by Jeff Hirsch
I looked down at Bear, suddenly seeing him as clearly in the future as I saw Grey in the past. Hours from now he would shake off sleep to find himself alone, wondering why I had abandoned him when he had never abandoned me. And where would I be then? Across the border and safe in Wyoming? Would Bear’s memory sting as keenly as the memory of Grey?
I knelt down beside Bear and gently nudged him awake. His eyes opened with a great yawn and he batted at me with his paw. I placed my hand on his side and looked west.
“Come on,” I said. “It’s time to go.”
13
We staggered into Bride Creek just after sundown five days later, half starved and aching from the road. The town itself was nothing but a few weathered buildings set back from a road that wound up into the hills. Still, it felt like there were a thousand eyes on us, watching every step. I kept us off the road, creeping through a drainage ditch, freezing at every sound.
The post office was a white box at the end of a dirt road. A gravel driveway led away from it to a ranch house not much bigger than the office. Its windows were dark and a gate hung open in front of it, turning lazily with a squeak that seemed massive out in the emptiness.
I wanted to go up and start pounding on the door, but we had to be careful. Knock on the wrong door at the wrong time and we were through.
There was a field of knee-high brush on the other side of the road from the house. I patted Bear’s side and he followed, head low from exhaustion, limping on his right paw.
Bear crept off into the brush to hunt while I struggled to stay awake and watch the house. Every joint in my body felt like it was filled with rust. I pulled a handful of sandy grass from my jacket pocket and chewed on it. It was gritty and bitter, but days of constant hunger helped me force it down.
For the last five days, Bear and I had rested through the heat of the day and walked at night. Two nights through the desert. Two nights more along a razor-straight and abandoned rail line. We spent the final night climbing a single-lane road into the mountains. When Bear managed to find more pockets of marshy water, we drank all we could and then devoured reeds and grasses and tiny translucent things that scuttled through the muck. At first my stomach growled incessantly, but eventually that muted to an empty gnawing.
I walked in a kind of mindless trudge, memories and old songs floating through my head, there and then gone again. It was as if some long-buried clockwork forced my legs to keep pumping. Whenever I felt certain I was about to fall, I would reach out for Bear, holding him close until some bit of resolve passed between us and we would set off again. In the last miles, I kept Ithaca at the front of my mind every second, like a lantern I was striving to grasp. How Bear kept going and where he found the strength in that tiny half-starved body, I’ll never know.
I was about to nod off when a pair of headlights appeared up the road. A small pickup truck emerged from the dark and turned into the driveway. It was covered in dents and rusty bruises. POSTAL SERVICE was clearly emblazoned down one side.
The lights winked out and there was a squeak of hinges. A tall man with shaggy hair emerged. He stuffed his keys into his jeans pocket, then reached into the back of the truck for a pair of turkeys and what looked like a 20 gauge shotgun. He hung the shotgun from his shoulder and then made his way across the yard and to the house, game in hand. Once inside, lantern light illuminated the thin white curtains. The man’s silhouette moved back and forth in a front room.
Bear returned with a field mouse in his teeth and settled down to eat it. He paid me no mind as I moved out of the grass and into a ditch, watching for any movement on the road.
A light came on at the side of the house. I dropped low and circled the house until I stood alongside it and peeked in. The man was sitting at a table in a small candlelit kitchen, looking down at a yellow mug. His face was deeply lined and thin, framed in long gray hair and a scraggly beard. He spooned some sugar into his mug, then stirred and sipped. In the center of the table was a plain-looking cake dusted with sugar and cinnamon. My stomach growled, urging me to the front door, but I stopped when a girl appeared in the hallway.
She was maybe ten years old with curly auburn hair, wearing a blue top with red swallows embroidered at the neck. She wiped the sleep out of her eyes, and the man snatched her up under her arms and lifted her into the air. Even through the closed window I could hear the trill of her laugh. He pulled her close and nuzzled her neck, eliciting even more laughs, and then dropped her down into a chair at the table.
