“Really? Do tell.”
She set aside the candy and reached back into the bag.
“Ta da!” In her hands was a beautiful bottle with a round cork stopper. Inside was liquid sunshine.
“Oh, my...” Pablo only took his eyes off the road for a second, but it was long enough to see the label. “Añejo Patrón?”
“Yes, my good man.”
“You truly are an angel.”
“I am Agaverina, the tequila angel sent from Drunken Heaven, which by the way, is everyone’s favorite part of heaven. Well, except for the Baptists. And they love it too, but only when no other Baptists are looking.”
###
As the sun made a dramatic exit in a swath of orange clouds to the west, they merged onto I40, entering the southern part of the Kaibab National Forest, which skirted the Grand Canyon to the north and south. The plateau stretched for miles until it collided with a ridge of flat-topped mountains. Ponderosa pines, cedars, junipers, and massive oaks created a magnificent sanctuary for a variety of animals. Designated as a wildlife preserve by Teddy Roosevelt in the early 1900s, Pablo knew this was a habitat for deer, cougar, elk, and bald eagles. They followed the sign directing them to DeMotte Park campgrounds, hoping to find a reasonably comfortable place to spread out the sleeping gear and build a fire.
They found something better.
A well-maintained gravel road led to a large rust-colored cabin, nestled against a backdrop of woodlands. Fifty yards to the south lay a sizeable pond and beyond it, a mountain range, the name of which he didn’t know.
According to the signage, the lovely Spring Valley Cabin was available for rental through the forest service at a rate of a hundred dollars per day. No pets allowed, and smoking inside was prohibited.
“Did you read that, Bruno? You’ll have to sleep and smoke outside,” Pablo said, stretching, while the German shepherd sniffed everything in sight.
“Don’t listen to him, Bruno. You’ll be indoors with us. No bears or bob cats are going to mess with my guys. You did well, my dear,” Maddie said, gazing at the tidy structure. “Wonder if there’s working plumbing in there?”
“Let’s find out.” He reached for the twelve-gauge. “What are the chances...”
“The chances are the same as they were when you wanted me to stay in the Jeep back at the minivan.”
He sighed. If he’d been more observant, or perhaps less distracted by thoughts of spending the night with Maddie in this charming setting, he would have realized the cedar plank steps leading to the front door had been swept clean of pine needles and dead leaves. He jiggled the handle and found it unlocked.
The door opened with a screech of rusty hardware; too loud in the stillness of early evening. He expected a waft of musty air but instead, he breathed in the homey scent of cinnamon.
He lifted the shotgun.
“That’s no way for a guest to behave.” The female voice bore a faint, unidentifiable accent. He couldn’t see the speaker in the darkened interior.
“You won’t need that thing here. There is nothing to fear but a woman and a silly poodle with an under bite and a tendency to pee when she’s excited. The poodle, I mean. Although on occasions, the same can be said about the woman.”
A match was struck in a far corner, briefly illuminating a dark face framed in white-streaked braids. The flame ignited the wick of an oil lamp and a woman came into view. She could have been forty or sixty in that ageless way unique to people of dark-skinned heritage.
“I’m sorry,” Pablo stammered, lowering the gun. Even after the horrors of the past year, manners overrode caution.
“No need. These are dangerous times and your vigilance is wise,” the woman said, nodding at Maddie, who peered over Pablo’s shoulder. “Welcome to my home. It’s mine because nobody else was here. I invoked squatter’s rights. My name is Amelia, but I will answer to Stands With Fists, Pocahontas, Hey You, or anything else as long as it’s spoken in friendship.”
She stood, which elevated her only a few inches higher than when she’d been sitting. The tiny, ageless woman somehow conveyed the confidence and fearlessness of a much larger person. She scurried around the room lighting oil lamps and candles.
“Come in, come in. The dog is also welcome, despite what it says on the sign. Curly Sue here gets along well with all animals. She particularly likes manly, muscular canines like your boy there. She’s a bit of a slut, but no worries...she’s been fixed.” She indicated the white poodle who watched the activity with mild interest from the comfort of a pallet.
