by A. R. Shaw
The boy paused in thought, then nodded that he did.
“If you want to, you can come up there when you’re ready. Leave me a note at the Cascade post office and I’ll check it when I come into town, once a week or so. Do you understand?” Graham asked him.
“Yeah, but I don’t want to leave them just yet.” For the first time, Graham noticed the boy was armed as he pointed toward his home with a pistol that he’d had hidden behind his back.
“It’s all right, I understand. When you’re ready, you’re welcome. Leave me a note, and stay somewhere safe in town. I’ll check for it.” He did not know why, but he trusted the kid.
He watched the teenager’s eyes light up with momentary interest and turned to see Macy staring out at him from the backseat window. Again, the youth hesitated, looking undecided. “Okay, I’ll probably come, but not yet,” he said, jogging away down a side street.
“Whew!” Macy said.
Graham rolled up his window and moved on down the road. “That was weird,” said Marcy.
“He’s all right,” Graham said. “He’s just scared. Maybe he’ll meet up with us after a while.”
“He had a gun,” Bang pointed out.
“He sure did. I think we’ll see a lot of that now, people carrying guns.” Graham stepped on the gas and the truck moved on. He reminded the kids to find something to eat in the back, and Macy pulled out a package of cheese and peanut butter sandwich crackers and began passing them around. They each had their own refilled water bottle, and Graham reminded Macy to give her sister more medicine. Soon they were silent again, having finished off their light meal and drifting off to their own thoughts without having much to say to one another. The drive made things seem too normal, but at least it gave them time to consider things as they were now.
25 The Journey to the Cabin
Night was descending as Graham pulled up to the narrow dirt road turnoff that led to the cabin. He was a little saddened and surprised that he’d gotten this far and only run into the one young man and no other living souls. He felt a little less optimistic about the future.
Graham came to a complete stop and turned on the overhead light to see just how to put this unfamiliar truck into four-wheel drive. This caused the sleeping occupants to stir.
“Where are we?” asked Bang.
“We’re almost there. I have to get this thing in four-wheel drive. The road is always a bit muddy up there. I hope there are no downed trees in the way. If there are, we’ll have to get out and walk,” Graham said. He turned off the obtrusive light and drove slowly on the single-lane dirt path leading up to the family cabin; the truck bounced up and down over unseen dips in the road.
The long day had been difficult. Graham held back the memory of killing a man and having to perform crude surgery to save a life. He never thought he was capable of doing either, nor did he ever want to again have the responsibility of such actions any time soon. His father had been that man, not him. Graham was a math professor—or had been. His father was the brave one, a soldier who’d fought in Vietnam and Korea. Reluctantly, he realized that he was his father’s son after all, and it was a good thing he knew it now because their lives depended on it.
Graham peered through the light beams and saw a few brown deer that stared back at him before leaping away through the ferns and pines. He looked up ahead, noticed a faint light, and had a sinking feeling. He killed the truck’s headlights and, by memory, drove closer. Soon it became apparent that someone was already in the cabin; there was flickering light gleaming through the windows.
He pulled up slowly into the clearing and saw a little red Ford Escort under the brush on the left side of the cabin. “Damn, someone’s here,” he said as he turned off the engine. “I’m going to check it out,” Graham said as he pulled out his rifle. “You guys lock the doors. Macy, can you drive?” he asked.
“Sorta,” she said.
“Good enough. Anything happens to me, you get the hell out of here and go back to that boy we saw today, all right?” Once again he couldn’t explain his trust in the boy.
Sounding confused and scared by his tone, Macy answered, “Okay.”
Graham quietly pushed the door closed and Macy climbed over into the driver’s seat while Bang reached around and locked all the doors manually.
Graham moved around to the side window to peek inside. Through the wavy, dirty glass he could see that someone had started a fire in the woodstove that he and his dad had installed not so long ago. Flames could be seen behind the stove’s glass and ceramic door. No one was walking around in the main room, so he assumed the trespassers were asleep. Quietly and slowly Graham went up the wooden steps so as to not alert whoever might be inside. He tried the front door and found that the lock had been busted, so he pushed it in gently.
