by AR Shaw
“It’s all gone, isn’t it?” She began to cry for all the children down there. For all of her friends, the teachers, the entire town who had harbored her in the worst of her grief.
Without thinking, he put a hand on her back and then pulled it away.
She turned to him, surprised.
“Yes. It’s all gone from us now. Here and everywhere else. Let’s get back. There will be more people fleeing into the woods now trying to get away. We need to keep watch.”
He led her back inside the shelter and locked the door. She’d noticed he was always armed, always listening, and always aware of his surroundings. She supposed it was a habit that was hard to break after what he’d been through. Roger had said once that it was hard to turn off, and some veterans never did. She knew that he’d meant Bishop now.
“Go to sleep, Maeve. I’ll wake you in a few hours to take the next watch.”
He looked exhausted by the firelight, and though she thought it might be better if she took watch first, she didn’t argue with him. She slipped into the cot next to the children’s, afraid the images from the past day would haunt her and keep her awake, but instead, she fell fast asleep. It was as if her mind couldn’t cope and switched off her consciousness like a light.
19
“Maeve, wake up.”
At first, she didn’t know where she was. Then she heard a child crying.
“I don’t know what to do with her. She needs you.”
Someone jostled her arm again when she began to drift off. “OK, I’m coming,” she said, and the girl’s crying became louder.
When she sat up, she found Bishop kneeling in the cave room next to the girl, who was huddled on a chair by the fire. “It’s OK. Maeve will be here soon. She’ll help you. No one’s going to hurt you,” he was saying to her.
“Louna!” Maeve finally said when she realized what was going on.
Bishop turned to her. He had a hold of his rifle and looked at her seriously. “Can’t you take over now and keep her quiet?”
She nodded. Something told her more was going on than the girl making noise.
“Hi, Louna. Do you remember me? I’m Ben’s mom. We live down the road from you.”
The girl made no signs of recognition. She had her knees drawn up to her chest under the T-shirt with a blanket wrapped around herself. She shook her head and appeared thoroughly frightened. Maeve tucked the blanket around her exposed feet. “No one’s going to hurt you here. OK?” she said and ran her hand over the girl’s hair.
When Louna tried to talk, her voice came out ragged. “Where’s my…mom?” she said, and large tears pooled in her eyes. Suspecting the tears were coming from pain as well as fear, Maeve did her best to soothe the girl.
The child of only five years was utterly confused, and for good reason. Maeve wasn’t certain five-year-olds could understand their conditions. “Sweetheart, there was a fire. Do you remember anything?”
She shook her head no.
Maeve didn’t know where to begin. “There was a fire at your house, and the man from earlier saved you. He brought you to me. I live down the road from you. Ben is my son. Do you remember Ben?”
A flicker of recognition appeared in her eyes, but she cried still. The only thing Maeve could do was hold her and let the tears fall.
Bishop stuck his head in the door. “Can you keep her quiet? There’s movement out here.”
Maeve picked her up and took her back into the cave, farther from the door. “Louna, please try to be quiet for me, sweetheart,” she whispered.
Louna buried her face into Maeve’s neck and held on to her as if someone were trying to pry her away. Soon her sobs quieted, and when Maeve checked, the girl had fallen asleep.
The door to the cabin opened an hour later, and Maeve was still sitting against the cave wall with Louna clutched to her chest.
Bishop’s shadow lingered on the pavement, stretching into the cave room before he entered. “She OK?”
Maeve nodded, though she wasn’t sure any of them were OK. “What was going on out there?”
“Some people, a family I suspect, were roaming through the woods. They had backpacks. I didn’t want to confront them if they went around our camp here. I kept an eye on them until they were clear through to the south. I don’t know where they think they are headed—there’s nothing that way, and they’ll probably try to backtrack in a few days when they realize their mistake. I suspect we’ll see a lot more people roaming through these woods soon.”
“Why not help them?”
“Maeve, you see these boxes?”
She looked at the far wall where there were at least thirty large containers. “Those are filled with what you had for dinner. In another two days, people will kill for what’s in those boxes.”
She wasn’t sure she believed him. “There’s food down there in the stores. There are ranchers and farmers nearby.”
“Maeve, this snow that’s falling isn’t going away for a long time. We’ll be digging ourselves out of this for years. It’s not going to end or blow over, and there will be no spring. There will be no harvest next year or any year for a long time to come because this isn’t going to end.”
She looked at the boxes again. “We don’t have enough here then, if what you say is true.”
“Now you’re beginning to grasp our situation.”
She stared at him awhile longer. She couldn’t make out his features as he stood in the doorway, the fireplace shadowing his features. “Is it my turn to take the watch?”
“I let you sleep through the night. It’s daytime, Maeve.”
She couldn’t believe it. It was still dark as ebony outside. “What time is it?”
“Nine in the morning,” he said.
She laid Louna down on the cot carefully in order not to wake her and then walked past Bishop. He stood to the side as she slipped by him. She peeked out into the darkness. “It can’t be nine a.m. It’s pitch dark out there.”
“It hasn’t stopped snowing all night.” He looked at his watch and again said definitely, “Nine in the morning.”
