by A. R. Shaw
Graham climbed the makeshift ladder and secured the last camera at the front entrance with Ennis’s help. As the sharp bitter wind seeped into his own jacket, Graham knew the old man couldn’t handle much more, even with gloves on.
“That’s it,” he said. “Let’s get back inside.”
He helped Ennis walk, though the old man protested. “What are we going to do if you break a hip?” Graham asked him.
“You’ll have one less mouth to hunt for,” Ennis said.
“We need you, Ennis. Even if you don’t realize it.” Graham searched for the boys as they headed up to the cabin. “Here, you get inside. This wind’s picking up. I’ll get the boys. It looks like a storm is coming on.”
Gone were the days of TV and radio station weather reports, gone the cheerful reports of “cloudy with a chance of sprinkles” or “duck and cover, a category five is headed your way.” It was back to primal instincts only, and Graham could tell from the sky that something big was on the way. It looked blizzard time.
He picked up his pace on the cleared trail to find the boys. He’d seen them earlier, working their way through collecting the nailed boards that they’d all deemed a bad idea. He called to them.
“Over here!” Mark’s voice rose over the wind. They were both kneeling down, looking at something in the rocky shoreline.
“What’s up?” Graham asked.
“The bear traps are missing,” Mark said.
“And there are more footprints,” Bang added.
“Graham, the sign is gone too,” Mark said, pointing behind him.
“All right, let’s get to the cabin. There’s a storm coming,” Graham said.
The previous light mood had turned dark. The boys were worried now. Graham thought at first that any animal could have come along and maybe moved the traps but with the sign clearly torn free, it was undeniable that the intruders were sending a message. This was not good.
He looked around at the waves lapping at the shore under tumultuous layers of clouds above, warring in the sky. It sent a chill through to his spine. He looked toward the intruders’ general vicinity and couldn’t imagine why they’d want to bothering with Graham and his newfound family. Why would any human fathom committing a crime like this? Hadn’t they all been through enough? He knew he had to be even more vigilant now. He wouldn’t let it happen again. He’d shoot them on sight, one at a time if he had to. Ennis was right; all along, the old man had echoed Graham’s dad’s attitude. So now, they had been warned. If he saw them once more, he would shoot to kill them all.
Turning his back to the lake, Graham had to pull up the collar of his coat as the wind started pelting his back with sleet, a prelude to the snow he’d predicted.
Once in the clearing he could see Tala standing on the porch waiting for him. He thought she looked lovely in an old gray sweater she’d pulled tightly around her waist, watching his approach through the swirling snow, some of which stuck to her long raven hair. She was beautiful, he could see that—and he could feel it too.
Her kind eyes watched him. Covered in snow, he started up the stairs to the porch, and stopping right in front of her without losing stride, he pulled her to him. She looked up into his eyes. That was all he needed to bring his lips down onto hers, kissing her. She opened her dark eyes, questioning, and he said in a low, husky voice, “There’s a storm coming.”
Tala nodded, uncertain what to say. Graham turned her around and opened the cabin door. “Everyone in the cabin?” he asked.
“All except Sheriff.”
Graham opened the door again and whistled. Seconds later the dog appeared with his brown fur turned white from the snow.
“Get in here, pal,” Graham said.
Tala grabbed a spare towel and wiped down the dog before he started to stink up the place. Still a bit groggy, Sheriff lay down by the fire and quickly fell into a deep slumber.
Graham could hear the kids gathered in the bunkroom talking among themselves, and Ennis was asleep in his chair already. He took it all in, and wished there was a separate room built off the living area; he really wanted to have some private time with Tala. No, stop thinking that way. It was confusing. He felt deeply for Tala, more than he’d cared to admit so soon after the death of his wife. Something about being cooped up at the world’s end made one feel the urge to mate, and that is why the thought of one of those men getting their hands on Tala or one of the twins made Graham crazy.