I watched as he cut her a piece of the cake and pulled a jar of milk out of an icebox. When she was done with her cake, the man had her clean up the dishes. Then he poured himself another cup of coffee, blew out the candles, and together they vanished into another room.
Bear pushed his snout into my shoulder when I returned to our hiding place but I elbowed him away. I stared at the house, trying to tell myself that the girl didn’t matter, that I could still march up to Wade’s door and demand a ride to the border. But even as the thought formed, I knew I couldn’t do it. Grey said he hadn’t heard from Wade in years and it was clear why — choosing to risk his own life for people like me was one thing, but risking hers would have been unthinkable. If the Path found out that Wade had helped me, they would kill him for sure. But what would happen to her? Would she be made a companion? Something worse?
I looked for an alternative as the lights in the house winked out one by one. Once they were gone, the white body of the old pickup truck glowed faintly in the moonlight.
Something snapped into place. Maybe I didn’t need Wade at all.
I slipped back across the road, avoiding the driveway for the soft grass in the yard. My heart beat in my throat as I stood on their front porch and reached for the doorknob, hoping that, like any good Path citizen, Wade saw no need to lock his door. There was a soft click and I eased it open an inch at a time. The inside of the house was lit in dim shades of gray moonlight. I stood in the doorway until my eyes adjusted and then I crept inside.
I moved down the hall, muscles tight as iron, stepping carefully so none of the wood slats in the floor would send up an alarm. There were two bedroom doors, but which was Wade’s and which was the girl’s? I took a guess and pushed one open. Inside, a cool night wind streamed in through gauzy curtains to where the girl lay on her side beneath the sheets. A rustic-looking desk sat under the window, covered with papers, pencils, and books. A stuffed bear sat in the corner. The girl turned over, sending a jolt through me, though she didn’t wake.
I drew her door closed behind me and kept going. The last door opened onto a larger bedroom where Wade slept beneath an ornate gun rack. There was a hunting rifle, but I didn’t see the 20 gauge.
My heart was thrumming in my ears as I searched the room. His nightstand was empty except for a lamp and a book. The dresser top was barren. My nerves buzzed. How long had I been in the house now? Ten minutes? An hour? Either seemed possible and either was too long. I was pushing my luck. Bear and I had made it this far on our own; maybe…
But then I saw it. Just below the open window was a pile of discarded clothes. Boots, a shirt, a pair of jeans. I checked that Wade was still asleep and then I made my way across the room. When I lifted the jeans, there was a faint metallic clink and I knew I had found what I was looking for. I slid my hand into the front pocket, and Wade’s truck keys spilled into my hand.
“Stand up and raise your hands.”
My world collapsed to a single dark point. I stood slowly, the keys dangling from my hand. Wade sat up in bed, the 20 gauge steadied on one knee, pointed straight at my chest.
“Grey Solomon sent me,” I managed to say, my voice trembling.
“Don’t know anyone named Grey.”
“I’m not Path.”
Wade kept the shotgun trained on my chest as he went to the window. He turned from me just long enough to draw the curtains back and scan the grounds outside.
“He told me you used to help people like me,” I
said. “But I didn’t want to get you and your girl involved.”
“So you figured you’d just steal my truck.”
“I was going to get myself to the Wyoming border and then leave it somewhere it would be found easy.”
Wade closed the curtains and returned to the bed. I took a step forward, but stopped when the barrel of the shotgun rose again.
“So you’re a capture, then.”
I nodded.
“Where from?”
“Cormorant. In Arizona.”
“And Grey Solomon brought you here.”
“Most of the way. There was a roadblock and I bailed out.”
“Grey doing okay these days?”
I flinched and tried to hide it. “He’s fine,” I said, my voice husky. “He sends his regards.”
