“Quiet,” snapped Hickman. “Shut your stupid mouth.”
“Where are you taking us?” I said.
“I’ll ask the questions,” said Hickman.
We kept walking. I caught Chase’s glance. Now it was him who had the scheming look in his eyes. They hadn’t even bothered to tie our hands.
Hickman stopped the group in a small clearing.
“Sit down here,” said Hickman.
We sat. The men stood about twenty-five feet away, gripping their rifles and shifting their weight from foot to foot. Hickman stood behind them.
“Let’s make a move,” I hissed at Chase.
Arie shook his head.
Chase scoffed. “They’re not gonna kill us.”
“Kill them,” ordered Hickman loudly. “They’re spies from the Agency,” he declared. “Kill them. Now.”
Two of them raised their rifles and aimed at us. The other went on looking perplexed.
We were on our feet in an instant.
“Shoot them!” hollered Hickman frantically.
“You can’t shoot us!” said Chase. “We’re on the same side!”
One man was squinting down the barrel of his rifle, his finger on the trigger. I’d decided to sprint into the woods, and I was almost positive Arie and Chase would be close on my heels or three paces ahead of me, but before we made any move, a gunshot rang out. I flinched and dropped instinctively into a crouch, but the only thing that happened was that the gunman yelped and dropped to the ground like a giant sack of potatoes. Almost before he’d hit the ground, there was another shot. We dropped to our bellies. A third shot rang out.
I poked my head up and saw both of the men who’d pointed their rifles at us, along with Hickman, lying on the ground, squirming in the dirt. The third man flung his weapon into the grass and raised his arms. My ears were still ringing with the concussion of the gunshots. Hickman was yowling and writhing, clutching at a bloody wound on his arm.
Chester appeared from the shadows at the clearing’s edge. He stepped into the clearing diffidently, gripping his rifle and keeping his eyes on Hickman. So he had ammunition in his gun after all?
Then I saw another figure emerge from the trees, a smoking revolver in his hand. He was bandaged, and he limped, but I recognized him instantly. We all did.
It was Colonel Steele.
CHAPTER 32
As evening came on, we sat around a richly blazing firepit. Arie and Chase and I sat on a crude bench constructed of big logs stacked and stabilized on rocks. It must have been quite old—the seat and back were worn smooth with use and it was surprisingly comfortable. We’d put our coats on and cupped mugs of tea in our gloved hands.
Steele sat across the fire from us on an ancient aluminum lawn chair. Chester was there, too. It was he who’d fetched Steele when it became clear that Hickman meant to execute us.
Chester hung a cast-iron pot from a cross-member over the fire and made a thin stew from rabbits he’d captured using snares and deadfalls.
“Know what they really go for? As bait, I mean? In the traps?”
We said nothing but nodded for him to tell us. I for one really wanted to know.
He grinned. “Carrots. Can you believe that? You figure rabbits only eat carrots in old cartoons and books, like it’s just a joke, but they really love carrots. They’re easy to grow; I got some growing up there on the hill and some closer in here by camp, but I don’t know how I’ll catch rabbits when I run out.”
Soon the stew was bubbling in the pot. I sipped my tea as the evening’s chill crept in around us.
“He broke my arm right away,” Steele was saying, “swatted me like a damn housefly. Gave me some pretty good lacerations.”
He indicated his various bandages.
“And he must have stepped on me at some point and cracked a couple of my ribs. I don’t remember everything clearly. I think I had a concussion, too, from when you clubbed me.” He pointed at Chase.
Chased winced, shrugged.
“He bit me on the ankle,” Steele added, lifting his foot, which was wrapped with what looked like strips of an old beach towel. “That one still hurts.”
We shook our heads with equal parts sympathy and amazement.
“But you got away,” said Chase with an expression more worshipful than he probably intended.
