Didn’t that seem like just the kind of curveball Noah Underwood could be counted on to throw?
“All right,” Jone said. “If we’re going to do this thing it best be right now.”
Then it was too late. Sam put his heels to his huge bay horse, and the rest of the train had no choice but to be pulled along. The earth dropped out sharply from under the bay’s hooves, and Ethan watched the horse sink deeply into the river. Deep enough to plunge Sam into water up to his chest. Then the bay bobbed up and swam valiantly.
Suddenly Ethan was in water up to his neck, and then Dora swam just as valiantly, lifting them up so that most of Ethan’s torso rose out of the river.
It was a sickening sensation, as though Ethan’s heart had stopped. And he couldn’t tell if it was the icy water or the fear of the current and drowning that drove his shock.
He felt the pull of the river draw them downstream. But at the same time, the bay was swimming closer to the other bank. It wasn’t a wide river. No wider than the pack train was long. Maybe they could reach solid ground on the other side before they washed away.
Ethan had a panicky image of the current swallowing Dora, pushing her head under. Pushing both their heads under. But it didn’t come to pass. The river pulled them off course, but it didn’t sweep them uncontrollably away.
Except poor Rufus. He had been pushed to the far end of his rope, downriver. If the rope came loose, he would be gone. If he slipped out of the makeshift harness, he would be gone.
Then Sam’s big bay was stumbling out onto relatively dry land, shaking himself off like a wet dog. He surged forward, urged by Sam’s heels, and Dora came up onto dry land, too. Ethan pulled Rufus’s rope hand over hand until the dog was able to climb up and out onto the bank.
“Dumb horse,” Sam said to his bay. “Shaking water off yourself in the pouring rain.”
Just then Rufus did exactly what Sam had described. Shook water off his coat in the pouring rain. But Ethan had never pegged Rufus as the smartest dog in the world.
They surged forward again, and Ethan looked around to see the Appaloosa pony desperately paw his way onto land.
They rode toward the far mountains—at least toward the spot the mountains had occupied before the black clouds enveloped them—still tied together.
“That was dicey,” Jone called up to Sam.
“Yeah,” Sam said. “Well. What’s done is done.”
The rain let up about an hour later. It didn’t help as much as Ethan might have thought.
He rode along across the flat river valley, untied from the other horses now, thinking about how few times in his life he’d been wet with little hope of getting dry. Despite the fact that, in Manhattan, when it rained it often let go all at once. Like the sky opening up. But there had always been home to go to. And home had always been dry.
He remembered one time he’d been walking home from a museum, a place he’d visited only because Jennifer had commented on an exhibit there. He’d wanted to be able to talk to her about it. The rain had let go, coming down in buckets, splattering off the sidewalk and streets like machine-gun fire ricocheting off metal. He’d been soaked to the skin in a matter of moments.
He’d walked by a covered doorway where three men huddled to stay dry. One had an umbrella.
“Twenty dollars for the umbrella,” one of the strangers had called to him.
Maybe it had been a joke. Maybe not.
Ethan had laughed out loud, loud enough for the men to hear, and asked if they didn’t think their offer was coming too late. After all, it’s before you’re soaked through that you need the umbrella.
Perhaps the memory had stuck in Ethan’s head because it was one of the only times in his life he had ever bantered easily with a stranger.
Ethan pulled his thoughts back to the moment. The sky was not clear, but the black of the clouds seemed to have eased away. Instead, the clouds hung all around him. All around his search party. They drifted like white cotton candy, sometimes only a few feet above where they rode. Like pea-soup fog.
Unlike that day in Manhattan, Ethan wouldn’t be home in twenty minutes. There would be no hot bath waiting for him at the end of this day. Sam had told him to bring a change of underwear and socks, not a change of jeans and shirt. So he would have no chance even to change into dry clothes.
He pushed the thoughts of his own discomfort away again and rode on.
