Deserted Lands (Novel): Toils and Snares

by Robert L. Slater

  Maria nodded. “I’ll go check on Abi.” She left, shutting the door behind her.

  Samuel listened as her footsteps moved down the hall. “How long do I have?”

  Holly shrugged. “How long do you want?”

  “The virus kills in a matter of weeks.”

  “You don’t have the virus.”

  “What do you mean, I don’t have the virus?”

  “I don’t know. You might have it. Your fever seems more like an infection. That’s why I gave you antibiotics. I’m pretty sure Abi has the virus. Enough of her symptoms match what the reports said. But she’s going to survive. Not sure she’ll be affected. What you’ve got is a bad cold, coupled with your other injuries. I need to keep you immobile. Then your body has a chance of taking care of itself.”

  “When I die—”

  “If you die, you mean.”

  “When. Can you please not tell anyone what you just told me?”

  “That you don’t have the bat flu? You want me to lie? Why?”

  “You’re a writer, right? You lie for a living. Or at least avoid the truth. I don’t want James feeling guilty. I don’t want Maria blaming him.”

  Holly’s eyebrow rose. “I’m not sure your lie will be worse than the truth.”

  “Haven’t they all been through enough?”

  “You take care of yourself.” Holly patted his shoulder and stood. “And I’ll never have to tell anyone anything. I need to check on your wife.”

  “Thanks, Holly.”

  She left, the shut door gently behind her.

  Samuel closed his eyes and took a deep breath, testing himself for pain. His lungs still tugged sharply when he breathed that deep. There was a knock at the door. It opened again.

  Brad entered and sat across from him, haggard and cold. Brad’s eyes begged him as he handed him a sheet of paper. He stared at the words his former best friend had written. Brad scribbled as Samuel read.

  Pam made me promise, if the kids died, I would put her out of her misery. When you came. The kids were dead. Pam was passed out, nearly dead. When you left, I shot her.

  Brad tore off the next sheet of paper from the notebook and handed it to Samuel. He grabbed the first sheet of paper wrote on it again.

  I was going to shoot myself. But I heard a sound. Like a cat. But we don’t have a cat.

  Brad dumped the metal trash can’s contents out on the floor and pulled out a lighter.

  “Oh, God, Brad—” Samuel had no words of comfort. He read the next note as Brad lit the corner of the first sheet. When it flamed, he dropped it in.

  Lianna was alive, crouched on her bed, mewing, hoarse from no water.

  “I’m so sorry, Brad. If I had known.”

  Brad shook his head and handed him the next sheet.

  Picked her up, she was shaking, so weak. Took her downstairs and heated some broth. Spooned it to her. Didn’t seem to know me. But she wasn’t dead.

  Brad handed Samuel another sheet, took the last one and repeated the process.

  She fell asleep in my arms. Died the next day. Tried to kill myself. Fucked up.

  Samuel stared at his friend as he motioned shooting himself under the chin with his fingers. The words continued.

  Lay on the bed. Woke up. Lots of blood. But I didn’t die. Lay there waiting. Waited a long time.

  Fire. Flame. Ashes. The smoke stung Samuel’s eyes. He glanced around to see if there was a smoke detector to set off. There was, but the battery clip hung loose and empty. He stared at the next sheet.

  I don’t get it. Should have died. I deserved to.

  Tears flowed from Brad’s eyes. Samuel’s too.

  I needed water. Once I got up, I felt like death had rejected me.

  Brad took the slip and dropped it into the can, but didn’t bother lighting it on fire.

  I buried Pam & the girls. Sat in the house for days. Followed you.

  “I’m sorry,” Samuel held his arms open as his best friend collapsed into them, his ruined throat scratching out sobs. Eventually, Brad turned away. He slipped his lighter in his pocket.

  “Thanks,” Brad said, his voice only a whisper. Then he walked out.

  Samuel stared after him, his brain spinning. How had he gotten so lucky? And Brad so unlucky? He let the softness of the hospital bed accept his exhausted body.

