“Worried about your folks?” he asked when he saw her expression tighten.
“Dad works for a big company. All of his wages were direct deposit after COVID. Bet it doesn’t take them long to go back to paper checks. As for Mom? When the economy goes to shit, there are worse things than running a health food store in Vermont. I mean, she knows half the farmers in a fifty-mile radius. It’s not like they’re going to starve to death.” Her lips bent. “And if worse comes to worst, they have the church.”
“Church?”
Shyla had always struck him as anything but religious.
She gave Sam a knowing look. “’God will save us, praise the Lord.’ Yeah. I couldn’t wait to get out of the house. Every Sunday, Wednesday, and Friday night we were in the pews listening to the miracles granted by our Lord to the faithful. Sure. But Friday night? And every summer? Bam! Off to Christian summer camp. I had no life.”
“That sucks.”
Finishing off her sandwich, Shyla took a swig of soda from the can. A grim smile was on her lips as she stared out at the basin. “Mom and Dad were so proud of me. Four-point-oh GPA my senior year. They’d already laid the groundwork to get me into the Christian Leadership Academy. They didn’t know I’d done the paperwork for the scholarships and applied to just about everywhere else I could think of. I took the first acceptance I got and never looked back.”
“Why anthropology?”
“Hey, my folks ranted about the evolution conspiracy my entire life. What’s a wild, rebelling, daughter going to do? I signed up for Dr. Moore’s Intro to Physical Anthro my first semester. Forbidden knowledge, you know? Loved it. Got to measure fossil skulls, study how the human body evolved. Learned something about genetics. That and intro to philosophy just opened doors.”
“How’d your folks take it?”
“Scandalized.” She looked uneasily off to the northeast, sort of in the direction of Vermont. “They’re good people, Sam. I was loved, cared for, and given every security a child needs. I just had to...to...”
“Live your own life?”
“What did old Bill say the other night? ‘Ride ‘er while she bucks?’” A pause. “There’s more to him than that aw shucks redneck cowboy image he likes so much. Soon as I was out of the house, I let her buck real good. Had years of living to make up for. Lately I’ve been finding out you can overdo the good times. If I never have another three-day hangover, it will be too soon.”
“Amen to that.”
“What about you?”
“Kind of the same story. You had church; I had The Yucateca. It was the family restaurant. From the time I could reach the sink, I was free labor. I started as dishwasher, grill-scrubber, floor-mopper, trash-taker-outer, and everything else menial. When I wasn’t in school, I was expected to be at the restaurant. Hey, what’s it say about quality of life when you look forward to homework, cause it was your only excuse for not being at work?”
“That explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“Why you’re better than the rest. More competent. Responsible.”
“Me?”
She arched a slim eyebrow. “Whatever you do, you’ll be a success because of what that restaurant taught you.”
That was a whole different take—and one he’d have to think about.
They sat in what Sam hoped was amiable silence for a time. Partly because he was too tongue-tied to think of anything witty. He already considered it a miracle that he’d gotten a chance to work with her that morning. Kirstin—Shyla’s usual partner—had asked if she could work with Dylan. Which left Shyla as Sam’s recorder…then she’d come to sit next to him during lunch? Double miracle. Usually she ate with Kirstin and Ashley.
When Sam looked, Kirstin was sitting with her back propped against a limestone outcrop while Dylan was cross-legged in front of her. They were talking while he plucked up grass stems and seemed to be laughing a lot.
Ashley was down the slope, laid out on her back with Jon and Danielle, all staring up at the sky as they talked.
“Things like this bank failure,” Shyla said softly, “it reminds you that nothing’s ever certain. If it were to turn out bad, well, there are people I’d really like to have the chance to sit down with and have a long talk. Things I wish I’d done differently. Things I need to say. Love is a curious thing, isn’t it?”
“Thinking about your boyfriend?”
“Jim?” She laughed, amused. “No. I was thinking about my family. But Jim? God, I can’t imagine what this is doing to him. I mean, the biggest thing in his life? It’s his Centurion card. The black one from Amex? It’s got like a six-thousand-dollar fee he pays every year. I mean, that man lives for his credit card.”
