by Don Reardon
“I wish I had more for you, buddy.”
“It’s bad,” Carl said. “Real bad. People are getting really sick. Dying. I’m afraid for my little one. So sick, she is.”
“Here.” John handed the bag through the open door.
“Quyana,” Carl said, nodding. “Hope this helps. Anna sick?”
“She’s fine,” John said. “Are you going to take your girl to Bethel?”
“They aren’t letting any more patients go in the hospital. No planes can fly. Too many sick people, I guess. If she gets any worse, I might take her by sno-go anyway.”
“Do you know when the power will be back on?” John asked.
Carl shook his head. “Maybe there’s no one to check on the generator. I would, but my family needs me,” he said.
John nodded. “Take care of them,” he said. “This will be over soon.”
“See you,” Carl said, closing the door. John waited until he heard Carl’s feet on the steps and the machine roar to life and race off before he returned to their bedroom.
He stopped at the window and looked out at the sun, a dull yellow-white disc sinking into the frigid white canvas of snow and tundra.
34
“I’ll tell you what,” Red said. “If you’re set on leaving here I’ll make you a deal. A helluva deal.”
“I don’t really feel like I have much to deal with,” John replied. He looked over at the bed, where the girl was still sleeping. He was worried about what Red was going to say next. The man’s attitude had changed once he saw they were intent on leaving.
Red stood up and rubbed his lower back with both hands. “Damn cot’s not exactly comfortable,” he said. He took the kettle and set it on the hot plate. “Tea?”
John shook his head. He didn’t like Red’s tone. His mood seemed different. Detached.
“The girl—walking the distance you aim to walk with her isn’t going to be easy.”
“I’m not leaving her,” John said. “Not with you.”
“Wasn’t suggesting you should. I’ve got no use for a girl who can’t see. I’ve got some MREs you can take. They would travel a little easier than those heavy cans. You need to know that the worst part of winter is on its way and travel will be hell, no matter how prepared you are.” He sat down across the table from John.
“There’s more. Under the tank here, in my storage bunker, I’ve got two snow machines. One’s mine, the other was my wife’s. You can take her machine and the two jerry jugs of gas. That’s ten gallons. Plus the machine is full. That’s enough fuel to get you a hundred fifty or so miles upriver or to find those kids she keeps talking about, wherever you want to go.”
“What’s the catch?”
Red leaned close and said, “There is no catch. I just need you to help me with something I can’t do myself. Let’s go look at those machines.”
Red pulled the cover off the small yellow Ski-Doo. The machine had a long, narrow black seat with a metal basket at the back. Red pointed to a slender fibreglass sled with a heavy-duty aluminum hitch. “You can throw your gear and supplies in the sled, and put the gas cans here in the back on this rack. My machine is bigger and faster, but would burn twice the gas. I think my wife’s rig here is the one to take. Plus, these damn Tundra Ski-Doo machines go forever, they’re light, and if you get stuck, you’ll be able to dig it out. No dude on skis is going to catch you.”
Red spun around a few times and eyed all the equipment, lockers, and boxes stored beneath his tank. The space was just high enough that John barely had to duck his head. Red, with his slight stoop, walked around without any worry of bumping his skull on the metal tank above them.
“What are you using for a tent?” he asked.
“A tarp. Snow caves. Whatever,” John replied.
“Not good enough. The girl deserves better. Here.”
Red removed a ring of keys from his parka and counted through them. He found the one he wanted, and crawled over the snow machine that still had the canvas cover and began unlocking a blue gym-like metal cabinet. He opened the double doors and pulled out a heavy orange bag. He lifted the bag with a grunt and dropped it into the sled.
“There,” he said, “the best winter tent money can buy. They call it an Arctic Oven. A winter bomb shelter. I love this thing. If that don’t keep you warm, nothing will.”
“Thanks,” John said. And he meant it. He wasn’t sure he could accept Red’s offer, but it didn’t really seem like an offer. The man wanted him to take the stuff. “Why don’t you just come with us?” he asked. “Together, I know we can make it out.”