  ~

  Maria knocked gently on her father’s door.

  “Come in,” his gravelly voice called.

  “Hey, Dad. How are you?”

  A smile broke his exhausted face. “Been better.”

  “I think we all have. It’s weird how easy I had it and I thought it was hard.”

  “There is something you should know, Ria. I didn’t leave you,” her father spoke again. “I moved out of the house I shared with your mother.”

  “Daddy—” Maria said. He was trying to make peace with the past. For once in her life she didn’t want him to.

  “Please. We fought so mu—” He gasped for breath. “I didn’t want to hurt you. Or your mom. I didn’t want to hurt.”

  “Dad, it’s all—”

  He reached for her hand. “No. It’s not all right. I don’t know if I’ll get the chance to say this again. I’m sorry we never went to Disneyland. I’m sorry I left you home when I went on the Mission trip with Anna.”

  Maria snorted snot and tears. She snagged a Kleenex from the box on the nightstand and blew her nose as she laughed again.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Dad. That’s it. Holly thinks that’s why the pandemic is not killing us. Because you went to Central America with Anna. People in Honduras are less susceptible than elsewhere. She thinks we must have all gotten exposed to an earlier version of this virus that you two brought back, a less toxic one. All of us. Less likely for the kids.”

  “Oh, my God, what does that mean since Abi is adopted?”

  “Holly says she’s past the point where the disease would have killed her. She must have got some natural immunity. Or she’s a lucky survivor. So if you hadn’t gone, we might all be dead. No baby in Anna’s belly or mine.”

  “What about the secondary strain?”

  Maria shrugged. “We don’t know.” She rested her head on her father’s chest. “I’m sorry for being a beast to Anna. I’m going to try to make it up to her. We’ve got to stick together. If any of us are going to make it.”

  “But Abi? Is she going to get better?” His voice caught. “She seems gone.” He stifled a sob.

  “She’s not gone. Just—” Maria searched for the word. “She’s subdued. We don’t know. Try not to cry. It makes you cough.”

  Her father smiled warmly as tears flowed down his face. “You’re right. She’ll be fine. She’s alive.”

  “Oh, Daddy.” Maria held him and wept; silent tears dripped onto her father’s shirt. Her head hurt; her heart hurt. When his breath softened, she carefully extricated herself from his arms. She stayed a while watching him, until Anna came to relieve her.

  As Maria passed the front door, Uncle Brad came in. “Raining out there again?”

  “Buckets,” he hissed.

  She lifted his wet coat from his shoulders.

  He grimaced and smiled. “Thanks,” he mouthed.

  Since he’d arrived, Uncle Brad had been gone almost all day every day. Maria figured he still needed time to deal with his demons. Her father had given her an idea of what he was up against. No specifics, but she knew the way his family had left the planet had been painful.

  “Holly take a look at your bandage recently.”

  He nodded and shrugged indifferently, pulling out his notebook. I’m healing.

  Maria smiled. “I’m glad. Some of Anna’s elixir, turkey soup, on the stove. Probably still warm. Help yourself.” She took the notebook and wrote. The panel truck boys?

  Brad shrugged again. Seem to be gone this time.

  “Okay, Uncle Brad. Go get some food. I’ll put your coat by the fire.”

  He tousled her
hair like he did when she was a kid. Then he trudged down the hall. Everyone seemed too old.

  ~

  Maria trudged down toward the lake. How many days since she’d made the last trip, when everyone had been okay? Maybe she could go cry again and things would be better, or easier to face.

  Dad and Abi were both doing so badly, she couldn’t think of anything else. If she and James hadn’t come along, none of this would have happened. Her logical brain interceded. They would still both be sick. They’d be out here in the wilderness, but he wouldn’t be dealing with both the Flu and the battered body. And she and James would be alone together somewhere. As much as she needed space from people, she need people nearby to have space away from.

