filling him. Lost and now hunted.
Chapter Ten
Out in the Chequamegon forest, Tess held tight to the ATV seat stretching back on her hands as the vehicle bumped and rocked on a path too overgrown to really be called one. The sun burned brightly above, and she badly wanted to remove the stifling poncho covering her but didn’t dare. Its drawstrings still held the hood bunched protectively about her neck. Underneath it she could feel sweat trickling from her hairline down her back. She threw her head backward as far as she could, trying to catch the cool spring air when the ATV sputtered unexpectedly and jerked, throwing her hard into Cain’s back. She hurriedly locked her arms around his waist. She could feel the taut muscles of his back against her chest and stomach.
“Sorry,” Tess apologized, loosening her stronghold on him as the ATV began to lose speed.
“Looks like we’re running out of gas,” Cain called over his shoulder.
The vehicle sputtered and jerked forward a few more yards and then stopped. Cain twisted his body around to her and Tess instinctively pulled away. He smiled brightly, seeming not to notice how close their lips were. “Looks like we’re walking. Ready?” he asked a little too enthusiastically. She could feel herself wanting to lean into him, wanting to close the gap between them further, but instead forced herself to pull back even more. She nodded.
“OK,” he said, bounding off the ATV. “We’ll need to carry what we can.” He grabbed the bottom of his hoodie and pulled it up and over his head, revealing a white V-neck T-shirt underneath. He paused with his arms over his head looking quizzically at Tess. “Aren’t you hot?”
She didn’t answer, just sat staring at him, transfixed.
/> “Tess? Hello?” Cain teased as he pulled all the way out of the sweatshirt. He paused again. “Are you OK? You don’t look so good.”
“No,” she hurriedly answered. “I mean yes. I’m fine.” She gave him a thin smile. Good God, she moaned inwardly. Get a grip.
He eyed her with suspicious concern. “OK, then. If you’re sure…”
Tess gave him a thumbs-up. “Yep, sure.”
“Take this then.” He handed her the retractable dog leash and nodded to the wicker basket. Its lid sat askew and popped steadily up and down. “Looks like he’s ready to get out of there.”
“On it,” Tess said.
She fed the fawn, then walked him around as Cain rummaged through the bins on the ATV.
“We’re actually in pretty good shape,” he said. “Low on food, but we’ve got some water and this.” He held up a child’s pink Disney princess fishing pole, raised his eyebrows and grinned.
“I know, I know.” Tess rolled her eyes, laughing. “That’s my dad’s doing. Go ahead and make fun, but I loved that fishing pole as a kid. It fits perfectly in the ATV bin.”
“Hey, I’m not making fun,” Cain replied. “I’ll man up and use a princess fishing pole, no problem. This is a lifesaver. It’s definitely coming with.”
Cain eyed the pile of supplies he gathered and began bundling what he could with bungee cords and attaching them to his backpack. He paused for a moment and looked around. His eyes stopped on Tess.
“Give me that poncho,” he called, motioning at her with his fingers.
She stepped back, her free hand moving protectively to her throat. “What? No,” she said firmly.
The boy sat back on his knees, hands resting on the sides of his thighs. “No?” he questioned. “Why not? It’s hot as hell out here.”
“I-I-I just need it,” Tess answered. She could feel tears coming on and fought hard to keep them back.
