“Why are we going back?” Chase mumbled, almost as though he’d meant to say it to himself.
“What do you mean?” I asked. “Why are we going where?”
“Back,” he repeated, louder. “Why are we going back to the Agency?”
“Because they’ve got a treatment, Chase. The memory treatment. We have a plan.”
“Yeah,” he said, “but why? Why are we always on the run here and there and all over hell? Why not stay here? Build a cabin—” he turned and surveyed the valley “—right over there, maybe? Or there, on that hilltop? It’s got a southern exposure. We can catch fish, eat wild strawberries, hunt rabbit and deer, maybe grow some potatoes. We might find a dog somewhere. Train him as a watchdog. Why’s this such a bad place to spend the end of the world?”
Nothing he said was unreasonable. But that’s not what I wanted. “No, Chase,” I said. “We’ve got to keep going. We can’t change the plan now, here, in the middle of the forest, with winter coming on.”
Arie came over. “We’re changing the plan?”
“No,” I said, without taking my eyes from Chase.
Arie stood there, questioning.
“No,” said Chase, holding my gaze. “We’re not changing the plan.”
“Well,” said Arie, looking from my face to Chase’s. “Okay. Then let’s keep going.”
“Yeah,” said Chase. “I just wanna look around before we get going again. Make sure there’s nothing here we might could use later.”
He and Arie kicked around at the backpacks and gear bags moldering into the ground and at first, he found nothing.
“Well, they packed light,” said Chase. “Good for them.”
Arie picked up a rotted backpack, but it was empty and encrusted with mud and duff. He dropped it again. “Yeah, nothing much here. It’s all rotted and ruined.”
Then Chase shouted, “A-haaaa!”
“What? What?”
From the grass and brush, Chase unearthed a large metal tube or case.
He clapped the dirt that clung to it. Then he unlatched the closures, opened it, and inside there was a beautiful fly-fishing rod and reel. It had been inside its weatherproof case all these years and looked like it was perfectly ready to go fishing. Chase grinned like a little kid.
“We dine on trout tonight,” he said.
CHAPTER 28
That day just before nightfall we continued down through the mountain valley. We were refreshed and in lighter spirits than before, but Chase was quiet. I wondered what he thought of me and my plans.
We reached the ranger station. Indeed, there was a vehicle there, out in a shed next to the main building. But it was a decrepit military jeep so old it looked like it had last been driven during the Korean War. It lay under a heavy tarp and a thick coating of dust.
Chase and Arie pulled back the tarp and raised the dust into a dense, choking cloud. They opened the hood. The ancient hinges made a pained squawking noise. Dust motes wafted and turned in the bars of sunlight that fell in through a south-facing window. Arie turned on his flashlight and they checked out the engine.
“She looks like she’s intact,” said Arie with a cautious shrug. He pulled on some cables and rubber hoses. “Electric looks good. Belts look all right. It all just looks really old.”
“Well,” said Chase, “hop in and see if she’ll turn over.”
Arie got behind the wheel and pressed the push-button starter.
The thing roared to life.
But only for about three seconds. Then the engine chugged to a stop. Arie tried again, and the engine turned over once. And then it did nothing.
“Battery, probably,” Arie said.
Chase nodded with a look of deep disappointment.
“Been sitting here for who knows how long,” Arie added.
“Let’s eat some dinner, get some rest,” suggested Chase. “See what we can do about it in the morning.”
There wasn’t much of anything useful in the ranger station itself, but there was a large fireplace made of stones, and there were actual beds—sort of. They were ancient bunk beds made of angle-iron and springy, metal fabric. Some were equipped with musty old plastic-clad mattresses. I didn’t complain a bit. Anything was better than sleeping in the dirt again.
Everything was very dusty, but Arie and I found a broom and some desiccated towels, and so we did some housecleaning while Chase went off to try his fly rod on the nearby stream. He came back after dark with several trout as long as his forearm. He’d also collected a few armfuls of firewood.
