Window In Time

by David Boyle

  “I wish you well. As you have said to one another, I say also to you: Good luck.”

  The recording ended.

  They sat huddled about the fire, staring at the now silent yaltok. “I’ll… I’ll be damned,” Mark said.

  “Holy shit. We actually did it!”

  There was excitement in Charlie’s eyes for the first time in what seemed like years, and Hayden was loathe to quash the moment despite his heavy heart. “Sure looks that way.”

  Charlie seemed ready to start dancing. “We did it, fellas! I mean… Jesus! We’re actually goin’ home!”

  48

  Mark plunked another log across his arm. Even in the dark, the campsite had become so familiar that it was hard to remember what the place looked like when first they’d arrived. The trees they’d cut and the stumps they’d tripped on for days after. The conversations. The arguments. The trips downriver and the sleepless nights spent worrying about tomorrow. The losses that had cut their numbers to three, leaving them the last survivors of a whitewater vacation gone terribly wrong. He dumped the branches beside the fire pit. So much time and effort. So much loss. Whoever said life wasn’t fair didn’t know the half of it.

  Hayden stared at the fire, sparks flying when Mark added a couple of logs. “Not what you expected?”

  Mark took a seat opposite Hayden. “Kind of hard to be excited when half the friends you started with are dead.”

  Hayden nodded. “That’s pretty much how I feel. Half of me feels like jumping up and down; the other half is just… I don’t know… empty.” The sky was clear, a silky band of stars twinkling through the canopy, a cool glow brightening along the horizon with the light of the last Cretaceous moon they’d ever see. “And we’re not gone yet. We still have Sabrefang to contend with.”

  Mark twisted the cap off the bota. “Been thinking about her,” he said, and took a sip. “Have been for a while.”

  “And, any ideas?”

  “A couple. Though I doubt you’re going to like them.”

  “At this stage of the game? Try me.”

  “We’ve got to do something first.” Mark toed a stub into the fire. “Remember me saying I’d never paddle in the dark again?”

  Hayden stared across the fire. “Yeah… so?”

  “I promised Wheajo I wasn’t going to leave him out there, buried under a bunch of fucking logs near the river. With all he did for us, he just deserves better than to have some bastard come along and rip his body to pieces. My promise, but it’d go lots easier if you helped.”

  Hayden seemed mesmerized by the fire. “After everything that’s happened, including knowing that we have our ticket home, in our hands, and you’re willing to risk throwing it away by—”

  “Yeah, I am. I have to. The only question is whether you’re willing to help or not.”

  Hayden got up and stepped away from the fire. “Last time we had Wheajo’s eyes to help us,” he said, staring toward the landing. “What do you propose we use now?”

  “With the sky we got tonight? Get away from the fire and the starlight should be plenty. And in an hour or so we’ll have the moon. The only tricky part will be getting through the rapid. After that, hell, we can drift all the way if we wanted.”

  Hayden considered his friend. “I can’t believe I’m saying this. How far?”

  “He’s buried in a piece of shit clearing upstream of the big deadfall. I marked the spot with a paddle.

  “We could do this later, but with just the pistol, and Sabrefang hanging around, I’d much rather we use the morning light to get out of here. Either way, I’m not leaving Wheajo to the scavengers.” The fire wasn’t big enough to provide much light, yet Mark could see that Hayden didn’t like the idea. “Would it make a difference if we were talking about McClure?”

  “God damn it, this isn’t a matter of who. It’s dark out, we’d be going way farther than the last time, and who knows where Sabrefang is?” Mark stared back, unmoved. “You do know this is nuts?” Hayden said, knowing he’d lost. “I just hope to God this is worth it.”

  Mark smiled faintly. “Someday, when you’re lying in bed, you’re going to thank me for this. With everything we’ve been through, and the crap that Wheajo put up with, you’re going to remember it was you and me who showed Wheajo the respect he deserved. Call it peace of mind. A tiny bit of humanity you and I can be proud of when all this is over.” A breeze whispered through the trees, the honks of distant duckbills blending with the now rarely noticed hiss of the rapid at the end of the island.

