The Bitching Tree

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The Bitching Tree Page 20

by Scott Hungerford


  “Cobb,” Hawna said from somewhere within his dreams. He tried to open his eyes the first time but failed. “Cobb,” Hawna said more insistently. “Are you there?”

  “I’m here,” he shouted as he rolled up off the floor, disoriented. He stumbled his way into Torvo’s bedroom. Outside the windows it was dark again. He couldn’t tell if snow was still coming down. He took the mic and clicked the button. “I’m here.”

  “Good,” she said hollowly. It sounded like her emotions were completely blocked. “He’s alive, Cobb. Torvo is alive.”

  “Has he woken up yet?”

  “No,” Hawna said after a couple of seconds. “He hasn’t. The doctors are running another batch of tests. They think it might be some kind of micro-stroke. But he seems to be fine, apart from the fact that he won’t wake up.”

  Cobb said nothing, but let his rage, his desire to kill the Red Crow, wash through him. It was a new and unfamiliar emotion for him, but one that he welcomed over grief.

  “What happened out there?” she asked.

  Cobb explained it as best he could, leaving nothing out, right down to the Red Crow on Torvo’s shoulder, the smashing picture glass, and Clara coming to wake him. She didn’t ask any questions the whole way through but just let him talk.

  “I think I understand,” she said at the end of his story. “My father taught me about things like this, back when I was still a girl. I think you’ve done right, Cobb. I don’t know if there is anything else that you could have done.”

  “I know,” Cobb replied, almost forgetting to click the button on the mic. “I’ve thought about it again and again and I just don’t see any other way it could have ended. Except for Clara not showing up and Torvo …” He swallowed dryly, trying to make the words come out. “Except for Torvo dying in his sleep if she hadn’t come.”

  “Spirits are powerful things,” Hawna said. “Ghosts, too, if they know what they want.”

  “Clara apparently wants to watch over Torvo.”

  “Let’s talk about you,” she said amid a wash of static. “We don’t know how long Torvo is going to be asleep. How long he is going to be gone. How far did you get in your training with him?”

  Cobb mentally stumbled. Was there a checklist somewhere that would show his progress? “We started shooting guns yesterday. We cut down some trees. He showed me Clara’s grave and the stones he has for the others who died.”

  “That may have to be enough,” Hawna told him. “Cobb, I’m going to be blunt. I don’t know if my father is going to wake up. I’m going to talk to one of the shamans I know. He might know what to do. But I suspect that Torvo isn’t going to wake up until you free him from the spirit’s power.”

  Cobb nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I understand.”

  “So, that’s the thing. You can’t just stay there all winter. At this point you aren’t just trying to save your people. You’re trying to save Torvo, too.”

  “How long has it been since I came here?”

  “Since you stayed with me?” He heard her roll back in her chair, as if she were checking the calendar on her wall. “Four, maybe four and a half weeks. A month, maybe a little more.”

  “Then that might be enough,” he said out loud, but really didn’t believe himself. “Is there anything you can teach me? That will help me with what is to come?”

  “No,” she replied. “I have stories, but not lessons. You get rested and gather up anything you’ll need. I’ll come by tomorrow at lunchtime and get you. I’ll take you to the airport and will pay to get you home.”

  “But what if I’m not ready?” Cobb said. “What if there are more things that I have to learn?”

  “There’s no one to teach you now, Cobb. So you have to go. You have to go and win and do whatever you have to do to bring my father back to me.”

  Cobb thought for a few seconds about how she was probably right. He was grateful that Torvo was still alive, and he owed him a great debt. Cobb would do his best. He would save his people. He would save Torvo, too.

  “At lunchtime tomorrow. I’ll be ready.”

  “Don’t bother closing up the house or anything. The place will be fine for a few days until I come and shut everything back up again.”

  “I’ll see you then,” Cobb told her.

  “Get some sleep. Call me on the radio if you need to. Torvo is stable for the moment, so I’m staying at home tonight. I need the rest, too.”