Bruno nudged his way past the humans and trotted over to the poodle, his ears perky and his tail wagging like a furry sailor on a twenty-four hour leave.
Maddie was quick to follow.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Amelia. I’m Maddie and this is Pablo.”
She grasped the childlike hand and smiled into the dark-skinned face, receiving a friendly smile in return. Something passed between the brown eyes and the blue ones — some kind of female thing, perhaps. Pablo trusted Maddie’s instincts and he could see she liked the woman. It seemed they would have a comfortable place to sleep that night. The cabin was furnished with rustic pieces that were worn but clean, and judging by the exterior, there would be several bedrooms in addition to the great room where they now stood. The thought of stretching out on an actual bed, no matter how hard or lumpy, was intensely appealing. Especially since he’d be sharing it with Maddie.
“I was just about to light a fire. You two go gather your belongings and I’ll see about supper. We can get better acquainted over some warm food. Pablo, I’ll need your help later gathering up more wood, if you don’t mind. But we have enough for now. Let’s get going, people!” she said with a clap of small hands.
Curly Sue yipped, surprised by the sudden human noise, then turned her attention back to her new boyfriend. If dogs could flutter their eyelashes, she would be doing it now. Bruno had a groupie.
An hour later, they sat in front of the stone fireplace with bowls of soup and red Solo cups containing an inch of Patrón. Amelia had been delighted by their contribution to dinner, confessing a weakness for spirits.
“Not that I’m the poster child for alcoholism in the Native American culture, but I do love the occasional snort of tequila. Or whisky. Or rum. You can keep your wine, though. I could never appreciate the subtleties. It all tastes like sour grape juice to me. Give me something that has a kick and some heat. That’s what booze should be about.” She took a healthy swig from the red cup.
Pablo smiled. “How long have you been here, Amelia? I love what you’ve done with the place.”
The small woman snorted. “Yes, you should have seen it when I moved in. Mice had gotten into one of the mattresses, but the others were fine. I dragged it outside and burned it, then did a thorough cleaning of the rest of the place.”
Maddie nodded in understanding. “Hantavirus.”
“Exactly, young lady,” she winked. “After the plague killed my husband, I realized there was nothing keeping me in Peach Springs — the Hualapai Tribe — so I figured I’d see some of the world before my knees gave out. I didn’t get far before I found this place and decided to stay a spell.” She took a sip of tequila. “It’s quite pleasant here, but I’ll need to move on soon. I’m down to three cans of pears and half a case of this stuff. I hate to complain with a full belly and a warm fire, but if I never see another can of Campbell’s Chicken Noodle soup in my life, I can die happy.”
Maddie shot Pablo a pointed look.
Oh no. He knew what that look meant. He responded with a small but firm head shake. She countered with a curt nod, furrowed brows, and tight lips.
He had no intention of allowing a stranger to accompany them. If she were going to insist on this, they would need to know a lot more about this braided dynamo.
“I’m sorry about your husband,” Pablo said. “Everyone lost someone. Most people lost everyone. Makes a person wonder what is the meaning of it all? Why did you surviv
e and not your husband? Why me and not my parents? Why Maddie and not her entire family? They never identified the cause of the disease, or at least not that they shared with the public. Is this some kind of cleansing? A modern day flood wrought by God or Mother Nature? Or more likely, some white-coated bastards in a lab somewhere? We’ll never know, which pisses me off. I’d like to know, wouldn’t you?”
Amelia’s dark eyes studied him in the firelight. When she spoke, her voice was soft and oddly tender.
“Why would it matter, Pablo? Would you do anything differently if you knew all the answers?”
“It wouldn’t change my actions or my plans for the future, but it would alter how I view human life...our existence on this planet. Surely our big brains were meant for loftier purposes than building skyscrapers and launching satellites. It’s what separates us from the lower species, the ability to ask such questions of ourselves. What does it all mean? Why are we here? Is there something after here? Why does it make a difference if I help this man with a flat tire, or mow the lawn of this elderly lady living alone, or steal this dog from the backyard of a neighbor because his owners leave him chained up outside all day with no food or water?” He glanced at Bruno who was oblivious to everything except Curly Sue.
