by David Haynes
Olin frowned and shrugged.
“Okay, well, it’s a good fifty miles that way.” He hooked a thumb over his finger. “And Fairbanks is a hundred and fifty that way.” He pointed toward the cache.
Olin nodded.
“Found you in the forest out there. Heard the Glock. Looked like you hit the bear, anyway.”
Olin tried to smile but winced. The blackened skin on his cheeks made an audible crackle.
“I’m Jonesy and this is my wife, Lisa.”
Olin fumbled under the fur cover, withdrawing his right hand. He offered it to them both in turn. It showed no signs of frostbite.
“Olin Martin,” he said.
As he opened his mouth, Jonesy saw the missing teeth down one side of his mouth. He didn’t meet many new people these days and seldom remembered those he did. His mind didn’t hold onto that information anymore. It wasn’t as if he’d need to recall someone’s name he’d only met once before at a Christmas party.
But he remembered the missing teeth. He recognized the guy from outside Wilkes’s store and he remembered not liking him very much.
“Have we met?” Olin asked. “I seem to think... Have you got a...?”
Jonesy nodded. But before he could answer, Olin’s eyes widened. “Outside that store in...in Big Shits. I remember that place now. Damn, what are the chances?”
Jonesy felt Lisa looking at him. He turned to her. “The last time I was down there.”
“Ain’t that something?” Olin asked, his voice becoming less labored with each word. He sat up with a grimace, causing the fur to drop to his waist. He looked down, undaunted by the knowledge he was naked in front of two strangers.
“You need to take it easy, Olin,” Lisa said, standing up. “I think you should stay where you are for a while, sort your head out. Are you hungry? There’s some broth.”
He rolled his tongue about in his mouth for a second. “Now you mention it, I think a bowl of broth is just what I need.”
Lisa ladled some of the soup into a bowl and pushed a chunk of bread into it. She knelt down beside him. “Can you manage?” She offered the bowl to him.
He grimaced. “Not sure my left hand is up to much at the moment. Maybe I can...” He started to move his frostbitten hand from beneath the covers.
“No. Don’t worry, I’ll help.” She dipped the spoon into the soup and pushed it toward his mouth.
He swallowed and closed his eyes. “That might just be the best soup I’ve ever tasted.” He wiped a hand across the sandy growth of his beard and licked his lips.
Lisa smiled and pushed another spoon into his mouth.
Jonesy waited for him to swallow. “What happened out there, Olin?”
“Have you talked to Lauren?” His eyes narrowed.
“Some.” He didn’t want to tell Olin that Lauren had said practically nothing about what had happened. He didn’t want to mention that she didn’t want to spend the night under the same roof as her husband.
“Where is she?”
“Outside, in the woodshed.”
Olin nodded. “I’d like to see her, to talk to her.”
He was avoiding the question. It was like trying to talk to Lauren all over again.
“Thing is, Olin,” Jonesy started, “she didn’t seem...” How to phrase this delicately? “I’m not sure she wants to talk to you.”
“Makes sense,” he replied.
“Oh?”
“Guilt, man. She feels bad about leaving me out there. Would you want to face someone you’d left to die? Someone you said you loved?”
Jonesy didn’t answer.
“I mean, she just up and walked off...” Olin shook his head. “What has she told you?”
Lisa spooned more of the broth into his open mouth. “Nothing,” she said. “She won’t tell us anything.”
“Like I said, it makes sense. Any water?”
They were all silent while Olin finished his soup. That didn’t take long and neither did the three cups of water he drank. Jonesy thought about what he’d just said and the thing was, it did make sense. Lauren would be unlikely to spill the beans on something like that. It was doubtful that telling him and Lisa she’d left her husband to die in the frozen wilderness would get her much sympathy. She certainly hadn’t come on the rescue mission, come to tell them where he was. Jonesy had asked her, they both had, and she kept her lips zipped together on the subject.
