Monsters

by Peter Cawdron

  “I don't need either a wish or a prayer,” James said, refusing to be intimidated. He looked the old man in the eye. “I know you think you're doing what's right. I understand that someone once made hard decisions for your life, decisions against your will, but this is different.”

  “How is it different?”

  “She already fought off a mild fever yesterday. Her leg was far better when I walked through your door than it had been up in the mountains. Her body is responding, but it’s fighting a protracted battle, surging back and forth. We need to help it win.

  “And we know what we're up against. We know how to treat her. It's not just a case of keeping the wound clean, but cleaning it with anti-bacterial agents, chemicals that will kill germs. We need to give her body the best chance of winning this war. I need time. I need you to wait.”

  “If you’re wrong,” Winters began, “she dies. You know that, right?”

  “Why did you place the saw in the fire?” James asked, ignoring him.

  “To clean it.”

  “Why not just wipe it clean?” he asked. “And why boil the water? If you start with clean water, boiling shouldn't make it any cleaner. No, think about it. What you’re doing is sterilizing both the saw and the water, you’re using heat to kill any microscopic organisms that could lead to infection. You just don’t know it because this knowledge has been lost.”

  Winters was silent for a moment. James could see him considering his logic.

  “If she gets worse,” Winters began.

  “If she gets worse, all bets are off,” James said.

  “If she becomes delirious. If fever sets in ...” Winters didn't need to finish his sentence. James didn’t need to respond. He simply nodded and there was an agreement settled between them.

  The old man put the saw back by the door and wandered outside, muttering to himself. The two boys released Lisa and followed their father. They avoided eye contact as they shuffled past. Jonathan's head hung low, but Wilbur had an air of defiance. It seemed they didn't agree with each other, let alone with James.

  Amelia helped James bathe Lisa's leg, cleaning the wounds while old man Winters and the boys headed out on the farm. Lisa screamed at the pain as the diluted apple cider vinegar bit at her leg. James tried to be tender, but the alternative was worse. Once he was sure the wound was clean, he carefully daubed honey into the exposed flesh.

  “I'm sorry,” he said, “but we'll need to do this twice daily.”

  That night, Lisa's wounds looked no better, but they hadn't become worse. By noon the next day, the red tinge around the jagged edges of her cuts had turned to a soft pink.

  “Your little magic potion is working,” said Winters, sitting down with Amelia at the wooden table for lunch.

  He'd been quiet for most of the morning, reshaping a plow over by the barn while the boys had cleaned out the grain silo.

  James suspected Winters was as relieved as the rest of them to see Lisa recovering. Lisa, though, was moody, and James could see she couldn't bring herself to be open and warm with a man that almost forcibly cut off her leg.

  As they sat there with sunlight streaming in through the open windows, Winters favored his bad leg, resting both hands on one thigh and gently massaging the muscle. James wasn't sure if it was a subconscious reaction to what they'd gone through over the past two days, or if the old man's amputated leg was somewhat tender from the morning’s work. Either way, Winters’ focus on his bad leg was apparent for all to see.

  “How did you know?” Winters asked. The two teenaged boys leaned forward, wanting to catch what was said. James felt cornered. Winters had to know he was a reader, there was no other explanation, but the old man didn't seem threatened, he was curious. It was a risk, but James wanted to come clean. Surely not everyone subscribed to the superstitions of the villagers. There had to be trust, there had to be understanding.

  “I read about bacteria,” James replied, pulling up a chair next to Winters.

  “You're a reader?”

  “Yes.”

  It was good to be honest. James felt he had nothing to be ashamed of except the superstitions that haunted the valley.

  “My father taught me to read. He drummed the written word into me from a child.”

  “Old man Dobson,” Winters said, an air of admiration in his voice. “Always was a clever bastard.”

  James couldn't help but smile.

  “So all this,” Winters said, gesturing at the walls. “You can read all this? You know what all this is?”