Maddie smiled.
“Would you stop doing any of those things if you knew how the illness started?” Amelia asked. “I think not. You would continue being a good person because that is who you are.”
“Not everyone who survived is a good person. We know that firsthand.”
“Yes, that is true. And maybe someday the mystery will be solved for you, Pablo. Or maybe not. But don’t you find our new reality compelling? Everything is straightforward now, reduced to its simplest form: survive, and either do so in a way that will not harm others, or in a way that might or will harm others. If there is a divine being who is judging us, would you behave differently? Or would you do the right thing because it is the right thing, even if no one is watching? Perhaps that’s all that matters in the end.”
“I think there’s more to it than that,” Maddie said. “I think we’re supposed to find out what we’re made of...who we are, how much we can bear, in what way will cruelty and adversity, generosity and compassion shape us. Will we be bitter and angry, or stronger and more determined to overcome the challenges? Will we become more loving and kind, or will we build walls around our hearts so nothing can hurt us?”
“I think you’ve experienced a bit of all that, young lady.” She reached over to Maddie and squeezed her hand.
“Amelia, what did you do before? What was your life like?” Pablo asked.
“I was a midwife. And a damned good one.”
Chapter 28
Texas
The man on the other side of the glass storefront — presumably Bill of ‘Bill’s Guns’ — pointed an assault rifle at Dani’s head. She held her hands up, just as Sam and Fergus were doing. Bill was a grizzled, mean-looking SOB in his sixties, with tufts of gray poking out below a baseball cap bearing the image of a coiled rattlesnake and a caption that read DON’T TREAD ON ME. Dani could imagine him hollering at the neighborhood kids to get off his lawn.
“What now?” she asked.
“We have two choices,” Fergus said, his lips showing little movement in the bearded face. “We run like hell, probably getting killed in the process, or we try to reason with this man who seems to have taken a sudden dislike to us. Why don’t you give it a shot, Miss Congeniality?”
Before she had a chance to formulate a response, Sam spoke, raising his voice to be heard through the glass.
“Sir, we mean you no harm or disrespect. We didn’t know there was anybody here and we were hoping to find some guns to protect us against jerks like the ones who just tried to kill us. I think they were Democrats!”
A few painful seconds ticked by. Finally, the man shifted the business end of his weapon. It was now pointing at a kneecap rather than her forehead.
“One of them was wearing a Hillary 2016 t-shirt, and two other guys were holding hands...I’m pretty sure they were a couple. Makes me sick! Anyway, they were shooting at us like crazy, so we figured we needed to get some guns too. Just to level the playing stadium.”
If there hadn’t been a weapon pointed at her that looked like something Jason Bourne would carry, she would have burst out laughing. Where the hell did Sam come up with this? And why?
The man lowered his rifle further.
Out of the side of his mouth, Fergus whispered, “You might want to pick your jaw up off the sidewalk, girly, and thank Sam for saving your bacon...again.”
“Any of you ever use a firearm before?” the man hollered through the glass.
“No, sir!” Sam yelled. “My dad wouldn’t allow it even though my brothers and me all wanted to. He wouldn’t even let us have a BB gun. He voted for Obama...twice!”
Dani knew for a fact that Sam’s father had passed when he was quite young, and his mother had been left to raise four boys all by herself.
“What about you there?”
“I used a Colt M16A2, 5.56 caliber in the Gulf War. Does that qualify?” Fergus said, with a discreet wink in Dani’s direction.
The man nodded, then turned the deadbolt on the front door.
“Get on in here,” he growled, waving them in. “I’m Bill. This is my store,” he continued, not bothering to see if they were behind him as he walked away. He opened a door in the back wall of the retail space and stepped through. Without hesitation, Sam followed. Dani glanced back, the question obvious on her face: Do we trust this guy?
