by J. Reichman
"Even with this cool weather," Brett said, "it won't be long before things thaw out and begin to spoil without refrigeration."
"I think it's a good idea," Cooper said.
"What's a good idea?" Chuck elbowed in.
"Pooling our food at the school," Nick explained.
Chuck shook his head. "That wouldn't be fair. I got a whole freezer full of food."
“It’ll thaw and spoil,” Nick said.
"They'll have the power back soon," Chuck said.
"I don't think you've looked at the damage like I have." Brett took off his glasses. "The road's gone. There's no way to get a power truck in here to repair the lines." He cleaned his glasses with his shirttail.
"Lyn will organize the ladies and the food." Nick took a folded sheet of paper from his jacket pocket. "I've made a work schedule for us guys."
"Now wait a minute." Chuck stepped forward. "I'm in charge here."
“Good.” Nick stuck his list away. “What do you want us to do?” Bet he doesn’t have a clue.
“Well, someone mentioned checking houses, and I want to go through my place,” Chuck said.
“I’ll help you with that,” Nick said.
"I'm off with Wade to check the river." Brett thumbed over his shoulder to where Wade packed two horses. "I'd like Jeff and Darren to secure the guns in my store. If some maniac is out there wanting a gun, it's the perfect place to get one. Don't even have to break in."
Nick considered this a good idea. "Where should they put them?"
"Cabin six is empty. I opened it earlier." Brett pulled out his keys. "I'll talk to them and give them the key to lock up the guns."
"Tell them when they're done, I have another assignment for them."
"What about me?" Red asked.
"You can do the same at Striker's. Save anything that can be used. When Jeff's finished with Brett's guns, he can help. Bring everything back here. We'll store some things here and take any salvageable food up to the school."
"Here come the old guys from the Lodge," Chuck said. "They can't do anything."
"I've got assignments for them, too." Nick looked up from his list. "I need to see Steve Myers about Striker’s gasoline."
Nick consulted his list. Checking houses. Only the retirees left. How to pair them up. Howard Grayson can hardly walk, but he can drive. If Herbert Waters goes with Howard, they'll make a team. Frank Fleener can drive Cooper Stone. I need another team. All the young guys have assignments. He considered the women. Zenia and Henri would make an incomparable pair. He unloaded the ATV. Zenia would be a perfect driver.
Wade's horses were saddled. Nick noticed the hunting rifles in scabbards on each of the horses and supplies on the two packhorses.
"Looks like you're planning on a long trip," Nick said.
"Better to be prepared, Woodburn." Wade checked the saddle's girth. "Never know what we'll find or what'll happen."
"Will you be back before dark?"
Wade shrugged. "Don't know. Gittin' a late start. Don't know how fast we can move. If Grayson’s right about the time the killer left, I suppose we need to go down at least seven miles."
Brett swung into the saddle, leaned forward and patted his horse's neck. "Old Cruz and I are good friends. Go hunting together each fall."
The horse snorted and sidestepped.
Wade mounted. "This is a different kind of hunt." He turned his horse's head.
Nick watched the two men ride away, Wade in the lead followed by the two packhorses, and Brett bringing up the rear. He wondered what they would find.
Zenia’s Range Rover pulled to a stop beside him, and she put down her window.
“It’s a go on the food,” Zenia said. “Prissy’s agreed to fix both breakfast and dinner if we’ll supply the food and help her.”
“Excellent. I’ll tell Lyn. Park that thing. I need your help.”
Relieved that he’d have something better than hot dogs on the grill for dinner, Nick hurried to find Lyn. Once he’d told her to start organizing the ladies, he returned to Zenia.
“What’s up, Doc?”
Boy, have I heard that a thousand times. “Checking houses. Think you can drive my ATV?”
“Sure.”
“And work with Henri?”
“Oh.” Zenia’s mouth formed a straight-line grimace.
“Please,” Nick said. “You’re the only one I know who can match her word for word.”
“Is that a compliment?”
Nick put an arm around Zenia’s shoulders. “I meant it as one. You throw all her negativity right back at her. It’s what she deserves.”