  “Good night, Hawna.”

  “Good night, Cobb.” She clicked out, leaving Cobb to listen to the background static. Getting up, he went into the living room to look out into the night one last time. Torvo was alive and stable, which drained away a lot of his fears. Tomorrow he would be back on a plane again, bound for Seattle. That should have scared him, he supposed. But after everything else he’d been through, he could do whatever it took, because everybody he loved was depending upon him now.

  Not bothering with nightclothes, Cobb stripped and climbed into his own bed, his pistol on the nightstand, then let himself fall into a deep, deep sleep.

  The sound of pouring rain woke Cobb the next morning. Looking blearily at the clock, having had no dreams that he could remember, he saw that it was a little bit after eight. He lay there for a while feeling the empty house around him, listening to the gutters run with rain and snowmelt.

  He got up and went through his routine. He brushed his teeth, took a shower and made himself breakfast. He skipped building a fire in the fireplace; he didn’t want to leave live coals lying around while he was gone. Tidying up, he put away the last of the books he’d been reading and tried to set everything back to rights. He came to a picture of Torvo and Hawna on the wall above the radio and carefully took the frame down. After a few tries he managed to unfasten the back and carefully removed the picture without cutting himself on the last bits of broken glass.

  He packed. His own clothes from Seattle, some clothes he borrowed from the extras he’d been using ever since he got to Torvo’s camp. Spare socks, his toothbrush, his razor. His wallet with all the plastic cards and paper bits. The keys to his building and his dead phone. Then the pistol and a box of rounds for it from the gun box. These he put in the front pocket of his backpack for easy access. A few cans of food, a spare can opener, two spoons and a few tiny paper packets of salt. A very small pocketknife, a book of matches and a couple of candles from the kitchen cupboard.

  Cobb felt ready, even though he had a couple of hours to go. Not knowing what else to do, he sat in the library and watched game shows on television, watching the wheel spin around and around even as he tried to make the numbers add up in his head. He knew he was leaving; it was inevitable. But he wanted to stay. Not specifically in this house, but he wanted to stay in Alaska. With the high skies and the mountains, with the cold river and long afternoons. It made more sense to him than a city filled with buildings and streets and countless millions of people.

  One of the contestants won, won everything, and Cobb still sat numbly watching. The next game show wasn’t as good, but the story on the next channel over, about a town filled with gossipy, horny, beautiful women was engrossing enough to let him pass the time.

  He got up when he heard an engine sound coming through the trees outside. With backpack in hand, he ran to the kitchen window and saw Hawna driving up, piloting a long-tracked snow-riding contraption into the yard. She was wearing a helmet, but he’d recognize her anywhere now. The way her legs moved when she got off the device, or how she took a moment to look up at the house. When she did see him, she waved—and his heart leaped in his chest!

  Cobb waved back excitedly, then let himself out the kitchen door, closing it tightly behind him. It was raining outside, but not hard. At the bottom of the stairs the snow came up over his ankles, all the way to his knees in places. As he came up to Hawna she slammed into him, hugging him tightly, not wanting to let him go. He hugged her back one-handed, not wanting to drop the backpack into the snow.

  “Come on,” she t
old him, once she finally let him go. “We’ve got to get moving. Your flight is in three hours and it will take some time to get there.” She started moving toward the snowmobile but he caught her with his free hand and pulled her back to him again.

  “How is Torvo doing?”

  “He’s not as good this morning. The rest of the tests came back clean, but he’s not doing as well. The doctors don’t know why he’s asleep. But we do.”

  “You could come with me,” Cobb said impulsively. “To Seattle. To fight the Red Crow.”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “My place is here, with my father. With Torvo. I can’t let him be alone.” Cobb nodded, getting it, but wanting her company all the same.

  “I understand.”

  “Did you get everything you’ll need?”

  “Everything,” Cobb said, then showed her the contents of his bag, including the shiny gun.

