by A. R. Shaw
Graham aimed and shot one wolf, dropping it quickly; the others aimed for the two fleeing toward the tree line. The remaining geese took flight in a rush as the booming gunfire resounded.
Mark took down his mark, but Sam didn’t, and everyone sucked in a breath at this rare miss as the lone wolf took off. Still, they counted themselves lucky to have nabbed two.
“Good job, Macy girl,” Graham said while the other two men went out to retrieve the kills. “It’s a good thing I got the truck ready for the trip this morning. Looks like I’ll be skinning in the greenhouse the rest of the day.”
Graham had learned to skin animals from his father, but Sam had taught him several new tips and tricks for preserving the pelts so nothing was wasted. Everything would eventually be made into warm coats, blankets, or mittens. Macy knew Graham didn’t enjoy the tedious skinning process any more than he or the rest of them had enjoyed the rift that processing the kills caused between Tala and Sam.
Graham mused over how, even now, the great wolf debate raged on. Thankfully they’d all came to an agreement over their first debate. Sam wisely never wasted anything from various hunts of deer or even bear. Tala, always accommodating, dried and preserved all cuts of game. However, when it came to wolf, she put her foot down. Tala’s Indian heritage held her back from eating wolf meat. She refused to even handle the meat or the pelts since her traditions forbid consumption of wolf flesh.
Her grandparents had taught her this traditional taboo. Though she couldn’t explain why, she said the ritual had something to do with the animal’s soul. Sam agreed, instead of poking fun at her as she expected. Each of them held something sacred, and this was hers. After all, Tala meant “wolf.”
The prospect of starvation had changed things, though, so they had made a contingency compromise: they would forgo eating the meat unless starvation became a factor. If or when food became short, all bets were off, and Graham said he’d personally make smoked wolf sausage if Tala didn’t want to handle the kills herself. So, for now, they consumed all food except wolf meat.
Tala, typically easygoing and sensible, had surprised them when she’d adamantly spoken up about her aversion to the meat. But they’d all listened, and they granted her this one; Tala made few demands.
Even Sam admitted later that he’d never liked the taste of the gamey meat. Wolf meat tasted surprisingly too much like chicken, and it felt too close to eating your own dog. Since they all loved and admired Sheriff, eating wolf would be a particular turnoff.
For now Graham surveyed the ice as the guys slid the gray wolves to shore. Mark dropped his and ran up the trail to grab a sled, huffing and puffing, his breath in clouds.
At the same time, Tala’s voice crackled over the radio clipped to Graham’s belt, telling him she called in the disturbance to the preppers’ camp so they wouldn’t worry over hearing the commotion coming from their direction. “Thanks, babe,” he said.
Sheriff came up to inspect Mark’s kill, sniffing the large wolf, then trotting on to sniff the next one, only four feet away.
“Macy, can you call in to Tala and have her radio Rick? I need a child visitation tonight before dark please. I’ll be gone for a few days, so I’d like to lay eyes on Addy before we head out,” Sam asked.
“Sure, Sam. I should have requested the visit earlier.” Macy relayed the message right away.
“I’ll help you get these hung before I head out,” Sam said to Graham.
Graham shook his head. “No need. Macy and I can handle it. She has muscles. You go spend time with Addy before you go.”
“I just want to see her for a moment or two,” Sam said.
Soon the sound of Mark and the sled dragging behind him drew closer. The boy did everything in fast motion these days. They were amazed at how well he had fully recovered from his unfortunate experience with the preppers. Though they’d had their reasons, it had been tough on the kid. When they’d first found him, he was a wreck, and now the young man could outdo both Graham and Sam at most any task.
“All right, let’s get these up to the greenhouse,” Graham said.
“I’ve got to finish packing,” Sam said. He headed back to camp, closely followed by Graham and Mark dragging the sled with the two wolves piled on it.
Macy waved good-bye to them as they trudged back up the trail. Again she lifted her binoculars and checked all corners in her view and, after a moment, listened again to the lonely silence wafting across the frozen lake before her.
