Winter Damage

by Natasha Carthew

  The silence of that great place and all its history and tales caught Ennor in the heart and she made a place for it there and the landscape became something majestic and no longer to be feared.

  She had slept it and breathed it and drunk it and lived it a lifetime over. She had grown up into ways she thought she had already grown and found some way of being that was the child she had lost. Innocence had returned despite and because of everything and to the moor she would be for ever grateful and grateful too to the great leap into chaos that was Sonny.

  When they were safely hidden from the sleeping men’s view Sonny emptied the panniers she’d stolen from the camp of anything not useful and loaded them with their things and lashed the empty rucksacks to one of the saddles and a bundle of roped wood and they rode out into the fog.

  ‘You sure we’re headin right?’ Butch asked Sonny from his perch behind Ennor.

  ‘Course I am, we’ll be back on route and flyin in no time.’

  ‘Forever optimistic.’

  ‘That’s right and we’ll be in Bude in a matter of hours cus of me.’

  ‘Cus of the horses.’

  ‘Cus of the horses, cus of me.’

  ‘Buddy horse!’ shouted an excited Trip and Sonny had to tell him once more to hold on to her waist.

  Ennor watched him pat the horse’s rump with delight and she realised how thin he had become, shrunken down to a size way younger than his years. ‘At least he’s enjoyin himself,’ she said.

  ‘He’ll be on the ground in a minute if he don’t hold on,’ said Sonny.

  They rode at a slow pace and the dog danced between them, barking with excitement.

  ‘You don’t think the men will come after us, do you?’ asked Ennor.

  ‘What on, them old nags?’ asked Sonny.

  ‘They long gone,’ giggled Trip. ‘Don’t you worry bout them. I let um go just before.’

  ‘That’s my boy,’ laughed Sonny and she reached around to pat him on the arm. ‘Followin in Aunty Sonny’s footsteps, int you?’

  Ennor couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment the bit of wind that skirted the horses legs and the bit of snow that caught in her eyelashes became blizzard weather. They’d been engaged in the usual favourite meal conversation and the thought of food had risen to hallucination status. She’d been deciding between pasty and chips and egg and chips as her all time favourite when she looked back at Sonny and Trip and was startled to see they were no longer there.

  ‘Sonny?’ she shouted, standing the horse in the snow.

  ‘Over here!’ Sonny replied. ‘Where you at?’

  ‘It’s snowin again,’ said Trip as they emerged from the heavy falling white, ‘and the horses don’t like it.’

  This was true. The animals had become skittish, unresponsive mules.

  ‘You gotta be hard on um,’ wheezed Butch. ‘If you’re afraid, they’re afraid.’

  ‘I int afraid,’ said Ennor. ‘Just can’t see nothin. Where’s the compass?’

  ‘Here,’ said Sonny and she led her horse up next to Ennor’s. ‘We just gotta keep headin straight. We int far. Don’t think anyway.’

  Ennor closed her eyes to help her think. She didn’t like sitting on a horse in these conditions, she felt vulnerable, easily pushed. Butch was coughing up his own storm behind her. She could feel the tightness in his chest against her back, his fingers gripped around her waist to keep him upright. ‘We gotta find shelter,’ she shouted. ‘Sit out the storm.’

  ‘We gotta keep goin is what,’ shouted Sonny. ‘Where you think we’re gonna find shelter? We can’t even see each other.’

  ‘I can see sister,’ said Trip.

  Sonny told Trip to zip it and Ennor told her to do the same. ‘We keep goin and if we find shelter we take it.’

  Sonny nodded towards Butch. ‘He looks bad.’

  Ennor looked over her shoulder and saw that he had fallen into a half-sleep. ‘I know.’

  ‘What we gonna do?’ asked Sonny.

  ‘Make it to Bude and go get a doctor.’

  ‘Wherebouts?’

  ‘Mum will know.’

  Sonny nodded and she looked into the blizzard.

  ‘What you lookin at? There int nothin to see.’

  ‘That hawthorn bush.’ She pointed to a charcoal sketch of tree so faint it was as if it had been pencilled on to tracing paper. ‘The comb-over, it’s aimin north-east.’