“Let’s eat!” he cried.
Built into the big rockwork fireplace there was an iron grill that swung in over the andirons. Arie made a fire and Chase dressed the fish with some salt from Steele’s supplies. We ate a huge dinner of roasted trout fillets and dried fruit.
There was no furniture in the place except one wooden chair so rickety that none of us dared sit on it. Instead we dragged the mattresses from the beds onto the floor and sat around the fire to eat. It was only fish and salt, but it was surprisingly delicious. I ate till I thought I might burst. My body seemed physically grateful for the infusion of fat and protein. I could almost feel my tissue repairing and restoring itself.
Still, when Chase offered me a third helping, I said, “I couldn’t eat another bite. But I do think I’ll brew up some tea.”
“I’ll take some more fish,” said Arie.
“Eat up,” said Chase, serving him more of the pink, flaky flesh.
After dinner, we lay on the mattresses by the fireplace, staring sleepily into the flames.
“So, you can get that jeep running?” I asked Arie.
“I think there’s a good chance, yeah,” he said. “We can push-start it. We can try, anyway. First thing in the morning, we’ll give it a go.”
“Let’s just hope it’s got some gas in it,” said Chase. “And that all the other parts hold together.”
Arie nodded and looked intently into the fireplace.
Chase stood up like he’d all at once remembered some important thing. Then he moved around the room as if he’d set down his wallet or keys and wanted to find them. He lit a candle and held it up while he studied the floor. He pressed on the floorboards with his toes. Now and then he turned on his flashlight and shined it on the floorboards. He banged the heel his fist on the wall.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I just remembered. I once heard a rumor about this place,” he said. “Guy I knew in the camp told me something. That guy Brett. No—Burt. Remember? The tall guy with the really thick glasses that were basically just all tape and wire?”
Arie said, “Oh yeah. Brett. He was nice.”
“Yeah, he told me a secret about this place. I’d almost forgot.”
“What is it?” I said.
“Well, hang on and let me look around,” he answered, still searching. He banged the wall again. Then he rapped it with his knuckles. “Did he say it was the wall or floor?” he muttered. He stomped on the floorboards, searched the floor with his flashlight again. This went on for fifteen minutes.
“What is it, Chase?” I said. “Either tell us what you’re looking for or come back to the fire.”
He snapped his fingers. “The fireplace!” he said.
He came to the hearth and ran his hands along the stonework. After a few more minutes he said, “Bingo!” and removed one of the large stones from its place in the mortar. This he set aside and then he reached into the void it left. He felt around inside.
“What’s in there?” said Arie excitedly, getting to his feet.
Chase grinned and produced a long-necked bottle made of dark glass.
“Oh my gosh, is that wine? Real wine?”
Chase flashed us a broad grin.
We got our tin camp cups out without saying much.
“Ah, hell,” said Chase, his shoulders slumping. “We don’t have a corkscrew.”
“Yeah, we do,” said Arie. He pulled out Steele’s Swiss
army knife and flipped open the corkscrew.
“That doesn’t mean you can have any,” I said. “You’re too young.”
“Ah, c’mon!” protested Arie.
“A sip,” I said.
We laughed. Arie passed Chase the knife and Chase opened the bottle and held the cork to his nose. He passed it to me. It had a dark, fruity aroma, like cherries or blackberries, but smoky, too. Chase examined the bottle as he let the wine breathe.
“Gianni Paoletti Cabernet Sauvignon,” he read, sounding out each word as he turned the label into the fire’s flickering light. “I’m not sure this pairs well with fish and dried prunes. But, holy smokes, it’s from nineteen ninety-nine!”
I gasped a little. To think we would drink something so old, and that it might still be delicious not just decades later but after an entire changing of the world. I suddenly grew very thoughtful. Here was an expression of civility and culture that I couldn’t recall, created long before the world I knew, back in the back before. Chase and I were just kids then, and Arie hadn’t even been born. And yet here it was, hiding in these mountains, waiting for us, a firm reminder that our past was real, that it existed, that it could be found.