“I put a couple slugs into him,” said Steele with a nod. “When he first came at us. I got two shots off and then he hit me hard, and the pistol and I parted ways. At first I thought I’d missed because the bear wasn’t acting injured at all, but later I figured I’d hit him in the liver or guts and he was probably bleeding internally. Anyway, I guess I managed to keep out of his reach until he realized I might not be worth the effort.”
“You made it over here in good time,” I said.
“Yes. Infection was my biggest concern,” Steele went on. “That kept me moving. I knew there was a camp around here somewhere. I suppose I could’ve walked back to the road, but I came here first to see if I could get my hands on some antibiotics.”
“We won’t be joining you,” Chase said.
“No,” said Steele with a grim smile, “I’d given up on that course of events the moment the bear appeared.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
Steele gazed at the fire for a few moments. “I wouldn’t try to re-capture you even if I were in perfect health and had the means to subdue you. I thought about what we talked about while we were on the trail together,” he said. “About payments and purposes. And I agree that I was in the wrong line of work. I think I’ll pursue a new one.”
“So, you’re taking over this place?” asked Chase.
“No,” Steele answered with a curt chuckle. “They just needed a little guidance,” he continued. “They had a couple idiots in charge, taking advantage of them. They’re all pretty desperate. Not a lot of leadership or expertise among them. I’ve heard them say things have gotten so bad that people have left here with the intention of returning to the Agency.”
“That’s awful,” I said.
“They get three squares and a bed with the Agency,” said Steele with a shrug.
“So, you’re going back to your family,” I said.
He nodded. “When I’m fit to travel, yes. I’ll help these people as much as I can. Help them decide what they want to do. When I’m healed up, I’ll go.”
We ate the stew and talked more as it grew dark.
“What will you three do now?” asked Steele.
“We’ve got some plans,” I said.
“What kind of plans?”
“We’ll just keep those private,” said Chase.
“I understand,” Steele returned.
“Actually,” I said, “I have a couple questions for you.”
“About the back before?”
“No, about why you came after us.”
Steele pressed his lips into a tight line. “Okay,” he said after thinking awhile. “Ask me.”
“Do you know the name Bellington?”
“Yes,” he said with a nod.
“He sent you?”
“No. You already know Rachel sent me, but I was directed to consult Bellington about you and your camp and other things that might help me apprehend you.”
“Did he ever say anything about a treatment or medicine that restores memories of people who’ve been wiped?”
“As a matter of fact,” said Steele, nodding again but looking a little surprised at the question.
“So there is an antidote?”
“As far as I know, yes.”
Arie and Chase and I exchanged astonished looks.
“Do you know where it is? How it works? Where to find it?” I would have peppered him with more questions along those lines, but he held up a hand.
“No, no,” he said with a smile. “He didn’t say anything about any of that. I only know that Bellington told you about it to entice you into letting him go.”
My face reddened. �
�He told you he tricked me?”
Steele tilted his head thoughtfully. “No,” he said, shaking his head, “he didn’t say that. He never said explicitly that he’d told you a lie or the truth.”
“What’s that mean?” I asked.
“It means it was probably a lie,” said Arie.
Steele was shaking his head. “No. That’s not what I’m saying. What he said to me was, ‘I told her about the treatment we have to restore memories’. Those were his words, as close as I can recall. You see? If he was telling me about a falsehood he’d told you, he almost certainly would have put it a different way. He’d have said, ‘I told her we had a treatment,’ or ‘I made up a story about a treatment.’ Instead, he said, ‘I told her about the treatment.’ That makes me think he was telling me that he told you about something that really exists. See the difference?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, that makes perfect sense.”
Chase had been listening intently. Now he spoke up. “You’re telling us the truth,” said Chase. It sounded like not so much a question as something he needed to tell himself, aloud.
“We’re no longer rivals or adversaries, Chase,” said Steele with his usual cool frankness. “At this point I have no reason or interest in telling you anything but the truth about what I know.”
The air seemed charged with new potential, a new purpose. I’d had the feeling that the antidote was real. Now I knew.