  “Oh, no,” she told him, shaking her head. “You can’t take that.” She took the gun out of the bag for him, and the box of bullets as well. He started to protest, but she stopped him with a stern look. “You can’t take these on the plane. I’ll courier them to you.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “As long as it takes,” Hawna said as she put the weapon and the box of shells in one of the metal bins on the back of the vehicle. “Did Torvo suffer? During the attack?”

  “The Red Crow hurt him, yes. He suffered some.”

  “Then make that son of a bitch suffer more. Take it all away from him, Cobb. Take all of it away and leave him to rot. Promise me.”

  “I promise,” he agreed, feeling a strange, human rage climbing up within him. He gestured to the vehicle. “How do you ride it?”

  “Just like before,” Hawna told him with a beautiful smile. “You just put your helmet on, climb up behind me and hang on for dear life.”

  The ride back through the trees was bumpy and jarring, but Hawna kept up good speed across the snow even before she made her way down to an open road. As she slowed and turned, Cobb kept his feet up, well away from the snowmobile’s ground-chewing treads, fearful of losing a boot or a foot. Then she rocketed even faster, the snow-road providing lots of long stretches for her to make good time on. Before long Cobb started to get cold and he could feel the rain seeping in through the loose places in his jacket. But he was moving, and on his way, and the Red Crow couldn’t catch him now.

  When they came down a long stretch through the trees, Cobb could see gray water off in the distance, stretching out toward fog-shrouded islands miles away. At the bottom of that strange road they passed the same little shack where his adventure had started so long ago. Her truck was there, parked just off the road, the snow here only as high as the bottom of the wheel rims. Hubcaps, he wondered? Was that the name for them?

  After he got off and retrieved his backpack, he helped her push the snowmobile into the interior of the metal shed. The four-wheeler was over in the corner, covered up by a tarp against the cold. He followed her back outside and she put the chain and padlock back on the door, then got in the truck without saying another word. He followed suit, letting himself in through the passenger door, then slamming it hard, like always.

  “Where are you going to stay?” Hawna asked.

  “I have an apartment.”

  “Do you know the address?”

  “No, but my wallet does.” He pulled it out and showed it to her, the card with his face on it.

  She nodded and quickly jotted down the address with a pen and a napkin from the glove compartment. “I’ll courier you a whole care package to help you through.” Stuffing the pen and napkin into her pocket, she turned over the engine with her key—and swore when she saw the time. Putting the truck into gear, she reversed with gusto, the wheels skidding in the slippery snow. But she expertly controlled the slide, shifted gears, and got the truck going the right way again, toward the highway and civilization.

  “Your ticket is waiting for you at the airline desk. I called it in this morning. At your feet is a coffee can. It’s all the money I could put together.” Astonished, he reached down and picked up the small rusted can rolling around at his feet. Lifting open the flexible plastic lid, he saw rolls of bills tucked inside, all green, all with numbers bigger than one.

  “This is a lot of money.”

  “It’s six hundred dollars. It should be enough for you to buy whatever you need.”

  “A chainsaw,” he asked her. “Where do I buy one of those?”

  “A hardware store. Most will sell them to you without a second thought. But get one like my dad has, it runs all day and night and won’t conk out in the middle of a job.”

  “Good,” Cobb said. “Can I call you? While I’m on the trip?”

  “You can call me,” Hawna said. “My phone number is on a piece of paper in the can, including the radio frequency my dad and I use when he’s up at the winter house. I’m probably going to take him home in a day or two if there’s nothing else wrong. I can tend to him myself, feed him myself, without having the hospital bill us for thousands of dollars a day for doing nothing.”

  “I’ll call you when it’s done,” Cobb promised.

  “You do that,” Hawna said, not looking at him, brushing her hair across her face so he hopefully wouldn’t see how sad she was. “Do you have any other questions?”

  “Are you going to be alright?” Cobb asked her.

  “We’ll be fine,” Hawna said. “We always are. I’m just hoping that some other birdbrain doesn’t show up needing lessons from my father. If so, they’ll be shit out of luck.”