“I’ve got a credit card.” It was lame the second he said it. Worse, she glanced his way, saw the appalled expression on his face. Next she was going to see him turn bright red.
I’m such an idiot.
“Visa?”
“Yeah.”
She hooked a thumb toward her chest. “Mastercard.”
Sam burst out laughing in relief, and she extended a fist his way, saying, “Here’s to social justice.”
He did the fist-bump and looked away, a swelling in his chest that seemed fit to burst it wide open. Sam had never had what anyone would call a winning way with women. He categorized his relationships as the Icarus kind: where no matter how high you flew in the beginning, ultimately you got too close to the sun and your wings melted. Crash and burn was inevitably a big part of the equation.
“Sam!” Amber’s sharp call disrupted the perfect lunch he hoped would never end.
He looked over his shoulder. Amber had risen from where she’d been in conference with Frank and Evan. Pam was tightening the cinch on her horse, having secured to the lunch pack to her saddle cantle.
“I gotta go,” he told Shyla, and extended his hand, adding, “Want me to take your can back?”
She tossed off the last of her soda, saying, “Sure” as she stood. Instead of giving him the can, she shook his hand. “Thanks for listening. You’re easy to talk to.”
“Some people say it’s ‘cause I don’t have anything to say.”
“Maybe they’re not listening hard enough, huh?”
“Maybe.” This time she handed him her can before turning to walk off for the south-side slope. It had become habit that the females trekked off to the timber patch just over the crest to relieve themselves, while the men went the other direction to the north.
“Sam!” Amber barked again.
He grinned to himself, stooped to pick up his pack, and reflected that this was one of the best lunches he’d ever had—even if he couldn’t remember eating his sandwich, let alone what was in it.
Perfectly Conditioned Turtles
Maybe we’d been trained by COVID. As a people, the vast majority of Americans reacted to the crash like turtles. They stopped dead in their tracks, pulled their heads, arms, and legs into their shells, and waited. They acted just like the government wanted them to: without initiative. The orders were: Stay calm. Do not leave your homes. Do not panic. Just wait for the state to restore the situation. Government will provide.
Americans had been psychologically conditioned to trust the government. It provided protection, medicine, driver’s licenses, social security, building permits, clean food, sanitation, told us what to watch, how to think, what was correct. “Fill out the form, pay a fee, and we will take care of you.”
By the millions, Americans went home, locked their doors, and waited. Even after the lights went off. And after the water stopped running.
They waited.
Because they’d been told to.
— Excerpt from Breeze Tappan’s Journal.
Chapter Thirteen
When the crew had reassembled after lunch, ready for the afternoon session, Amber surprisingly placed Jon in charge and gave him instructions to continue the mapping and recording.
“If it rains,” she warned, “if you see lightning, and
the thunder is less than ten seconds after the flash, get the crew off the ridge and back to camp. Got that?”
“Yeah, sure,” Jon told her. “Where are you going to be?”
Dr. Holly announced, “I want Amber to get a gander at the cave before Thomas Star gets here.” He paused. “If he gets here at all. Not that credit cards are as big a thing on the rez, but there’s no telling what’s going on down there.”
Frank led the way, and Sam noted that he was wearing tall, lace-up boots that he called hunting packs instead of his cowboy boots.
They angled north off the ridge and down-slope, which took them through the whitebark pine and into what Frank called “black timber”. This was thick stuff, a dense cluster of fir, lodgepole, and spruce. Underfoot, a soft mat of old needles and duff covered the ground. Frank wound down through a maze-work of fallen trees, snag-like branches, and into the dim depths.
Call the sensation antediluvian. Sam felt as if he had stepped back to the Earth’s beginning days. Sunlight slanted weakly through gaps in the tangle of branches overhead, when it made it to the ground at all. But for the occasional red squirrel’s call, it was a subdued place, a world of dark greens, grays, and browns. Shaggy moss clung to tree trunks and bare branches. Patches of mold patterned the bark and dead wood in artistic splotches.
