by Jake Aaron
“Hmm, push water up instead of sucking it up? Jed, you’re right. It’s possible. The barn has a lot of material we could try — plastic hose, bicycle tire pumps, sealant, and clamps. I know John is weak with fever, but there’s nothing wrong with his engineering mind. Let’s talk with him next time he’s up to it.”
*****
At Hamilton’s hospital, there was no janitorial service. Meagan directed major housekeeping. Disposable items had to be moved behind the building as receptacles were overflowing inside. Room and hallway floors needed to be cleaned and bleached.
The statuesque nurse counseled some patients to go home if at all possible. The hospital had become more of a threat than a cure for many. New patients were triaged for admission, knowing tomorrow’s staff would be even smaller. Food supplies were low.
She planned to depart the hospital at 2 PM to get back to the Denton Ranch while it was still daylight. Her nature worked against making that deadline as she found more and more things she wanted to accomplish. One last thing, she directed moving giant cooking vats from the kitchen to the fire area outside to boil sheets. She finally left at 4 PM.
By 4:30 it was on the darker side of twilight owing to the northern latitude of Montana and the Bitterroot Mountains to the west blocking the last rays of the sun. In the half dark, she pushed on. In that faint light, the path homeward looked totally different. Meagan began to regret her late start getting back to Denton. Twisting an ankle in a marmot hole and doing a face-plant argued for pitching camp here. Pushing herself up, she found a small snapped tree trunk one inch from her right eye. The debate was over; time to bed down.
Meagan gathered pine branches to make a bed on the forest floor. She pulled off her boots and climbed into her sleeping bag with her coat and gloves on. She was angry that she could not sleep. She could not get warm, so she reluctantly built a small fire with the dry wood and kindling she had in her backpack. She knew a fire, any fire, was likely an attractive beacon in this new world. She knew better than to build a fire, but she hoped luck was on her side.
*****
Over a supper of canned beans and soup, everyone avoided speaking of Meagan’s absence.
Lee: “I propose a toast to Mr. Denton for this fine cuisine.” Everyone raised a cup of half-strength tea. “If it weren’t for his prepping, well … . God help us if we have to rely on the Lee and Jed hunting team.” He generously did not inquire about Brock’s failed hunt. Like the others, he thought today’s hunting was doomed from the start, with the snow gone.
Almost delirious, John tried for humor, “Well, folks, that’s why it’s called hunting and not finding.”
“You’re looking better, John,” Keala lied.
“He does not!” Sondra snapped. “Brock, do something! Didn’t they teach you anything in medical school?”
Brock shot his wife a stinging look and returned the barb, “The first thing I learned was to keep my mouth shut when I didn't know what I was talking about …”
“I have a feeling we’ll have our work cut out for us tomorrow,” Zeke interrupted. “Probably a good time to turn in.” He thought, where is Meagan? She's the closest friend I ever had, and I don’t know where she is. He was too smart to consider going out after her, especially after dark in the Big Sky winter. That would be a fool’s errand.
Idle hands ..., Zeke chastised himself. He put them to work, shaving for the first time. The task of getting the warm water up to his room and performing the ritual were somehow comforting. As leader, you should do this daily, he told himself in the mirror. And I should be ready for Meagan when she returns.
*****
Luck was not on Meagan’s side.
The small fire next to her provided the extra heat she needed to sleep. Uplifted by her contributions and successes, she finally fell into an exquisite, deep sleep. She dreamed of reaching the Denton Ranch. She dreamed of Zeke sweeping her off her feet. She dreamed of giving herself to Zeke tomorrow night. Life would be perfect.
As if at the bottom of a well, her subconscious heard indistinguishable male voices. One stood out.
“I get her first. Then you guys get her. One hour a piece. No marks, no cuts, no bruises. She may be valuable.”
*****
Cody and Joan put the finishing touches on a snow hut miles from any human being. They both ached from trekking mile after mile off trail carrying heavy backpacks to give the horses a break. They were cold, wet, and hungry.
“Cody, at least we haven’t had to do night-watch duties the last few nights.”
