Danielle Kidnapped: A Novel of Survival in the Coming Ice Age

by John Silveira

“It’s okay,” he said.

  Her shout had woken Whoops who stared up at Zach. For just a second, she smiled.

  “I’ll take you back to the road tomorrow,” he said. Then he crossed the room and put his boots and his jacket back on. He stuffed the Model 60 in his pocket and he went to a closet and grabbed a scoped Winchester Model 70, then went out the door. He didn’t look back. He slammed it behind him.

  Danielle held Whoops tighter.

  “Good,” she whispered to the baby. “He’s crazy.”

  Whoops stared at her.

  “I hate him,” she confided. “I hope he dies out there. I hope every fucking man on this planet dies. They do mean things to girls.”

  But it was nice having the sleeping bag over her, and the fire was making the room warmer, too. Her feet started to regain their feeling. In place of the numbness, they began to tingle uncomfortably. She held Whoops and tried to put the tingling out of her mind as she closed her eyes, again. Just a little nap, she told herself.

  The terrible dreams came back, but she slept through them.

  Δ Δ Δ

  The next time she woke, the room was cold. She looked at the fireplace insert. The fire was out. She didn’t know how long he’d been gone.

  She slid out from under the sleeping bag letting her still-sleeping sister lie on the chair.

  She checked the fire though the window on the insert’s door. There were still hot embers. She tried to open the door. It wouldn’t give at first. Then she saw how the latch worked and, with a little bit of monkeying, she opened it.

  There was tinder and kindling on the floor beside the fireplace. She put the tinder in first, then kindling on top of it. Nothing seemed to happen. There were no matches or lighters in sight. She blew on the embers a little and they glowed redder. She blew for almost a minute, but all the tinder did was smolder. She wasn’t sure what to do.

  Suddenly, the tinder erupted into silent flames that danced off the wood like tiny fairies, and she was relieved. She gently nudged the kindling around with a stick to ensure the flames were in contact with it and it all started to catch. She watched the fire get bigger. After several minutes, she put two larger pieces of wood in and closed the door.

  She didn’t touch the vents or the flue. She didn’t know how they worked. But she squatted in front of the insert and watched. Soon, it was going fine and she put in two larger logs.

  She stood up and looked around the room. She walked to the front door and opened it to look out. It was snowing hard and he wasn’t in sight. The dog was gone, too. Their tracks had completely disappeared under the weather.

  She closed the door and went back to the drawer where he’d placed the photo from the mantel. She took it out. It was a woman and two very young children. The woman was in her twenties. She was pretty. The boy looked a lot like the woman, with the same dark hair.

  Danielle looked closer. The little girl was blonde. She had eyes like the man. She wondered what the relationship was since the man was gay. She stared at it for a minute, turning it over in her hands, again and again, to see if there’d be some clue as to who they were. Finally, she put the photo back and looked at the other things in the drawer. There was a large hunting knife. She took it out and examined it. It looked deadly and sharper than hell. She held it in her hand as she continued going through the drawer. There was nothing else there of interest. She closed the drawer, but she took the knife to the chair and stuffed it down between the cushion and the armrest.

  Then she went back to the fireplace and saw the fire was sustaining itself. A feeling of accomplishment swept over her. The room was still cold, but it would warm up soon.

  There were other things in the room, such as candles that were covered with dust. That meant he hadn’t lit them in a while—which made sense since they were a valuable and a difficult-to-procure commodity, now. There were books; so he read. There were tools, ropes, a second woodstove he apparently cooked on, magazines from before the ice age, and doors…

  Now, her curiosity overcame her.

  One by one she opened the doors. There were two bedrooms. They were cold. It was obvious he lived in this one living room/kitchen area and had sealed the rest of the house off. That made sense, too. One room was easier to heat.

  In one of the bedrooms there were boxes of foodstuffs, stacks of clothes, ammo cans, several sets of skis, and some tools. There was also a bathroom, but it looked like the toilet didn’t work.

  She went back to the chair when she heard Whoops stirring, picked her up, and sat down with her again. That seemed to be enough to make the baby go back to sleep.

  Next thing she knew, she began cramping. It had been about a month since she last felt the discomfort of her period. This time she welcomed the pain as it meant she wasn’t pregnant. However, she didn’t have anything for it. Careful, so as not to wake Whoops, she put her down, again, and went back to the bathroom and looked under the sink. She was relieved to see boxes of tampons; lots of them. That was good because it wasn’t likely anyone was making those anymore, either.

  She wondered if they belonged to the woman in the photo and if she’d be back. It was clear to her that a woman lived here. Maybe that’s where the man went: to get her.

  She looked in the medicine chest. There was makeup and there were lotions—not the type a man would use. There was hair spray. She took one of the tampons. Then she took more for the road. She’d need them.

  When she returned to the living room Whoops was beginning to fuss. Danielle was sure she was hungry.

  She went to the cupboards and found dry milk, cans of flour, peanut butter, and pasta: staple foods that, once they were gone… There were also boxes of cereal, cans of tomato sauce, and a few soups. Maybe the man would let her take some with her when she left.