It would also explain her reaction to his presence. Shock, disbelief and fear too. Maybe the guy had a short fuse, maybe he didn’t. Maybe he used her as a punch bag, there was no way to know right now, but if she’d left him as he was suggesting, he had every right to be mad.
“You seem pretty calm about it?” Jonesy asked.
He shrugged. “I love her. She did what she thought was right. If I could just talk to her...”
Lisa interrupted. “She hasn’t said a word since Jonesy found you. She just sits in the shed, rocking.”
“She’s fragile,” he said. “I need to talk to her, set her mind at ease. Find a way to make things right between us. I don’t blame her for leaving me.” He paused and used his teeth to work a thread of loose skin on his lip. “Things weren’t exactly great between us before this. The trip was supposed to put us back together.” He smiled. “That worked out well, didn’t it?”
“I think you need to give it a couple of days, Olin. Seems like both of you need some time,” Jonesy said.
Olin lowered himself back down and stared at the ceiling. “You saved my life,” he said. “Thanks, man.”
“Reckon you did half of that yourself. Looked like you took a bite out of that grizzly.”
Olin gave a snorting laugh. “Big bastard he was too. But still...” He lifted his head and winked. “I owe you one.”
Jonesy shook his head. “No you don’t.”
Lisa stood up and nodded toward the door. Jonesy knew she was going back out to the shed, to check on Lauren. Lad had stayed with her for the last couple of days. He had been inside the cabin for only short periods and when he did, he gave the unconscious Olin a wide berth.
Jonesy cleared his throat. “Where’d you hole up?” He knew the answer but he asked the question anyway.
“Some cabin we found. Deserted but in pretty good shape, considering.”
Jonesy nodded.
“Couldn’t have been too far away from here. I might not have been thinking straight, and my compass is a little off, but I don’t think I walked for too long before that bear came at me. Maybe a couple of hours. You know the place?”
“Uh-huh,” Jonesy replied. Olin looked like he was waiting for more but Jonesy didn’t offer it.
“Weird up there, like someone just walked out, left all their stuff and just left.” He shook his head. “Kinda like what Lauren did, huh?”
“How long were you up there?”
He shrugged. “Couldn’t say, the days kinda merged into one. One hungry day after another, after another. Bad, things were bad.”
Jonesy stood up. He didn’t want to listen to anything else about it. “You look about my size, I’ll get you some clothes.”
Olin reached out and grabbed his ankle as he was passing. “Listen, man, I mean it, you saved my life and I don’t want to put you or your wife to any more trouble. Soon as I’m fit, point us in the right direction and we’re gone. How long would it take us to get back to that shitty town? Couple of hours?”
“Couple of days for someone who knows the way. Right now, with the weather the way it is, four, five days at least. But you wouldn’t last that long, not out in the open. Like it or not, we’re stuck until spring.”
Olin let go of his ankle. “Better get my marriage back on track then, huh?”
Jonesy nodded and walked upstairs to the bedroom. As he reached the top step, Olin shouted “Say, Jonesy, that gun of mine? Where can I put my hands on it?”
“I’ve got it safe. When you’re feeling better I’ll pass it back. Okay?”
“Uh-h
uh, sure. Man, you’re not a boxers guy, are you?”
“What?” Jonesy peered down from the mezzanine.
“If you’ve got some tighty-whiteys I’d appreciate it. I like to keep everything together, if you get my drift?”
14
He listened to their conversations, watched them move about the cabin through the narrow slits in his eyelids for a couple of hours, before letting them know he was awake. He had no idea where he was, or who the couple were, or even what their intentions were. The only thing he knew was that he was warm for the first time in an eternity.
He heard Lauren’s name mentioned several times. In fact it seemed she was their only topic of conversation. There was a vague recollection of seeing her in the room a short time ago. But that might have been a dream. Things were still a bit fuzzy around the edges.
Now he knew for sure. Lauren was here. The bitch was here. He lay still and listened to the conversation. What had she told them, he wondered? He waited long enough to be sure she hadn’t said a word. They thought she was having a breakdown and that he beat her. He was a lot of things but he’d never hit a woman in his life. At least not yet but Lauren could tempt him. He waited as long as he could. He waited until the smell of that soup made his belly grumble like the roar of that big old grizzly he’d faced off.