“That’s a good way to look at it. A reward for staying away from main arteries. I’ll bet these are record snows in the pass. Our progress is terrible. And we’re just beginning our way up the mountain. I’d apologize for leading you into this mess, except I’m not sure we’d be better off anywhere else. The rancher who gave us the horses couldn’t keep us there. I read it in his eyes. Tough times.”
“How about our horses, Cody? You say they can sleep standing up? How is that possible?”
“We cowboys know such things,” he laughed at himself, not much of a horseman. “I’ve read that it’s an evolutionary adaptation for survival. The stay apparatus is the name for the anatomical system of tendons and ligaments that allows a horse to sleep standing up without much exertion. Standing up, a horse is better able to escape a predator and warn his fellow horses. Supposedly, a horse doesn’t need a whole lot of time lying down, but every horse needs some downtime for REM sleep.”
“Honestly, how did you know that, Cody?”
“I dreamed it!”
“Good one! Another tidbit from Julliard? You never cease to amaze me with the things you know. I bet most cowboys don’t know about the stay apparatus. In any case, Cody, I hope our horses can warn us of bad guys.”
“And, my liberated woman, bad gals,” he said.
“I miss my fire,” Joan said wistfully.
“I think we better save what dry wood we have. If the wind backs off tomorrow morning, we ought to build a small fire to boil coffee. Something to look forward to! That will be a banquet with our peanut butter and raisins.”
Joan: “That was good of you to put a blanket out there on the snow for the horses. If either of us wakes during the night, let’s make sure each horse also still has a blanket over it.”
Cody hugged Joan. “Good thought! I’ll check the horses again. Meanwhile, I’ll be dreaming of tomorrow morning’s hot coffee.”
“Funny, a week ago we took hot coffee for granted. Food wasn’t even in our top ten. How life has changed!”
“Yep, Joan, the good ole days were less than a week ago!”
January 7
Cody and Joan woke to panicked snorting and neighing in the post-midnight darkness. That was followed by horrific, blood-curdling screams. Boots already on, Cody grabbed a flashlight and a rifle. He ran to the noise. En route, Cody could see the shadows of mayhem in the moonlight.
Closer, his flashlight beam revealed a swirling mass of mixed furs and an agitated horse trying to help. A mountain lion was attacking Cody’s horse. Joan’s horse was trying to join in the fray. He aimed his rifle. It felt like an eternity as he waited to get a clear shot at the cat. He rushed the shot, sending the wounded cat running. Cody’s horse was down.
Joan ran up. Out of breath, she said, “What can I do?”
“Joan, take your horse upwind several hundred feet. I need to do some things.”
Joan caught the foreboding implication of his words. Her crisp okay was subdued. It conveyed her fear of what needed to be done. As she walked her horse away, she tried to calm it and, with that, herself. All the while, she was still shaking from shock.
Cody spoke to his struggling horse and patted it. He examined it with his flashlight. Not wanting to do what he must, he looked again. He shook his head to an invisible universe of judges who would condemn him for any of his unthinkable choices. Lose-lose, he thought.
His horse would die a long, miserable death i
f he did not man up. Tears welled up in his steely eyes as he aimed his rifle. “Forgive me!” he said.
Two hundred feet away, Joan heard the crack of Cody’s rifle and its echo through the deep, long mountain pass. Her horse reared up as if another cougar were attacking. She had to start all over with calming words and pats. Joan wiped tears from her cheek. She wept for Cody’s horse, Cody, and the increased burden they would bear without his horse. One of them at a time would have to trudge through several feet of snowpack.
Cody approached Joan like a dead man. “For what it’s worth, that cat scream scared the pee-waddle out of me, too.” His volume was several decibels low for the normally ebullient man, but his words had the desired effect on his partner.
Despite the calamity, Joan chuckled, “Did you learn that expression at Oxford?” She paused to send him a small smile to acknowledge his effort to cheer her up. “Thanks, Cody.” Her tears were slowing but still there. “That was ghastly! I’m going to stay up with my horse.”
