by Socha, Walt
“Hey, this is straight,” Joe said. “Please, I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on.”
“This is a red maple leaf. Common in the east. Certainly not found around here.” Brent’s frown faded as his eyebrows narrowed. “Anything to do with Alta?” He handed it back to Joe.
“No idea. Another dream. I woke up with scratched feet and this leaf in my hair. I’m clueless.” Joe put the leaf in his shirt pocket and stepped back. “Sorry to intrude.” “Joe, we thought it was Kristi’s father. She wanted to speak to him first.” Brent looked down, and then up directly at Joe. “See you at breakfast?”
“You bet.” Joe nodded and headed back to his cabin. “Sorry.”
Joe stopped to give Brent a wooden smile.
When he stepped up onto his cabin’s porch, he glanced up toward Red Wash. The mist had faded. Was it possible to return to Alta’s world? Could he take her back? He took one more look at Red Wash and went back to his room to finish getting ready for another day.
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“Any new thoughts?” Brent grabbed the room’s sole chair and sat down. He and Larry had retreated to Joe’s cabin after the long Sunday evening’s barbecue and new guest orientation.
Joe sat on his bed and looked at Brent. His blank face held no hint of the morning’s embarrassment. “Alta?” Joe watched his hands clench and unclench. “Gotta take her home.” Any thoughts of Kristi were fading under the continued weight of Alta’s situation.
“What if her family is dead?” Larry settled his bulk on the floor.
“Won’t know till I go,” Joe said. “How?” Brent asked.
“When I crossed over...”
“Crossed over?” Larry interrupted.
“Don’t know what else to call it,” Joe said. “I noticed mist in Red Wash right before I went up there looking for that fool horse.”
Larry frowned. One of Brent’s eyebrows shifted up a fraction of an inch.
“It wasn’t rain,” Joe explained. “Not fire either. It must be somehow related. And this morning I wake up with that leaf and there was a mist again in Red Wash. I’m putting some supplies together. Next time I see it, we’re off.”
Brent and Larry glanced at each other.
“Forget it. I’m not sure I’ll be able to get back,” Joe said. “I have to do this alone.”
“CFSD will accuse you of kidnapping,” Brent said. “Or worse.”
Joe looked at Brent, and then at Larry. Then he gave a short laugh. “And they’re going to find me how?”
“Find us,” Larry said.
“This is my problem.” Joe kept his voice flat. “I’m not going to involve you all in what’s probably a one-way trip.” “Let me get this straight,” Larry said. “You’re going someplace sometime. Where people whack each other over the head with big fucking clubs. Taking a young girl back to her maybe murdered parents. And without us to cover that way sorry ass of yours?”
“We don’t know that Alta’s parents are dead.” Joe set his jaw.
“Kristi’s is getting pretty attached to Alta.” Brent leaned back in his chair. “They spent part of the day in the swimming pool.” His face cracked a rare smile. “I hear Alta’s quite the fish in water. I also understand that Kristi had to work hard to convince Alta to wear something when she was swimming. Good thing the ranch’s boutique has an extensive clothing section.” He snorted. “She’s cute enough to cause a riot.”
Joe pushed a vision of a skinny-dipping Alta out of his mind. But one thing for sure, she’d need better clothes for a return trip. Maybe wool. “Thanks for the reminder. I’d better gather some stuff to take back with us.”
Brent and Larry exchanged glances. Larry shrugged. “Kristi and I are making a trip into town tomorrow.” Brent stared at his hands. “She’s borrowing the ranch’s van to take her father to the airport. He’s cutting his trip short to return to his business. As you know, they’re not exactly getting along. Hopefully, giving him a ride will help smooth things over.”
Joe glanced at each. Neither would meet his eyes. “It’d be great if you could pick up some stuff for Alta. Kristi would have a way better idea of what she needs than me.” He paused. “Actually, could I give you a list? There’s some stuff I’d probably need also.”
“Glad to help,” Brent said.
“And I still have to decide on horses and tack,” Joe said. “I figure I got enough in my checking account to cover them.”
“We can help with that also,” Brent said. “And I got some equipment you may find useful.”