  ‘How’d you know?’

  ‘The wind, mostly a sou’wester, int it?’

  ‘Not these days.’

  ‘But general, so if that’s north-east and that’s sou’west then that’s north-west.’

  Sonny held her horse steady with one hand as she pointed around them. ‘Come on, we gotta keep movin.’

  ‘Before we freeze to death,’ shouted Trip.

  Ennor watched Sonny and Trip move on and she told Butch they’d soon find a doctor and she patted his hand a little and there was nothing of the living about it. They would find their way at some point, or find someplace fit enough to wait out the storm. She was getting tired and weak enough that her bones felt like magnets drawn downwards. It was something just to keep her head steady on her neck, her eyes peeled and stuck on the horse up ahead with the raping wind the only thing to occupy her mind. She listened for the familiar warmth of Trip and Sonny’s chatter but there was none. Nothing but the fingering worm of winter, its damage done.

  Ennor wished she’d cut some bits of rag to poke in her ears. Another ‘just in case’ thing she should have had stuffed in her pocket. If she’d thought things through, she would have packed earmuffs, she had some somewhere in the trailer back home. But everything was an afterthought now, an afterthought and a ‘never mind’ and a ‘too bloody late’. She turned her face to look at Butch and she asked him if he was OK and he nodded yes but she knew he meant no. He was sick and worse and it was her fault.

  ‘Sonny!’ she shouted. ‘Sonny, stop!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We gotta find someplace fast.’

  Sonny led her horse up alongside and Ennor waited for her to complain but when she looked at Butch she just nodded.

  They pushed forward, scanning the white for anything that resembled colour or shape with the hours pulling and passing them by.

  What Ennor would have given for a hole in the ground, a gully to lie down in with the tarp turned over, anything. She kicked the horse and rode up beside the others, smiling at Trip when he looked out at her from his snug behind Sonny.

  ‘You OK, buddy?’ she shouted downwind.

  Trip shook his head.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘I’m cold and more.’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘Hungry too.’

  ‘You ever eaten bark crisps?’ asked Sonny.

  Trip shook his head.

  ‘Well you’re in for a treat, that’s all I’ll say.’

  Ennor smiled and in her mind she told herself Sonny was a good friend because she was. She was more than a good friend; she really was her best friend, perhaps more than Butch. The kind of friend you hear about but don’t believe exists, with good sense and calm and a mind for things same as yourself.

  ‘What’s up with you?’ Sonny shouted.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You got a face on. Misery’s sittin close I spose.’

  ‘I got a lot to be miserable bout.’

  ‘True, you seen anythin worth stoppin for?’

  ‘Nope. Int nothin but snow.’

  Sonny turned her horse close to Ennor’s and they rode tight like they were hitching a carriage.

  ‘We could make an igloo.’

  ‘Don’t be daft.’

  ‘I might set my mind to thinkin bout it.’

  ‘Save your energy.’

  ‘I can’t, there int nothin else to do.’

  Ennor shouted for her to keep her eyes skinned. ‘We can’t ride out this storm much longer.’

  The wind was pushing past gale force and it twisted the riders
and the horses into a meandering muddle. If they were making progress, it wasn’t a known thing. She leant into the horse and whispered encouragement and she dusted the snow from its mane.

  If there was something positive to tell it, she’d say but there was nothing but the hum of white noise. It blocked her ears and burnt her eyes and she felt it crack and snap every bone as the horse soldiered on with tentative steps.

  She heard screaming and closed her mouth and she let go of the reins to block her ears with her forearms but the pitch was in her and all around. She looked over at Sonny and saw her head back and mouth ripped wide.

  ‘Stop it,’ she shouted. ‘You’re scarin Trip.’

  She rode close and stretched out a hand to touch her brother and she shouted to Sonny to shut up or she’d hit her.

  ‘Try it,’ Sonny shouted back.

  ‘I’ve done it before. Gave you a black un, dint I?’

  ‘Only cus I let you.’

  ‘You talk bull, Sonny Pengelly.’