3 His Best Girl
“All right, let’s try this again,” Graham said, “you two hold him by the shoulders and, on my count of three, we’ll heave him upward, and I’ll slide his”—he took a breath and wiped the sweat from his brow with his shirtsleeve—“back leg onto the hook. Ready?” Another deep breath. “One, two, heave.”
As Graham lifted the tail end of the wolf, Macy and Bang attempted to heft the rest of the weight high enough for Graham to slip one back leg over the hook by the sliced opening between the bone and tendon.
Graham’s arms and shoulders shook from the effort of maintaining a steady hold on the animal. Macy and Bang grunted right along with him as they hoisted the animal into position. Triumphantly, Graham pulled the catch through the slice, and they slowly let go of the weight, releasing the breaths they’d held during the task.
“Whew, big guy! He must weigh close to a hundred and fifty pounds,” Graham panted.
Bang laughed. “He’s as big as you!”
Sam walked into the greenhouse, “Hey, I said I’d give you a hand with that.” He strode to the smaller wolf, still lying on the sled, and lifted one back leg, shoving his thumb through the skin at the right place between tendon and bone. Then, he pulled the hook down, while at the same time hoisting the leg up. He slipped the hook through the slot in the animal’s leg and hauled it aloft. He struggled a little, but his long sinewy muscles, accustomed to this type of work, proved their worth, and he let out a steady breath; it was nothing compared to Graham’s exertion.
“How the heck did you do that?” Graham asked incredulously while Macy and Bang laughed.
Sam, never one to show up another man, said simply, “This one weighs less. I’m off to visit Addy. Be back later.”
~ ~ ~
Sam busted through the layered snow, breaking a new path. It had snowed since the last time he’d traveled the trail to where the Skagit River bordered the prepper camp. The sun hung lower with midafternoon, behind the evergreen treetops, though you couldn’t tell through the darkness of the thick forest; it might as well be late evening. Sam came closer to the rendezvous spot, thinking how the tinkling sound of the frozen river would soon become a roar as the spring snowmelt came from high in the Cascades. He walked into the clearing and brushed the weightless sugar snow off the boulder that he’d come to use as a waiting stool.
He fished the latest carving out of his jacket pocket and sat. This one was a gray wolf, like the one he’d shot at today and missed. He took out his knife and made a few detailed curving cuts along the chest of the animal to highlight the wolf’s furry mane. Finally he scraped the soft wood smooth with the edge of the blade to finish the carving off.
Pretty soon his girl wended her way through the long, desiccated brush with Clarisse right beside her. Addy waved, her face lighting up when she spotted him. “Hi, Daddy!” she hollered across the river distance to Sam.
“Hi, darlin’!” Sam yelled back. How he masked his pain remained a mystery to him, but he was still glad he had the strength to shield her from the wretchedness within himself.
“Look at my hair, Daddy,” Addy said and pulled her knit hat off. Sam’s heart sank at the sight. His dismay must have showed because Clarisse turned the child to show him the back of her head.
“She wanted to try my hairstyle!” Clarisse shouted. “She still has all her beautiful long hair, Sam.”
“It’s beautiful, baby.”
He remembered many evenings watching his little girl sitting on her mo
ther’s lap as she pulled the boar bristle hairbrush through her locks, singing a lyrical tune. He missed brushing Addy’s hair himself, like he’d done after her mother’s death, smelling the sweetness of her, rosy cheeked in clean pajamas fresh after her bath. Missing Addy and her mother kept him in a state of constant agony. “Thank you, Clarisse, for watching out for her,” he said.
“Oh, no problem, Sam. We get along quite well.” Clarisse hugged the girl to her side.
“I brought you a new one, Addy,” he said, getting ready to toss the wolf carving overhand to the pine trunk, as always.
Clarisse took a baggie out of her pocket and handed it to Addy, who ran over to retrieve the figurine. There was little risk she would contract the virus from something Sam had handled, but they guarded against it anyway.
“Thank you, Daddy! It’s beautiful,” Addy said, examining the wolf carving through the plastic of the bag.
“You’re welcome,” Sam said, “Addy, I have to go on a hunt for a few days, but I’ll be back soon, okay?”
