Suddenly, it seemed so certain that he pulled the rifle off his shoulder and spun toward the tree line, looking for slithering shapes in the grass. Instead, he saw a person walking directly behind him, and he was so surprised, he almost dropped the rifle. It bounced in his hands, as he stumbled backward.
She wore an oversized green hooded sweatshirt, and her hands were crammed deep in the front pocket. Since her head was tipped forward, her long, black hair was in her face, but he saw her eyes glinting in the afternoon light.
“Where the heck did you come from?” he said, pressing a hand to his chest. His heart was hammering against his ribs. “Do you always sneak up on people like that?”
“Well, it’s not like I was going to attack you or anything,” she said. “I’m just out for a walk. I can’t help it if you’re lost in your own little world and don’t notice what’s going on in your immediate vicinity.”
“But what are you doing over here?” he asked. Now that his initial shock had passed, he was embarrassed at his reaction, and he had to struggle not to react grumpily to the girl. “Why did you walk all the way over here from your house?”
She shrugged, coming to a stop in front of him. Despite her strangeness, Darryl didn’t find her unattractive. She had a nice smile and interesting eyes, even if she partially hid her face behind her hair.
“I’m here,” she said, “because there’s nothing to do. I finished all my chores this morning, and it sucks hanging around the house. Everyone’s stressed out and rude over there, so I just decided to get away for a while. You’re about the only person my age that I know in this town. Is it such a big deal if I walk over to visit our neighbors?”
Darryl thought about the endless hours of hard work that filled his days now, from simple tasks around the house to the never-ending chore of trying to keep the herd alive. He barely had a free minute to himself. In fact, this walk around the perimeter was the closest he’d come to leisure time during daylight hours since the power went out. And here was this stranger girl wandering from house to house because she had nothing to do.
It irritated him to no end, but he realized it wasn’t Justine’s fault. She had the advantage of not living on a woefully understaffed dairy farm.
“Well, I have to walk the fence,” he said, turning around and resuming his slog. “We’re keeping an eye out for predators.”
“I can help,” she said, walking alongside him. “I probably have better hearing than you, based on recent incidents.”
He sighed and tried to change the subject. “By the way, your parents don’t happen to have any curing salt in their stash of supplies, do they? We really need some, and there’s no easy way to get it.”
Justine shrugged again. “Maybe. Actually, I don’t know. I’d have to ask them. We have a lot of stuff—like, a lot of stuff—but they’re pretty secretive about it.”
“Next time you talk to your parents, tell them we’d be willing to trade for it,” Darryl said. “We need to cure a large amount of meat.”
She shrugged a third time—it seemed to be her favorite gesture. “I’ll mention it, but I can’t promise anything.”
“I realize that,” he replied.
With that, they fell into an awkward silence. Darryl really didn’t know what else to talk about, and he was trying to pay attention to their surroundings anyway. After a few minutes of this, as Darryl approached the corner of the fence, Justine grunted and said, “Well, I guess I’ll head off home. They might wonder where I went.”
“Okay, stay safe,” he replied.
He was thinking, of course, of wild animals roaming in the woods, but she gave him a strange little smile as she turned and headed away. He watched her go, partly to make sure she wasn’t going to turn around and try to sneak up on him again. She glanced over her shoulder at him and gave an awkward little wave.
“I’ll let you know what my parents say!”
“Thanks,” Darryl said.
When she finally reached the trees, Darryl turned back around and resumed walking along the fence.
What a strange girl, he thought.
Yes, and what a contradiction. Brooding but mischievous, hiding behind her hair but forward and outspoken. After a couple of minutes, he realized he’d been thinking about her nonstop, picturing her face, her smile, her eyes… He shook his head.
What the heck is wrong with you? he thought. That entire family is odd. Just stop it.
He’d reached the place where the new fence met the old fence, and some extra boards had been left here beside a bucket of nails and a hammer. The fence posts were mostly in place. What remained to be done was the rather tedious work of nailing the boards to the crossbeams. Darryl decided to work for a while, if only to give himself something else to occupy his mind.