He reached over at the door and locked it tight to the outside world as Tala looked up at him from the kitchen with a little smile on her face.
He took off his boots and put them by the wall, then hung up his coat so that it wouldn’t drip on the floor. With his rifle slung over his shoulder he walked into the kitchen where no one could see them and put his hand on Tala’s waist.
“Tala, are you okay?” he whispered.
“Yes, are you?” she asked and turned to face him full on. “Regrets?”
He answered her by brushing his lips across hers lightly. He reached his hand up to the back of her slender neck, feeling her silky hair and tangling his fingers in it. He felt her warm breath on his face and watched as she closed her eyes.
A soft snoring sound came from the living area and the children’s voices in the bunkroom sounded like they’d opted for a game of Monopoly. This was all the privacy the two shared, standing in the kitchen. Graham briefly thought of pulling her into the bathroom and then felt ashamed at the idea.
Tala parted her lips, and then he couldn’t help it. Graham pulled her by the hips closer to him, wrapping his arms around her slender waist and ran his hand up her side, feeling the length of her, the shape of her before he kissed her. He felt a shudder of pleasure run through her muscles. It sent shock waves down to his toes.
Moments later, he heard Bang speak his name.
He pulled back from Tala’s embrace. “Yeah, buddy, whatcha need?” He thought he must look guilty as hell, acting as if he’d not just been making out with Tala in the kitchen.
The boy looked confused but then said, “Do you want to play Monopoly with us?” Though it was about the last thing he wanted to do right about then, Graham said, “Sure, give me a minute.”
After Bang had gone back into the other room, feeling like a heel, Graham sank onto a kitchen chair and lowered his head.
Tala massaged his shoulders. “It’s all right, he doesn’t know what he saw,” she whispered.
“I promised his mother I’d take care of him. I just hope I’m not screwing up already,” Graham said.
“Graham, she could not have chosen a better guardian than you.”
He stood, turned, and faced her. “We’ll talk about this another time,” he said, pressing a quick kiss on her forehead. He told himself it was right that he spent a little time with the kids anyway. As Marcy dealt him the phony money, he could hear Tala working in the kitchen and knew they’d soon be breathing in the good aromas of her cooking. At least this storm gave them all a chance to be together, and he didn’t have to worry about one of the girls being snatched.
42
An Urgent Call
Checking each monitor and writing in the events logs, Reuben did a double take when he saw Graham and Tala in the kitchen. “Oh, Lord,” he said under his breath, then turned away out of some sense of respect. All he wrote in the log was, AIW: “All is well.” It is, isn’t it? he reasoned.
Then the quarantine line flashed, indicating an incoming call. Reuben picked up, and Clarisse said, “We’ve got a temp.”
Reuben’s heart jumped. “Who?”
“Steven.”
“What is it?”
“Hundred and four point three.”
“Is it . . . ?” he asked.
“I don’t know yet. Rick’s in there, too, and he’s fine right now. It’s just Steven,” she said.
“Maybe it’s something else, Clarisse.”
“Yeah, Reuben, let’s hope so.”
“I’ll let Dalton know.”
“Okay, I’ll give an update in twenty minutes, when my scan’s over,” she said, sounding nervous.
“Deal.”
Reuben buzzed Dalton. “Sorry to wake you, man, but we have a probable positive.”
“What is it?” Dalton asked, waking up out of a light sleep.
“It’s Steven, he’s showing an elevated temperature.”
“What does Clarisse say?”
“Twenty minutes and she’ll know more.”
“And Rick?”
“Fine, so far.”
“I’m coming in,” Dalton said, and he hung up.
Reuben liked Steven. The man was quiet but amicable, and he was the only one who could put up with Rick’s constant bullshit and then simply sit quietly, like Sam did, without the need for conversation.
Looking up at the screen again, he noticed the little boy had caught the pair making out in the kitchen. “Oh, man,” he murmured, “better you than me.” Then he thought of why he’d been able to capture that little scene. “I sure hope this scheme didn’t cost us.”