Wade studied the wrinkles on the bedsheets in front of him. Close up he looked hawkish and severe, with a sharp nose and piercing eyes. His gray hair hung in untidy waves around his head.
“Got any supplies on you?” he asked. “Food? Water?”
“No, sir.”
Wade looked me up and down, then sighed deeply and slid out of the bed.
“Well, come on. Guess you can add stealing a pack and some food to your story if you get nabbed.”
Wade dressed in the dark before leading me out quietly past his daughter’s room. He lit an oil lamp in the entryway and carried it to a door at the edge of the kitchen. Wade nudged it open, revealing a rickety flight of stairs that led down to a dirt-floor basement. It was lined with steel shelves full of supplies.
“Have at it,” he said, standing at the doorway. “But I hope you like Spam.”
I hurried down the stairs, eager to be on my way and out of Wade’s life as soon as possible. I was halfway to the floor when I heard the basement door slam behind me.
I turned back and found Wade looming at the top of the stairs, his back to the door, his shotgun aimed at my head.
“On your knees,” he said. “Do it.”
I rushed him, hoping to catch him off balance and make it through the door, but days on the road made me too slow. Wade grabbed a fistful of my jacket and threw me down the stairs. I hit the dirt with a shock and my vision grayed out. I could feel myself slipping away, but I thought of Bear out there alone and I reached up and grabbed hold of the nearest stair, feeling myself sink even as I climbed. Wade’s boot pressed into my back, pinning me to the floor.
“Please…” I said in a thready mumble. “I was just trying to…”
There was a rattle of chains and I felt a steel cuff locking onto my ankle. Wade pulled me off the steps, then dropped down by my shoulder.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Some Path folk I know will be stopping by tomorrow. Gonna have to turn you over to them, son.”
“No,” I said. “You can let me go. I won’t say anything. I swear. They’ll never know I was here.”
“Sorry, son,” Wade said as he climbed the stairs. “I’ll leave you a lantern to see, and you’ve got enough slack to get to the food and water on those shelves. Looks like you could use both.”
“They’ll kill me.”
Wade stopped. He gripped the barrel of the shotgun and stared at his feet, his back to me.
“I’ll put in as good a word for you as I can,” he said in a near whisper. “They’re fair people. They’ll listen.”
Wade moved a single lantern onto the top step and then started out the door. The sound of Bear’s barking came from somewhere outside.
“Wade. Wait!”
He closed the door and threw the lock home. I made another stab at getting up, but I was too weak. The chain tangled my feet and I went down again. A door upstairs opened and closed shut again. Bear’s barking became louder and more hysterical — then there was a yelp and he went silent. I scrambled to my feet.
“Bear!”
Seconds later the basement door flew open and Wade dragged Bear down by his collar. He said nothing, just dropped Bear in front of me and then went back up the stairs, locking the door behind him.
I pulled against the chain until I could reach Bear. He was lying on the bottom step, looking up at me with a dazed expression. I pulled him into my lap, forcing him to stay still while I ran my hands over his body. My heart raced, but there was nothing. No blood. No broken bones. I let him go and he squirmed out of my lap to explore the basement.
I stared at the door, trying to control the rage building up inside me. I jerked hard on the chain around my ankle, but the other end was padlocked to one of the steel shelves. My head swam from the exertion. I breathed deep and slow until it cleared and then I made myself search the rest of the room for anything I could use. Nothing. Dirt floor. Concrete walls. No tools. No windows. Only one door and a lantern that I couldn’t reach.
I fell back into the dirt, staring at the door. It seemed impossible that we could have come so far for this. End of the line. I heaved at the chain in frustration and hissed in pain as the steel cuff bit into my ankle.
Bear barked behind me and I turned. His front paws were up on the shelves, scrabbling at the stacks of food that sat there. Crackers, beans, tuna, cases of water. Trapped or not, we were both still starving. I grabbed anything with a pull-top lid and tossed it into a pile on the floor. We ate four cans of tuna between us, along with handfuls of saltines. I filled the empty cans with water and let Bear drink.