  “Yes.”

  For the next few hours, they sat and talked about the various items displayed within the cabin.

  Amelia reminded Winters he was supposed to be plowing the western fields, but he didn't care. The fallow ground could wait. Wilbur and Jonathan were fascinated by the details James could recall as he told them about the Old World and the fall of civilization.

  By early evening, Lisa's leg looked healthier. The tissue was visibly pale and the swelling had subsided. James washed her leg again, but she was more tolerant of the pain, taking it in her stride.

  As evening fell, Lisa grew restless, saying they should be moving on tomorrow. She asked if one of the boys could take them on to the next town.

  Winters said it was foolish to continue traveling, that Lisa needed to allow the bone in her leg time to mend.

  Amelia suggested they stay awhile, saying they were welcome to share in their food.

  James accepted.

  The right side of his chest and back had come out in severe, deep bruising from his fall through the snow. The branches on the pine tree may have broken his fall, but that came at a price. As the days since the bear attack wore on, James was surprised by how sore he felt. The more time transpired, the more his body rebelled against strenuous activity, demanding he rest and recuperate. He could see Lisa was nervous, but she wouldn't tell him why. Having been through so much, he knew they both needed time to recover.

  Over the next few days, Lisa's leg improved further. Scabs formed over the deep, jagged tears, hiding the mending tissue beneath a hard outer crust. Her broken leg would take months to heal properly, but Wilbur made a form-fitted brace that strapped to either side of her leg, holding it firmly in place, and she was able to hobble around on her crutch. Lisa was determined not to be a burden and insisted on helping Amelia prepare meals.

  For James, those few days were invigorating.

  On the fifth day, everything changed.

  Chapter 05: North

  Sweat dripped from his forehead.

  James wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Although he was wearing leather gloves, blisters were forming on his palms as he dug with the spade, loosening a large rock from the ground.

  The two boys, Jonathan and Wilbur, were quiet as they kept up a blistering pace, throwing rocks into the cart as old man Winters hobbled along, leading the horse down the field. They were harvesting rocks, at least, that was what his father called it. Village folk used to make fun of the spring harvest, particularly the teens, but it was serious business, as every farmer knew. With the ground thawing during the day and freezing at night, the dirt would expand and contract, forcing rocks up through to the surface. Given the strength of the horses, any rock larger than a man's hand could damage a plow, so the rocks had to be harvested before seed could be sown.

  James bent down, dropping his ass so he could pick up a large rock without using his back. He lifted with his legs, driving up with his thighs, gaining a little momentum so he could hurl the rock into the back of the cart.

  A hunk of fractured granite flew through the air, catching the edge of the wooden cart and falling back to the hard-packed earth with a thud. James groaned. Despite his best efforts to lift properly, his back ached. Wearily, he stepped over to grab the rock again when Wilbur called out.

  “Looks like we've got company.”

  A troop of soldiers made its way along the trail toward the farm. Their colorful standards were visible thr
ough the deciduous trees still devoid of their leaves. There was an unusual amount of pomp in their scarlet banners, each one trimmed with gold. For a moment, James was in awe.

  “Wilbur,” Winters said, his voice low and rough. “Get the women and take them out back. Hide them in the cellar under the hay barn. Pile bales on top of the lid, but don't make it too obvious. Be sure the hay bales are messy, so it looks like a staging area.”

  Wilbur didn't have to be told twice, he tossed his long crowbar into the back of the wagon and ran off on foot toward the cabin.

  “Jonathan,” Winters said. “You keep going with the rocks. Let's play dumb, like it's no big deal. We've got nothing to hide. James and I'll head them off at the cabin.”

  James felt a sickening knot form in his stomach. He wasn't sure why, but he thought Lisa was in some kind of trouble, serious trouble if the approaching soldiers were any measure to go by. Winters seemed to understand that too. Jonathan didn't need to be told what to do. He loaded up a couple of the crossbows they carried to ward off animal attacks and lay them in the rear of the cart, out of sight but easily accessible.

