by lake, e a
Sighing noticeably, she stared down. “Camp Eight is about 10 miles north of Heber City. Camp Nine is about 15 miles south of Heber City yet.”
His stunned expression said it all. “And we took the northern-most route to the southern-most camps…why?” He couldn’t help himself, she knew. There he sat, mouth hanging open, unable to understand.
“Jeremy,” she started tersely. “The southern route was the most obvious route, I’m sure Willem had more people down on that end of town.” She could see the disbelief still lingering in his eyes. She knelt to finish. “Plus, a lot of people are heading south now. With the militia fighting up north, it’s not safe there. So south was the logical place to go. That’s why we went north. Okay?”
Jeremy shrugged and looked away, past his wife. “Just seems like you’re keeping me in the dark pretty bad here, Betsi. Makes me wonder.” His eyebrows rose as his face met hers.
“Honey, listen.” She took his hands and gently kissed each one. “It’s for your safety as much as Dad’s. Okay?” After a moment, he nodded for the last time. She rose to tend the fire.
And mine, too, but you would never understand that, would you? she thought to herself.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Running was the only way to get through the thick brush that ruled the once clear double-lane road. Betsi and Jeremy both felt the brush tear at their clothes and bare arms like a bear clawing at them. Covering their faces, they sprinted through the last thick spot of the current stretch.
“Not like the olden days,” Betsi called back once she freed herself of the last branches. “They’re like octopus tentacles, just reaching out, trying to hold us.” She stopped and admired the clear blue morning sky.
Jeremy stepped beside her, panting from the exertion required to get past the last 50 yards. “And to think, this used to be a wide open highway. Cars and trucks ran up and down this road all day long. And now…” he peered ahead, staring at a 10-foot tree growing in the center of the road. “Now it’s like that time never existed.”
Betsi patted his shoulder, urging him on. “Well, it has been 12 years. Remember at first? There were still some old trucks and cars on the road. Not a lot, but every once in a while.”
Picking up his pace to keep up with Betsi, Jeremy stared at a pine tree where cars once ruled. “Yeah,” he added, “but then after what? Three or four years, all the gas was gone. And look what’s happened to what man once made and maintained so well.” He spread his arms wide, pointing out more trees, large holes and the disintegrating blacktop all around them. “Now the earth is reclaiming itself.”
Betsi nodded, showing a small amount of agreement. “Okay, focus,” she called out. “This next hill is really steep, and it looks like it goes on forever.” Again, she lengthened her stride, hoping he would notice.
“How far to Camp One, Bets?” he asked, almost running to match her power walk.
Drawing a deep breath, Betsi sighed. “We’re not going to Camp One. Camp Eight or Nine. Remember?” He needed to focus.
“I was just asking,” he replied, displaying his usual easy tone. “I know the camps are numbered one through 12. And they pretty much run north to south. I was just wondering if we were close to Camp One.”
Betsi pointed left and slightly behind. “Camp One is about five miles that direction. Camp Two, if I remember correctly, is a couple miles dead east of us right now. And remember,” she added peeking back to see if he was keeping up. “Camps Eleven and Twelve are further east of everything else. They’re in the valleys out by Kings Peak. Another 30 miles or so from Heber City.”
Jeremy trotted to catch his wife. “Isn’t Camp Twelve out by Moon Lake?” She nodded, saving her breath for the steep ascent that lie just ahead. “Why so far out?”
“Safety, I suppose. Plus fresh water, wild game.” She slowed a little to allow him to keep up. For all of the walking they had done in the past 12 years, it never ceased to amaze her just how out of shape her husband remained. Gone was his beer belly from his college days – before all of this. But even lighter, he still didn’t have any stamina.
Finally, he reached out and pulled her to a stop. “Need a sip of water, babe.” Betsi reached for her bottle as well. “How do you know so much about all the camps? No one ever talked about them in Salt Lake very much.”