The girl is on your mind because you’re getting stir-crazy, he told himself. That’s all it is.
He picked up one of the boards and set it against the crossbeam. It was a bit awkward, and he could have used a second person to help brace it while he drove in the nails, but his mom and grandma were busy with other tasks. He managed to get exactly one board nailed into place before he realized he was thinking about the girl again.
She walked all the way over here just to see me, he thought. That’s a long way. Maybe she’s desperate for company. There couldn’t be more to it than that…could there?
He felt a sudden pang of loneliness. It was so sharp that he had to pause and collect himself. He started to reach for another board, but then he tossed the hammer onto the ground.
“I can’t do this,” he muttered. “It’ll keep until later.”
All he’d done for days was work, and the only people he saw were his mother and grandmother. That’s what it was. Being around someone his own age, someone nice to look at, someone interesting—and even odd—was a refreshing change. Darryl turned to look for her, but she was long gone.
Maybe she’s still lingering out there somewhere, he told himself, not wanting to go home.
He picked up the Winchester and started walking in the direction she’d gone, moving briskly through the tall grass. Only when he was drawing close to the trees did it occur to him how silly his thought was. Justine was probably all the way home by now. Even if she didn’t want to go home, she wasn’t going to stand around in the woods until he came looking for her. Still, he was committed to his course, and he made it all the way to the trees before coming to a stop.
Instead of returning to work, he sat down at the base of a large pine tree and put the rifle beside him. Staring back across the ranch at the unfinished fence, at the lonely house, cows idling in the pasture, the loneliness hit him again so hard that it made him shiver. How long was this terrible deadness going to continue in the world? When could they finally go back to normal life?
This is not the apocalypse I would have chosen, he thought. Isolated on a rural ranch all the way up here in northern British Columbia with my mom and grandmother.
At least Justine was someone else. And with that, he found his thoughts drifting off again. There was her face, her hair hanging on either side like curtains, that weird little smile appearing at seemingly random moments.
“Okay, you’re getting obsessed,” he muttered, smacking himself in the cheek to snap himself out of it. “Isolation is breaking your brain. Go do some work and be useful.”
When he heard the crack of a tree branch and the rustle of leaves coming from over his shoulder, he assumed it was her. Then he heard a strange, throaty growl, like someone was dragging their fingers through gravel. With a gasp, Darryl whipped around, rising to his knees and fumbling for the rifle.
He saw the animal immediately. It must have been close to a hundred and fifty pounds, an enormous mountain lion with its big yellow eyes fixed on him. It was perched on a large rock just beyond the tree where Darryl was sitting, and he could see the tension in its shoulder. It was preparing to leap. For a second, neither moved, and Darryl marveled at how huge and beautiful the anim
al was—and how terrifying. His heart leapt into his throat as the reality of the situation sank in.
He managed to grab the rifle, but as he was rising to his feet, the animal leapt. As it bore down on him, he cried out, and his shrill voice echoed far out over the pasture. Then the paws slammed into his chest, and he was shoved backward. He slammed into the ground, still screaming, trying to bring the rifle up. The animal’s paws slid off his chest, and its face came in low, foul breath filling his nostrils.
Darryl pulled his knees up, trying to drive them against the creature’s underbelly to force it back, but it was like pushing against jelly. The cat merely arched it’s back against the pressure but kept its face close. It was trying to go for his neck or throat, mouth open, teeth bared, but Darryl had his forearm under its jaw.
At some point, he realized he was shouting and cursing at the top of his lungs, though the cat seemed unfazed by the noise. One of its claws dug through the dirt and pierced his jacket, and Darryl felt a sudden, sharp pain in his shoulder. With a surge of adrenaline, he rolled to one side, brought the Winchester up, and drove the barrel into the cat’s ribs. The cat snarled loudly—it sounded exactly like a housecat whose voice had been pitched down an octave, a fact that Darryl found strangely disorienting. He jabbed the cat with the gun barrel again, and it backed away, swiping at the air.