  An explosion of motion in the brush, a flurry of wings, flew at her face. She stepped off the path. Her foot sunk in a mushy, boggy hole, instantly soaking through her tennis shoe. “Dammit.” She jerked her foot out of the hole, but her shoe stayed behind. She choked back tears and collapsed cross-legged on the trail, digging into the mush with her hands to pull the drenched and muddy shoe from the ground.

  It served her right for never bothering to tie or untie her shoes, always just forcing her feet in and out of them. If she was going to survive out here, she was going to have to pay more attention to what was going on around her.

  She worked at the knotted laces, unwilling to give up despite the difficulty. Her fingertips burned by the time she got them loose. Tying it tight enough to prevent a repeat, she was tempted to leave it at that, but instead focused on the other shoe. Despite the pain, she attacked the dry knot with ferocity. When she had it retied firmly on her foot, she realized the dampness of the trail had soaked up through her underwear. She sat there for a moment before pushing to her feet with a sigh. She was beginning to feel pregnant, like her body was working hard enough on something to not give her all the energy she was used to having.

  She swiped her dirty hands on her jeans and continued her walk down to the lake, now accompanied by a squishing with every other step. Maybe she was noisy enough to not get startled by another bird.

  When she got out to the log jam, she pulled her shoes and socks off and set them on a stump. The sun was out, not very warm. At least the wind wasn’t blowing cold. The wet shoe might dry a bit. She stepped carefully from log to log out toward the water, watching for the spurs of lost limbs that might tear the soles of her feet, waiting to see if the log sank before she put her full weight onto it.

  The late afternoon sun glowed through the cloud cover and reflected off the relative calm of the lake. A bald eagle circled over near Canoe Creek. “What are you thinking?” she asked the bird. She settled on a big log worn smooth by years of sun and water. “It’s quiet.” She stared at her feet and a shiver ran up her spine. Really too cold to be out here barefooted on the logs.

  Maria remembered coming out here when Dad and Anna had first gotten together. Neighbor kids had come down and built forts in the driftwood with her. Sometimes the cousins came, but that was rare as they lived back east. Everything had been simple. It had been magical then. Could she find that magic again?

  No. She couldn’t find it. Magic wouldn’t bring back her mother, save her father, cure little Abi. How could she survive without either of them?

  The tears came. She let them flow, hugging her legs, holding her blue-cold toes. The sun fell behind the hills, but continued to shine that strange pre-twilight glow off the windows of the Lodge and the other homes across the lake. The Quinault River burbled in the distance where it met Canoe Creek.

  With the sun gone from the sky it wasn’t long before she was shivering. She dried her eyes on her sleeve and stood. If she splashed some cold water on her face, perhaps her crying might go unnoticed. She carefully stepped forward on to the next big log. She skipped to the next log. The tears had done her good, lightened the load. Nothing had changed, but the peace of the lake calmed her.

  A few more logs, and the cold water would feel good on her face. The next log rolled, she slid downward, cold water sluicing into her pants, shocking. She grasped at the logs. Her brain flashed, crushed or drowned. The logs were closing back in. She ducked under water; she’d have to get out from down and under. She kicked out with her legs to push herself toward deeper water. Branches snagged her clothes. In panic she kicked harder, shoving her feet into the muddy lake bottom. Her head jammed into the hard underside of the log. Stars flashed inside her eyelids. Grabbing the branches she jerked herself forward, but the branches came toward her, spinning with the log.

  I can’t die here. They need me. I need them. James and the baby… Her thoughts brought her back from the edge she flipped to face sunward, reaching in between the branches, letting her feet rise to find the logs and push her in the direction of open water. From the darkness of the now murky water, she could see stabs of light. But the grit storm kicked up by her feet stung her eyes She closed them and dragged herself under the bottoms of the logs, pushing with her feet and pulling with her hands. The logs rolled, but she made headway. Then a rush of cold water on her head shocked her, she opened her eyes and her mouth. Inflow from the snow fed river. Light. No more logs overhead. Though her mouth was full of water, she had managed to not swallow it, but she needed to breathe. She stroked strongly toward the light and exploded into the air, gasp for breath before sinking under again.