“Well . . . in that case, I’ll do it.”
“Great.” He handed her the key. “Take Antelope but not the cross streets. Check for unlocked doors. If you find one, report it. Don’t go in.”
“Got it.” Zenia pocketed the key.
“I’ll be at Hardin’s with Chuck. I’ve already talked to Henri.” He pointed to her across the green area between the cabins and watched Zenia stride away.
Now for Steve. He looked around at the cabins. Steve’s truck sat in front of cabin four.
“Are you ready now?” Chuck asked.
“I need to see Steve first.”
“He’s getting coffee from Nora.”
“Oh, I see him.” Nick waved. “Hey, Steve.”
Steve soon joined Nick and Chuck on the porch of Brett’s cabin.
“What’s up, Doc?”
Not again. Nick shook his head. “We need two generators. One for the radio up at Wade’s and another to pump gas at Striker’s. You know of any?”
“The Johnsons. It’s in their garage. I’ll ask around about another.”
“Good. I’ll be over at the general store with Chuck.”
It’s working, he thought. Everyone’s busy. Productive. They have a purpose. Each is part of something bigger than himself. Now for Chuck.
THIRTEEN
Wade's last words disturbed Brett. They set out from the cabins on a different kind of hunt—a hunt for a car, a child, and a killer. Cruz, his mount, picked up on Brett's nervousness and was skittish and jumpy as they headed up the muddy slope from the cabins where they could look down at the river and the remnants of the highway below. To follow the river's course, they cut across the slope, and Brett adjusted his weight in the saddle to compensate for the downward pull. Now and then, a horse stumbled and slid in the mud. They rode slowly, avoiding the edge where the water's surge might have undercut the rocky soil. The angry river boiled below them.
Brett remembered how he looked forward to the hunting trips with Wade Murphy each fall. Wade wasn't a talker. He spoke in short sentences and spent most of the day in silence, which Brett appreciated. Brett loved the out-of-doors, the stillness broken only by the whisper of wind through the pines or the twittering of birds. Usually a blanket of snow covered the ground, and he often spotted the tracks of small animals and the paw prints of the coyotes that hunted them. With a cold breeze on his face, the scent of pines on the fresh, sharp air, and the snow-covered mountaintops in the distance, Brett felt at peace with the world, at one with nature. The warmth of the campfire at night and a snug sleeping bag refreshed his soul. But this ride had none of the things he held dear.
Finally, the motion of the horse under him, the creaking of the saddle, and the rain and wind at his back calmed Brett's fears and he relaxed. They reached a downward slope to a small stream that fed into the river. As it was swollen from the rain, they moved uphill to find a crossing where it flattened out. Once they crossed, they turned the horses downhill again to the North Fork. An hour had passed, yet they were barely a quarter of a mile from the village.
Rejoining the river, they saw part of the undamaged road ending with a drop off into the muddy water. They recognized the rooftop of Giovanni's Pizza caught on rocks in the middle of a rapids. They paused to take in the sight.
"Rest of it must be downstream," Wade said.
"Busted to pieces, pr
obably." Brett shifted in his saddle. "Looks like the oven on the far bank." Flood did that to a building. What would it do to a car?
"Yeah." Wade spit tobacco juice and turned his horse's head downstream.
The horses stopped at a small gully running with brown water. Wade spurred his mount down the bank into the water, which was belly high. One of the packhorses slid down the bank on its haunches, regained its footing in the water, and walked up the opposite bank. Under Brett, Cruz shuddered as if to throw off flies, then slowly entered the water. Brett lifted his feet from the stirrups to keep his boots dry. Gaining the opposite bank, he tagged after the packhorses.
At the top of a slope, Wade pointed to several aspens jammed against boulders and crosswise of the current. Debris piled up behind them included a red pickup truck wadded up like a piece of aluminum foil.
“Charlie’s truck,” Wade said.
“Can’t get to it.” No one could survive that.
“Couldn’t do anything even if we could.”
Brett thought of Louise waiting for news in North Fork Glen. The lady who stayed at Town Hall until the phones went out, calling others to warn them of the flood while her husband got swept away. And Charlie, just beginning to enjoy retirement after a lifetime working for the telephone company. Brett’s jaw ached.