  “Anything you want to tell me about you and your girlfriend?” Winters asked, hobbling across the stony ground at a fast pace. James kept walking, although his eyes darted back at the dusty road, looking at the approaching troop.

  “Ah, no. Nothing.” It was the truth, but it felt like a lie.

  “They're flying colors from the north. That's both good and bad.”

  “How so?” James asked, resisting the urge to run ahead of the old man and help Wilbur hide the women. Wilbur, he noted, had not run directly to the cabin, he'd headed down along the hedgerow to the end of the field, using the horse and cart to cover his line-of-sight, allowing him to slip under the hedge and move back to the cabin unseen from the road. James caught a brief glimpse of him darting across between the corral and the cabin, and then heading into the cabin from the rear. They'd done this before.

  Winters was breathing hard as he strode over the uneven ground.

  “Colors mean they're announcing their character well in advance to avoid any misunderstandings.”

  “That's good?” James asked, a little unsure.

  “Oh, that's good,” Winters replied.

  “Then what's bad?”

  “That they're flying colors means they're confident they're moving in a force large enough that no one can bother them. It's a bit like a cock strutting its feathers in the yard.”

  “That's bad,” James said, helping the old man bend down and pass through a wooden fence. From there he hobbled over to the cabin.

  “Yep,” said the old man without any emotion. “This is probably just a scouting party split off from the main troop. You sure you don't have something you want to tell me, son?”

  James didn't want to lie to Winters. Although he had his suspicions about Lisa, he didn't know who she was or where she was from.

  “No, sir.”

  “Well, seems your girlfriend has pissed off some serious muscle.”

  The old man was quiet as he hobbled on his wooden leg. He sat on the edge of a watering trough and turned to face the soldiers as they began coming down the worn path between the fallowed fields.

  He turned to face James, saying, “I sure hope this little secret of hers doesn't end up costing us our lives.”

  James replied, “Me too.”

  Four officers came down the track on horseback. Their armor looked resplendent in the sunlight, shining and glistening. Behind them, a squad of ten soldiers jogged in unison. The soldiers were lightly armed, carrying spears but no armor. The rear two horses were loaded up with extra armor for the foot soldiers. They were laden with shields and pikes, swords and crossbows, all carefully mounted in breakaway baskets, ready for rapid deployment.

  As they came up to the log cabin, the soldiers fanned out, moving around the cabin, while the officers came to a halt in front of James and Winters.

  “Good day to you,” Winters called out.

  The lead officer replied. “Yes, it is a fair spring day. The weather is particularly mild for this time of year.” James thought it was unusual to see an officer posturing with such pleasantries. “We have come from afar on the business of trade. May we water our horses?”

  “Be my guest,” Winters replied, standing and giving the lead horse the opportunity to drink from the trough. “But we have nothing to trade. Trade should be done in the villages.”

  The officer ignored him. The horse lowered its head, sniffing at the water but not drinking.

  “What really brings you this way?” Winters asked. The look of concern on his face suggested that while he recognized the officer was polite, he knew the soldiers were searching his grounds without permission. James could hear one of them inside the cabin, knocking furniture around. He must have gone in through the rear door.

  “Where are your women?” the officer asked, ignoring Winters.

  “They've gone with one of my sons, south to the village of Amersham to fetch seed for our fields.”

  “How long have they been gone?”

  “Two days,” the old man replied, moving to one side so the light of the sun wasn't directly in his eyes. The officer nudged his horse, trying to keep the sun directly behind him and making it difficult for either of them to see his face.

  “When will they be back?”

  “We expect them in a week,” Winters replied, lying. James hung back, trying to remain inconspicuous. In the distance, he could see Jonathan still out in the field, placing stones in the cart rather than tossing them in, probably to avoid triggering the crossbows lying on the rocks in the back of the cart.