Dalton went directly to quarantine through the blizzard. In his mind, if this were the virus, it would all be his fault; he’d never forgive himself. He brushed off the accumulated snow and stomped his boots as he entered the building.
“What do you have, Clarisse?” he asked, barging in without the usual pleasantries.
“Give me five more minutes,” she answered.
He walked over to the observation window. Steven lay back against his pile of crisp, white, sterile pillows, watching Rick’s Seinfeld reruns, occasionally laughing. When he saw Dalton standing in the window, Steven waved an arm wide in a dismissive gesture. “I’m fine, it’s just a little fever.”
Rick lowered his comic book and gave an “I don’t know” face.
Dalton knew they were aware of the risks. This was their way of dealing with the danger. He looked at the screen monitoring Rick’s vitals and they appeared fine. Steven’s temperature was now 104.4. The man looked a little glassy-eyed, but other than that he seemed fine.
“Diarrhea? Anything like that?” Dalton asked Clarisse.
“Not so far. It’s just a fever,” she said.
The buzzer went off, breaking the trance.
She read the data.
“I don’t think that’s it,” she said after reading the printout. “It’s not viral. It’s some kind of bacterial infection!” She almost shouted for joy.
“I don’t know without examining him, but it isn’t viral,” she said again. She went over to the microphone. “Steven, the results are in. It’s not viral. It’s an infection. Do you have any pain, anywhere? Cuts, a toothache, a stomachache?”
Steven sat up. “I don’t think so. I feel kind of crummy all over though,” he said.
“Rick, get up off your ass,” Clarisse demanded. “I’m going to need your help. I know you’re not trained, but I need you to examine him.”
“Does this involve touching him?” He waved his hands. “Ooooh, ick!”
“Yes. Now knock it off,” Clarisse said in all seriousness. “Go wash your hands. With soap and hot water.”
Rick washed his hands in the steaming hot water singing “Happy Birthday to Me,” aloud, twice, just as his wife taught their kids to do. Apparently, two runs through the song was a sufficient allotment of time to kill germs while washing.
“Okay, boss, now what?” he said, holding up his clean, hairy hands.
“Strip, Steven,” Clarisse said.
“Really!” Steven said, acting happy.
“Yes, and do it now. No more bullshit, you guys. Get serious, because this is serious.”
“Ah, Jesus,” Steven said, and began pulling off his T-shirt and boxers.
Steven stood there in the nude and Dalton took note as Clarisse lowered her gaze, trying to provide the man’s privacy but needing to do her job.
“All right, Rick, start with his head,” she said.
They both looked at her, not willing to let it go.
“You know what I mean, goddammit,” she admonished.
Steven bent down to let Rick go through his hair, touching his scalp.
“Rick, you’re looking for any kind of sore or inflammation. Does he have any bumps anywhere?” she asked as he ran his hands through Steven’s light hair.
“I don’t see or feel anything,” Rick said.
“Okay, check behind his ears, and then look down his back,” she said.
“Sorry, dude, turn around,” Rick said to him.
“I do have a headache,” Steven complained.
“Okay, but that’s not enough to go on,” Clarisse said.
“Steven, now raise your arms. Rick, look carefully,” she said.
Steven did so with reluctance, but when he raised his left arm, it took only a second for Rick to say, “There it is. It’s a tick.” He pointed at it.
Steven tried to see what the hell Rick was pointing at, but it was out of his range of view. “What the hell?” he asked Clarisse, turning to face the window at the same time as he tried to probe his armpit.
“It’s behind your armpit, at the base of your shoulder blade; you can’t see it, dude,” Rick said.
“Oh, thank God; tick fever.” Clarisse couldn’t have sounded happier.
“It’s red and swollen, with a damn tick right in the center. Could have been there for days,” Rick said.
“Come over to the lab table, Steven,” Clarisse said.