The snarl became a hateful hiss as the mountain lion crouched, head lowered, preparing to pounce again. Darryl managed to set the butt of the rifle against his shoulder. He took aim, and, as the cat bared its teeth, he pulled the trigger.
16
The endless gray gas pipe had begun to feel like a lifeline surrounded on both sides by dispassionate alien territory. This was particularly ironic, Greg knew, considering what he’d just confirmed on their long hike through the wilderness. As Greg had suspected long before coming on the trip, Eustace’s company was poisoning the environment. Though he still wasn’t sure how it was happening, he’d tasted it.
Of course, he didn’t breathe a word of this in front of Eustace, though he’d scribbled a few notes and stashed them away with the sealed vial of water. Everyone was quiet and cranky most of the time these days, and Tuck often lagged behind. From time to time, they had to pause to let him catch up. Tommy tried to encourage him, but Greg’s old man just didn’t have the vitality of the rest of the group, even with the help of his hiking staff. Still, he never complained. Greg had to give his dad credit for that.
Finally, on the following afternoon, they crested a rise and saw a broad, open prairie before them. It was the first significant change in the landscape, and the impact on the group was electric. For a moment, seeing so much flat, open grassland stretching out before him, Greg felt practically giddy, and the soreness in his legs seemed to melt away.
Unfortunately, he could see that it was only a small area, maybe a kilometer across, practically a hiccup in the landscape between two sections of forest. Still, it was like coming up for air after being underwater for a long time. Eustace paused for a minute, the machete resting on his shoulder, and whistled softly.
“That’s a sight to behold, eh?” he said over his shoulder. “I never thought featureless land could look so beautiful.”
“It’s quite nice,” Greg said, “and the flat ground will be a lot easier on the legs, you know?”
“Yep.” Eustace took one of his deep, wet breaths and resumed walking.
The wild grass was high, coming up to the big man’s knees. It practically swallowed Emma, who seemed to be wading through almost as if it were liquid. Tommy and Tuck managed to catch up to them, though Tuck was wheezing and leaning heavily on the staff.
“I wish it was all flat like this,” Tommy said, adjusting his toque as a stiff breeze swept over the field. “It sure would be easier on my pal here.”
“I’m fine,” Tuck replied. “I just take a little longer to get things done.”
“I hear you, buddy.” Tommy clapped him on the back, but this almost tipped Tuck off-balance. Laughing awkwardly, Tommy grabbed him by the shoulders to keep him from falling.
When it didn’t have trees towering above it on either side, the pipeline seemed even more massive—a towering gray behemoth bisecting the field. Greg found it disconcerting, but he soon forgot about the creepy gas pipe as he felt warmth on his face. It had been so cold for so long that the sudden heat on his face was shocking. Squinting, he gazed up at the cloudless sky.
“That’s nice,” he noted. “A bit of warm weather in late autumn.”
“We’re going to get sweaty real fast with all of our winter clothes on,” Emma noted, pushing her toque back so some of her long, blonde hair spilled out.
She stumbled suddenly, as if she’d tripped. Greg reached down and grabbed her arm.
“Okay?” he asked.
“Stepped on my own shoelace,” she said. “I can barely see through the grass to tie it. Hang on.”
She came to a stop and bent to tie the laces of her hiking boots. To reach her laces, Emma had to use one arm to sweep some of the tall grass aside. When she did that, Tommy uttered a little squawk, like he’d been goosed, and rushed forward. It was such strange behavior that Greg froze, even as the small, pot-bellied fellow charged right at Emma. It looked like he was going to barrel into her, but then he thrust his right arm out, planting his hand against her side, and shoved her.
She didn’t see it coming, despite the yell, and was entirely unprepared. With a startled cry, she stumbled to one side, tripped over her own feet, and fell into the grass.
“What the heck…?” Greg said.