  “Charlie’s not going to be happy.”

  “Yeah, well, Charlie every so often needs to think about someone other than himself.” Mike was sprawled across the threshold, half in and half out of the tent, having finally settled after hearing the sound of Wheajo’s voice. Mark walked to the rack and gave the canteen hanging there a shake. “Should be enough for on the river,” he said, and slipped his arm through the strap.

  “Paddles and painters should still be by the boat,” Hayden said. “I’ll grab a flashlight, and something to wrap… well, you know.”

  “Good idea,” Mark said, and headed for the tents. “Charlie…?”

  Charlie was propped on his crutch at the entrance to the trail. “Give me a holler when you get back and I’ll give you whatever help I can.” Mike twisted around as if checking whether it was okay, then pranced into the darkness, following Mark.

  “Will do,” Hayden said. “Hopefully this won’t take long, but don’t be surprised if we’re not back in less than a couple of hours.”

  “It’s a good thing what you guys are doin’. Just don’t go takin’ any more chances than you gotta.”

  Charlie watched the light beams disappear in the trees, their trip a stark reminder of how very close Wheajo had come to rejoining his people. The little fuck who’d twice saved his life, and made an otherwise agonizing aftermath tolerable would soon be resting beside Tony. The whole day had been a nightmare. First Ron, then Wheajo, killed on the same day. He was never comfortable being left alone, but was glad just the same that Wheajo would be getting a decent burial.

  Mike trotted from the darkness as if it were day.

  “Didn’t feel like followin’ ‘em out to the river?” Charlie smiled, reaching to pat the dinosaur’s head, the eyes gleaming in the firelight. “And what am I thinkin’, alone? How can I be alone when I got you to keep me company?” The dinosaur looked into his eyes, the feathered arms tucked, long tail wagging. “You are such a pretty boy. Yes you are.”

  From Day 1 he’d dreamed of someday walking through his front door again. Then Mike had strutted into his life, and little by little the dinosaur had burrowed so deep into his heart that he could see his pet standing beside him when he rang the doorbell. Pictures that he’d hung on the walls of his mind. Dreams that he’d tried very hard to keep locked away. Until now. The lock was busted, and soon his dreams would be coming true! The door swinging open. And Donita would be there, then in his arms. Then the kids with their arms around his neck. And once they stopped squealing, he’d step aside—“This is Mike,” he heard himself say—and gobble up the look on their faces!

  How much fun would that be?

  Charlie stroked the fuzz on Mike’s head. “Thor and Cassie are gonna need to get used to you bein’ around. And no eatin’ the neighbors’ dogs! But you’re gonna love your new home. I know for sure Mikey’s gonna love you.”

  He’d already packed the things Lorraine would want most, Tony’s ring and watch, his wallet, comb and two belts. Just the minimum. Even then, once he’d run through his list of stuff, then Hayden’s and Mark’s, Charlie came to realize that with three guys and their stuff in one canoe, there just wouldn’t be any room left for Mike.

  Charlie plopped on one of the chairs beside the fire. “How are we gonna do this fella? You, me, them, and all our stuff… and only one boat to put it in?” he pondered, tapping his foot. He thought about his trip to the lake and that they’d taken all three canoes, an
d even then had ended up building a raft. Thing was a bitch to paddle. But it was a nice raft. “Nice yeah, and took the better part of a whole frickin day to build.”

  He pictured the Discovery, and the painter tied to…. Tied to what? “Come on, there’s gotta be something here I can use.” He rummaged through the supplies in his head, and Mike flinched when his shaggy-headed master came up blinking. “Shit yeah. That’ll work.”

  He hobbled to the stores area near the landing, then flipped the tarp back and shoved the dump bags out of the way. The raft hadn’t been moved in weeks, and it took some doing to peel the thing free of the dirt. Fat slugs were crawling on the undersides. Mike leaned close, sniffing. “Get your nose out of there. Those are yucky,” he said, and started toward the fire. “And no biting either. I don’t need any more holes than what I already got.”