“No thanks,” Joe said. “This is my thing. Just getting some supplies from town for me is great.”
“Screw you,” Larry said with a wide smile. “It’s Alta we want to help.”
Joe sighed. He needed to swallow his pride and accept their support. And their ideas. After all, it was Alta’s welfare that was important. And he had no idea what to expect when they crossed back over.
“Okay, okay. You’re right.” Joe held up his hands in mock defeat. “Thanks. And it’s been a long day, I need sleep.”
Brent and Larry exchanged glances again and left poker-faced. Joe lay back on the bed. He had to take Alta back and try to find her family. If they were still alive. He felt her need to be with family. It didn’t matter if he didn’t come back. He had no ties here.
Chapter 11. Tuesday
When Joe got to the mess hall, Kristi and Alta were finishing up their Tuesday breakfast at one of the more secluded tables.
“You’re out of bed late,” Kristi said as Joe joined them. “Joe sleepyhead,” Alta said in English.
Joe started to tousle her hair but stopped when she scowled. “Nope, just been watching the mountains.” He switched to Alta’s language. “All the valleys had early morning mist, but it burned off quickly. Including Red Wash.”
“Not go home today?” Alta bit her lip.
“No, not today. Did everything Kristi got you yesterday fit?” Joe sat his tray down and took a seat. “Thanks again for dropping my stuff off at my cabin,” he said to Kristi. “No problem. And all her new wool and fleece clothing fit,” she said then turned to Alta. “Maybe we could ride the horses again?”
Alta’s face brightened. “That would be nice.”
Joe watched Kristi. She gazed at Alta with an expression that worried him. Way too much like a mother or older sister. He could be taking Alta back any day now. “I’ve got students all day,” Joe said to Alta between bites of scrambled eggs. “But meet you at lunch?” “Okay,” she said in English before switching back to her language. “And after lunch, Uncle Brent will take us walk for flowers and herbs.”
Joe’s forkful of eggs paused in mid air. Shit, she was getting way too attached to the people in this world. Temporary people.
“Where are Brent and Larry?” Joe asked as Kristi and Alta stood to leave.
“Brent’s out early, scouting for his field trip.” Kristi busied herself with her tray. “Haven’t seen Larry.”
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“Come on in,” Brent said as Joe stepped onto the small porch in front of Brent’s cabin.
Joe walked through the open door. The interior was similar to his, a combination bedroom and living room with an attached bathroom.
In the middle of the main room was a large chest, usually covered with a small rug and stacks of books. Now it was open, it’s former covering now decorating a lumpish piece of furniture in the room’s corner.
“Holy shit.” Joe’s attention was diverted from the odd furniture by the sight of several guns in the chest. “Is that why you asked me to stop by this evening? And where…?” “Yeah, there’s some stuff here you may find useful,” Brent said. “The short story about the contents is that while in corporate employment, I participated in several botanical expeditions in Central and South America.
Most of what you see is what’s left from those trips.” “But...” Joe hesitated.
Brent’s mouth twitched. “You’re wondering?”
“A l
ittle.” Joe’s skin warmed. “From corporate expeditions to a Montana ranch?”
Brent chuckled as he stared at something Joe couldn’t see. “I got blacklisted. A bit of politics.” He shook himself and turned back to Joe. “I passed some weapons to a tribe that was getting their land stolen.” His expression hardened. “The company got me out to avoid a scandal. But I was required to quit.”
“Is that where you picked up your shooting skills?” Joe spoke mostly to fill the silence as he processed this unexpected detail from Brent’s past. “I assumed you were military.”
“Close. Military family. Handling firearms is expected.” Brent shook his head imperceptibly. “Didn’t get into the shit that Larry experienced.” Brent paused. “But I did get myself disowned for refusing to enlist.”
“I’m sorry,” Joe said after a few seconds. Losing a family in a car crash was bad. But was outright rejection worse? “Oh, I’m obviously no pacifist,” Brent continued. “I just don’t see killing people to steal their oil.” He snorted. “The discussion came to a head when I accused my father of being a hired mercenary for the oil companies. At that point I was physically thrown out of the family domicile.”