What might have been a minute or an hour later, Ethan woke up on the ground. He had some vague memory of hitting the wet, rocky dirt hard with his left side. But he had no memory of falling off the mule in the first place.
“Ho!” Jone shouted.
The sounds of hoofbeats stopped.
“What the hell happened, buddy?” Sam called down to him, riding closer on the big bay. “You fall asleep or something?”
“Must have,” Ethan said. “Or something.”
“Let’s take a break,” Jone said. “Talk strategy.”
“I just don’t think we dare ride up to that next pass right now,” Jone said.
They had dismounted, and were watering their horses in a shallow stream that had probably been a dry gully just a few hours earlier.
“We haven’t covered enough ground for one day,” Sam said flatly in reply.
Ethan looked to Marcus, but the younger man had nothing to say. He looked as though he had gone home, at least in the ways that counted. Left his body, but taken his spirit someplace more hospitable.
Ethan’s left hip and shoulder, and a spot on the side of his head, ached from hitting the rocky trail. His sitting bones screamed from contact with the saddle. The sunburn on his ears and neck stung fiercely. He was hungry again, and he was desperately tired and sore.
And it was only a little over halfway through day one.
“I think we pitch our tents here and wait and see if the weather clears,” Jone said.
Sam jumped in to argue, but Jone cut him off.
“Look. It’s not just the safety thing. We’re supposed to be looking for a lost man. How’re we supposed to look with no visibility? What’s the point of covering more ground if we could ride right by a guy lying on the ground not fifty feet away and never see him? It makes no sense. Let the kid get dry and take a nap. With him so sleepy he’s liable to fall right off the saddle, I don’t think we can go up on that ridge trail right now. And another problem. For all we know it could be full-on whiteout conditions up there. Kind of whiteout where a horse can step right off a cliff. I say we plant ourselves here until we see if the low cloud cover breaks. If not, I got a bad feeling about it. It feels like what we did crossing that river. We knew it was chancy, but we did it because we figured we had to do it. But one chance like that is enough. We’re not going to make things better by throwing four more fatalities on top of the one we might already have on our hands.”
Ethan felt the idea of a nap drawing him like a magnet.
He waited for Sam to flare. Sam’s anger was right there under the surface. Ethan could feel it. He figured everybody could. But then it disappeared somehow. Maybe just pushed back down into the older man’s gut.
“Okay,” Sam said. “I’ll pitch the tents. You make us some hot food. We’ll see which way this day wants to go.”
He made no reference to Marcus, or any job Marcus might take on. It was as if Sam were making it clear—one more time—that Marcus was of no use to him at all.
Chapter Thirteen: The Peacemaker
Five days after his father disappeared
Ethan woke suddenly to a loud and terrible noise. Like the roar of a wild animal. And close. Something raged inside the tent, right next to where Ethan slept. His eyes shot open, and he half sat up, looking around desperately.
There was no wild animal in the tent.
Then he heard the dreadful sound again. It was coming from inside. From right next to him.
He leapt clumsily to his feet, half mired in his sleeping bag, and crouched, panicky, wondering how to unsheathe
his legs so he could run.
Two more rounds of the terrifying roar, and Ethan realized it was coming from the sleeping Sam. Sam snored in a manner that rivaled the bellowing of an enraged grizzly bear.
Ethan sank into a sitting position, catching his breath and calming his heart. But it would be a good hour or more before he could tame the trembling, and he knew it.
He gradually shook the cobwebs out of his murky brain and assessed his situation.
It was fairly cold, maybe forty-five degrees. Ethan was wearing only clean, dry underwear that felt like his own and a huge shirt that fit him like a dress and could only have belonged to Sam. His stomach ached with emptiness. The rest of his body ached from more concrete issues and injuries.
He didn’t remember changing his clothes, or climbing into a sleeping bag. Or missing dinner.
The tent seemed oddly light inside, as if someone outside had a lantern or a campfire going. In that glow Ethan saw Rufus looking up at him curiously, as if unable to imagine what could be so disturbing. Ethan decided to venture out and see if he could find some food.