  Sonny started to laugh and so did Ennor. They laughed until their jaws hurt and their lips split and bled. Trip laughed too and Butch looked up from his huddle and shook his head.

  ‘We’ve finally lost it, Butchy boy,’ shouted Sonny. ‘You always said it and now it’s true. Sonny and Ennor are officially fruit loops.’

  ‘Fruit loop loopy,’ laughed Ennor.

  ‘And Trip,’ shouted Trip.

  ‘And buddy dog,’ shouted Sonny. ‘And buddy horse and all the horses and just about every poor mongrel creature out here teeterin on the ridge of civilisation lookin in.’

  They shouted anything that came to mind and cheap jokes were laughed into the blizzard.

  They had given up caring, Ennor knew this and so did Sonny and Butch. Probably even Trip and the animals knew this. Fate was loping round in circles waiting and they were waiting for luck or death or another day of the same. If they lasted another night, it would be because of partial hope, piecemeal giving.

  The only thing good to come from giving in to fate was fear no longer bothered Ennor. It had baited her all her life but now she could not even remember what it felt like.

  Nothing scared her because nothing mattered.

  Given her mindset Ennor didn’t believe her brother when he screamed he’d seen a car, and she ignored him.

  ‘I seen it back there.’

  ‘No you dint,’ shouted Sonny.

  ‘I did, go back.’

  Sonny stopped the horse and looked across at Ennor ‘Did you see a car?’

  Ennor shook her head.

  ‘I dint either. You playin us?’

  ‘No,’ he shouted. ‘I promise.’

  ‘There int no cars out here, Trip,’ said Ennor. ‘There’s no cars cus there’s no roads.’

  ‘I seen it, sister, honest to God and everythin.’

  ‘Where then, where?’

  ‘Back there.’ He pointed to the left a little way behind them.‘Just there, promise.’

  The two girls looked at each other and shrugged.

  ‘Spose it won’t hurt,’ said Sonny as she spun her horse round and she told Trip if he was wrong he’d be taking turns on a spit across the fire tonight.

  ‘You’ll see.’ He nodded. ‘It’s just there.’

  A forty-metre turn and Trip was screaming that he was right and the two girls sat the horses dead in the snow and adjusted their eyesight to what it was he was looking at.

  ‘Is that a car?’ said Sonny. ‘Hell, it is a car.’

  ‘A bad burnt-out one,’ said Ennor.

  ‘Can we drive it?’ asked Trip as they jumped from their saddles.

  ‘No, buddy, but we can sit out the storm.’

  ‘I did good, sister?’

  ‘You did great, buddy. Come on, let’s unpack.’

  Sonny hobbled the horses’ legs together and Ennor helped Butch down and settled him on the back seat of the car.

  ‘You’re lucky, boy,’ said Sonny. ‘Still got a bit of spring and paddin to it.’

  ‘Lucky me,’ he whispered.

  They covered the north and east sides of the car with the tarp and secured it to the roof with scavenged rocks to mask the blown-out windows and Sonny stacked the rucksacks and panniers into the front window, then sat back in the passenger seat with Trip in her lap ‘Where you takin us?’ she laughed. ‘I wouldn’t mind somewhere warm.’

  ‘Anywhere but here, wheezed Butch.

  Ennor looked around from her place behind the wheel and she laughed at him and the dog snuggled beneath the blanket.

  She put her hands on the steering wheel and looked straight ahead and she replaced the dark wall of luggage with a desolate winding road circling a warm blue sky.

  Ennor Carne and her mix-match family, riding out through a hot foreign country, cruising and in control.

  ‘We could do with makin a fire,’ said Sonny. ‘It’ll be dark soon and colder than ever. I just know it.’

  ‘Could do with somethin to cook on it,’ added Ennor. ‘You make the fire with the stolen wood and I’ll go lookin.’

  ‘Don’t wander far.’

  ‘I won’t, I’ll just sit out a little. Might get a crow or a rabbit or somethin.’

  Sonny shook her head and laughed. ‘Maybe a squirrel.’

  ‘What’ll I do?’ asked Trip.

  ‘You can dig round for more rocks for the fire pit. Jiggin will warm you up a bit.’