Silence continued to fill the room as Joe returned his gaze to the dark shiny metal neatly stored in the nondescript trunk.
“I’m thinking you might need something other than a rifle,” Brent said, breaking the silence. “If you’re set on going back. Wherever that is.” He stepped to the trunk and paused thoughtfully. “How much experience do you have with modern arms? Got an AR15 you could have.” “None. Just the rifle when I was younger. And some practice while helping out on the ranch’s shooting range.
I’d best stick with my Winchester.”
“Well, familiar is best.” Brent stared at Joe. “Any skills in fighting? Karate, Fencing?” He barked out a short laugh. “Or wearing armor while whacking people with a dull sword?”
“Just wrestling during high school.” Joe shrugged. “And that was mostly just to try to fit in. Did okay with the wrestling. Even won a couple of meets.” He scowled. “Less okay with the fitting in.”
“That helps some. I did the karate thing in school for a while. Dropped out. Too stylized. Nothing to do with the reality of violence.” Brent’s lips tightened. “In the jungle, I met real violence. Not much one can do to prepare for the mind-altering effects of adrenaline.” He crouched over the chest and smiled; then he reached down and lifted out what looked like a pistol. “Now here’s an elegant and totally useless weapon.”
“Looks old.”
“Flintlock.” Brent pointed to a square piece of rock mounted at the end of a lever. “I was going to ask you to knap me a few extra flints. Just never got around to it.” He held up the pistol in the light of a nearby floor lamp. “Quite the state of the art in the seventeenth and eighteenth century. Uses black powder. Just charcoal, potassium nitrate, and sulfur. Has quite a following of modern day enthusiasts. Almost as crazy as Larry’s SCA folks.”
“You one of those muzzleloaders?”
“Back in high school.” He smiled. “I haven’t fired it since then.” Brent’s face froze for a moment. “It’s about the only thing I kept from home. My mother sneaked it out for me after my eviction.”
Joe lowered his gaze as his friend struggled to keep his face neutral.
“But back to reality.” Brent wrapped the ancient weapon in a black cloth and placed it back in his chest. “Let’s at least get you a basic revolver and a couple cases of shells. I’m thinking this Smith & Wesson 686.” He held up another pistol. “It fires .357 magnums or .38 specials. Six inch barrel.” He raised an eyebrow. “And don’t give me any crap about helping you.”
Joe stared at the forged and machined black metal.
“I was thinking I should get a pistol.”
“Also got a holster for it. But you’ll need a heavy belt.” Brent paused for a few seconds. “I also have got a Ruger .22 revolver. Used it for target practice. Not much kick.” Brent dug out a smaller holstered pistol. “Alta?”
Joe stared at the machined metal. A vision of Alta fleeing the club-wielding warrior flashed through his consciousness. “I hadn’t thought about it.”
“I’ll work with her on the shooting range.” Brent had both guns in his hands. “Better some safety than lots of regrets.” He placed them next to the chest. “What about a few machetes, water purification tablets, freeze dried food packs, and a couple ponchos?”
“I’ve got some of that stuff.” Joe looked at the chest. “But the machetes and tablets would be much appreciated.”
After pulling out various packages, Brent reviewed the breakdown and cleaning of the pistols. “And no worries about carrying either with the cylinders fully loaded. Modern revolvers have a hammer block to prevent accidental firing. So you have six shots for the Smith and Wesson, eight for the Ruger.” When he finished, he put Joe’s new equipment into a duffle bag. “This ought to help.” “Much thanks.” Joe stared at Brent’s impassive face as he closed up the chest. He hadn’t known his grandparents when his parents died, but they had accepted him without question. The idea of being disowned didn’t fit his experience. “About your family now-a-days?” Brent stared at the wall a few seconds. “Best not to go there.” He lowered the chest’s lid. “If you need anything else, let me know.”
Joe snorted as he stepped toward the door. “Maybe I ought to ask Larry for a sword.” He paused. “By the way, where is that guy?”
Brent fastened the lid’s clasp. “No idea,” he said without looking up.