And that’s when the answers to Chase’s questions came to me. Why keep going back? Why the risks? Because this dusty cabin or a late-summer mountain valley did not have to be the end of the world. Why keep tangling with the Agency and flirt with having my few memories yanked again? Because we had the ability to start over. It was possible. With the secrets the Agency held, we could remember, and with those memories we could tear the Agency down and re-boot the world and start again. We could have the lives we truly deserved. The mountains and the camps we built and the earthy lifestyle we lived were often beautiful and fulfilling in their way. But that wasn’t our objective. We wanted to live free, safe, and happy. And obtaining that was worth almost anything.
“That should be long enough, I think,” said Chase. He poured for each of us.
Before we drank, Arie held up his cup. “Aren’t we supposed to drink to something?” he asked.
We chuckled and then we were quiet for a moment, thinking.
“To remembering,” I said.
Chase and Arie smiled and nodded.
“To remembering,” said Arie.
“To remembering,” said Chase.
Our cups clinked in the firelight, and we drank.
If I’d been a connoisseur of wine in the back before, I didn’t remember much about it now. I didn’t know or remember how to talk about how the wine tasted, but that meant it was, necessarily, the best wine I’d ever remembered. It was rich, complicated, and satisfying.
Arie, on the other hand, wrinkled his nose at the taste.
“Did it taste better in 1999?” he asked, sticking out his tongue and setting his cup aside.
Chase and I laughed.
The fire popped and cracked and collapsed into orange glowing embers. Arie wrapped himself in a blanket and fell asleep.
Chase lay next to me and I leaned into him. He put his arm around me and pulled me close. I felt warm, and the warmth felt hopeful.
“Chase,” I said, turning my face to his, “I don’t want to live in the end of the world. I want to live in the beginning of it.”
He thought about this for what seemed like a long time, but I knew he understood, and I think he felt the same way.
After a while he picked up his cup and said, “I’ll drink to that.”
CHAPTER 29
We slept late. For the first time I could remember, I slept past dawn. It was just too irresistible. I justified it by telling myself I was recharging, healing, recouping my strength for what was to come.
It was warm in the cabin; I was lying on something that was almost exactly like a bed, and I felt safe. So the sun came up, and I opened one eye to see its rays coming in through the windows, but I turned over and kept sleeping. I didn’t wake again until I absolutely had to get up to relieve myself.
Chase and Arie had the same idea. I heard them rise, go outside to pee, then return to their beds. I got up and built a small fire, but in the name of conserving my reserve of tea, I did without my morning cup. Instead, I sipped hot water to drive off the chill and then ate some of the dried fruit. Arie and Chase soon joined me, and we dressed and made our way to the shed.
“Let’s check it out as best we can, first,” said Arie. “Check the plugs and fluids and everything.”
“There’s a tool chest right over there,” said Chase.
“Yeah, we’ll check out what we can. I’m not what you’d call a mechanic. I mean, squeeze, bang, blow—that’s about the extent of my expertise.”
“Same here,” said Chase with a shrug.
“If it seems like there’s a chance that it’ll run,” Arie went on, “we’ll push it out onto the road. Then we’ll pack up all our stuff and get it rolling and then pop the clutch and hopefully be on our way.”
“What if it won’t run?” I asked.
Arie tilted his head and shrugged. “Guess we keep walking.”
“I’ve got a back-up plan,” said Chase, biting his upper lip.
We looked at him. “What is it?” I asked.
“Let’s check her out and then try getting her started, first,” said Chase.
The guys fetched the tools and lifted the squeaky hood again. I packed our gear into the backseat and then watched them, trying to learn something. I hated to be the girl who didn’t know anything about cars, but not much of it made sense to me. I could build a fire with only flint and steel. I knew my way around a gun. But there just weren’t that many chances to work with cars, and so it was a bit of a mystery to me.