"That logjam could be a problem," Wade said. "Backing water up. May go over, but if it breaks, there'll be another surge."
Brett nodded. "It'll move the debris now on the banks." Car’s here, we better find it soon.
Hours passed with the same routine. They found nothing. Brett felt frozen to the saddle and butt sore. They stopped for a snack and stretch break, then Brett trailed Wade and the pack horses downhill to another stream. Larger than the previous streams, it flattened out at its mouth. Abutments indicated the existence of a bridge now missing. Wrapped around the far abutment was a blue car.
"Bingo," Wade said.
"Can't get to it from here," Brett said.
"Difficult even on the other side. Use a rope."
Searching for a safe crossing, they paralleled the stream up into the hills and came across a rocky, shallow area.
"Deer." Wade pointed to prints in the mud.
"Looks like a bear, too," Brett said.
They paused mid-stream to let the horses drink before moving back downstream.
Wade stopped after a couple of hundred yards, dismounted, and searched the ground. "Shoe prints." He followed them down the slope.
Brett swung to the ground. "Looks like a loafer. Not good for this terrain." He searched for another print to see the direction the man took. "Here's another. Looks like he's headed east away from this stream." Hope he keeps going.
"Let's follow a bit." Wade mounted and pulled his rifle from its scabbard. He rested its butt on his thigh and urged his horse eastward.
Prints were faint, disappearing in rocky areas to show more plainly in muddy sections.
Wade slowed. "He won't get far. Donegan's Rift this side of the river. Can't get to Two Rivers the way he's headed."
"If he was smart, he'd follow the ridgeline."
"Even then. Big Butte flooded?" Wade shrugged. "Road along it may be impassable."
"Look." Brett pointed to the prints. "Walked around in circles."
"Thinkin' maybe?"
Brett guided Cruz in a wide arc around the prints and studied the ground. "He's headed up. Angling to the west." Not good. Could be headed back.
"Considerin' where he is, shorter back to the Glen."
Brett checked his watch. Five o'clock. "He's had thirty hours. Could be there now."
Wade mounted. "No sign of the kid. He ain't carryin' him."
"We've got to check that car." Tension made Brett grip the reins tighter. Cruz pricked up his ears.
Wade stored his rifle and prodded his horse downhill. Cruz followed with no urging. The terrain undulated, forcing them to slow and splash through several small feeder rivulets before reaching the North Fork. From their vantage point, they could see only the nose of the blue car resting on its side, its windshield shattered. Water lapped at its roof.
"Water wasn't touching it earlier," Brett said.
"River must be pouring over that logjam upstream." Wade dismounted. He took a coiled rope from the side of his saddle.
"I'll go down," Brett said.
Wade secured one end of the rope to his horse's saddle horn.
Brett took the rope, wrapped it around his buttocks, and backed slowly down the steep grade, feeding out the rope as needed. His boots hit the water; he let the rope go and stood. The crumpled car lay to his left, debris lodged against its top. He worked to the undercarriage of the vehicle next to the abutment and pulled himself up to look through the windshield. The front seats were empty; the airbag deployed. The driver's seatbelt hung across the seats. He moved to the driver's door, its window broken out. Bracing against the abutment, he lifted his body to stand straddling the window and lowered himself into the car. With his feet on the passenger side door, he squatted to peer into the back seat. The boy's body, in a fetal position, rested against the back side door. My God, he’s dead.
Squirming into position to reach the boy, Brett extended his hand and grasped the collar of Andy's jacket. He pulled. Andy moaned. Surprised, Brett jerked back. He’s alive. He looked more closely. The boy's hands and feet were tied. A big bruise spread across his forehead and one arm seemed twisted.
Brett heard Wade yell. "Step it up. River's rising."
“I got the boy,” Brett shouted.
He reached for the collar again and lifted the boy whose head fell backward. Wrapping his left arm under Andy's shoulders, Brett hoisted him onto the console. Water surged into the vehicle. Quickly, Brett lifted Andy and placed him outside onto the rear window. He boosted himself through the driver's side window, vaulted to the ground, and put Andy across his neck and shoulders. He splashed through knee-deep water, the river pulling at him, and grasped the rope, putting it behind him as before.
