The log lurched.
Bonechopper stopped on his heels, perhaps only fifteen feet from me.
The cut end began to ease clear of the stub. With astonishing agility, he spun and rushed for safety, his boots pounding bam-bam-bam just ahead of the increasing incline.
He made it to the bank as the last resistance from that end gave up and the whole damn thing plunged into the gorge.
The sound was like ten thunderclaps piling one on the other, and more terrifying still was how the earth shook in response, as if flinching away from a life-threatening injury.
Chapter 28 – Think Revenge
Daniel told Alger Whitecloud, “Kenner or no Kenner, as soon as they get back, we’ll get organized and carry these two out.”
“I saw your vehicles.” The two men were warming themselves at the fire pit in the mess shelter. They’d scrounged more wood from deadfalls, Alger showing Daniel how to pry chunks of heartwood with a sharp stick. The semi-decayed wood smoked considerably but gave off BTUs.
“Yeah,” said Daniel, “we can get ’em to the washout, and if nothing else, I can cross the river with a safety line and hike to town for help. What’s left of town, anyway. Bound to be people around.”
“That’s a good plan,” said Alger.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Except for one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“There’s another bad front coming in.”
“There is? I know it’s colder, but—” Daniel ducked out to inspect the sky’s high, even overcast. “We even had some sun today. How do you know?”
“Nothing supernatural, believe me; I just know the skies. The feel here. Air pressure’s dropping, can’t you feel it in your head? The wind’s shifted, east wind now, never good. I think we’ll get snow tonight. Don’t you feel it?”
Daniel tried to tune himself in. “Yeah, I guess so.”
Alger smiled. “You can’t really put your finger on how you know stuff.”
Daniel understood that. It’s true, he thought, people read signs without knowing how they read them, or even exactly what they’re reading.
He thought in his own life how, when he and some friends would arrive at his (current) favorite restaurant, the Ironmonger in Beverly Hills, without a reservation, he could tell right away whether they’d get a good table: obvious factors like the number of people crowding the bar, which maitre d’ was on duty, the expression on the face of the maitre d’ before he caught sight of Daniel, the expression on his face after, his expression once Daniel slipped him a fifty. Then other, more subtle factors such as who was accompanying Daniel—were they industry people or family in for the week from North Carolina? If industry people, were they better known than he? Lesser known? How many limos were nestled at the curb, what’s the level of intensity in the bar, is a megastar in Booth One?
Yes, he could read these countless signs and instantly know whether he and his party would be granted a table, how soon, and if so, whether they’d be seated in Siberia or not.
How could he do this? Years of experience.
That’s all it ever is.
_____
Our old friend ass-kicking rain caught up with us just before we reached camp, a slow spatter that built within five minutes to a lashing storm.
George said, “I don’t like this wind.”
Daniel and Petey joyfully met us as we slogged into camp, Petey wrapping himself around first my legs, then George’s. He’d been worried, no doubt about it.
It was a quarter to five by my watch, a long day for him to have waited.
Kenner’s eyes floated over Petey’s head unacknowledgingly, as people often do with children. I remembered being sort of invisible to adults at times myself, which never bothered me; to the contrary, it’s an advantage, just one of the very slight edges the world offers children.
As I was past being surprised at anything, I took Alger Whitecloud’s presence here in stride. He and Daniel took Kenner to Badger Cabin to see what they could do for his arm.
Petey seemed a bit horrified at Kenner’s condition. “He’s so—like—hollowed out,” he whispered to me.
“He’s been through a lot,” I said, squatting so I was looking up to his face, under the brim of that hat. I stroked his warm cheek. “When grown-ups have harrowing experiences, they tend to look real tired.”
“What’s a harrowing experience?” His blue eyes blinked with earnestness. “Like when we rescued Joey?”
“Like what he went through waiting for someone to find him.”
Petey paused. “What if we’d gone another way?”
I shrugged and lied. “He’d still be waiting, I guess.”
“No, Mom, he’d be dead.”