  A few rags and the better part of a jugful of water cleaned away the slugs and most of the mud, a careful search thereafter finding that the hole Mark made was likely all he needed to fix.

  There was still half a roll’s worth of duct tape left, but get it wet and Charlie knew it wouldn’t hold. “Don’t go runnin’ outta ideas now. Think, man, think.” He closed his eyes and ran through the trip list, and was nearing the middle when he hit ‘Repair Kit’. Trouble there was, he couldn’t remember anyone being on the hook to bring one. Mike was staring when he opened his eyes. “Almost had it.” Then again, that was their list, and he had one of his own.

  He thought for a moment—“Ha… I knew it!”—his feathered companion scampering when he jumped up and hobbled to the tent. He bit down on his flashlight, then rummaged about the dump bags until he found what he was looking for. “Keep your claws crossed.” he said, back by the fire when he opened the compact box with his archery supplies. And there it was, a nearly new tube of fletching cement. “See there! It does pay to come prepared!”

  The touchy part was finding a patch. The raft never had a bottom, least ways not one he’d ever seen, and for maybe the first time ever he was glad Ron had used his ‘good enough’ approach when he’d cut the floor out. Charlie checked along the seam and trimmed away two of the widest remaining sections. Patches were supposed to extend at least an inch beyond whatever hole was being repaired; his would be just over half that.

  Charlie played the flashlight across the tube of cement. “Says here this stuff remains flexible,” the master told his pet, whose head poked under his arm, sniffing. “Let’s you and me hope they’re right.”

  *****

  By the time Mark and Hayden had gotten the Discovery in the water, their eyes had gotten well enough accustomed to the darkness that negotiating the channel, then the rapids, was easy in comparison. They had no trouble whatsoever holding to the center of the river, their paddles used primarily to maintain orientation on the occasions when animals were either seen or heard browsing alongshore. The fainter stars faded as the moon rose toward the tree line, the two talking only in whispers by the time they were nearing their destination.

  “On purpose?”

  Mark could almost hear the eyes blinking. “What better place for her when we take off?” Seconds passed, and still no response. “The getting her over could be a problem, but once that’s taken care of, there’s no way she’ll be able to see us. And by the time she leaves, we’ll be long gone.”

  “And where are we when all this is happening?”

  Mark feathered his paddle. “That’s one of the parts we need to talk about.”

  “Sounds like an important part, don’t you think?”

  Mark reached silently and drew the bow toward shore. “Yep, that’s the paddle. Wheajo is like twenty yards back from there.” The bank was a good six feet high, the still expanding shoreline a mix of sand and mud. They let the Discovery drift alongshore, searching, and they were thirty yards down before Mark found roots sturdy enough to climb.

  Hayden wrapped the painters around the blanket. “I know this isn’t going to be easy,” he whispered, and tossed up the bundle. “Best that I can offer is that what’s up there is a body, and that Wheajo is already gone.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ll let you know,” Mark whispered from atop the bank. “I am glad it’s dark… Oh, and Prentler? Thanks.”

  “Just get done, okay? The sooner we’re headed back, the better I’ll like it.”

  *****

  “You guys must’a been flyin’,” said Charlie, glancing at his watch. “I’m not sure when I last set this, but it’s not even midnight.” An eerie light filtered through the trees, the moon red and brooding, the campfire sending sparks into the trees as Mark and Hayden dragged the Discovery into camp. They slid the canoe clear of the trail, Hayden at once heading for his tent, his pants dripping after their hike through the rapids.

  Mark glanced at the moon, its disk in full eclipse. “Let me change, and we can head down. You remember where we left the digger?”

  “Yeah,” said Charlie. “Thing's back in the woods by Tony. I was really hopin' we wouldn’t be usin’ it again.”

  Mark stripped naked outside his tent, their always rambunctious pet prancing about the campsite when he ducked inside for a set of dry clothes. “That the raft on the table?”

  “You caught that, huh?” Charlie said, whittling a stick. “I patched up the hole, and in another couple of hours we’ll know whether she’ll hold air.” The canoe was back to empty. “Everything go okay?”