“Still, I’ve never seen it so dark at this time. Why didn’t you wake me?”
“Because the hikers were coming through. I doubt there will be many now, though. I’ll try to sleep a few hours if you can keep watch now.”
“I will,” she said and pulled the Glock out from her coat pocket.
“Is that still loaded?”
“Yes.”
“When’s the last time you shot it?”
“I don’t know. Two, three years ago?”
“If you hear something, yell at me first before you do anything. Just sit right here,” he said, pointing to the chair by the door. “Don’t move from this chair unless you hear something, and wake me before you act. Understand?”
She nodded again.
He started to walk toward the cave room.
“What if it’s just people walking by?”
“If you hear any noise out of the ordinary, wake me. Even if it’s just people walking through.”
His voice was gruff and lacked patience. She decided not to ask any further questions.
She heard him settle on the cot closest to the doorway, and when she glanced over, he had one boot on the ground. She had no idea how he was going to sleep like that, but she wasn’t going to say anything. Instead, as his snores became louder and the children still slept, she sat there gazing out into the darkness for any signs of danger.
20
Over the next few days, Maeve looked after the children as Bishop scouted their camp day and night, watching as refugees from the town below sought safer havens in the wilderness. He never confronted the people he detected in the forest unless they were at risk of finding their hidden camp. If they strayed too close, he would intervene, sending a few warning shots to encourage their circumvention of the area.
Why they couldn’t help at least those families with children was something Maeve didn’t understand. They
’d argued about the dilemma. “If we help more, that means one of those two kids in there will die of starvation one day sooner. You choose which one,” he’d said. She couldn’t, of course, and that was the end of their debate over helping strangers.
Louna and Ben played quietly in the bunk room most of the time, but she sensed a restlessness in Bishop when there was too much noise going on. He would often leave the cabin without saying where he was going, returning empty handed. She encouraged the children to play quietly and tried to refrain from asking him too many questions in an attempt to help ease the man into having them there. After watching the town below from the view on the cliff, she too was shocked at all the violence she’d seen and heard. There was no going back home like this; she’d never want to endanger Ben or Louna, so she trusted Bishop’s plan to wait.
On the third morning, she woke to find Bishop cleaning and then loading his weapons near the light of the woodstove. Without a shirt on, she could see his shoulder injury still seeped blood through the bandage. Though he rarely mentioned the wound, she knew he must still be in a lot of pain. Her eyes lingered over Bishop’s chest as he placed extra boxes of ammunition carefully in a pack along with a few MREs, a bundle of rope, and a first aid kit among other items. “Where are you going?” she said in a soft voice.
“Down there. I told you, we’d wait for the first die off and then I’d go down and see what’s going on. From my observations, there’s organized looting and executions. Nothing good is happening. I’m going to go down and find out who’s in charge.” He said as he put on a shirt and then his outwear and then slung the pack over his shoulder. “I’ll be back tonight.”
“Wait!” Terrified, Maeve got up and chased him to the front door. Scared that he might be leaving her and the children for good, she tried to stall him. “You’re not leaving-leaving us, right? I know you’re not used to being around people, but I promise we’ll try to stay quiet.”
“Maeve…”
“Seriously, Bishop, I…can’t keep watch and protect us the way that you do. I’m scared,” she whispered loudly, trying to keep her voice down with the children nearby.
He put his hand on her shoulder as she stared into his blue eyes.
“I’m not leaving you. I’d never do that. I swear I’m only going down to recon the area—get as much information as I can about what’s going on down there. In the meantime, do what I showed you. Keep the door locked and keep watch. If you detect anyone, hide unless confronted, and then you know what to do. Maybe you and the kids could also stuff the cracks in the walls with paper or whatever you can find to help keep the draft out. When the kids have to go out, take them to the same area as before and hurry them back. It’s snowing again, so there’s more cover.”
“When has it ever stopped in the last three days?” she asked.
“A few hours last night,” he whispered. “You’ll be fine. I’ll be back soon after dark.”
She nodded, and he squeezed her shoulder.
“Fear is good, Maeve. It’ll help you survive.”
She wasn’t just afraid—she was terrified. But Maeve gave him a brave smile, and when he stepped out into the snow, she locked the latch and watched him through the cracks and fallen snow as he saddled Jake and left her and the children there in the cabin alone.
21
Bishop set out to scout the town of Coeur d’Alene, which meant he’d have to cross the lake at some point. The pitch-black darkness had lightened to a stone gray. He was betting that by now the weather had frozen the first eight inches of the lake water as it does during hard winters at the end of January.
To the north of the highway was all urban sprawl. To the south stood the main town: lots of shops, residential areas, and one enormous luxury fifteen-floor resort hotel attached to a marina and a world-class golf course on the shores of Lake Coeur d’Alene.
The building itself stood as a hallmark over the lake for which the town was named. One family owned the hotel as well as many of the surrounding businesses, and if it weren’t for that family Coeur d’Alene would not likely be the gem of the town that it was. Of course, the beauty of the area was the major draw in the summer months, and in the frigid months, when the lake froze over, Coeur d’Alene became a winter wonderland.