  Ennor took the gun and a stick and walked a little way out into the curtain of white. She stayed within shouting distance and stood stony with the gun in her arms and her back to the wind. They had found shelter in the seventh circle and this made her smile. Maybe they would find food too. She had given in to fate, but that didn’t mean she’d given up on hope.

  Sonny called to check she was there and she shouted for her to shut up. She wished for a skin and bone pony or a Galloway calf to stumble her way. She knew they were out there because she’d seen them all over when she wasn’t looking.

  She should have shot at something earlier, anything with a pulse enough to call fresh, to give them one more chance at keeping going. The cold had them emptied, they’d been upended and shook so hard there was nothing but rattling bones between them.

  In the space Ennor used to keep for prayers she cleared her mind and let the moment carry her, closing her eyes and settling herself into the void. Several minutes passed and she thought she heard Sonny call her name and she looked up and saw a shadow cross her path.

  It was too small for a cow or a horse and too skinny for a sheep and she tightened her grip on the rifle and crept forward.

  The shadow turned and made a noise that was alien to her and she questioned whether she’d seen anything at all. Her mind was playing tricks, tripping her. She whispered a stupid, ‘Hello,’ and edged forward, her trigger finger ready, twitching.

  The shadow didn’t speak and it didn’t move and Ennor crouched to its level for a clean shot. She would count to three.

  She jammed the butt-stock of the rifle against her shoulder and knelt into the sinking snow counting, one and two, as beautiful eyes swung upon her from out of the startling snow and blinked. ‘Three,’ she whispered and her finger twitched the trigger into action.

  ‘What you got?’ shouted Sonny from out the ether.

  Ennor dropped the rifle and waited for the deer to stop kicking and she didn’t speak until she’d stopped crying.

  ‘Ennor?’

  ‘Dinner,’ she shouted. ‘That’s what I got, dinner.’

  They sat bundled in the car and watched the young flesh crackle and spit above the fire. Its legs bound and its guts in the dog and everyone with their eyes feasted upon it.

  ‘It would have died out there tonight,’ said Sonny. ‘Probably thought you were its mama.’

  Ennor sighed. ‘It don’t make me feel any better knowin that.’ She told Trip to stop calling it Bambi and sat back against the car door to drink her mug of hot water.

  ‘It needed doin and I did i
t.’ She sipped at the nothing tea and watched the flames fill the hole where the other car door used to be, a feel-good movie warming her through. They chewed on the bark chips Sonny had fried in the heat of the fire and sang songs for cheering.

  Darkness and snow circled them in a noose and nobody cared because they had a roof and good things coming. When the deer was near enough done Sonny ripped and cut it a hundred ways and piled it on to a saddle propped up in the entrance of the missing door. They grabbed what they could hold and it was hard not to yelp and stuff themselves like wild animals. Wild children lost to civilisation, lost in the kill.

  The meat kept coming and they ate until everything was chewed and stripped and when the wind threatened to overturn the car they huddled tight and let themselves know what it was like to be content. A full stomach, warmth and then sleep.

  Ennor dreamt she was alone in a forest. It was dark but somehow she knew her whereabouts, the smell of fresh river water racing to the sea and the back-throat tang of pine sap rising from memory. She stood idle among the trees and her hands gripped sticky deep in her pockets. She was waiting for something or thinking about something, or both.

  The night air was a comfort to her, had warmth greased through it as though the forest had been poured with liquid shine and was full to the canopy with heat. Sparks of colour like Christmas lights flashed in the forest and raced the night wind and Ennor was taken by the busy of heat and colour, another world but her world the same.

  She smelt the sharp sting of burning all around. The cooking and scorching of flesh and the stench of foliage blackening and she turned to see the dead boy grinning close by with fire in his eyes. She ran gasping in a chase, the burning night fumes filling her head as she raced the flames, the ash-ember floor swept and moving like a hearth beneath her. Christmas come and Christmas gone. The fire chased itself out towards the treeline and Ennor imagined it staring at the snow, whip-cuffed and dumb, struck down by its own rage, a fire just trying to stay alive same as everything.