  They both laughed at that, nervously, then settled into an uncomfortable silence. Gray water off to the right, trees and houses to the left, gray clouds above. Reaching over, Cobb took Hawna’s free hand in his own—and she squeezed back without saying a word. They drove like that all the way to the airport, even across the long bridges over the river valley, just squeezing each other’s hand tightly when the emotions threatened to break through.

  As she pulled up in front of the airport, she seemed relieved when she saw the time on the truck’s little digital clock. “You’ve got twenty-five minutes to get your ticket and make it through security. You should be able to make that.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Now, be brave. Be smart. Think with your head and take your time.”

  “Not too much time,” Cobb said, thinking of Torvo, thinking of Old Thom. “But I’ll be bold and brave.”

  “Good. Now go before you miss your plane.”

  “Take care of Torvo for me,” Cobb said. “He’s a fucker, but he’s a nice one.”

  “That he is,” Hawna said as she laughed, the look of loss in her eyes making him want to stay just for another minute more. But he knew he didn’t have time.

  “Fly safe!” she shouted as he let himself out of the truck, with the backpack and his tin can of money in hand.

  He waved back as she put the truck in gear and started to drive, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand. Taillights, exhaust fumes, the grind of tires on salt, gravel and snow. He watched her go until she made the turn back toward town, back to the hospital and Torvo. He listened as the sounds of the truck’s engine faded through the trees.

  Tucking the can into the pocket of his backpack, already missing the gun and bullets that she had taken, he went in to get his ticket. That was no problem, but at security they objected to his knife and made him open the can. He apologized and gave them the knife to keep, but they returned the can to him once they had poked around inside. Ten minutes later he was walking across the concrete toward the waiting plane.

  He found seat 16D, acknowledged the flight attendant and sat down, grateful to have nobody in the seat next to him. As the little room began to go backward, to turn around and face the runway, he looked out at the gray mist and the snow-covered trees rolling up the side of the mountain and wondered if he would ever see this place again.

  The flight from Cordova back to Seattle
still thrilled him, but this time his view faced out over the water, away from the trees and mountains of the mainland. But it was still thrilling to feel the giant bird lift off the ground, taking all of the passengers with it up into the sky. But now it felt a little more rote, a little more ordinary than when Cobb first came here raw and new so many weeks ago.

  In the end he slept through most of the final leg down to Seattle, dozing while sprawled across both his seat and the empty seat next to him. When the wheels touched down he jarred awake. Groggy, Cobb got himself together by the time the plane taxied to the terminal.

  It was dark by the time he managed to find his way out of the airport, down to the transportation level where dozens of taxi cars waited to take their fares. As he walked up to one of the cars, ready to just pick one from the line, he was directed by a person in a blue cap to take the taxi at the front of the line. He fumbled with the car’s unfamiliar handle a time or two before he finally let himself into the back seat.

  “Where do you want to go?” the skinny driver asked him, his car smelling faintly of exhaust, sweat, and something herbal that Cobb couldn’t identify.

  “I need to go here,” Cobb said, pulling out his wallet. “I need to go to this address.” He showed the cabbie the card with his picture on it. The man nodded and put the car into gear. A few minutes later they were on the main highway running north through the heart of Seattle, the sweeping flash of streetlights blurring past at a speed that made Cobb feel very odd. He already missed the skies of Alaska. Down here there were so many lights on every corner, so many cars and buildings with so many lights, that you could never see the true beauty of the sky and stars above.

  They got off the highway below a large green sign and made their way up a steep hill, stopping here and there for traffic lights. An old brick building along the left side was lit up by a row of bright shops and small restaurants, each featuring its own glowing neon sign. Open, he realized one sign said, implying they would serve food. Latte, said another, meaning coffee. Cobb gave a small sigh of thanks to Torvo. He had just enough knowledge now, enough connection to make his way through the human world—and he suspected the little details would make all the difference.

 

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