Bishop had visited the resort on occasion as a child, once for a wedding and another time for his parent’s anniversary dinner, where on the top floor he’d gazed out at twilight as the entire lake reflected a crimson sunset. There were few more beautiful sights in the world. Of course, those were only memories from a time before the war.
He’d once heard his father describe the family who owned the place as being hardworking and generous. Those were attributes his father seldom used, so Bishop always held high regard for them. What had happened to the family now was a mystery. All he could glean from his spot on the mountain above and from the other south of the lake was that something had gone terribly wrong. Fires burned continuously, and there were occasional explosions. The lake itself held hostage a number of burned boats, now surrounded by a thick layer of ice. Gunshots rang out and echoed through the thin winter air with the sound echoing far. And dark smoke mixed and mingled with the already gray skies.
The sounds of constant shooting only began to recede in the coming day. Bishop had guessed a three-day waiting period would likely tell him more. He couldn’t bring Maeve and the children down in these conditions, and he couldn’t keep her up there with the way the weather was going. Something had to give. Their rations wouldn’t hold out forever, and he needed to find a safer place for Maeve and the children for the long term.
He rode Jake down through the forest, stopping every now and then and using his binoculars to scan the area before him for people in the woods. That’s when he heard a yell for help and, leery of approaching any stranger, he kept his distance. But he was too close to whoever was causing the distraction, and he was afraid that someone else might come and spot him, so he tethered Jake nearby and scouted closer to the person who was urgently calling out.
While walking through the snow, he saw many individual tracks, and a lot of the snowy prints were laced with blood. There was little other noise in the forest. An eerie calm had taken over since the weather turned. Dark gray skies were the new normal, and when he finally peered around a frozen ravine, he saw why the guy was calling out. Though the man could not see him, he could see the ashen hiker yelling with his femur puncturing through the skin of his leg and canvas pants. He was overweight and must have stumbled over the uneven terrain under the snow. You had to know these woods well enough to remember where obstacles hid underneath.
Not only was the guy’s leg broken, but he was also bleeding from the chest. There was no way he would survive. Not in these present conditions. Bishop was about to move on, but perhaps he might be able to get a little information from the man. He went back to Jake and pulled his water thermos out offering the bottle to the man dying in the snow.
The man had called out a few more times since he’d spied him, and besides information Bishop also wanted the man to stop screaming and drawing attention to the area leading up to his hideout. More people would come along this path and possibly follow his tracks.
Bishop hiked back quickly to the man and revealed himself over the ledge of the narrow ravine between the trees, letting the near-dead man see him.
“Hello there,” he said.
The man’s pudgy face was startled for a second, not believing someone had actually come in answer to his calls.
“Hey, hey, I’ve hurt my leg. I think I broke my leg.”
He wore a black-and-red scotch flannel jacket over jeans and a T-shirt. His large hands were blue from the cold. His big fingers stuck out at right angles from his hand like an opened glove. There was no way he could move them. Bishop thought they were probably frozen through. His goatee was ice crusted, but oddly enough he didn’t even shiver though he was stuck there in the snow and had been for a long time. He was a dead man, only
he didn’t know it yet.
“Looks like you’re bleeding there, too. What happened to you?”
“Shot…” he said, bewildered.
Bishop thought the guy was probably in shock. His speech was slurred, and he looked as if he was hallucinating.
“Who shot you?” Bishop asked him while he carefully climbed down the ravine.
“Those guys…security guys from the hotel, they’re taking everything. Said…they were running things now.”
“Where are the police? Who’s the leader?” Bishop asked while he opened the thermos. The stranger eyeballed the container.
“I don’t know. Can you help me? My leg’s broken.”
He was repeating himself. Bishop gave him a tight smile. “Can you take a sip of water for me?”
He nodded, and Bishop held the thermos to his blue lips. He eagerly drank down the liquid.
“Do you have family down there?”
“They shot them,” he said as he wiped his mouth with the back of his right forearm. Bishop could see his fingers were thoroughly frostbitten, so blue they were black at the tips. He wouldn’t last but a few more hours at the most. Even if he managed to get him to a modern medical facility, the guy was doomed.
The man started to lay his head down, and Bishop knew it wouldn’t be long before he died. “Hey, what’s your name?” Bishop asked as he patted the dead man on the shoulder.
“I’m Michael…Mike…I’m Mike…” He seemed to struggle for his last name. The cold did terrible things to the human brain. With his eyes staring straight up, his head slumped to the side.
“That’s all right, Mike. Go to sleep,” Bishop whispered and closed the man’s wide-open eyes.
Bishop examined Mike’s body. He had no weapons on him. He wore clothes typical for strolling the dry streets of the city below but not for slogging through the backcountry where he was now. No, Mike had run from something, and the blast through his shoulder had come from the back with the bullet exiting through the front. It wasn’t the broken leg or the gunshot that killed him, though; it was the cold. Although these residents lived in a typically hard winter area, they didn’t live in the cold, and Bishop suspected there would be many more deaths coming in the following weeks.