My precious boy.
He squared himself, and to my minor shock it was exactly how George squared himself: a straightening, a little shoulder roll, then a settling into manly readiness. “I’m hungry,” he said.
The pang I felt was so complex: love, wistfulness, amusement. No question that Petey idolized Daniel, had for years. But a shift was going on: Petey was connecting with George on a cellular level.
I said, “Everybody’s hungry, I think. I’ll wash up in a few minutes, then I’ll cook up some grub. But I’ll need a man to open some cans for me.”
“I’ll do it!”
“Think you’re muscular enough?”
“You bet!”
“Better check to see if we even have any canned food left. Report back, OK?”
“OK!”
Alger Whitecloud came over to talk while Daniel went into the woods to cut some new splints for Kenner. Alger palmed a chunk of wood like a basketball and rolled it into the coals. “Thank you,” I said, “for rescuing my sister.”
“You’re welcome. Wish I’d done a better job of it and gotten Kenner too.” He looked me up and down. “She’s your blood sister?”
“Oh!” I said. “You mean—”
“What tribe?” A smile crept over his face.
“Damn, I didn’t fool you?” I kicked the dirt. “Is it my face? The skins?”
“The skins are good! Your color’s OK; you could have gone darker, actually. The problem is the way you move, the way you stand.”
“Well, I’m not in character anymore.” I settled my face and body to show him, drawing on the spirit of my inner raccoon.
“That’s better,” he laughed.
George came over, followed by Daniel. George and I related what had happened at the outlaw camp and then at the log bridge.
Daniel looked at me in true horror. “You bashed somebody in the face with that hatchet?”
“With the flat of it,” I corrected. “I didn’t use it, you know, in a bone-chopping way.”
Alger said, “If Bonechopper lost you at the river, he’ll leave. He doesn’t know about the washout, so he’ll think we’re moving out right now. He’s gonna get out via the fire roads, the other side of the mountains, with or without Dendra.” He hooked his thumb into his braided leather belt. “I have a feeling she’s woken up to his real self. Her morality wouldn’t win any trophies, though.”
“Yeah?” I prompted, suddenly seeking to feel better about having walloped her.
“She’d sell her mother for a beer, no kidding. Ehhh—” He made a dismissive sound.
I said, “So I guess that was one of you guys’ chainsaws I found in the shed here.”
“What?”
“The Stihl. That I found in the shed.”
Alger rubbed his back against one of the mess shelter’s corner supports, a peeled log almost as wide as he was. “That can’t be one of Bonechopper’s.”
“Why not? It’s got to be.”
“We’ve never used this camp. Too far from the road, too hard to get logs out. We’ve never used it.”
“Oh.”
“Plus he only uses Huskies.”
“Oh.”
“That’s a mystery.”
Indeed it was.
; Daniel and Alger returned to Badger Cabin to treat Kenner’s arm.
I dipped a pot of water from the lake and went to one of the unused cabins. I stripped, shivering like mad, my breath puffing white even here, indoors. My native skin tone came off fairly well with my bandanna as a scrubber. I gave myself a quick all-over wash with the icy water, shivering until my lips were going buh-buh-buh-buh. I combed water through my hair with my fingers; a real shampoo would have to wait. A Camp Saskee-wee-wit shirt served as a towel, and it felt so great to rub my head hard with it. I hung it on a bunk rail, looking around the room, feeling the boy-energy that somehow lingered there.
I put my normal clothes on. Since the raccoon-pelt vest added wonderfully to my warmth, I donned it again. My belt kept the tails from flopping annoyingly as I returned to the fire pit.
Petey touched the fur, unsure whether it was appropriate garb for his mom or not.
A sharp cry issued from Badger Cabin. Petey clutched my pelt.
“It’s OK, honey; I think Daniel and Alger just put Kenner’s arm to rights.”
Indeed they had. About twenty minutes later a pale Kenner, his arm strapped in a cloth sling, was helped through the rain to the kitchen cabin by Alger, while Daniel came over to us.