For an hour, the guys moved around the jeep, disassembling and opening up various covers and cowlings and plates. They peered into hoses and banged on various parts with a wrench.
“This gas gauge is obviously wrong,” said Arie, tapping the little circle of glass on the instrument panel. “It says it’s full, but the tank is obviously not. And the gas might not be any good.”
“Yeah,” said Chase. “But it’s got at least some gas in it. We’ll just have to see how far it takes us.”
They took off the distributor cap. They removed the spark plugs. They yanked on the fan belt. I had a fuzzy sense of what these parts were and what they did, but I wouldn’t know if they were in working order or not.
Arie got underneath the jeep and looked around.
“Looks good,” he said, though it was almost a question.
Finally, they put everything back together, slammed the hood, and shrugged at each other.
“I can’t see anything that’s obviously busted or missing,” said Arie, clapping the dust off his hands. “It really should run.”
“You probably know more than me,” said Chase, “but I think you’re right. Let’s give it a go.”
“Mom,” said Arie, “I think you should be in the driver’s seat.”
“Yeah, you’re good with a manual transmission, Al,” said Chase with a smile. “Trust me, I know.”
“I just put it in first and then pop the clutch?”
“Wait ‘til we’ve got you going fast,” said Arie. “Like a slow run.”
“Slow run,” I repeated. “Then let the clutch pop out?”
“Yep.”
They pushed me down the logging incline. But the road was uneven, and the jeep had practically no suspension. It was like driving on square wheels. I bounced around in the seat, barely able to hang onto the wheel. I pushed in the clutch. The jeep bounced wildly. I somehow grabbed the stick shift, but I couldn’t find first gear. The jeep was going faster, now. The guys were barely pushing it at all.
“Now! Now!” they cried.
I tried to say “I can’t find first!” but I was bucking and bouncing in the seat so furiously it just came out as gibberish.
“Pop it! Pop it!” shouted Arie.
The jeep reached a steeper incline and gained speed. I fiddled with the shifte
r, groping to find the pathway into the gear. The guys gave the jeep one last big shove and then let go, but they ran alongside panting. The jeep gradually pulled ahead of them as they shouted for me to pop the clutch. I finally found what I thought was first and slammed it into gear. Then I released the clutch, and the jeep slowed suddenly, as if it had hit a wall of gelatin. It threw me forward in the seat and crushed me against the steering wheel.
But it started.
The engine turned over a few times and then started.
It sputtered and chugged alarmingly, and a big plume of blue smoke billowed from the exhaust, but the engine was running.
Arie and Chase jumped onto the jeep and gave it some gas. The engine coughed like some old jalopy. The guys hooted and cheered, and I put it in second, and we wound down the logging road.
And then the engine stopped, and we sputtered to a halt.
No one said anything for a few seconds.
“What happened?” asked Chase.
“Just stopped,” I replied.
“Damn,” said Chase.
“It’s fuel,” said Arie.
“Think so?”
“Yeah. Just kind of a gut feeling, but it sounds like it’s out of gas. Maybe it’s the fuel filter, or the pump, or maybe the gas in the tank is just too dirty or jellied up.”
Chase nodded. “We could siphon up some gas from the tank and pour it right down the carb.”
“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking.”
They tried that idea. And some others. They took a few more things apart. We tried pop-starting it again. And with every try, they got the motor to start up briefly, but it always died again.
“It’s something simple,” said Arie. “Something just barely above my pay grade.”
“It’s the fuel pump,” said Chase. “Like you said. Or the filter.”
“Well,” said Arie, wiping the grimy sweat from his brow with his shirtsleeve, “it’s getting late. Too late to be monkeying around with this heap.”
“What’s your back-up plan, Chay?” I asked.
Chase nodded, capitulating.
“Okay, look,” he began. “This logging road goes pretty steep downhill, right? Why don’t we just coast this bucket of bolts as far as we can?”
Among These Bones (Book 3): Maybe We'll Remember Page 15