He unzipped the tent flap.
There was no campfire. No lantern. Just a huge full moon casting spooky shadows. And Marcus, sitting cross-legged on a folded blanket, staring out into the night.
Ethan crawled out and sat with him, gathering the sleeping bag more tightly around his bare legs and his middle. Rufus wiggled out behind him and trotted around looking for a good spot to pee. Ethan didn’t want him to go far, worried about wolves and coyotes. But he didn’t want to call the dog for fear of waking Sam or Jone.
“Hey,” he said to Marcus.
“Hey,” Marcus said back.
Then no one spoke for a bizarre length of time.
Ethan could see the snow on the summits of the jagged mountains. It glowed in the moonlight. A half-bare tree loomed over their heads, its branches rustling in a light wind. He listened to Sam’s amazing snoring, which sounded just as loud from outside the tent.
A moment later the pattern of that noise was broken up by a new sound, one that sent a chill along the nape of Ethan’s neck. It was a cross between yipping and howling. Maybe six or seven animals. Maybe a couple of hundred yards away.
“Coyotes?” Ethan asked Marcus.
“Could be coyotes,” Marcus said. “Could be wolves.”
Rufus came scrambling back and disappeared inside the tent.
They waited, and listened. But the coyotes or wolves seemed done with their vocalizing.
“I don’t remember changing into this shirt,” Ethan said. “Did I even eat dinner?”
“No. You got out of your wet clothes and took a nap in the tent, and then we couldn’t wake you up to eat. Sam put the shirt on you so you wouldn’t get cold in the night. We saved you some stew. I could try to get that camp stove going if you want to heat it up.”
“Don’t even bother. I’ll eat it cold. I’m starving. I don’t even want to wait that long.”
Marcus lifted himself to his feet. He walked a few dozen yards and came back with a medium-size round container—maybe the size of a three-gallon plastic water bottle—which Ethan couldn’t understand in the dimness. He brought it back to where Ethan sat and began working on its lid.
“What is that thing?” Ethan asked.
“Bear vault. Otherwise there’s no way any food would still be here in the morning. And you don’t want to draw bears into your campsite.”
“Do bears come out at night?”
“Oh, yeah. Mostly at night.”
“Wait,” Ethan said, and put a warning hand on Marcus’s arm. “Don’t open that.”
“I thought you were starving.”
“But what if it draws bears? What if I’m eating and they smell it?”
A long pause. Then Marcus shrugged. Set the bear vault in the dirt in front of Ethan, still sealed.
“Up to you,” he said.
Ethan decided to starve until daylight.
“What time is it?” he asked Marcus.
Marcus peered at his watch in the dark. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a headlamp, which he clicked on. Ethan winced at the sudden light. The way it seemed to pierce his eyes.
“Three ten.”
Then it was dark again, and it took time for Ethan’s eyes to adjust to the light of the moon, which had seemed so strong just a moment earlier.
“It doesn’t feel like the middle of the night.”
“It’s dark,” Marcus said. “What more convincing do you need?”
“I didn’t mean that. I mean I feel like I slept. Usually if I wake up in the middle of the night, my stomach is all rocky and my eyes are scratchy and sore.”
“You’ve been asleep since four p.m. That’s eleven hours.”
“Oh,” Ethan said. “That explains it.”
Another silence.
There was something hanging in the air, but Ethan couldn’t grasp it. Some subtext to Marcus sitting out in the night alone. He could feel the weight of it hanging somewhere nearby.
“What about you?” Ethan asked. “Couldn’t sleep?”
Marcus snorted laughter. “Are you kidding me? Who could sleep through that?” He flipped his head back in the direction of the tent. “I used to work in a sheet-metal factory, and I swear that was quiet compared to trying to sleep in a tent with Sam.”
“You were in that same tent? Why didn’t you get your own tent?”