“Okay, Daddy.” She frowned as a thought crossed her mind. “But you will come back, right?”
“Yes, Addy. I’ll always come back to you. I won’t ever leave you, baby.”
“Daddy, I miss you,” Addy said loud enough for Sam to catch the disappointment in her voice, over the expanse; more of a confused question than a statement. She didn’t understand their circumstances. How could she, when even he walked around in a half-life, constantly bargaining for any remedy in silence?
“I miss you more, sweetheart.” Sam’s own voice fractured. “I won’t be gone more than three days. Draw me pictures, okay?”
“Okay, I will. I love you, Daddy. Be careful on your hunt,” Addy said, waving her little left hand while she held the beloved wood carving to her chest with the right. She blew her dad a kiss over the void, and Sam caught it and sent another back to her, not at all worried how foolish the ritual might seem to Clarisse.
“Bye, Clarisse,” Sam said, but he suspected she didn’t trust her voice to say it back. She simply waved good-bye to Sam, as he visually guarded them, watching them walk back into the forest and out of sight.
Sam’s heartache made him tremble. “Dammit,” he said under his breath as he placed both hands above his knees and doubled over, facing the snowy ground below.
The merciless sorrow infiltrated his soul with an agony as incessant as he imagined a crucifixion must produce. He awoke each morning and met the day filled with the knowledge of where he was, and why, and what he’d left behind, then carried the same pain with him into sleep. Sometimes his visits with Addy sustained him enough to subsist, but others, like this one, left him feeling like a prisoner, powerless to protect himself and his daughter from the madness.
“I will never leave you,” Sam whispered the vow. He took his time getting back to Graham’s camp.
4 Addy at Heart
Clarisse held Addy’s hand as they walked back to camp. “How about you and I go to the mess hall and grab dinner before they eat all the barbecue TVP chicken?” Clarisse suggested in an attempt to break Addy’s glum silence. Most people in camp liked the chicken flavored textured vegetable protein, and it usually went fast. The girl hadn’t said much, and Clarisse sensed the wheels turning as Addy’s young mind sought a solution to the problem. She was that kind of child, and Clarisse sympathized, but too much reasoning and plotting could lead her into trouble. If Addy was working on a way to be with her father, Clarisse would need to head her off at the pass, to keep her safe in spite of herself. Addy was looking for a solution instead of thinking about chicken TVP.
“Clarisse, Dad stays away from me so I don’t get the virus. But can’t you figure out a way for me to get it, so I can go stay with him? I think he’s lonely.” In genuine concern, little lines etched on her forehead.
Clarisse knelt down by the child’s side on the snowy path. “Sweetheart, every spare moment I’m working on this.” She tucked a wayward strand of the girl’s locks behind her ear. “Nothing would make me happier than you and your dad being back together, but I can’t give you the virus. Do you understand that if you get it, you might die?”
“Daddy didn’t. He got better.”
“Most people don’t. If I let you die, your daddy would be very, very unhappy. I know he’s unhappy now, and you are too, but you’re both alive and can see each other, talk to each other. You just can’t touch, because it’s dangerous to you. I promise you I’m working hard to find a vaccine, but I don’t know if it’s even possible. Please understand, I’m trying everything I can, but I don’t want you to get your hopes up, dear.” She hugged the girl again, as much to hide her own anguish over the situation as to comfort Addy.
“Now, come on, let’s go get dinner, and you can show Dalton your new animal.”
~ ~ ~
The guard buzzed Clarisse and Addy into the main camp, and they made their way over to the mess tent where the preppers caught up with one another toward the day’s end. Dalton waited with open arms to greet the girl. Addy didn’t run into his embrace like she would her father’s, but leaned into him for a long hug, frowning.
Right off Dalton sensed melancholy in both Clarisse and Addy. He shot Clarisse a questioning look. She smiled sadly and shrugged in answer, as if to say, What else can we expect from this situation but a sad little girl?
“Hey, Addy, what did your dad make you this time?” Dalton asked. Addy held up the baggie displaying the wolf carving. When her sad brown eyes met his, he said, “Wow, I like how the fluffy tail came out. He’s getting better and better at carving. Do you want to show the boys?”