“Kenner’ll be OK,” he said. “Alger, he was a medic in the service, he took that arm and said, ‘I’m gonna give ya the old one-two, Kenner,’ and he went ca-ruunch! and there it was, straight as Vince Devereaux.”
I smiled. The actor Vince Devereaux was famous for his womanizing.
Daniel went on, “I think he’s got some torn ligaments in his elbow, but the whole arm’s got blood supply and feeling, so he’ll be OK.”
George asked, “How did he act when he saw Joey?”
Daniel looked at him, something dawning. “He was surprised. Very surprised. As in like really shocked.”
“What did he say?”
“Not a word, at first. Then I explained that Joey had come upon Lance in trouble at the gorge and tried to help him but to no avail. Joey didn’t say much. Then Kenner seemed to pull himself together, and he started asking Joey questions about Lance’s last moments. Which, as I say, Joey didn’t have a lot to say about.”
“Hm,” said George.
“Then Kenner asked where Lance’s body is now.”
“Did you tell him?”
“Yes. But he didn’t say he wanted to—see him.”
“Hm,” was all George said, again.
“What’s on your mind?” Daniel asked, but George didn’t answer.
He didn’t really have to. Because a realization was creeping over all of us like a thousand tarantula hatchlings. It can’t be, I thought. It can’t be.
Daniel said, “What I thought odd was what he kept trying to ask Gina.”
“Which was?”
“‘Did you and Lance get married? Did you two get married in secret?’”
It had never occurred to me to ask that, given—everything. I hadn’t thought through the fact that if they had, she’d be a widow. “Well, what did she say?”
Daniel looked away. “Rita, she’s not doing so well.”
That was puzzling; she was supposed to have quit faking extremis hours ago.
I started to walk to Badger Cabin, then I started to run. A bolt of lightning struck a rock ledge back from the cabin, and I saw the spark leap the gap between two rocks. Very different from the kind of weather we’d had so far—this was the first lightning. The thunderclap was immediate and earsplitting. No rain.
Gina was conscious and glad to see me. But she was terribly pale and her covers were soaked with sweat. I changed her menstrual T-shirt pad and saw that her period had stopped. Very little flow, I guess her body was really trying to conserve. I washed my hands in the bucket, then returned to her side, drying them on my jeans. Alger, who had followed me in, took the bucket out.
The vagueness in my sister’s eyes stunned me to my roots. I took her hand. “We’re gonna get you out of here real soon, hon. Real soon. Hon, you’ve just gotta hang on.” Hearing myself and looking at her, I realized that hanging on wasn’t going to be enough. I saw the full cup of water on the stool next to her, water critical to keep her hydrated and her blood pressure up, as Daniel had explained to me.
“Have a drink, honey.” I smoothed her hair and lifted the cup to her lips, but she turned her head.
“Hon? Not thirsty?”
She looked at me dully.
“Oh, but you’ve got to drink. It can help a lot. Gina, you’ve got to fight.”
She opened her mouth and I poured a sip in. Her lips were dry. She closed her mouth. Swallowing took a lot of effort. Her mouth was a weak line.
Was my sister going away from me? Was this it?
A sudden harsh din rocked the cabin, as if a herd of elk were taking clogging lessons up there.
I looked out the window at a total whiteout. Very strange, not like a blizzard, but something shiny, almost like it was raining white plastic. “Hail,” I muttered. Big hail. Golf balls. Fortunately an overhang deflected the hailstones from the window glass.
I looked up to the unceiled roof. The boards quivered but held strong. No raindrops inside here, no ice. I closed the window all the way, shivering.
George entered the room, having ducked in just as the hail started. I looked at him desperately. He said quietly, “We can’t safely evacuate her now.”
He took my elbow and we went to the little vestibule where the patients couldn’t hear us. Not that they could’ve with the hail anyway.