The silence was broken as crashing and banging sounded off to the right, along with the muffled thumps of heavy feet. A reminder that despite first appearances, this place was brimming with life...and something really big at that.
Amber and Sam stopped cold, surprised, but Frank and Dr. Holly, in unison, said, “Elk.”
“Sounds more like a herd of elephants,” Amber muttered.
“That or a bulldozer crashing through,” Sam added.
“You’d think that an elegant animal like an elk would move with a better sense of grace,” Frank agreed. “I’m not sure but that they don’t make all that racket as a way of saying, ‘Ha! You only thought you were sneaking up on us.’”
They hadn’t descended more than another forty meters before they smelled it, first as a whiff, and then a thick cloying.
“What’s that?” Amber asked the question that had been rolling around in Sam’s mind.
In unison, Frank and Dr. Holly said, “Elk.”
Then Frank added, “That’s perfume to an elk hunter’s nose. Elk are a musky-smelling animal. They have scent glands and communicate by smells in their urine. I think we miss a lot because of how poorly we can smell things.”
“What are they doing in here?” Amber asked as she stared around at the tangle of trees.
“They like to bed down in black timber during the day. Flies aren’t as bad, and they’re safe. Nothing can sneak up on them. It’s cooler in here. And when they run, they can hear if a predator is in hot pursuit.”
Dr. Holly added. “I’ve got onto elk in the black timber. Had them bolt like we just heard. Then I spent a half day tracking their sneaky butts while they ran my ass ragged up slopes and over deadfall, only to have them drag my sorry carcass right back to the very spot where I got on them in the first place.”
He paused. “Sort of like they were saying, ‘Hunt us, will you? We’ll show you.’”
“They do have a sense of humor, don’t they?” Frank agreed.
“Yep,” Dr. Holly avowed.
Frank shot a confidential look at Amber and Sam. “That’s why some people just get addicted to elk hunting. People shoot deer and antelope. Sometimes you shoot elk, too. But most often, you hunt them.”
Sam accepted that on faith, not having the slightest desire to hunt anything except the most outstanding anchovy pizza in the artsy-trendy “old town” block back home.
Still, it gave him a new perspective on the black timber. It really was a good place to hide. Not that he’d ever have to do such a thing, but even as he tried to walk quietly, the dead needles underfoot crackled, twigs snapped, their clothes swished as the cloth rubbed against itself. Branches made a scratching sound on fabric jackets. Then came the periodic metallic clink of coins in pockets, or pack strap clips.
They broke out of the trees, and Sam felt relieved to see the open sky again. They were maybe three hundred feet lower in elevation; a wild-flower-strewn grassy slope dropped away before them that indicated an old burn.
Frank followed a trail that clung to the slope’s contour. Sam almost broke his arm patting himself on the back when he figured out it was an elk trail. Easy actually. Not only were the hoof-tracks the right size, but little balls of elk scat—the same stuff that Shanteel had discovered she was sitting in that first day—were liberally sprinkled along the dark soil.
They pulled up at the edge of a canyon. More of a wide crack in the limestone, actually. A place where—if Sam’s geology classes hadn’t failed him—the underlying bedrock had fractured as the mountains were uplifted in the distant past. Then water had weathered the rock, widening and deepening the crack enough to allow vegetation to take hold, which increased the weathering and erosion.
Looking down, the bottom was filled with currant, chokecherry, and plum bushes. Occasional fir trees rose from the narrow depths, and wild roses were in bloom. The vertical canyon sides had gone gray where the limestone supported lichens and moss. The rock was literally riddled with holes and niches, places where ground water over the eons had eaten passages through the limestone. Yeah, a good place to find a cave, all right.
“Now,” Frank mused, “where’s that trail?”
“Yonder,” Dr. Holly pointed, leading the way farther down the slope.
Climbing down was a bit more adventure than Sam had planned on. Several times he had to brace himself on the rough stone, taking Amber’s hand as she carefully lowered herself. A simple slip and fall here, not to mention a broken leg, wouldn’t be good. And who knew if 911 still worked? Even if they had had the reception.