  On the counter near the sink were several one-gallon glass jugs filled with water. She removed the cover from one and smelled the contents to make sure. She put some in a saucepan, which she placed on top of the fireplace insert, covered it, and let it set there to get hot.

  Next, she found two large pots in one of the bedrooms. She stared at them for several seconds before she grabbed them. She took them both to the front door and filled them with snow. Before going back into the house, she stared at a little shed not thirty feet away. She went to it and opened the door. One part of it was some kind of workshop with hooks on the rafters. In another part was an outhouse. Since the toilet in the cabin didn’t appear to work, she was grateful to know where the outhouse was.

  Returning to the house, she put each of the pots atop of the fireplace insert.

  Finally, she started dinner for herself and her sister. But this time, Whoops was going to eat something warm. She mixed dry milk and water in a jar and started oatmeal—a lot of oatmeal, she was starving— in a saucepan atop the fireplace insert. When it was ready, they ate. After that, she cleaned the oatmeal pot and the utensils she used, in the snow outside.

  Later, when she checked the pots on the insert, she discovered that a lot of snow makes very little water. She found another pot and used it to get more snow that she added to each of the pots on the insert. Feeling a sense of accomplishment, again, she went back and settled into the chair with her sister. She didn’t need the sleeping bag over them, now. The room was warm, now.

  There was nothing else to do to while away the time, so she talked and sang to Whoops. The baby loved being the center of attention.

  Periodically, she fed more wood into the insert and, when she checked the pots, again, all the snow had melted and, though the water wasn’t much more than lukewarm, that was enough for her purposes. Placing Whoops on the floor, so she wouldn’t fall from the chair, she took the pots out the front door and placed them on the snow.

  Now began her task. She washed the diapers she had in one of the pots. Content she had gotten them as clean as she could, she dumped the water from that pot onto the snow and poured the water from the other pot into it. She used that water to rinse the
diapers.

  She wrung each diaper out. Satisfied with herself, she dumped out the rest of the water and refilled the two pots with snow. She was about to carry them into the house when she screamed. There was the man in white not ten feet away from her watching her. The dog was sitting quietly beside him.

  “How long have you been there?” she demanded.

  He didn’t say anything. He walked by her carrying his rifle and a bag, and he opened the door and stepped inside. But he hesitated and looked at the dog.

  “Stay,” he said, and the dog sat down.

  She followed him in with one pot then returned for the other. She closed the door behind herself and draped the diapers over the backs of the chairs there so they’d dry. The security and peace she had felt when he left earlier now evaporated. Once again, she didn’t feel safe. But, mostly, she didn’t know if Whoops was safe.

  She put the pots on the insert again then, leaving the baby on the floor, she sat in the stuffed chair, again.

  In the meantime, he’d taken off his boots and his coat. This time, before he leaned the rifle against the wall, he unloaded it—and he didn’t put his handgun on the table. He sat down on the couch but didn’t say anything. The way he ignored her, she realized he was preoccupied with other thoughts. When she thought he was finally going to say something to her, she braced herself anticipating the worst.

  But he said nothing to her. Instead, he got up and went to the door and opened it.

  She could see, just beyond him, the dog was patiently still sitting in the snow. Its tail began to wag when it saw him.

  He looked at it several seconds then shook his head. “Come on in,” he said with resignation in his voice.

  The dog got up and sauntered into the house and the man closed the door. But he watched the dog closely.

  It went around the room examining everything with its nose.

  It was drawn to the bag the man had carried in and started sniffing it.

  “Get away from that,” he snapped, and the dog backed away from it.

  The man looked as if he were mildly amazed.

  But, rather than leaving it there to tempt the dog, he took it to the front door, reached out under the eaves, and hung the bag from a hook there. Then he closed the door again.

  She didn’t know what was in the bag and didn’t ask.

  He went back to watching the dog.

  “If you see it lift his leg or start to take a crap, yell at him,” he said.

  She realized he was talking to her.

  “Isn’t he housebroken?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  Next, the dog approached Whoops and the man stiffened.

  The dog’s head bobbed around as he got closer, as if it were inspecting her not only with his eyes, but with his nose.

  Danielle got nervous. “Is he going to be all right with her?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” Zach said and he started walking toward the dog.

  “I’ll kill him if he does anything to her,” she said.

  “We’ll eat him if you do,” he said simply.

  The man said “him,” she thought. It was the first time he’d referred to the dog as anything besides “it.”

  The baby reached out toward the dog, and it backed away. Then it lay down not two feet from her and started licking himself.

  “I think it’s plain he’s been around kids before,” she said.

  He didn’t comment.

  “What’s his real name?” she asked.

  Zach shrugged. “I don’t know. I told you it’s not mine.”

  So, we’re back to “it,” she thought. “Then he’s mine,” she said and got up to pet him.

  “Take it. How are you going to feed it on the road?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll figure it out. And, if I get hungry, I’ll eat him,” she added, mocking him.

  He gave her a disparaging look then walked toward the cupboards and the sink.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  “We ate,” she replied.