Red sat down on the covered machine. He took off his black stocking cap and scratched at the top of his skull. He looked at his machine and the stuff around him. “No,” he said, “I’m plumb tuckered out. You wouldn’t understand it, but I spent a good majority of the last thirty some years planning and preparing for the world to end. When it did, I was going to be ready with guns a-blazing. Wasn’t going to want for nothing. And I was about half excited when it came, to tell you the truth. But I didn’t ever want it to just be me all by myself. I think I wanted people to be sorry they didn’t listen to me. I imagined that they would flock to me and ask for forgiveness. Shit, I deluded myself into thinking that I would be like some gun-toting god of the tundra and finally get to have my say about how life ought to be. Turns out, I’m the one feeling sorry. Lonely and damn sorry about what I thought I wanted. This definitely ain’t the outcome I envisioned. But I probably don’t have to tell you about survivor’s guilt.”
He stood up and knocked on the metal tank above them, as if for good luck, or to test the strength of the steel. He manoeuvred around the sled and opened the cowling to the Tundra. He removed a spark-plug wrench from the black plastic toolbox inside and popped the spark-plug wire off and unscrewed the plug.
“Hand me that starter fluid,” he said, pointing to a metal shelf loaded with cans of paint, lubricant, and cleaners. John found the starter fluid and tossed the can to Red, who sprayed a shot of liquid into the cylinder, and then began screwing the plug back in with his bare hands.
“She’ll start now,” he said, closing the cover and gripping the heavy plastic starter handle. He gave three quick pulls and the small motor roared to life, the sudden sound reverberating against the metal of the tank and the confined space. John winced at the harsh sound, realizing he hadn’t heard a motor in a long time, and it sounded mean, angry.
Red let it run for a few minutes and then hit the kill switch.
The motor died and again they were surrounded by absolute silence. John’s ears began to ring.
“Well, there you go. We’ll pull this out of here, and the sled. Get you loaded, take care of some business, and you’ll be on your way. No man on skis to worry about any more.”
“What’s the business, Red?”
Red sat down on the snow machine, briefly looked John in the eyes, and then turned his attention to the controls. He began popping the machine’s kill switch up and down. He stopped and brushed some dust off the handlebars and lightly tapped the throttle.
“Before you guys showed up I thought I’d die alone out here. Probably deserved to. But you showing up changed that. Something of a miracle, John.” He stopped and popped the switch up and down again. “I don’t have to die alone now.”
“I’m not liking your tone, Red. What are you asking of me?” John asked.
“Easy. You put me out of my misery.” Red stood back up and smiled at him. “That’s the deal. Take it or leave it. But I don’t want the girl here when you do it. You can take her out of town a ways and come back for me. She doesn’t need to know nothing about it. And she doesn’t need to think she can’t trust you, either.”
“I don’t think I can hold up my end of that bargain,” John said. “I think you should just come with us.”
Red shook his head. “Told ya, I’m spent. I’m like Chief Joseph said, ‘My heart is sick and sad. From where the sun now stands, I’ll fight no mo
re, forever.’”
“Chief Joseph wasn’t asking someone he just met to shoot him. You’re going to have to just do it yourself, Red.”
Red smiled and shook his head again. “Now, now, John, I’m afraid that wasn’t the deal now, was it?”
THE TEMPERATURE IN THE HOUSE dipped to twenty below, according to the thermometer on his parka zipper-pull. When Anna coughed, bursts of steam erupted from her mouth. The coughing fits lasted four or five minutes, and she gasped and sobbed. She would sit, slumped in the bed, the blankets and sleeping bags covering her, her red knitted cap on her head, a heavy green fleece scarf wound around her neck. Frost covered her eyebrows, and small beads of sweat froze against her forehead.
John sat next to her, patting and rubbing her back, helpless.