Man, that broth was good! He could go for another four or five bowls of it. What kind of meat was in it, he wondered? Not that it mattered really. It was damn tasty whatever it was. It awakened his hunger again. Not quite as good as a steak but in the current circumstances, it did the trick.
Jonesy and Lisa had gone to bed a couple of hours ago. He could hear one of them, Jonesy probably, snoring like a bull up there. He wasn’t sleepy. He’d slept enough for a lifetime these last few days and that wasn’t like him at all. He wanted to be up and about. Up and at ‘em. At Lauren to be precise.
He rolled onto his back, feeling the warmth of the fire burn his skin. Most of his skin anyway. He raised his right hand, his good hand, and touched the leathery blotch on his cheek. There was no need for a mirror, he knew it was there. It felt cold, numb. Dead.
His left hand wasn’t so good. There was still an occasional tingle on the end of his fingers but from the first knuckle up there wasn’t much going on. He didn’t want to look at it. If it was as far as Jonesy said it was into town, then he might have to do something about it eventually. Something positive. That was what surviving was all about. You did what you had to. You were assertive.
He was wearing Jonesy’s clothes. An old plaid shirt with leather on the elbows, like a teacher or something, and a pair of jeans that were a little snug. It wasn’t really his style but it was the shorts that caused him the most concern. Surely wearing loose-fitting boxers was not a good thing out here. Too much scope for a draft. At least they were clean. He hoped.
He shivered at the thought and kicked the furs off his legs. He needed to stretch, to see if his legs were still operational. He listened to the bed creaking upstairs, the sound of someone rolling over and a murmured voice. Then quiet again, quiet except for the wind trying to smash them all to pieces. Jesus, how could people live like this?
Whoever lived at the other cabin had lived alone. The single bed told him that. Imagine it? Subsisting, because that was what it was, enduring a wretched life of meager sustenance. And for what? The joy of solitary confinement? No thanks. Jonesy had changed the subject about that place pretty quick. Something you don’t care to talk about, Jonesy? Maybe. Who knew what was going on in his brain. It wasn’t as if you could say the guy was normal. Who in their right mind would want to live out here?
But he had saved his life. Or helped him anyway. That was another thing that didn’t sit right. Someone risking their life to help him? Get real. There had to be something in it for Jonesy. Something he wanted out of the deal. A brief flare of pain in his left hand made him groan. There was no point in worrying about Jonesy or Lisa right now. It would come out eventually, whatever it was.
He kicked his feet again, feeling the bubbling itch of restless legs. He was uncomfortable. What kind of bed did they have upstairs? One with moose antlers above it, perhaps? Or maybe they had an entire wolf pack hanging off the walls, all of them killed by Jonesy’s bare hands. He looked the sort. One of those guys you saw on the TV with beards down to their waist and hands that were always covered in the entrails of something they’d just caught, something they were about to eat raw and wriggling. There would be a pretty quilted throw on the bed too. Lisa looked like she might be into handicrafts.
Where did Lauren sleep? She was out in the woodshed, preferring the company of a dog to him and the warmth of a nice cozy fire. That said just about all you needed to know about her. She wouldn’t know a good thing if it walked up behind her and bit her on the ass. She’d proved that already.
He needed to speak to her. He also needed to use the bathroom. Where the hell was that anyway? He’d taken a leak into a bucket earlier, felt the warm, yellow urine splash up his arm as he tried to hold steady on legs that felt like rubber. He turned over and peered into the gloom. Where was the bucket now?
He saw it by the door, the flames flickering orange off its smooth tin sides. Mesmerizing. Could he last? Could he even move that far? He stared at it and the longer he stared, the worse the pressure on his bladder became. No way around it, he needed to take a leak.