“My father, Jeremy. My father told me all about these camps. All about what was going on. All about where he may or may not go in case of trouble.” Her tone became sharper with each word. She leaned forward to stare into his eyes, still unfazed by her sternness.
“You really need to listen, Jeremy. You need to pay attention to everything. Okay?” He nodded once, and that made her anger rise. “You need to care about something besides that silly garden of yours in the backyard.” Standing before him, she shook her head, her eyes still fixed on his. “We need to stay alive, Jeremy. We need to get to whatever camp has Talbot Bond. He needs to be warned. Didn’t you see what they did to the council? Don’t you understand what they’ll do to my father if they find him? ”
Jeremy straightened and shrugged, looking past his wife, far into the pine forests surrounding their location. “I’m sorry, Betsi. I know I need to pay better attention. I was just making conversation so you won’t worry so much while we’re on the road. That’s all.”
Betsi turned and started into the hill. “I get it, I do. But let’s stay focused until we find my Dad, okay?”
“You can count on me, babe,” Jeremy called as he followed, now some 10 yards behind.
Betsi’s face tensed. She’d been meaner than she had wanted. Maybe it was the altitude, perhaps the heat. Making a mental note to curb her temper, she peeked back at her straggling husband. “I know I can, honey. Keep up now, this next part looks steep.”
Three hours later, the pair knelt in a small woodlot some 20 feet from the shoulder of the disintegrating road. Warily, Betsi watched as a group of three men and two women passed, heading the opposite direction.
“Road scum,” Betsi whispered. Shaking her head at the mangled collection of humanity, she peeked back at Jeremy, then back at the ragged group. Thoughtfully, she studied the ragged leader of the group. More distinctly, she studied the large machete he carried in his right hand.
“I thought the militia had cleaned out these pests. Yet here they are again, the third group of the day,” Jeremy offered.
Taking a seat in the dry leaves, Betsi sighed. “I don’t know. I thought Dad had said that, too. But I suppose…” Her eyes checked the group again to be sure they didn’t hear them whispering. “I just don’t know. You know someone once said they were like stepping on a pile of dog poop. Sure, you displace the center of the pile, but it just spreads further out in every direction.”
Jeremy chuckled and gave his wife a tiny reassuring smile. “Well, like the others, they too shall pass.”
They waited for the quintet to disappear, and gave themselves another few minutes to be sure they were really gone. Rising, they dusted the dry leaves and pine needles from one another’s pants and stepped back onto the road. Betsi felt the blacktop crumble beneath her weight. Not totally disintegrate, but just loosen, as if she were stepping on hard sand.
Jeremy’s head swiveled several directions. Raising his nose to the air, he sniffed several times. “I smell smoke, Bets.”
She sniffed the otherwise clean mountain air several times. “We might be close to Camp Three or Four. I’ve lost track exactly where we’re at anymore. Too much time cowering in the weeds I guess.” Adjusting her pack, she turned south and began walking with Jeremy on her tail.
“This is going to take longer than a day or two,” Jeremy called to her. “These roads aren’t as easy as we thought they’d be. And there’s a lot more trouble out here than we could have ever imagined.”
Betsi’s face dropped forward. He was right. She hated admitting it, but her husband was right. “We’ll just keep moving. Hopefully we’ll make good progress. But keep your eyes open and watch behind us, too.
I don’t want anyone sneaking up on us.” A few more strides, and her tired legs begged for relief. This was a lot more work than she had anticipated.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The fresh air of the new day filled Cara’s lungs with freshness and her spirits with hope. She loved mornings, especially crisp, clear fall mornings. Her mind wandered slightly as she made her way from her small cabin in the front right corner of the camp and out the main gate in the center portion of the same.
Steven seemed moody again this morning. No matter what she tried lately, his somber attitude remained like low dark clouds on a rainy day. Once in a while he smiled, usually at something Rosie said or did, but nothing Cara did improved his spirits.