He started to walk that way, but then doubled back to put his boxers back on. Clarisse stopped him.
“Um, you could have more ticks. Rick, check out the rest of his backside, the areas he can’t see.”
Rick gave Steven a quick but thorough once-over, then proclaimed, “All clear! Just that one.”
“Steven, can you do the rest of the examination yourself?” Clarisse asked.
“Yep.”
She gave him a minute to perform the procedure. Meanwhile, Rick washed his hands again, with added drama and louder birthday greetings to himself. When Steven was through with his self-examination he put on his briefs on and moved to the examination area.
“I love you, dude, but not in that way,” Rick said, steam rising over the sink.
Steven lay down on the partitioned lab table. Clarisse put her hands through the gloves in the wall and prepared the instruments she needed to extract the entire parasite.
“Okay, lift your arm a bit, let’s see it,” she said, stepping closer so she could examine it. Clarisse quickly removed the parasite, cleaned the wound and gave him a fast acting antibiotic injection and a few oral anti-inflammatories for swelling and his headache.
The four of them blew huge sighs of relief, knowing in these days what a fever could mean and the catastrophic consequences it could bring.
Steven went back to his cot and soon later drifted off to sleep.
43
Cabin Fever
Four days passed with little to do other than watch the snow fall, layer upon layer as it drifted downward, magnificent in its scope. When it stopped, the sun rose high, making the ice crystals sparkle brightly. Deer, moose, rabbit, and wolf had left their tracks everywhere. The evergreen boughs bent low under their frozen loads, highlighting their beauty. Both treacherous and elegant, quiet tranquility abounded for those who ventured out bundled from head to toe.
Graham shoveled off the porch once again. He didn’t need anyone slipping—especially not Ennis. The kids were busily rolling enormous snowballs to conjure up a man as round as he would be tall. Graham delighted in their activity, with Sheriff jumping up and down, running alongside them. That sight itself evoked both sadness and joy; it wasn’t that he wanted them depressed, but Graham felt they had no real reason to be happy. Yet they were, in spite of it all.
Tala walked out with a cup of piping hot cocoa and handed it to Graham. There remained tension between them, with neither of them certain of where things between them might go. Graham identified his own emotions
as guilt laced with grief and a touch of madness. They held him back, though at night he couldn’t help but look at Tala’s sleeping form, wishing her body lay next to his.
He realized that Ennis had sensed this all, maybe before they knew it themselves. He often said to Graham, “Why don’t you two take a walk. I’ll watch the kids,” as if he were the grandfather of their large brood. But Graham always ignored the offer and went about his day. He didn’t think she would oblige him anyway, other than the occasional touch or hand-holding throughout their days. They were held captive in the cabin, so Graham tried to ignore these insistent feelings.
“County roads plowed yet?” Ennis asked. He took great amusement making these kinds of jokes.
“Naw, you know it takes them forever to get to these backcountry lanes,” Graham said, playing along.
“It’s too cold for an old man out here,” Ennis said, watching the children playing in the snow.
“Go inside. I’ll make you some cocoa,” Tala said, putting her arm around Ennis.
“Stop bossing me around, woman,” he griped playfully.
Truly, the old man had become a treasure to them all. Even when he was cranky he was adorable.
As far as supplies were concerned they were doing fine; they had stored enough to feed themselves two meals a day, with a bit extra for the growing young minds and bodies that needed more. With Tala’s vigilance in the pantry, they wouldn’t starve; she kept precise records. The only things they really yearned for were butter, potatoes, and fresh milk.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t likely for them to come across a cow during the winter, but dry and canned milk seemed to be getting them by. They’d even adjusted to drinking the powdered stuff now without too much complaint. Graham vowed to find a dairy cow as soon as possible come spring, even if it killed him.
The multivitamins the preppers had provided helped a lot as well. As a result of the immunizations, they had felt groggy and sore for a few days but fortunately, the snowstorm gave them time to rest and recover.