  He looked at the cleaned pot and dishes on the counter, as if seeing them there for the first time. Then he started fixing a meal for himself.

  “You and the baby sleep on the couch,” he said. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

  “You sleep on the couch,” she countered. “Whoops and I will sleep in the chair.”

  “Have it your way,” he said.

  She’d found an old National Geographic to read in the bedroom. She tried not to make it obvious she was watching him eat and, she quite frankly felt he was trying not to let her know that he was watching her out of the corner of his eye.

  Whoops fussed from time to time. Otherwise, she was being good, as usual.

  But, as the room got darker, it became more difficult for her to read.

  When he finally decided to sleep, he brought a blanket to the couch and started to lay down. He removed his handgun from his pocket and suddenly looked at her. She was watching him with the gun.

  He hesitated a few seconds. He put the gun under his pillow and rolled over to face away from her.

  A while later, she realized he was asleep. It dawned on her she didn’t even know his name, nor had he bothered to ask her hers.

  But she herself had napped so much during the day, she couldn’t sleep now and she sat in the chair holding her sister for hours, torturing herself with thoughts of how she was going to keep the two of them alive on the road. It was conceivable no one would stop to pick her up. And there was also the chance that people from the Brady ranch would find her out there and she was sure they’d blame her for what had happened in the field. She didn’t expect to survive a second encounter with them.

  Suddenly, the man said something she couldn’t understand.

  “What?” she asked reflexively.

  He kept talking. But it was indistinct and the words were gibberish. He was talking in his sleep.

  She listened a few minutes, unable to do more than catch a word here and another there, then he stopped. She could still hear him stirring. But he wasn’t getting off the couch. He was thrashing in the dark.

  She jumped when he yelled: “Sandra, no!”

  Whoops stirred.

  “Why?” he asked in a clear voice. Then his words were reduced once again to gibberish. Occasionally, he moaned.

  She quietly got up and in dying light of the fireplace insert she found a candle and lighter. She lit the candle.

  He was still talking.

  She cautiously approached the couch with the candle in her right hand and Whoops cradled in her left. She leaned over to see his lips moving as he mumbled. Sweat on his face glistened in the candle’s light.

  He began screaming at this woman, Sandra, his voice alternately fulminating with anger, then sorrow, then fear. She looked at Whoops who watched the man with a look of amazement on her face.

  “I hate you. I hate you!” he screamed, and Whoops flinched.

  She was about to step back when, suddenly, his eyes opened and he lay motionless for half a second. With the speed of a springing snake, he rolled over, cocked the revolver, and pushed it into her face, all in one motion.

  She froze. The gun was aimed squarely between her eyes. With her sister in one arm and the candle in the other hand, she was defenseless.

  They stared at each other in the glow of the candle for several seconds.

  “What do you want?” he whispered.

  “You were talking in your sleep,” she whispered back.

  He pointed the gun away from her and uncocked it. “No, I wasn’t.”

  “Yes, you were…”

  “It was just the wind,” he said as he stared. But, now, he was looking at Whoops. She felt creepy the way he stared at her sister.

  She slowly nodded and said, “Okay,” and backed up.

  He watched her…he watched Whoops…as she retreated to the chair and fell back into it. She blew out the candle.

  The room was quiet, now. The three o
f them coexisted in the dark. There were no sounds like the man was sleeping, and he wasn’t talking. She knew he was lying there awake.

  She reached down between the cushion and the arm of the chair and found the handle of the knife still waiting for her like a trusted friend. She’d be glad when she got back to the road.

  Chapter 16

  August 30

  What would have been a late summer rain just three years earlier had come down as snow in the night.

  From outside came scraping sounds that woke Danielle. She looked at the couch; the man was gone. She listened intently then rose from the chair, with her still-sleeping sister in her arms, and followed the sounds to the window.

  He was up on the roof of the shed next to the cabin, pushing the night’s accumulation off. The dog was nowhere to be seen, but his tracks had broken the smooth white carpet of new snow that extended from the window, across the field, and to the edge of the woods.

  Whoops woke up in her arms and started to fuss and Danielle changed her diaper, then prepared breakfast for the two of them.

  When he came in, the dog wasn’t with him. Danielle had Whoops lying in her lap as she fed her. She watched him cross the room, sit on the couch, and stare at the wall. He didn’t look at or say a word to her.

  She fed her sister, furtively glancing in his direction every now and then, and wondered why he was so quiet.

  Abruptly, he said, “It’s time to go. You’ll get a ride, today.”

  “Good,” she said under her breath. Whoops was done eating, anyway. She put the spoon down and capped the jar.

  Suddenly, she felt as though she was going to hyperventilate. She didn’t want to ask, she didn’t want to beg, she didn’t want to hear conditions from him, but her sister’s survival was at stake: “I know I’m asking a lot…and I can’t carry that much…but can I take…”

  “Take whatever you think you can carry for the baby…and yourself,” he interrupted, anticipating her question. “There’s a canvas sack there. Use it. It has handles.”

  For some reason he was angry and it made her want to get out of there more than ever.

  “Thank you,” she said without a trace of sincerity in her voice.