Just outside of the main gate, she turned and carefully eyed the camp that had been her home for the past 10 years. So much had changed. When she and Steven had first arrived, only six small cabins dotted the unfenced area. At that time, it had only been two years since all hope suddenly disappeared one August morning.
Now a five-foot wall of wood enclosed the camp. One large opening served as the main gate, which was guarded at night; two smaller openings allowed residents to come and go during the daytime. At night, each of those passages were stacked with large logs, preventing anyone from leaving – more importantly, anyone entering unannounced.
Where the six small cabins once stood, 14 larger units now served as homes for the camp’s families. Many trips to nearby Heber City helped secure supplies for the new dwellings. The entire rebuilding process took two full years. By the time the group had finished, they had a safe, clean enclosure to call home, home now to 13 families.
Three rows and four columns of 500-square foot cabins made up Camp Nine. Two additional smaller units sat independent of the group on each end of the middle row – Steven’s idea. Originally, the plan called for 12, but her husband noticed they had several single men without families taking up larger spots. Thus, in the fourth year of existence, the camp added the two smaller units on each end. This arrangement pleased everyone, including the single men.
Walking along the outside of the fence, Cara noticed several spots that could stand repair. Instead of laying a number of logs on top of one another horizontally, they chose to have their fence made up of individual logs, standing vertically. Each log was placed in a hole approximately two feet deep for a solid foundation. But the few past winters and torrential spring rains that always followed took a toll on a number of pine posts. Walking the perimeter, she noticed five or six that were rotting on the bottom. She made a mental note to speak with Darrell Johnson about the situation; he was the one in charge of maintenance issues in this location.
Outside the walls of the camp lay seven enclosed gardens used to produce food for the group. Two sat on either side of the main gate, with two on each narrow end of the camp. Behind the enclosure lay three more gardens: four, five and six. These were her destination this morning.
“Mrs. Wake?” called a voice from the far end near garden four. Cara peeked ahead and saw a friendly hand waving at her. After returning the greeting, Cara and the women met in the middle, just outside of garden five.
“Good morning, Sheila.” Cara recognized the women as one of the newer residents.
“Thank you for remembering me,” she replied. “Sheila Bosworth. And my husband is Harland.” Cara nodded, remembering meeting them on their second day there.
“And your twins, Brian and Barney, correct?” Cara asked.
Sheila smiled. “Yes. That’s so kind of you to know our names already, as busy as they keep you around here.”
“Well, I see you’re out working hard already,” Cara observed. “I haven’t seen but two or three others up and moving yet today.”
“Just want to earn our keep and show our appreciation for being allowed in, Mrs. Wake.” Sheila smiled, showing Cara her joy that she and her family were allowed in to Camp Nine.
“Please, call me Cara. Everyone does, and you should, too.”
“Do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions…Cara?” Sheila appeared to be 10 years older than Cara, maybe more. Though her boys were about the same age as her Joshua, she knew the Bosworths must have waited to have their children.
“Of course not,” Cara replied, taking a seat on one of the many tree stumps that dotted the backside of the camp. “We’re all family here. It’s hard to keep secrets with everyone living so close together.”
Sheila straightened her plain brown woolen skirt and looked over at Cara. “So,” she began. “How long have you been here at Camp Nine?”
Cara grinned at the easy question. She had feared it would be a talk about politics or religion. “Ten years this fall.”
“Oh, so much has changed since then I would imagine.”
Cara sighed. “A lot actually. Many people have come and gone in 10 years. Some leaving because they wanted something different. Others, well…” Her expression becoming pained. “…others have died.”
Sheila reached for the smaller woman’s hands. “And you’ve lost someone I hear?”
Cara nodded thoughtfully without looking up. “My youngest boy, Jacob. He was six. It was our second winter here.” Her sad eyes found Sheila’s, sympathetically waiting. “Steven said he thought it was some type of rheumatic fever. But there were no doctors around back then. Now we share one with Camp Eight.”