There was a rattle as the lock at the top of the stairs was thrown. I sat there, struggling for some kind of plan but feeling myself crumple under my own bone-deep weariness. I reached for one of the bottles of water and my hand brushed an aluminum lid. I hissed and yanked it back. A thin trickle of blood ran down one finger and into my palm. I held the lid up into the light and ran my thumb along its keen edge.
Footsteps thudded above us. Bear growled and the short hairs at his back and neck raised. I slipped the sharp bit of metal under my leg and waited. The door creaked open. I expected to see Wade, shotgun in hand, but instead it was the girl.
She stood in the doorway, barefoot in pink-and-gray pajamas. She lingered there, her hand on the doorknob, looking down at us. Bear whined, but I stilled him with a hand on his back and drew him toward me. She took the lantern and closed the door just enough so that only a sliver of light escaped.
“I heard your dog barking,” she said. “My name’s Ellie.” She descended another stair and stopped. “Can I… ?”
Bear made a breathy sound of anticipation as her foot hit the dirt floor. He stretched forward onto his belly, ears at attention, back end shaking. I kept my eye on the door as she approached, that infinitesimal streak of black. Freedom.
My hand dropped down by my leg, my fingertips resting on the jagged piece of metal. Ellie knelt in front of Bear, just out of my reach.
“Is he friendly?”
I drew my finger along the metal lip of the can. “Yes.”
Ellie edged forward, but Bear was faster. He belly-crawled over to her and buried his head in her lap, sniffing at her until she giggled and fell back onto the bottom stair, delighted. Ellie rubbed at his head and his ears and scratched his muzzle when he forced it into her hand. Bear flipped over onto his back and kicked at the air, with his tongue hanging out. As I watched them play, something sank inside me. My hand fell from the can’s lid. This girl wouldn’t be my ticket out.
“What’s his name?”
“Bear,” I said.
“Does he do tricks?”
I took a cracker out of a nearby package and held it over Bear’s head. He popped up onto his back legs and pawed at the air. Ellie laughed and clapped and I dropped the cracker into Bear’s mouth. When he was done, he shoved his face into Ellie’s lap, searching for more.
“He can catch a stick if you throw it to him.”
Ellie looked up. “Really?”
I frowned, studying the walls of the dank basement. “Course there’s not really enough room in here to show you. If—”
“I can’t unl
ock you,” she said. “Sorry.”
Ellie went back to wrestling with Bear, and whatever strength I had left me. Every pointless mile Bear and I had walked stung.
“Why does he have you locked up anyway?” she asked. “Are you running from the soldiers too?”
I nodded slowly.
“I’m supposed to hide down here when they come,” she said casually as she petted Bear. “So they don’t see me.”
“Why doesn’t your dad want the soldiers to see you?”
Bear huffed as Ellie stroked his side. “Wade’s not my dad,” she said.
“No? Who is?”
Ellie looked back to the door, suddenly wary. “Maybe I should—”
“Do you want to give Bear a cracker?”
I held the box out toward her. Ellie’s eyes locked on it but she hesitated. It wasn’t until Bear yipped and clawed at the box that she grabbed it out of my hand. I inched closer as she fed a cracker to Bear in pieces, a look of intense concentration on her face.
“How about your mom?” I asked, trying a different tack. “Where is she?”
“Mom got sick when I was little,” she said.
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“I only remember her a little bit.”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen my mom too.”
Ellie glanced over at me as Bear ate out of her hand. I checked the door and moved a little closer. Ellie finished feeding Bear. He lay at her feet, staring up at her as she stroked his head. Bits and pieces clicked together in my head. I decided to take a leap.
“I was taken away from my mom and dad by the soldiers when I was around your age,” I said. “I was trying to get home again, but Wade is going to give me back to them. To the soldiers.”