“Colonel,” I said after a few moments of quiet, “can you help us?”
“If you mean will I join you in going to some Agency installation to steal the treatment, then no. I wish you well, but I’m going home, and to paraphrase Chief Joseph, I hope to fight no more forever. Now, if there’s something I can do for you before that, here, while I’m convalescing, then yes, I’d be open to discussing it.”
We sat thinking for a minute. “Well, we need a vehicle,” I said. “We coasted down here on an old jeep, but we need a vehicle that runs. We need to get to the Agency borders.”
He grinned broadly, paused, and then let out a deep, hearty laugh. It was the first time any of us had heard him do so. He seemed genuinely amused. We looked at each other bemused until he composed himself again.
“Alison,” said Steele, “as you know, I’m a highly skilled tactical operative.”
“Yeah,” laughed Chase, “it’s been several days since you reminded us of that.”
Steele smiled sheepishly at the wisecrack, then said, “Well, you’ll all be interested to know that there’s probably only one area in which my skills are more excellent.”
“Fixing cars?” I asked hopefully.
He grinned and slowly shook his head. “No,” he said, “Fixing jeeps.”
CHAPTER 33
We couldn’t get Steele down from the camp to the jeep nor the jeep up to Steele. Not right away. Steele could walk only short distances before he risked tearing the crude sutures he’d stitched into himself to keep his wounds closed. The lacerations on his feet looked especially gruesome, and I saw no signs of infection, but even standing up for more than an hour left him exhausted and in pain. So, we stayed in the camp for a week while he healed. We rested and took turns teaching the people who remained in the camp how to make a living in the woods. I taught them how to gather and preserve wild forage. Chase taught them how to capture fish and grouse and even muskrats and beaver.
Steele stayed in his tent, sipping protein stock made of boiled rabbit and bird bones. In the afternoons, Chase caught fish with his fly rod and brought fish to Steele four or five at a time.
“It’s protein I need,” said Steele. “I’ll eat as many fish as you can catch.”
There were almost no books in the camp, but I somehow got my hands on a big paperback romance novel about a duchess whose illicit lover was secretly the pirate who’d murdered her beloved father in a bloody raid on the high seas. The duchess didn’t know this, however, because although she had been aboard the ship and indeed at her father’s side the night of the fatal raid, she had of course gotten a nasty case of amnesia during the melee when a free-swinging yardarm conked her over the head. The duchess turned out to be the only survivor of the attack and would have perished herself had she not fallen quite conveniently into a passing lifeboat, and had she not been rescued by the very same father-slaying pirate captain, with whom she immediately fell in love.
I rolled my eyes and muttered, “Oh, puh-leeze.”
The front and back covers were missing, and the book was stained and swollen with water damage and difficult to read. I almost tossed it aside, but soon the duchess began remembering things about the night her father was killed, seeing flashes of the pirate captain’s face, and I was almost ashamed at how engrossed with the story I eventually became—until I realized that the final chapter was missing.
After a week, I think I started going a little crazy. I was having dreams of getting all my memories back. I was dreaming about remembering. I dreamed that I was Chase’s wife in the back before. I dreamed that Arie was our son and that we’d resisted the rule of the Agency together but had eventually been captured and mind-wiped. I dreamed that Chase was secretly an Agency operative. I dreamed that I was the Agency operative and that once I got my memories back, I would turn on Arie and Chase. Even when I’d just doze off in the sun after eating in the afternoon, I’d dream of various lurid versions of my past. That wasn’t so bad at first, but then I started to dream that my dreams of remembering were actually my mind’s way of remembering my real past. I distrusted my own thoughts. I walked around in a sleepy fog of anxiety.
After ten days, I burst into Steele’s tent.
“Alison?” he said, blinking awake and hiking himself up on an elbow. “Everything all right?”