“Because he only brought two. I guess he figured it would be you and him in one, the lady in the other. Then she invited me along. Which you might’ve noticed he’s none too happy about. The lady has to have her own tent. She’s a lady. So that puts three of us in this one. I’m sure he’ll use that as one more reason to be upset that I’m here.”
“Why doesn’t he like you?”
“I have no idea.”
“You didn’t have a run-in with him before this or anything?”
“I never met the man. Just waved to him a couple times from about twenty paces. Hey. Look at that.”
Marcus pointed off toward the mountains. In the surprisingly strong glow of the moon, Ethan saw six animals run, loping, down the flank of a foothill. Canine animals, like big, wild dogs.
Marcus grabbed up a pair of binoculars and sighted through them for a few beats, then handed them to Ethan.
“Wolves,” he said.
Ethan quickly located the loping wolves through the lenses and dialed the animals into sharper focus. It sent a shiver down his back, but it was beautiful. He could see their rounded ears and long snouts. Their mouths open and panting as they ran. They had long, rangy bodies and oddly skinny legs. They had thick fur like sled dogs. But they were not sled dogs. Even with nothing but the moon to illuminate them, Ethan could see they were not dogs. They were not tame or domestic. These were wild creatures.
Just for a moment, Ethan felt his view of life, of the world, stretched painfully. He had never realized that something so frightening could also be beautiful. That a sight could strike fear into his heart and at the same time make him feel privileged to have seen it.
It helped that the wolves were fairly far away and moving laterally. Not coming closer.
“Look,” Marcus said, but clearly not referring to something that could be physically seen. Just at that moment the loping wolves disappeared behind a rise. “Don’t take this the wrong way. You seem like a nice enough kid. And I hope you find your dad. I really do. Doesn’t seem like the chances are that great, but I really hope you beat the odds. But the minute it gets light I’m riding out of here.”
Ethan absorbed that news for a moment. Set the binoculars in the dirt.
“Why?”
“Because this is bullshit. This is just what I came up here from L.A. to get away from. People.”
“People are bullshit?”
“When you can’t get away from them, yeah. They usually are. I actually think I know why the old guy’s being such an asshat. It’s because he likes the lady. He’s got a th
ing for her. Not that he thinks I do, too, but I think he pictured himself being the big man on this trip. The only man. But, you know what? I don’t care why. It’s just bullshit, and I came up here to get away from people and their bullshit. When he gets up, tell him I’ll put the pony back in the pasture with his other horses.”
“What if the river’s even higher? And you’re crossing it all alone and not tied to anyone . . .”
“That’s not the only way to get back. There’s a trail with a bridge. There are a bunch of ways in and out. Sam was just trying to search the best running trails first.”
A long and painful silence fell. It hit Ethan that everything was unraveling. Even the search party. His life before leaving on this trip felt strangely distant. He felt unconnected to anything but the search party. And now even that was unraveling. And not twenty-four hours in.
Marcus startled him by speaking.
“If I thought it’d do any good, I’d stay. If I really thought it would improve the chances of finding your dad alive. But much as I hate to admit it, the old man was right about one thing. I’m not bringing anything to the party. I’m just along for the ride.”
“More people is better, though.”
“I think that’s just something Sam came up with so you’d invite the lady.”
“Oh,” Ethan said.
They sat in silence for another minute, Ethan pulling his sleeping bag up higher around his throat to ease the cold. He thought of his father, out alone night after night in forty-something-degree weather. Maybe in only shorts and a T-shirt. It might not be life-threateningly cold, but it sure couldn’t be comfortable. That is, if his father was still capable of feeling discomfort.
“I hope you’re good at being the peacemaker,” Marcus said.
“Why would I need to be? Are you saying you’ll stay?”
“No. I’m saying you need to be the peacemaker after I’m gone.”
“Why? What am I supposed to make peace out of? What’s the war after you go?”
Leaving Blythe River: A Novel Page 15