Halfway down, Frank paused. “Did you hear that?”
“What?” Dr. Holly cocked his head where he’d wedged himself in a narrow chute in the stone.
“Thought I heard a horse snuffling.”
“Down here?” Holly asked.
“Probably my imagination.”
Frank continued to climb down until he reached the narrow game trail in the bottom. When they all stood beside him, looking up at the narrow band of sky, it was with both relief and trepidation.
“I know there’s a better way than that,” Frank said. “Next time I’m marking it with flagging tape.”
“You do that,” Dr. Holly agreed, grinning. “Come on. It’s just up here.”
He led the way. Had to push through the thick growth that overhung the trail. Sam glanced up at the almost-sheer walls. Technical climbers wouldn’t have any trouble. There were handholds galore, but he would hate to have to climb that.
“You found this elk hunting?” Amber asked.
Over his shoulder, Frank said, “Yeah, bailed off my horse to shoot a big bull. Didn’t have a good hold on the reins. I was a sight more interested in the elk. When the gun went off, the horse went ballistic. I’d shot around him before, but that day, for whatever reason, he blew up. Knocked me on my ass, ripped the reins out of my hand, and he was gone. Kaiser Söze gone. You ever see that movie?”
“Uh, no.”
“So first thing, I check the elk and start gutting and quartering, figuring Dad or Pam will realize that something’s wrong back at camp when the horse comes in for oats. They’ll backtrack the horse. Good tracking. About a foot of new snow on the ground. And they’ll show up about the time I have the elk ready to pack.
“Only they didn’t. And it’s getting dark. And a storm’s moving in. And it’s starting to snow. I fire three quick signal shots. No answer, but the wind’s blowing pretty hard by then. And I remember this canyon, figuring I can hole up until morning.”
“Quite a hole you found,” Dr. Holly agreed.
“What did I know?” Frank answered. “Spent the whole night in that cave and never even recogn
ized what was right over my head.”
He smiled. “Just knew I was spooked, that’s all. Not that I slept much that night, but damn, I had the weirdest dreams I’d had in my entire life.”
“Doesn’t surprise me,” Dr. Holly said as he pushed past low-hanging fir branches and led the way up a slight slope to an oval-shaped, man-sized opening in the cliff face.
Pulling some of the grass back, Dr. Holly pointed. “Notice the charcoal? Paw around in the weeds enough, and you’ll find the occasional flake as well. Last time I saw a burned bone: lagomorph, probably Silvilagus.”
That was science talk for cottontail rabbit.
“Um, Amber? Sam?” It was one of the first times Dr. Holly had used Sam’s first name. “You need to understand. This is sacred space. Holy ground. Treat what you’re about to see with respect.”
Sacred space? To Sam that hinted at a whole bunch of burials. In his reading he had learned that various Shoshoni bands liked to put their dead in cracks and crevices in the high places under rims. This would surely fit.
“All right, let’s go.” Dr. Holly fished a couple of Surefire flashlights out of one of his shooting jacket pockets. Handed one to Sam and another to Amber. He flicked his own light on, adding, “Watch your heads.”
One by one they climbed inside.
The first sensation was olfactory: the rich damp scent of earth and water with a not-unpleasant musk. Next came the sensation of cool air blowing across the skin. And then Dr. Holly shone his light onto the cave wall.
A being was staring back. Round-bodied, circular eyes, a rippling sort of headdress on top. Wide-spread arms turned up to five-fingered hands, as if they were startled. The legs came out from the sides, curved down, and ended in similar toes, one of which was elongated and ran down to a crack in the rock.
“Dinwoody interior-lined style,” Amber said with awe.
Dr. Holly leaned close. “Pandzoavits. The water ghost. That’s why the toe extends to the crack. That’s his tie to the opening to the underworld. The hands are up and spread because water ghosts will seize and carry off people who are unworthy.”
Dissolution: The Wyoming Chronicles: Book One Page 10