“Colonel, I’m sorry to bother you, but I gotta know when you think you might be well enough to hike down the hill and get that jeep running. I’ve got to get back there. To the Agency. I’ve got to know if there’s an antidote and, if there is one, I’ve got to have it. I’m losing my mind. I’ll walk all the way if I have to, but if there’s any way you could give me an estimate, well, yeah. Please. Did I say I’m sorry for bothering you?”
He blinked slowly, a look of fatherly understanding on his face. “You’re not bothering me,” he said. Then he lifted his foot off the bed and flexed his ankle. He thought for a few moments more and said, “Plan to set out first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Tomorrow? Really?”
He stuck out his bottom lip and gave me a firm nod of his head. “I’ll be ready.”
CHAPTER 34
Steele worked on the jeep for almost a week. Every hour was agony to me. The jeep needed various parts, tools, and fresh fuel and oil. Runners were sent off to other settlements to find what was needed. Steele enlisted Arie and Chase and others to hold things, fetch things, hand him things. At first he returned to camp in the evening and by candlelight he disassembled virtually every mechanical item there was to be found—lanterns, rifles, an old gasoline generator. He spent hours hammering and plying and filing away at bits of the cannibalized iron. Then he ordered a tent and cot be brought down to the jeep and worked there practically around the clock. Chase and Arie and I likewise got tents and bedrolls and slept at the jeep.
Steele would start the jeep, turn it off, work on something, then start it again, but it seemed to be always just shy of being truly fixed.
After the fifth day, I despaired. Steele never seemed discouraged, but I knew in my heart that we’d be walking back to the Agency. How long would that take? Weeks? Where would we get provisions? Water? We’d have to live rough and arrive at our objective totally spent and probably half-sick with exhaustion—assuming we made it at all. I cried myself to sleep.
But when I got up before dawn the next morning, Steele was already lying across the fender of the jeep beneath the hood, working by lantern flame. He was so short that his legs dangled off the ground, and when he needed to reach deeper into the guts of the jeep, his feet flailed in t
he air. When he heard me approach, he straightened up, slid down off the fender, and gave me a friendly wave.
“There’s hot water on the embers over there,” he said. “Have some tea.” And then he ducked back under the hood.
“Dare I ask?” I said.
He chuckled. “There’s never any harm in asking.”
“Okay. How’s it going?”
“I’m getting close,” he said flatly, and without looking up. “You’ll be driving away tonight, tomorrow morning at the latest.”
For an instant I could not draw a breath to reply. Something about the tone of Steele’s voice told me this was not just optimism nor even informed speculation. He was stating a fact, like always. I made us both some tea.
“You’re gonna need to find more fuel,” he conceded, his head still down in the engine compartment. “And I’d recommend you keep her under about 50 miles per hour, but this old heap wouldn’t be fun to drive any faster, anyway.”
It wasn’t easy to say goodbye to Steele. I felt a keen sense of loss as we packed up the jeep. The things we could accomplish with Steele on our side, the things we could learn from each other—it was painful to think of the unrealized potential.
“He’d be an incredible asset,” said Chase that night as we turned in.
“The guy knows, like, everything,” said Arie.
I sighed and shrugged. “He’s got his own plans.”
As we pulled away the next morning, Steele raised his hand in farewell, kept it raised for a few seconds, and then turned back to Chester and his other men as though he were immediately ready to move on to the next item of business.
CHAPTER 35
It took three days to reach the outskirts of the Zones. Bellington had explained that there were a few places we were likely to find the Agency’s memory antidote, but I was familiar only with the dispensary near the housing block where I’d lived with Gary, so we focused our planning on that location. We discussed various approaches as we drove, scrapped a dozen plans and formed a dozen more. We planned as we drove, raising our voices over the jeep’s clattering engine. Sometimes Arie disagreed with my ideas, sometimes Chase did, and often they both did. There were arguments. We drew diagrams in the dust on the hood during rest breaks, and we bickered long into the night before we fell asleep on the ground around our small fires.
Among These Bones (Book 3): Maybe We'll Remember Page 17