Once inside he saw what he couldn’t have seen from out in the yard: the firelight danced on a woman who lay on the couch, sweating and shivering at the same time. She looked to be at least part American Indian and was obviously suffering from the virus—or something similar.
Graham stepped halfway into the cabin, then stopped abruptly at the sound of a rifle bolt clicking back to his right.
“Hold it right there, buddy,” a gravelly voice commanded. Graham remained frozen in place; he couldn’t believe he’d been through this horrible day, only to be murdered at the very end of it in his family’s own cabin.
“Who the hell are you?” the stranger said, coming into view. An ancient man stood before Graham, probably the oldest man he’d ever laid eyes on. His sparse white hair was a striking contrast to his black skin. Graham pulled his right hand up, then lowered his own rifle with his left hand but didn’t drop it entirely.
“It’s all right,” he said calmly as he tried to reassure the old man. “My name’s Graham Morgan, and this is my cabin. My family’s cabin, that is.”
“So you say,” the old man retorted.
“Really, it is. I’ve been coming up here every summer, my whole life. Now please lower that gun, before you hurt someone.”
The old man complied, then Graham asked, pointing to the woman, “Does she have the virus?”
“Hell, I don’t know. Don’t think so. She kidnapped me and took me here,” he said, complaining.
Graham walked over to the woman. Beads of sweat covered her exposed face, and he pulled back the covers a little and saw that she was armed with a handy pistol at her stomach. She was unconscious, so Graham removed the pistol just so there weren’t any accidents and placed it on the floor under couch.
Listening to her breathing, Graham said, “Something’s not right. Her breathing is too clear for this to be the virus. It’s some other infection,” he said.
“I could’ve told you that, dummy,” the old man said.
Graham looked at the old man, irritated. “Do you know her name?” he asked.
“No. Dumb girl said I had to come with her, is all. I don’t know her. She said I had to come on account I wasn’t dying. I told her I couldn’t help it and she dragged me out here anyway.” The old man opened his arms wide, still holding onto the rifle.
“Put that gun down now,” Graham said and realized the old man was short a cell or two and couldn’t be trusted with a weapon.
“It’s not loaded,” the woman said quietly.
Graham looked back at her, surprised by her soft voice.
“Hi, I’m Graham. I can see you’re sick. Is it the virus?” he asked.
She swallowed and looked at him, “No, I had a miscarriage yesterday, and I think there’s some kind of infection,” she said, tears flooding her eyes.
This news hit Graham in the gut. “I’m really sorry to hear that” was all he could think to say. “Do you have any water?” he asked.
“There’s some in my car. I just couldn’t make it back out there after getting him in here,” she said.
“All right, I’ll get you some. Listen,” he said to both of them, “This is my family’s cabin. It’s fine i
f you stay here, but I want you to know I’ve got kids out in my truck and I need to bring them in here.” Then he added, “I’ll be right back.”
Before he reached the door, though, he strode over to the old man and grabbed the gun, pointing it at him. “You behave, mister,” he said, guiding the cranky geriatric to a nearby chair.
Back at the truck Graham informed the kids of the situation in the cabin. “Don’t be offended by the old man. He’s just cranky,” he said to them. “The lady’s really sick so we need to give her some of our antibiotics,” he said.
When the children finally stepped out into the cool night air, they carried what they could and walked through the tall, dewy grass to the cabin. Macy helped her sister, and Sheriff walked along with Graham and Bang, nose twitching in response to the new smells along the way. The girls stopped at the porch, and Graham handed what he carried to Bang and lifted Marcy into his arms to climb the steps.
By the time they entered, the lady was asleep again. The old man silently beheld the new intruders.
“Them’s just children,” the old man said, a little disgusted, and pointed at them as if Graham promised him something else.