She shook her head and pulled the baggie closer to her chest. Her reaction, and the reason for it, brought a hard lump to Dalton’s throat. He wrapped her up in his arms again, trying to dispel the feelings of unwantedness, unwelcome in his family, that he was pretty sure she held; he lifted her and sat her on his knees on one of the dining table benches.
Clarisse went to get Addy’s dinner. Dalton smiled as he watched her. Being a picky eater herself, Clarisse would select Addy’s meal with care. The child always wanted things simple on her plate, predictable, exactly as she did with other things in life—facts laid bare, not dressed up, no trying to make something of it that it wasn’t.
Just like Kim, Dalton thought as he stood to set Addy down on a bench to await her food. He went to get his own dinner. The line was longer now, moving slowly, but he was in no hurry. As he stood waiting for his turn to be served, he thought about how his wife had reacted to the idea of caring for Addy.
~ ~ ~
Without ever really trying, Kim had quickly given up even the pretense of trying to communicate with the girl, and the whole situation had put a strain on their marriage. In public, Kim said the things she should have, but in private she remained stone cold to the task. She had her boys to prove her capable of motherly love. This devastated, quiet little girl with great but unspoken neediness was too foreign to her; beneath her, she said.
She excused herself to Dalton by telling him of all the time and effort she’d spent trying unsuccessfully to reach the girl, and revealed regretfully that they just “never clicked” despite her efforts. As Kim would say to anyone who asked about the situation, “I just don’t get her,” as if Addy were the one at fault.
One day Kim had discovered Addy hiding in the latrine during school hours. She yelled at the despondent little girl, who’d escaped there to cry in privacy; the other kids always made fun of her for crying.
Later that night Dalton found Addy up in the dark of night, packing her own backpack to leave camp. Something had to give, or the girl would end up hurting herself. He argued with his wife to accept her because he owed this debt to Sam. He couldn’t understand why Kim held such animosity toward the orphaned girl; it made no sense to him. How could she be so hard as to let a harmless child sense she wasn’t wanted? Besides, what other options were there?
That same day, he later learned, Kim had mad
e a rare appearance at the quarantine building expressly to speak with Clarisse. Kim had concluded that, of all the females in the camp, Clarisse—another person she didn’t get—would have the best chance of becoming a guardian for Addy. As Kim explained it to Dalton that evening in bed after a quiet but intense session of lovemaking, Addy was just like the antisocial, brainy, outcast doctor, only in a younger form. Pawning the girl off on Clarisse was the best way. End of all the troubles; end of story.
That night Dalton stroked the soft, pale skin of her exposed hip. She lay on her side, curves highlighted by the glow of a flickering lantern. Kim knew her value and always used it to her advantage. She whispered sweetly, “Dalton, about Sam’s kid. She does not belong with us. She doesn’t fit in. She’ll have to go.”
He lifted his hand, stopped the caressing. Kim turned to face the wall, obviously uncaring what his opinion might be on the subject. She always left him to view the good parts instead of her flaws. The lantern light danced on the exposed crack of her bare ass, her lower back, the dipping curve of her waist, her slender shoulder. He loved her even though he feared her inner soul contained nothing more than frost.
“Go?” he echoed, turning her back to face him. Her expression was guileless. “Go where?”
“Clarisse will take her. I’ve already fixed it. You’ll see I’m right; it’s for the best.” Again, she turned her back, pulled the covers over her shoulder and burrowed into the covers.
Dalton lay staring at his wife’s form for a long time. Then, without a word, he rose from their double camp cot. He pulled his mottled green camo pants up over his naked hips. His dog tags jangled away from his chest as he bent over, slipped on his boots, and lifted the lantern. As he left their tented room, he peered in on his boys’ partition, watching their little chests rise and fall. He turned again to the next section and sought out Addy’s form, only to catch her up on her knees at the end of her cot gazing up through the small plastic window at the moon. She detected his presence as he stood silently looking at her. She half turned. “Do you think Clarisse will like me?”