“What’s happening to me?” she asked, and then coughed up a tablespoon-sized glob of green phlegm. “I don’t mean to be a baby. But I’m so cold.”
He moved closer and wrapped his arms around her. “You’ll be okay,” he said. “We’ll use the camp stove and get it warm. I’ll melt some snow and make you some tea. Some tea will make you feel better.”
“I don’t want to die here, John.”
“You’re not going to die. What makes you say that?”
“My body aches. I’ve never hurt like this.”
She began to convulse in another fit of coughing. Between coughs she heaved and shook uncontrollably. John slid his hand beneath her jacket, sweater, shirt, and finally touched his hand to her lower back. He recoiled momentarily from the heat, as if he’d touched his hand to a woodstove. She was burning up. He didn’t know if he should undress her and try to break the fever. He pressed his open hand to her burning skin and rubbed her back.
When she stopped coughing, she leaned against him and sobbed in raspy, crackly breaths. After several minutes she pulled back the covers and looked at her lap. She gasped for air and pointed at the wet spot between her legs.
“I messed myself!” she cried.
“It’s okay,” he said, getting up from the bed. “I’ll get the camp stove going and we’ll get you cleaned up. It’s okay, Anna. Just try to relax, girl. Relax. Breathe. There you go.”
Outside he heard another group of snow machines racing away from the village. He peered out the frosted window. He could barely make out the shape of several dark objects with their red tail lights racing east across the snow-drifted horizon. He hoped whoever it was would bring back help.
35
“What do you think about me taking the machine through town?” John asked as they readied the sled for their departure in the morning.
“Don’t think it would make much sense,” Red said. “No reason to go hunting for trouble, which you’re sure to find. First sound of a machine running down the road will bring the guns. I’m worried enough about us firing up that Tundra for a few minutes.”
“How many people do you think are left?”
Red pointed to a ladder attached to the side of the tank. “Want to take a look? Pretty good view up there.”
John nodded and Red mounted the ladder. John worried that Rayna would get scared when she heard footsteps above her, so he poked his head inside. The girl stood near the sink, naked from the waist up, with her back toward him. She turned at the sound of the door, and he quickly closed the door to just a crack. “Sorry,” he said.
“I’m almost done washing my hair,” she said. “It feels so nice to be clean. You going to see if you can find Maggie?”
“Just going to look,” he said. “I didn’t want you to get spooked when you heard footsteps up top.”
He shut the door and climbed the ladder. Red reached down a hand, and John grabbed it and eased himself over the edge. He stood beside Red and looked out over the city. The tank was just high enough that they could see most of the town. Two small tendrils of smoke rose from houses, one to the west of town, and one in the middle.
“With it being as cold as it is, and only two houses with heat, maybe a few others we can’t see, I’d say there are probably less than fifty people living here. Most left. Fled by boat or snow machine, or on foot. The rest are dead. No fuel, no food. Don’t make for easy living if you can’t return to the old ways. See all those burned-out places? I think some of those fires are from people trying to burn the sickness out. They figured sick houses had to be burned. I think some of it was just madness.”
John scanned the rows of houses and vacant buildings. The scene was not new, just on a larger scale. Hundreds of structures, blackened, broken, destroyed.
“I’ve been through the whole town, at night mostly. Just looking,” Red said.
“For what?”
“I don’t know. I guess for people who needed help, for supplies, for anything, mostly looking for meaning, probably. Redemption don’t come easy.”
Red pointed toward the high school. “They tried to set up a makeshift hospital. At one point, they had over a thousand sick people inside. All laid out on gym mats and cots. Then when the power went out and there was no water or heat, it all went to hell real fast. On the outside the building doesn’t look half bad, but inside. You don’t ever want to see in there. You ever see those pictures of the stacks of bodies in Rwanda or the killing fields in Cambodia? Like that—bodies just piled clear to the ceiling. Everywhere.”
He lifted his hand again and pointed to the middle of town.