“That’s right, they’re children. And you be nice to them,” Graham warned.
“They can’t fight,” he said.
“Fight what?” Graham asked him.
“This war!” the old man said indignantly.
Macy and Bang stopped behind Graham and stared, astonished.
“There’s no war right now,” Graham said.
“Dat’s what you think,” the old man said, rising on his old bowed legs and making his way slowly to the bunkroom at the back of the cabin.
The kids clearly didn’t know what to make of all this and looked at Graham for an answer. He just shook his head with a little smile.
“Man, this has been the longest day ever,” Graham said, realizing he still had Marcy in his arms. He put her down in the chair the old man just vacated.
Sheriff walked over to the sleeping woman, sniffed at her, and looked up at Graham. “I know, buddy, she’s sick,” Graham said. “Marcy, let’s get your leg taken care of first. There’s a bathroom over here to the right.” Graham quickly redressed her wound, which didn’t look any different from that afternoon.
Back in the kitchen, he asked them if they were hungry, but all three said they simply wanted to know where they could sleep. Graham walked them into the back room, where four hefty double-decker bunk beds stood like sentinels on guard. The old man appeared as a lump on the farthest one back on the right. They quietly tiptoed over to the other side, and Macy pulled back the covers on the bottom at the front end of the row, nearest the doorway, and motioned for Marcy to lie down. Graham helped Marcy onto the mattress, and Macy covered her up with a soft blanket he handed her from the stack that he pulled from a big, cedar chest at the end of the room.
Bang climbed the ladder at the end of Marcy’s bed and settled down above her. Macy stood on the edge of Marcy’s bunk for a moment and covered up the boy. “Goodnight, Bang,” she said, and he smiled at her. Graham could tell Macy was the mothering type.
She tucked her sister in again and brushed back her hair, “Goodnight, Marcy,” she said.
“Goodnight, sis,” Marcy murmured sleepily.
Macy got into a lower bunk near her sister, nearest the doorway on the left, and waved goodnight to Graham, who watched all of this from the doorway, wondering how they could perform such a normal ritual after such a hellacious day. They’d lost so much, and yet life went on. Graham walked away, amazed, and into the living area, where another life lay in harm’s way.
26 New Introductions
As Graham entered the main room he saw Sheriff waiting by the front door. “You got to go out, boy?” he asked. He opened the door, adding, “Don’t go far, Sheriff.” He shut it lightly, walked over to the fire, and added a log, which cast an ambient glow on the woman behind him.
He heard the dog pad up the wooden porch steps and walked over to open the door. Sheriff trotted right past him and into the bunkroom like he knew where he was going, so Graham shut the door and reached up to lower the original locking lever, which the others had neglected to notice before, guarding against any nighttime intruders.
Graham felt the woman’s forehead, and noticed her fever was dangerously high at this point. He removed her covers and saw that she visibly shook. “We’ve got to get you cooled off,” he said, not knowing if she could hear him.
She wore a lacy white button-up blouse that was soaked through with sweat, along with denim jeans and cowboy boots. She must have had a difficult time getting herself and that cranky old man into the locked cabin, Graham thought.
He grabbed water and a washcloth from the bathroom and wiped the woman’s forehead, face, and neck to cool her off. She woke and stared wildly at him with deep brown eyes. “I’m so cold,” she said.
“Here, drink this,” Graham said, holding a glass of water up to her chapped lips and supporting her damp head. He gave her a doxycycline pill and two Ibuprofen to lower her temperature.
“I know you’re cold, but we need to get you cooled off more. Your fever’s too high,” he said.
She nodded her head, but he wasn’t sure if she recognized him from earlier or if she might be hallucinating now. Graham began removing her boots and socks. “I’ve got to take off your pants. Are you okay with that?” he asked.
She was shaking, but she looked up at him, nodding. He unfastened the zipper on her denim jeans, reached behind her, and tugged them down. She tried to lift her body to help him but was clearly too weak to offer any real assistance.