  The next time her head came into the air, she treaded water. It was icy and she had to get out. This was a good way to die, but she wasn’t ready for that yet. She was out passed the drop off so standing up and getting back on the logs was not going to work here. She swam along toward the shore looking for a stable jam of logs to climb out on.

  A shiver ran through her, but the adrenaline of surviving would keep her going. She dog-paddled along, cursing herself for her carelessness. Not good future mom behavior in the apocalypse. Her feet hit grasses growing out of the bottom of the lake, so she stopped and let her body go vertical. She could touch the top of the mud. She kicked some more until she could stand. Then she slogged forward through the water, looking for a good sturdy mess of logs to crawl out on.

  Her chattering teeth decided her on the next log with a root base attached. She grasped a root, floating her body up; she heaved her leg onto the log and rolled onto its broad girth. Her breath gasped out. Where was the calm she’d found a few minutes before? Her heart pounded.

  “Are you okay?”

  Maria rolled to her knees and confronted the newcomer jumping across the logs. Don. No. Dave. Another shiver shook her body. She didn’t like him, but if he was coming to her rescue… “Stop,” she yelled. “Slow down or you’re going in.”

  He slowed, stopped, the log he stood on dipped and he looked panicked as he stepped backward onto the last one and pulled his now soaked foot out of the water.

  “These logs will roll. You get stuck under them, they move back together and you’re dead. What the hell are you doing here?”

  The look on his face went from panic to guilt before that faded into blankness, but she’d seen it. He’d been watching her. Another shiver slithered down her spine. Where were her shoes? She glanced back to where she had been. If he had bad intentions, could she get across the logs faster than he could?

  Maria reached automatically for her cell phone. Not in her pocket. Had she had it or was it at the bottom of the lake? “Go back where you came from!”

  “I’m trying to help you.”

  “I’m fine. If my Uncle Brad sees you, he’s going to come after you.”

  “And you wouldn’t like that?”

  “I wouldn’t really care, but you and your friend might.”

  “Yeah. Me and my friend. What’s your name?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Well, Ms. Nunovyerbizness, you’re not very polite to your potential rescuer.”

  “I’m going back home. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll go your way.”

  He didn’t leave, but he also didn’t conti
nue forward. She turned away. Don’t look back, just get across the driftwood. She walked to the end of the log she was on, feeling too tired to be moving yet, but she was wired. Not going to be the deer in the headlights. She hopped across to another solid-looking long log and stepped carefully, but quickly down its length, snagging a walking stick from a pile of smaller drift. The next step across she pushed onto the log she wanted to step onto before putting her weight on it. She found a good excuse to jump at an angle that would let her see if he had left. He hadn’t. He was still there watching her, but hadn’t moved closer.

  When she got back to her shoes, she sunk down on the log and glanced back. He was moving now, back the way he’d come. Her breath escaped. She pulled the one dry sock and shoe on one chilly foot and the damp ones on the other. She worked her way carefully, calmly, willing herself to not look back at him until she had made it back into the brush. Then she looked. He had disappeared. For a moment she wondered if he’d dunked himself and was even now drowning under the logs. No. She wasn’t that lucky and didn’t really wish that on anyone, not even a peeping tom.

  Maria hurried back up the trail, watching her footsteps carefully. Escaping death and injury had so far been a matter more of luck than attention. She resisted the urge to look back to see if he was following her.

  By the time she got back to the house the chill of the water had her shaking. She came in the back door and hurried to the shower, dumped her clothes in the hamper and cranked up the heat. Under the water the tears came again. Should she tell anyone? And what would she say? That she’d been stupid? She could let it go. He would have tried to save her. But he’d been spying on her. She vowed not to go down to the lake alone and to not be stupid. Like that had ever helped.

  Was he just interested in her? No. She had James. Steady, stable James. And that guy gave her the creeps. Trust your instincts, girl. When the tears had been washed away and she no longer felt cold, she shoved the knob on the shower in and scrubbed herself dry before wrapping the towel around her and slipping down the hall to the room she shared with James.