“That’s good and smart. Your horse needs comforting, and I doubt either of us can sleep with her fidgeting and agitation tonight. Not to mention, we can’t afford to lose her, too. Be ready with your rifle. I’ll try to get a fire going for you two. Good thing we have some dry starter wood.”
Cody returned to the site of the mayhem. He exhausted all the dry kindling they had in their backpacks and slowly added on damper wood to a second fire. He was nauseated by what he had to do next.
With Joan and her horse out of view, Cody used his hunting knife to skin his dead horse. Then, he did another unthinkable: He harvested steak strips from his horse and dried the meat over the fire. After that, he made thick gaiters for whoever had to walk in the deep snow. He hated what he was doing, but it was a question of survival.
At dawn he made the coffee they so looked forward to. He carried a cup of joe to Joan.
“Joan, here you go. You earned this! Sorry about our not getting more sleep. Join me back by the other fire. Let’s bring your horse back with us and tie her up about a hundred feet upwind from the other fire. We both need to get some protein in our systems.”
Joan winced at the thought of eating horse meat.
“I know,” Cody sympathized. “We’ve got to do it. You’ll be surprised how good the steak is. And we’ll have jerky for our journey.”
“I appreciate the thought. But how are you? You went through more trauma than I did. Putting down a horse, well, that’s thought to be among the worst things any person has to do. And then you had to …”
“It’s been a helluva morning, I’ll say that. Can’t wait to speak to my therapist.”
“Well, here I am, Cody. Whenever you want to talk …”
“Appreciate it. Probably not today, Joan.” He hugged her.
“Me neither!”
“Time for some protein, Joan. The pass ahead is going to be tough traveling. I expect the snow on the road will be over six-feet deep. We’ll have to pick our way along ridge lines, I suppose. I’ll walk until my feet get numb. Maybe then you can spell me walking. The fur gaiters should help both of us.”
“Spell? I don't know that word, Cody."
"Means take my place for a while. I grew up using it, but it may now be falling into disuse. The ever-evolving language of English, you know."
"Sounds like a plan, Cody. I'll spell you when you start to get frostbite. I’ll be drinking a lot of coffee with this meal!”
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to wash your food down with fluids?” His grim mood allowed only a small, pitiful wry smile.
*****
Tending the outside fire after breakfast, Keala heard shouts from the front of the house. She alerted Zeke. From a front window, Zeke eyed the man at the gate. He ordered Brock to flank the man with a red bandana on his forehead. He asked everyone else to get arms and stay inside for the time being. “Standby until I shout Denton, fire!” he ordered.
Brock surprised everyone with his quick compliance with Zeke’s order. He exited the back of the house and maneuvered through the woods. He carried a scoped Remington deer rifle.
Zeke took off his holster and stuck his 9 mm in the small of his back, under his belt. He left the house through a French door next to the window in the foyer to the bedrooms. He stood alone on the catwalk that ran around the second floor of the house.
The long-haired, scraggly gang leader hollered, “Let me through the gate. I’m starving. I just want some food, man! I mean you no harm.”
“Sorry, can’t do that!” Zeke yelled. “I have to ask you to leave.”
Through binoculars, Zeke saw the man wore black leather biking clothes. The man did not appear to be armed.
“Please, man, let me in! I’m gonna die out here.”
Zeke: “Let me ask you to go away peaceably.” Zeke turned to signal the end of the discussion. A torrent of insulting expletives from the biker caught his ear. Zeke looked back to see four black-leathered bikers with pistols aimed at him. Even without motorcycles, the bikers were still a formidable lot.
The gang leader hollered, “We’ve got you outnumbered. Now let us in!”
Zeke considered his next move. Were there more bikers in the woods? Could their pistols hit him from 200 feet? Would showing his side’s rifles deter the aggressors — or expose his people prematurely? He bought time, “Friend, we have ten rifles aimed at your gang. Walk away!”
Just as Zeke thought the confrontation was over, a fifth biker emerged from the woods with a pistol in one hand and someone on the other. This biker had a fistful of the unkempt hostage’s long gray-streaked hair. The prisoner’s hands were tied in back. The gang leader kicked the captive in the shins. The prisoner went down.