"Pull me up," he called to Wade. "Slowly."
The rope tightened. Brett leaned forward into the hill balancing the boy's weight on his shoulders and gradually ascended. At the top, Wade lifted Andy from him and gently placed him on the ground.
Brett turned. Three feet of water filled the car. "Logjam broke."
Wade cut the cords with his pocketknife. "Poor kid. Banged up pretty bad." He swept back Andy's hair and checked his forehead. "Concussion maybe? Broken arm, for sure. Cold and damp. Strip him."
Brett removed Andy's clothing, noting the bruises on his chest and muttering to himself. God damned psychopath. Leaving the boy. Maybe thought he was dead. Still, just to leave the kid there in the river. "Think the arm has a compound fracture."
Wade loosened a bundle on the packhorse, opened it, and retrieved a sleeping bag. Maneuvering the unconscious child into it took both men.
"Hypothermia," Brett said. "Probably dehydration, too."
"Water, water everywhere," Wade said, "and not a drop to drink."
Brett chuckled and quickly sobered. "Got to get him back."
Wade shook his head. "Too late. Dark in half an hour. We'll camp up in the pines to cut the wind. Build a fire. Maybe find something to stabilize the arm."
"But—"
"Too dangerous to travel in the dark. Horse could break a leg."
FOURTEEN
“I’m tired, dirty and wet.” Nick tossed his jacket onto the floor.
“Grumpy, too.” Lyn picked up the jacket. “I’ll hang this up in the laundry room. You clean up. Use the kitchen sink. I put a basin in it.”
Nick took off his boots, dumped two bottles of water into the basin and scrubbed his hands and arms. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so grubby.
“Shed those dirty clothes,” Lyn said.
“Zenia?”
“At the school. I’ll hang your clothes to dry. Clean them later. How’d you get so dirty?”
“Hardin’s. Full of mud.�
�
“I’ll get you some clean clothes.”
By the time she returned, Nick had dumped one basin of filthy water and filled the basin again to wash his face and neck. She put a pair of jeans, a Broncos T-shirt and underwear beside him on the countertop.
“I’ve some good news,” she said.
“I could use some.”
“Henri bailed on us. Took the last room at Shannon’s.”
“Wonderful.” Nick toweled off. “Now to get Zenia out. I want to spend a quiet evening with my wife. I brought wine. It’s in the ATV.”
Fully dressed, Nick held two wineglasses when Lyn returned.
“I haven’t talked to you all day,” Nick said. “How’s the food situation?”
“It went well. Even worked out a schedule to assist Prissy.” Lyn sat at the breakfast table with her wine.
“We salvaged a bit from the general store,” Nick said. “Hot dogs, lunch meat, canned vegetables and fruit, some bread. Left a whole freezer to empty tomorrow.”
“Was it bad?”
“Awful. Door off its hinges. Shelving toppled. Mud everywhere. Really stunk. One wall gone.” Putting the destruction into words eluded him. All the broken glass, twisted shelving, twigs and branches, a dead raccoon.
“How’d Chuck take it?”
“He moaned and bellyached. I felt sorry for him.” Nick sipped his wine. “Finally got him to working. Then we went to Town Hall. Chuck said a police radio or CB was there.”
“We can contact the authorities.”
Nick shook his head. “If it was there, it’s gone down river now. Such a stupid idea to put Town Hall on the riverbank. I asked Chuck about the emergency plan for evacuation. He looked at me blankly and said he didn’t know of one.”
“I listened to the radio in the truck.” Lyn refilled Nick’s wineglass. “The flooding is widespread. Low cloud cover has grounded helicopters. Loveland suffered significant damage. Forecast is for more rain.”
“Unbelievable. That’ll be six days of rain.”
“They said it was unprecedented. The most rainfall ever on record.”
We’re lucky, Nick reflected. We have food, shelter. No one injured. Then he remembered Brook and Charlie.