“And Steven,” Sheila picked up on the thought, “he’s your father perhaps?”
Cara hated this question from all new residents. It should be obvious, but every last one of them had to ask. Firming her resolve, she sat up proudly. “Steven is my husband. My second husband. He came to me and the boys back in Salt Lake more than 10 years ago, just days after my first husband died.”
Sheila’s face fell hearing the oft-repeated tale of death and pain. “It’s just…”
Cara watched as Sheila began to dance around the delicate subject.
“Well, he’s so much older than you.”
Cara looked away thoughtfully. “Steven is 21 years my senior, and that is a fact. But he loves me, and I love him. And together, we created a new life with my little Rose.” Returning a determined stare to the now silent woman, Cara continued. “We are husband and wife. And we have been for the past six years. I will never have another man after Steven. Because he’s that good to me, to my family, to our family.”
Sheila blushed, shaking her head several times. “I hope you don’t think I was questioning your family.” She searched for words quickly as she stuttered ahead with the conversation. “I was just wondering about your relationship with him, that’s all.”
Cara smiled. “No offense taken. But we really do need to assemble some help now so we can get at this harvest.” Both women rose and inspected the garden plot behind them.
“You certainly are a good leader here, Cara. I just want you to know that. My family and I could see that from the start. Everyone here respects you. That says a lot about a person.”
Opening the gate to garden five, Cara signaled for Sheila to join her. “Thank you for your kind words. Sometimes I wonder what good I am, though.” She stopped and took in the sight of row after row of brilliant red tomatoes, ready for harvest. “Lately, I’ve been feeling better about everything.” One last shy grin, and Cara bent to pluck the red ripened fruit. Taking a small bite, her eyes flashed pleasure, like she had tasted the perfect food for the first time. “But, we all know good feelings are subject to change. And quickly.” Admiring the abundant supply, she held the tomato out for Sheila to sample. “Most likely not today, though.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The pile of cut wood satisfied the group. Standing six feet tall, four feet in width and almost 50 feet long, the pile was massive by anyone’s standards. Steven moved around the group, slapping backs and congratulating the members of his team.
“Now,” he started as everyone focused their attention his direction. “We need to get all this wood back to camp.” He studied the pile more caref
ully. “Any bright ideas?”
A short, thin man stepped forward – Pauly, as everyone in camp knew him. “Why drag it all back to camp now? We can just come and get it as we need to this fall and winter, right?” Several members nodded in agreement with his wisdom.
“One problem there, Pauly,” Steven replied, pointing back to the southwest. “Camp is about a mile that direction. Little harder to haul wood through waist deep snow, much less a mile.”
Pauly tossed his gloves to the ground. “Well why’d we come out all this way to cut wood then? There’s plenty of trees right by camp.”
Steven smiled at his ignorance. All these years in the woods and so many still had much to learn. “There isn’t a dead or downed tree anywhere near camp. This blow down is the closest. Ten years of doing this has landed us right in this spot.” Several heads nodded, but other faces were uncertain as to his meaning.
“Well,” another man joined in. “Why don’t we cut down the standing stuff by camp? That would make more sense, wouldn’t it?” Again, the same people who agreed with Pauly agreed with the new speaker. Steven sighed.
“Green wood takes longer to dry. And cutting would be twice as hard. It would take two months or more to cut and stack what it took us four weeks out here to do. And then…” Steven grinned at one of his allies, “then we’d have to let it sit for two years before it would burn properly.” Again, the same dense people saw the light. Steven winked at his crew chief. “George, you got any ideas for getting this much wood back to camp?”
Scratching his head through a threadbare black stocking cap, George stared thoughtfully at the wood, then the horizon, and then back at the wood. Finally, he nodded. Perhaps there was a plan.
“I say we get the wagon and load as much as we can to be hauled back to camp. Probably take six, maybe eight trips, but we’d have it done in two days I bet.”