“And the hospital. Talk of Hades on earth. They quit taking patients early on, but people were forcing their way in. Total chaos. Too many sick people to help anyone. This whole place, this whole damn town just imploded on itself. Desperation brings out the best and worst in people, they say, but for the most part, what I seen wasn’t the best. Fear. Pure fear.”
Red coughed, and spit off the edge of the tank.
“You’re welcome to take a little spin through town, but nothing good will come of it. I can pretty much guarantee you that. You’re better off firing up the machine in the morning. We’ll say our goodbyes and you can get on up the river, quick as you can. The storm will have covered her tracks. Don’t suspect you’ll find the old lady.” Red took his rifle off his shoulder and looked through the scope out across the tundra beyond the wind turbines. “I’ve been thinking a lot about the skier. White camouflage. That changes everything, John, don’t you think?”
“What do you mean?”
“This is more than a government quarantine. This sickness was concocted. Man-made. Monitored. Maybe some government agency acting on its own under the guise of a pandemic.”
“And the man on skis?” John asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe he’s here to finish the job. Make sure no one survives to tell the story.”
John looked out toward the west to see what the morning’s weather would bring. The skies were strangely clear. Like the day the two Blackhawks landed with Santa in the village. He thought of the entire village lined up across the gym floor for ice cream and oranges, like the stories of shivering Sioux grateful and unravelling warm wool blankets infected with smallpox and measles.
A crisp blue horizon told him the night would be bitter cold. He was glad to know they would have at least one more night of safety, warmth, and a bed.
“You’re worried about what the girl will think about our deal,” Red said.
“She’s not going to understand, I’ll tell you that. She likes you. And you’re growing on me.”
“Growing like a fungus. Listen, I can explain it to her if you’d like. She’ll get that I don’t want to be alone no more. That I can’t leave this place. She knows more than she lets on, you know.”
“I know.”
“What am I not going to understand?”
They both turned and looked down at the girl, standing on the deck beneath them with a red towel wrapped around her black hair.
“Nothing, Rayna. Nothing.”
“Red’s not going with us, is he? He won’t tell anyone about them, my cousins, will he?”
“I’ve got
to stay behind, girl. In case someone else comes along and needs help like you guys did. In case that hunter dude comes along. You know old Red will take care of him, too. Bang! Bang! Now go back inside—it ain’t safe out here for a beauty like you. Plus, your hair is soaking wet. You’ll catch a cold.”
“I think it’s too late to worry about catching colds, Red,” she said and disappeared inside.
Red waited for the sound of the door latch and then whispered to John. “Now don’t you steal her hope that those kids are alive. You don’t know that she’s right. You do what you need to, but keep her hope alive. That’s all she’s got. Hell, she’s the only one with any hope in this whole damn place. Leave with her tomorrow, then tell her you forgot something, tell her whatever you need to and come back. That’s the deal. Got it?”
The man’s eyes showed no sign of conceding. John started down the ladder without giving him an answer. He had no intention of returning.
Once they were back inside, the two men watched in silence as Rayna combed and then braided her long black hair. The thick single braid reached down to the middle of her back when she finished. Red handed her a fat blue rubber band to hold it together. John stared at the collection of figure eights running down her back and tried to remember if Anna’s braids had been the same. He didn’t remember ever looking closely at them. They were just braids then; he hadn’t paid attention. He looked at her braids and then at the girl’s grass creation. The braids were similar, three strands that tapered to two, and then one, and he wondered how the girl could weave the strands so perfectly without seeing.
“Are we going to eat tonight?” she asked.
“Of course we’re going to eat tonight, kiddo,” Red said, standing up and stretching out his lower back. “We’ve got to have a little going-away party. We should eat something special, don’t you think? Maybe I should order us a pizza.”
The girl covered her mouth with both hands and giggled. The giggle turned to a cough. She coughed twice and cleared her throat. “Maybe you could order some Chinese food, too. I always ordered sweet-and-sour chicken when I came to Bethel,” she said and giggled some more.