Tommy reached toward his backpack and grabbed something. Greg heard the distinctive sound of metal sliding against canvas, and suddenly the little man had the Remington rifle in his hand.
“Wait…what?” Greg managed to say, as he made a fumbling attempt to get the gun out of his hands.
Tommy spun around, raised the gun, and fired into the ground right in front of his own feet. The crack of the rifle echoed far out over the field and seemed to bounce back from distant mountains seconds later. As soon as he was done, he dropped the gun and bent down, reaching into the grass. Suddenly, with a gasp, he recoiled and stumbled backward.
“Son of a…” Tommy shook his right hand in the air, as if he’d injured it. “He got me.”
Finally, Greg saw it, the coiled shape deep in the grass, and the shock at Tommy’s sudden attack turned to cold fear. The snake was still twitching, and he heard the sound of its rattle dying out. Tommy had blown it wide open, its blood and meat hanging out.
“I grabbed too soon,” Tommy said, grasping his right wrist with his left hand. “He wasn’t quite dead. Damn, guys. Look at that.”
He had two small puncture wounds in his hand just above his thumb, as neat as if he’d used a small mechanical hole punch. The wounds had already begun to bleed quite badly. Greg’s father pulled a handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and pressed it to the wound.
“I can’t believe it,” Tommy said, in a breathless voice, his eyes wide in either surprise or fear. “I thought I killed it, but it had one bite left.”
“Well, what did you have to grab him for?” Tuck said in that curdled voice that always sound like he was disappointed with the world.
“I was trying to toss him aside,” Tommy said.
Greg gave the snake a wide berth as he rushed to his daughter’s side. She was sitting in the grass, nearly swallowed by it. He reached down to help her up, but she buried her face in her hands and started crying.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I should have seen it. It’s my fault. I wasn’t paying close enough attention.”
“It’s not your fault,” Greg said. “I don’t know how Tommy spotted it. Good eye. I thought those damn rattlesnakes are supposed to give a warning before they bite.”
“Not always,” Tuck said.
Tommy was moaning, and he already seemed to be swooning. Eustace used the machete to clear a space in the high grass, and then he and T
uck helped the injured man sit down. Greg dumped his pack on the ground and unzipped a side pocket, pulling out one of their small first aid kits.
“Guys, our friend here needs antivenom, and we’re in the middle of nowhere,” Eustace said.
Emma was crying harder now, and Greg knew his daughter’s exhaustion was making her guilt worse. If he didn’t do something, she was well on her way to a full-blown meltdown. It was just a reminder that she wasn’t quite as old as she often acted, still hovering just beyond the border of childhood. Fortunately, Greg knew a way to pull her out of it.
“Emma, I really need your help right now,” he said, kneeling beside Tommy. “Can you come here?”
“I should have b-been watching for snakes,” she said, sobbing into her hands. “I knew they could be in the area. I knew it.”
“Honey, we’ve got to provide aid to our friend here, okay?” Greg said, unzipping the first aid kit. “You had first aid training when you were a junior life guard, right? And when you were in scouting? Isn’t that true?”
“Yes.” Already, her crying seemed to be tapering off. She sniffed, wiped her face furiously on the sleeve of her jacket, and crawled toward Greg. “It was one of my first badges in Girl Guides.”
“That’s great,” he said. “Come here and help me treat his wound. Tommy needs our help now.”
He was amazed at how quickly her tears dried once she had an important task to do. Tommy was rocking back and forth, his right hand resting on his knees. Tuck had taken a seat in the grass beside him, still pressing the handkerchief to the wound.
As they were doing that, Eustace approached the snake and gave it a couple of good chops with the machete. Then he picked up the pieces one at a time on the flat of the blade and tossed them aside.
“Well, it won’t bite anyone now,” he said. “Next time, aim for the head, Tommy.”
“Oh, geez, I’ll try to remember that,” Tommy replied, speaking through his teeth. “I was aiming for his butt. My mistake.”
EMP: Return of the Wild West Box Set | Books 1-3 Page 11