Fergus shrugged. Guess so.
The stockroom was illuminated in the unnatural light of a battery operated lantern. As a second one was turned on, the contents of the room were fully revealed.
It might have been Charlton Heston’s gun vault.
“Quite a selection you have here, Bill. I’m Fergus. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He extended his hand to the older man, who grasped it in his own with an air of grudging acceptance.
“This here is Sam and that’s Dani. She’s got a mouth on her, so please don’t hold that against Sam and me. Product of an entitled upbringing, no doubt.”
The man grunted and shot her a squinting glance of disgust before dismissing her. She was about to respond, but was cut off by the pain of Fergus’s boot connecting with her shin.
The message was clear. Her female opinion was not welcome here. She wanted to get her hands on some of that firepower slightly more than she wanted to utter the caustic remark hovering on the tip of her tongue.
“If you can handle an M16 then you can handle this bad boy.” The man reached for a lethal-looking firearm, removing it from the peg board where it was displayed.
“Ah, the AR15,” Fergus said, careful to exude equal parts enthusiasm and reverence.
“Yep. It’s well-made and accurate. Not great for hunting, but it should get the job done if you’re lookin’ to kill some liberals,” he smirked. “For Sam here, I think the Mossberg 500 Pump Action would be best. Just pump it, aim it, and pow. If those libs are within fifty yards, they’re dead libs.”
Fergus snorted. “Agreed, Bill. I think that’s a fine choice. What about the girl there?” He indicated Dani with a disdainful gesture. Even though she understood the situational dynamics, it didn’t mean she had to like it. Later, she intended to unleash the full fury of her irritation on the little man.
“You wanna give a firearm to a girl?” The contempt in the man’s voice was as thick as the fog of testosterone at a gun show.
Before she could spout off with a poorly-timed remark, Sam spoke. “We’re worried about her being able to take care of herself, you know, if something happens to Fergus and me.” The sincerity in Sam’s voice was genuine. He would worry about her if she were dipped in Kevlar and had flamethrowers for hands.
“Yeah, yeah. Okay, something for the lady...”
She gave him a tight smile. Bill of Bill’s Guns was
a misogynistic fuck.
“I think this little Taurus .32 caliber would be good enough for her. Don’t want the kick to knock her on her ass,” he said with a loud guffaw, amused by the thought of Dani on her backside. She was probably pregnant and barefoot in the fantasy as well. Her fingers twitched near the sheathed K-Bar.
“What about that Colt you got there, Bill?” Fergus asked quickly. “She’s strong for a girl. I think she could handle it.”
The man scowled, but reached for the revolver.
Dani smiled. Now there was a thing of beauty.
“It’s an 1873 Cattleman, single action, engraved stainless steel with a mother-of-pearl grip. It also comes in a .357 and a .44 mag. Sold out of those before the shit hit the fan. This one’s a .45. Pretty, ain’t she? This here’s my last one,” he said, giving her a baleful look.
She responded with her best fuck-you grin.
“Bill, you’d be doing us a world of good. And of course, we’re willing to trade.”
Sudden interest gleamed in the shit-brown eyes.
“What ya got that I might want? These are worth over five grand, not that that matters anymore.”
“We don’t have much to offer. We’ve barely enough food between us to last the next two days,” Fergus lied smoothly. They had enough to last a couple of weeks, thanks to Dani’s careful planning. It would be painful to part with any of it though, even if they scored guns in the bargain.
“How about the Mossy, the AR15, and your Colt there, for my Colt.” From an interior pocket deep within the army jacket, he withdrew a tiny battered weapon the size of child’s hand.
The store owner’s eyes came dangerously close to popping out of his head. “Is that the first model Remington derringer?”
Fergus grinned. “Yep. Rimfire, single shot, two and a half inch barrel. Cute little thing, isn’t it?”
“Sonofabitch. I been trying to get my hands on one of those for years.”
“I hate to part with it, but to be honest, it doesn’t pack much of a punch.”
Troop of Shadows Page 17