In the process, Graham tugged her pale pink panties down partially, exposing a bloody pad and a foul smell. He reached over and pulled them back into place. “Sorry,” he said, but he wasn’t sure if she was even aware of what had happened.
Once he got the jeans down to her knees, she curled up her long creamy legs and rolled to her side, trying to warm herself. Through chattering teeth, she said, trying to smile, “You’ve done that before, I think.”
Graham looked at her, a little embarrassed. “I’m married. I mean, I was married. She’s gone now,” he said.
“Me too,” she said.
“You said you miscarried. How far along were you?”
“About six weeks,” she said, and a tear ran down her face. He wiped it away and tried to comfort this stranger who was in such private pain.
“My wife was pregnant too,” he said. He didn’t need to say any more than that; she understood “I’m so sorry,” she said.
“What’s your name?”
“Tala.”
“Tala,” he repeated. “Doesn’t that mean wolf?”
Surprised, she looked at him. “Yes, it does,” she said. “You obviously know a little about Native American culture.”
“Yep,” he said, covering her lower half lightly with the blanket and seeing that her shaking had subsided a little.
“So tell me how you made it here?” he asked.
“Well, I came from around Sedro-Woolley. There were a few looters going house to house. It just became too dangerous for me to stay. So, I got into my car and went to check on my nana at the home and found him, instead.” She smirked. “I just couldn’t leave him there in the stench. I had driven as far as my tank would allow, before the gas light came on, and then I found the dirt driveway, so I followed it and made it here. I hope you don’t mind. Maybe we can find another place to stay in the morning,” she said.
“I’m not going to kick out a sick lady and an old man, Tala. We’ll see how things work out. For now, let’s just get you better. I’m not sure about the grouchy old man, but we’ll give it some time,” Graham said.
He felt her forehead and it seemed to be a little less searing than before. “I’ll be right back,” he said, heading to the bunkroom, where he picked up two extra pillows and a few blankets.
He lifted up her head so that he could put a clean pillo
w under it and made himself a pallet next to her on the floor by the fire.
She began to protest, “You should go sleep on a bed in there.”
“Shhh, Tala, get some sleep. I’ll be fine, and I need to keep the fire going anyway. We’ll talk more in the morning,” he said, justifying his intentions.
Tala allowed herself to slip off to sleep, and Graham checked her fever once more to make sure it was continuing to subside before he finally closed his eyes on this day.
27 Getting Things Straight
In Graham’s dream, Campos was the one pushing the rifle down on his neck, squeezing the life out of him. Campos was sneering and shaking above him with a reddened mad expression, and then Graham could hear Marcy’s screams from beyond, but this time he could not help her.
He woke on the hard wood floor and sat up with a start as the old man kicked his boot again and pointed to the bunkroom.
“She’s having a damn nightmare. You going to do something? She scarin’ me in there.”
Graham scrambled up, threw his blanket off, and grabbed his rifle. He ran to the bunkroom.
“Marcy, it’s okay. You’re fine,” Macy said to her sister as Graham rounded the corner. Bang sat atop his mattress and leaned down from above, trying to see Marcy. Sheriff stood on top of Macy’s bunk, whining, not knowing what to do about the girl’s crying.
Macy held her sister, sobbing.
“Marcy?” Graham called from the doorway and his voice seemed to get through to her where her sister’s hadn’t. She stopped shrieking. “Marcy,” he said again.
Marcy drew in several ragged breaths and finally focused. “S-s-sorry,” she said, out of breath.
Graham squatted beside her. “Don’t be sorry. It was just a nightmare.” He patted her golden locks and felt her for a fever, but there was none. One side of her forehead was black and blue now. He knew it would turn many shades in days to come. Hopefully, her scars inside would heal soon too. “This is hard for all of us, but at least we can stay here for a while.” He didn’t know what else he could say to comfort her.