  “You wouldn't be lying to me, now would you?” the officer asked as one of the soldiers stepped out of the cabin behind them. “I don't like liars.”

  “Me neither,” Winters replied. “You wouldn't be lying to me either, would you?” The old man had balls, of that James had no doubt.

  The officer smiled, climbing down from the huge beast. One of the soldiers pulled the base of the rope ladder taut as the officer made his way down, making it easier for him to descend.

  “We seek a woman, a teenager,” he said. “Have you seen any such woman?”

  “You're not giving us much of a description to go on,” Winters replied.

  “I imagine you don't see too many teenage women out this way,” the officer replied. “We think she was with a small party, perhaps no more than two or three others, servants of hers.”

  James got his first good look at the man. He was tall. Despite the weight of his polished armor, he held his back straight and his head erect. His trousers were clean, as were his boots, telling James he had servants waiting on him, which was no surprise given his demeanor.

  The officer unclipped his armor, handing it to the soldier behind him and revealing a scarlet vest resplendent with the same crest as the flags and standards carried by the troop. His name and rank were embossed over his heart—Captain McIntyre.

  One of the soldiers called out from the barn, dragging Wilbur out into the open. McIntyre marched over with Winters hobbling after him. James followed.

  “He's my son,” Winters cried. “Leave him be.”

  McIntyre ignored Winters.

  “What was he doing?”

  “Mucking out the stalls,” the soldier replied.

  “Search the stalls,” McIntyre commanded. “Turn them over.”

  Smart, thought James. Jonathan had left the girls in the cellar beneath the hay storage and had returned to the main barn, drawing the attention of the soldiers away from their hiding place.

  “What has she done?” James asked. As soon as those words left his lips, he knew it was a mistake. His curiosity was as good as an admission, and McIntyre seized on his words.

  “So she has been here?”

  Neither James nor Winters offered any more.

  “She is the daughter of General Augustus Gainsborough, commander of the northern tribes.”
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  The soldier beside McIntyre stepped forward, making as though he would apprehend James, but McIntyre called him off with the subtlest of hand gestures, just a slight wave of his hand indicating he should hold his ground.

  “Where is she?” he asked politely, stepping forward toward James.

  “What will happen to her?” James asked, ignoring the officer's question and asking his own.

  “We seek nothing but her welfare,” McIntyre replied, and James had no reason to doubt him. There was nothing sinister in his motives, of that James was sure.

  For James, the charade was stupid. Lisa wouldn't trust him. She hadn't been honest with any of them. What did he owe her? And as for Winters, the old man was putting his life and the lives of his family in jeopardy for both of them, simply out of honor when Lisa had done nothing to prove herself. She'd lied to them, or at the very least misled them. But this was serious. There was no law to govern soldiers other than their own code. Villages had been plundered through misunderstandings, left to burn because of some minor slight. James wasn't prepared to put Winters in jeopardy like that, not for Lisa, not without reason.

  “She's been hurt,” he replied. “She was caught in a bear trap north of the foothills, below Stanton's peak. I brought her here simply because this was the closest farm. Winters and his family knew nothing of her a week ago. They have been good to us, good to her.”

  He paused for a second, measuring his words, speaking with slow deliberation.

  “You'll find her in the cellar, beneath the floor of the hay shed.”

  McIntyre waved his hand and the soldier by his side headed toward the shed at the back of the farm, calling out to the other soldiers as he broke into a jog.

  Within minutes they carried out Lisa, holding her between them, keeping her broken leg with its splint raised off the ground. For her part, Lisa was yelling at them, demanding they release her. She saw James standing by McIntyre and cursed him.

  “You ... How could you do this to me? You asshole. How could you betray me? How could you turn me over to them? I hate you!”

  Lisa was striking at the soldiers, scratching and hitting them while they did nothing to defend themselves other than to wince under her blows.