Two choices. Lie here and just do it, a bit of extra warmth. Or move his sorry ass and do it in the bucket like a man. He shuffled across the floor toward the couch and used it as a crutch to pull himself upright. The room slanted to one side and then back the other way. It was like being on a boat in a storm. He waited for it to pass and edged across to the bucket.
His feet were cold now. Hadn’t they heard of carpets, or even a decent rug? Two more steps and he was there. He unzipped and then bent down to grab the bucket. His head swam again, caught in a cerebellum tidal pond. He choked back the nausea and tried to do what nature intended a man to do. Take a leak standing up.
He strained, waiting for the sound of rain on tin. A moment later the relief came, the noise almost deafening. He would have laughed had he not sprayed his hand and a pair of boots lined up by the door. It was a stupid place to leave them, right next to the piss bucket.
He put the bucket down, his urine a dark and oily pool in the base. He could feel the cold air coming in through tiny cracks around the door. He could smell it. How could Lauren sleep out there? He looked at the boots. They were about his size. Maybe he should pay her a visit, check up on her.
He grabbed the boots before he fell down and collapsed backward onto the couch. He wished he knew where Jonesy had hidden the Glock. It didn’t feel right not carrying. The laces were a problem. At least tying them up was. The leathery glove that the fingers on his left hand had become were all but useless. Certainly for the fine work of shoelace tying. He tucked them down the inside of the boot and found a jacket hanging up by the door. It was thick, really thick. Much better than the crappy gear he had.
He waited and listened for the sounds of sleep from upstairs before opening the door and stepping outside. The cold took his breath away, forcing him up against the cabin. All at once his face and the blooms of dead skin jumped into life, clawing and digging their freezing black tendrils into his bones. He gasped, bit down on his lip and peered out into the night.
Shapes appeared through the snow. Dark, pointed figures that moved toward him; shuffling, shambling behemoths that groaned as they swayed. He knew they were trees because they weren’t roaring at him but they might as well have been a sleuth of grizzlies for the sudden terror he felt. He took a moment, pressed against the cold lumber wall of the cabin, and watched as they moved no closer. Had they been moving at all? He shook his head. No, of course not. Part of his mind was still closed down. But still, he didn’t like it. It was too damned dark and there could be a motherfucking grizzly out there.
He looked away, first to his left. Nothing ther
e, at least nothing in sight. Then he turned the other way, and through the whirling cloud of grayness he saw the regular shape of a building. He stepped down into the snow, feeling the cold all the way up to his balls, and lumbered his way toward it. Somewhere in the wind he could hear a low-pitched grumble, almost a growl, but he pushed on. Damn bear had tried it once, let him try it again. He reached to his hip for the Glock and cursed at its absence. It made him move faster.
It was tough going. Something approaching toothache seized one side of his face. All he could think of was sinking the fingers of his good hand under the scabrous flesh and ripping it out. As soon as he stepped out of the wind and snow, it quietened enough for him to be able to think again.
The dog’s eyes caught a glimmer of light from whatever moonlight there was and reflected it back at him. It was the dark red of a demon. He recalled seeing the dog back in the hick town. It was one fine-looking creature. Looked like it could fight too. He’d seen some of those bastards go at it at Melladay’s place. A couple of times a month he’d have a bunch of guys and their dogs over to fight it out. You could make some serious cash with the right dog.
“Hey, boy,” he whispered. The dog blinked and then growled. He swallowed. It wasn’t a welcome home! kind of sound.
A second later, a flashlight beam punched a hole in the darkness and struck him in the face. It felt like a physical blow.
He moved his head from side to side, trying to get a view of who was holding it. It had to be Lauren. Jonesy and Lisa were inside, snoring and farting like troopers.
“Lauren? That you, honey?”
The beam shook, trembled almost.
“Thought I’d come see how you’re doing. Especially since you’ve not been in to check on me.”
The beam wobbled again. The dog growled and pawed at the ground.
“You want to calm that dog? Wouldn’t want anything to happen to him.” He scanned the walls of the shed. If the dog came at him, he’d need something to hit it with. He reached over and grabbed at the nearest shadow. It was a shovel. Good enough.