The biker leader shouted at Zeke, “Binoculars, you might want to reconsider your position!” He ripped duct tape from the hostage’s lips.
Zeke heard a high-pitched scream come from the hostage.
“Now,” the gang leader shouted, “let us through the gate or we’ll gut her in front of you. I know all about you and your little nest up there. We’re coming in! I’ll shoot the lock off the gate if I have to.”
Zeke knew they were still negotiating or the gang would already have blasted the lock off the gate. He did not recognize the captive at first, but he felt for the human being in their grip.
Her? He studied the hostage. Her jeans were ripped and bloodied. She had bite marks on a bruised face and neck. Her lips were black and blue. Fresh blood ran from both corners of her mouth. One eye was puffy and swollen shut. The other was dimmed and perhaps gray. Tears traced over a distinctive butterfly birthmark on her left cheek.
No, his soul screamed in denial, but his mind knew the truth. He shuddered in recognition. Oh, my God, it's my Meagan! Her hair must have streaked gray overnight due to shock. It was clear she had put up a valiant fight to keep her captors off her.
“Zeke, don’t let them in,” the voice of the ravaged hostage tried to cry out through swollen lips. “They raped me all last night. We’ll never have children! Save yourselves … ”
All the Denton crew could hear was a whimper.
“Shut up, bitch!” The gang leader slapped the hostage’s cheek. Then he kicked her in the gut to ensure her silence. He took his turn pulling on the captive’s hair as the other biker let go.
Thinking they had the upper hand, the bikers pistols were no longer at the ready.
“Brock, now!” Zeke commanded.
Brock fired as the gang leader jerked Meagan to her feet. The round penetrated Meagan’s chest and deflected, missing the biker. Before Zeke could order his group to fire, rifle fire came from the flank opposite Brock. The gang leader’s head exploded. In another millisecond, his number two’s head burst like an exploding melon. Then in quick succession the remaining gang members met the same fate.
A hidden Marsh darted from the forest carrying his weapon at port arms as he charged to check on Meagan. He kneeled to check for a pulse in her neck. He then tried her w
rist. Looking up at Zeke, he shook his head sadly.
Keala and Karen ran onto the catwalk and held Zeke up as they guided him back inside to a chair. They knew what the loss of Meagan meant to Zeke. Carrying a rifle, Jed ran out to unlock the chain on the gate for Marsh. Hyperalert, Jed kept an ongoing scan in the direction of the fallen bikers for more danger. It did not come.
*****
While Keala and Karen stayed with Zeke, Marsh drank coffee with the others. “Terrible thing,” he began. “I am very sorry for your loss. Pass that on to the rest of your crew, will you?”
Jed nodded, “Marsh, thank you for showing up when you did. We could see their pistols. We would have lost some of us back there, maybe all, if it weren’t for you.”
“Jed, I’m glad to be rid of that bunch of riffraff! They’ve been terrorizing citizens throughout the valley for years. The filthy five — worst of the worst, they were. Scum even before our tragedy today, trust me. If our old court system hadn’t been so cockeyed tolerant, they’d never have seen the outside of prison walls after their first offense.
“That reminds me. You all keep your guard up. Folks are migrating out of the cities as food and water run out. They’ll be desperate. Redouble your efforts to keep a low profile.
“Hey, I want to thank you all for the joe. I brought you some ground coffee to replenish your stock. Figured you’d be running low by now. It’s out in the saddle bags on my horse. Let me get that for you.”
As Marsh returned with four pounds of ground coffee, he pulled Jed into a kitchen corner, “Death is always hard. I’ve been around it all my professional days. You all can’t bury Meagan in the frozen ground around here. I’m going to spare you that. I’ll take the body. Have a memorial without her. If anyone is upset about my taking the body, good. They can hate me. That’ll distract them from their grief. What do you think?”
Jed shook Marsh’s hand, “You’re a good man, Marsh. I agree with you, so that gives them two of us to hate. And thanks for the coffee! How did you come by it?”