“But she’s—I think she’s dying,” I said, forcing myself to that word, my guts shredding. “This hail won’t last. I’ll carry her out on my own back if I have—”
“Listen to me. Alger says snow’s coming. She probably wouldn’t survive the carry, no matter how we did it. We’ve been talking. Daniel’s on his way out.”
“What!”
“Daniel’s hiking out for help. He’ll drive to the washout and swim the river. He’ll be all right. By now Harkett’s got more help in town. The military, whatnot. Rescuers ought to be here before the night’s out.”
“He’s out there now, in this hail?” Which was slackening as I spoke, thank God.
“Come on. He knows how to handle himself in the wilderness, you know that.”
“Why’d he go alone? I could’ve gone with him. Or you or Alger.”
“Gina and Petey need you. We need Alger’s medical skills. And you need me.”
I looked at him and instead of making a wisecrack, I said nothing.
It was true.
I returned to Gina’s side.
She was in distress, pain, and despair, and I couldn’t imagine it; no, I’d never suffered as she had, never suffered as she was doing now.
She’d been lying here knowing that the love of her life was dead. She’d had time to absorb that, think about it, yet her condition was not permitting her the normal luxuries of tears, pacing, grabbing fistfuls of your hair, and flinging yourself around the room with it—the normal comforts of grieving. Screaming it out, pounding it out.
I stroked her hair. She sighed under my hand.
Without Gina, what would I do?
Who would I talk to about Gramma Gladys and the rest of the family, who would I yell at for stealing my clothes and my last dab of good perfume, who would consume popcorn and wine for dinner with me during Petey’s daddy weekends? Who would let me do her coiling vortex of hair in crazy styles for the hell of it, who would listen to my endless agonizings about love and marriage, who would cook breakfast eggs with cheese and onion that were so good even Petey would eat them?
Who would I root for, no matter what?
Who would root for me, no matter what?
I patted her face not very gently. The coolness of my hand opened her eyes.
“Hey!” I said, picking up the cup of water. “Drink a little more, please. I hold it, you drink it. It’s important, Gina; you’ve got to decide now. You’ve got to decide to s
tay with me.”
Slowly, she said, “I’m not gonna leave you.”
She moistened her lips with her tongue, and I tipped some more water into her mouth. She sputtered but swallowed most of it.
“There you go, hon.”
Blinking slowly, she drank the whole cup.
Speaking to myself as well as her, I said, “The best fuck you to a fucked-up world is to thrive in it.”
She watched me steadily, her eyes brighter, I thought. She seemed to remember something. Something she wanted to do?
“Think revenge, honey,” I told her. “I’m gonna help you fight, you hear? We’re not done.”
Her lips moved, and I caught the single word, “Revenge.” Whatever it takes.
I didn’t want to leave Gina, but Alger came in with more water and patted my shoulder in a guy way, thump-thump. “Good job. I’ll be here now.”
Chapter 29 – Petey Cracks It
There wasn’t much food left in camp; George had made Daniel take the last of the bread and peanut butter, so as darkness fell I cooked up all the remaining canned stuff Petey had found: chicken, kidney beans, and tomatoes. They were coming to a simmer in the biggest pot. Petey stirred. I scrounged through the food boxes. The cabin wasn’t at all drafty, so I kept the window and door chocked open while we cooked with the last of Daniel’s stove fuel.
George was out with my hatchet, scavenging what dry wood he could find for the fire pit. The hail had changed to rain.
“Your hatchet?” George had asked when I offered it to him.
“Yes, my fucking hatchet.”
Kenner was more or less tending the warming fire.
Petey was in and out; everybody was scurrying around doing things; I couldn’t seem to keep track of anybody.
I kept uneasily glancing out the dirty window of Kitchen Cabin. After a few minutes I saw Alger hurrying out of Badger Cabin, fumbling with his belt. He took off for the privy.
I fiddled with the stove for a minute. I looked out the window again. From the other direction Kenner appeared, with his bright-blue jacket and slung-up arm. He stepped stealthily to Badger Cabin, looked around, then went in.
The Rita Farmer Mystery series Box Set Page 88