  Hayden zipped the tent closed. “Go…?” he asked, frowning, then noticed Charlie nodding at the boat. “All things considered… everything went fine.” He found a twig near the firepit, got it going, and fired up his one-burner lantern.

  “I’m going to head over.”

  “Go ahead,” Mark said from inside. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  “You coming, Bull?”

  “For Wheajo? You bet. There anything I can help with?”

  Hayden stood for a second, then walked Charlie away from the tents. “Mark might look like he’s got himself together,” he whispered, “but he’s pretty broken up by everything that’s happened today. I mean, shit, what’s laying there is covered with Wheajo’s blood, so I know he can use some moral support.”

  “Been there,” Charlie whispered. “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful what I say.”

  Hayden pinched his shoulder, nodding. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  *****

  Tony’s death had been heart-wrenching, the gritty task of actually putting his remains in the ground and burying them left to their dispassionate companion from the stars. Now that companion was gone, and there was no one left but them to do the digging and the burying and the piling on of rocks. The whole somber affair ate away at their hearts. And while they had but one body, Ronald Thomas McClure, age 31 when he died, was there too, the big rapid rumbling as if in tribute to the twin departed spirits.

  “He wouldn’t mind, would he?” Hayden asked, staring at the assembled crosses. “Spending the rest of eternity beside Wheajo.”

  “Early on he woulda. But he was already changin’ when Wheajo dragged his sorry ass outta the river. Then you and that turkey motherfucker. Pissed both of ‘em off, I can tell ya. And from then on I got the feelin’ Ron was seein’ stuff a lot more like Wheajo did. Ain’t like he’s here or anything, but if he was, I’m thinkin’ he’d be okay with how we got ‘em situated.”

  Hayden stared off, surprised and comforted by Charlie’s recollections. The clearing they’d cut was hauntingly beautiful in the ruddy moonlight; the rapid nearby, the mist billowing from along the boulders like powdered pearl. Two friends now lay buried in this peaceful place, a third lost to eternity.

  Charlie surprised him again when he bade the three a personal farewell:

  “Oh, Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling…. From glen to glen, and down the mountain side…. The summer’s gone, and all the roses fading…,” his voice sweet and clear in the milky night air.

  Mark was sobbing when Charlie finished singing, and neither
saw the need to stop him.

  “All the times at camp when you’d look and not see Tony? If he wasn’t out digging up roots or checking shit against that book of his, this is where you could normally find him. Him and Wheajo, talking about cooking or politics or who knows what else. I found him here once, Tony going on about some political bullshit, Wheajo looking like he was taking it all in. And another time, which I only caught the tail end of, when Tony got Wheajo to open up about where he was from.”

  “That’s one I woulda liked to have been in on. You remember any of it?”

  “A little. Like Wheajo mentioning that the Grotky name for the sun is Ulaxiat, and that Earth is designated Ulaxiat 3, which makes sense seeing as we’re the third planet. Oh, right… and that his home planet is called Nyvra.”

  Mike stepped past Charlie, hissing.

  “It’s her,” Mark said, getting to his feet and reseating his hat.

  Sabrefang was crouched in the shadows along the meadow. “What a bitch!” said Charlie. “She’s been watchin’ us the whole fuckin’ time.”

  Hayden was staring. “I hate that plan of yours, Mark. But as much as I’ve tried, I haven’t come up with a better one.”

  *****

  They strolled wearily into camp, a short time later, saddened but relieved to have Wheajo safely interred. The fire was down, the raft draped over the nearby table with a log balanced on top of the frying pan.

  Mark walked over, curious. “What are you using for glue?

  Charlie pulled a tube from his tackle box. “Fletch Tite. Ever hear of it?”

  “Yep. That’s the same stuff I use. Except for the inserts, it’s been holding my arrows together for years. Can’t say as I’ve ever heard of anyone using it on rubber though.” The water jug was nearly empty, and with the raft as gunky as it was, Charlie was going need another one to finish cleaning the thing. “What I’m wondering is why you’re bothering to fix it.”