Chapter 12. Wednesday
He ran along a well-trodden path, his breath ragged. He had to warn them. Pain stitched his side. He stumbled, stifling a scream as a hand caught his arm and kept him upright. He turned to find a leathery face, marked with heavy wrinkles. The man wore faded jeans and a worn denim shirt. “Walk a different path to save them.” The man’s eyes bored into his through wire-rimmed glasses. “And save us all.”
He shook his arm free and continued running.
Joe awoke, heart racing. Sweat beaded his face, and adrenaline coursed through his veins. Sleep was shot. He rose, dressed and watched the sun rise on a mist-less Wednesday.
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After dinner, Joe met Kristi in Alta’s now crowded cabin. The carpeted floor was littered with full duffel bags and several empty boxes. And an unopened box labeled ‘Stainless Steel Cookware.”
“We go home tomorrow?” Alta asked. “I don’t know.” Joe blew out a breath.
Alta lowered her eyes for several seconds. When she looked up, she smiled. “Uncle Brent took us shooting range. I practiced with the revolver.” Alta’s smile widened. “I hit the target.” She nodded toward Kristi. “Kristi is very good with the big revolver.”
Joe glanced at Kristi, who fumbled with the clasp on one of the duffels. She kept her eyes on her fingers.
Joe scanned the cabin. “Are you ready?” His eyebrows narrowed at a square mound covered with a blanket occupying the corner of the room. An odd piece of furniture.
“Everything is in there,” Alta said, pointing to the duffels. “And Kristi will ride with us entrance of Red Wash.” She beamed at the older woman.
“Is that a good idea?” Joe asked Kristi in English. “I’m concerned about Alta saying goodbye to you.” Actually, his real worry was Kristi saying goodbye to Alta.
“We girls are good,” Kristi said, staring nowhere. “And I’m sending some basic medicines back. Been going over fundamental medical principles with her.”
“I worry about my family.” Alta frowned. “Danger from Tork’s warriors.”
Joe exchanged glances with Kristi. They had talked about this man before. But Alta didn’t know much more than his name.
Chapter 13. Thursday
He ran. Branches and leaves slapped his face. No time for stealth. Must warn. He broke into the clearing. Huts formed a cluster in the center. The huts were burning.
Off to the side of the clearing,
a familiar man rose out of the brush and turned to him with eyes older than his deep wrinkles. “The burden is great.”
Joe screamed.
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Joe woke up, gasping for breath. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, willing his heart to slow.
One of those dead medicine elders? He shook his head against the image of the burning huts. It was now. When the sun rose, there would be mist in Red Wash. Certainty flooded him. It was 4 AM. Sunrise in an hour or so.
He dialed a number. “Kristi, it’s now. Give me 45 minutes to saddle the horses.”
He listened to her quiet response. No argument. Good. “Let Brent and Larry know. They’ll want to say goodbye to Alta.” And say goodbye to him. Shit, he was going to miss them.
He dressed. Carried his gear to his porch and ran to the stables, lists scrolling through his head. Two horses for Alta and himself. A third horse for supplies. The fourth to return with Kristi. Three saddles and a pannier. And the envelope containing a check that would hopefully cover the cost of three of the horses and their tack.
Joe left the envelope in the tack room and saddled the horses. Then he led the horses to his cabin. Once his gear was loaded, he took one last look at his old life and sighed. He didn’t have a choice.
When he arrived at Kristi’s cabin, he found her and Alta waiting for him. Alta was a caricature of excitement, in constant motion, but silent. Kristi was subdued as well as silent. Both were dressed in loose jeans and western styled shirts. Alta had her Ruger strapped around her waist.
“Larry and Brent?” Joe asked in a low voice.
“I called Brent,” Kristi said. “He’ll wake Larry. He said it might take a while. Larry got in late. He said to go ahead. They’ll catch up, and then ride back with me.” “I should have stopped by his cabin. But I wanted to get the horses ready before any early risers noticed me.” Joe shook his head. “If too many people are missing when the ranch wakes, they’ll have the entire county out looking for us.”
“I know we agreed to say goodbye here.” She shrugged. “But it’s not working out that way. We’ll see them soon.” “Okay, too late to argue now,” Joe said. “Besides, I never was comfortable with you riding back alone.”
