After and Again

by McLellan, Michael

  “The rifle I had planned to give you along with Grace, just hadn’t gotten to it. The scabbard, well, just seems kind of fitting doesn’t it?” Zack, at a loss with regards to the older man’s seemingly inexhaustible supply of kindness, pushed back the tears that wanted to come.

  “Thank you…. for everything, Toby.”

  “Thank you, Zack, for reminding me that being a man means more than just being able to rope a steer or fix a wagon wheel…. now look,” he began, bending down and opening a smaller door that was located on the bottom portion of the cabinet. “Here we are,” he said standing up with four small boxes in his hand. “There are twenty bullets per box. Now let me show you how to load it.”

  The next morning Zack took his coffee out on the porch before the sun had even risen. Emily had said her goodbye the night before with a kiss and a be-back-for-dinner admonishment. Tal was in the kitchen eating fried eggs and toast and said that he would join him in the barn at sunrise. He drained his coffee as the first light came into the sky and stood and walked back into the house.

  When he entered the kitchen Miranda took the empty mug from his hand and gave him a small cloth bundle. “There’s some sandwiches in there for you and Tal, and the produce for the King’s is over there on the counter,” she said, pointing to two burlap sacks. “You two take care, and I’ll see you for supper.” She leaned over and planted a small kiss on Zack’s cheek and left the kitchen.

  Tal had apparently already left for the barn so Zack grabbed the burlap sacks and walked out the back door. He stopped for a moment and gazed out in the pasture hoping to see the wolf—Max, he had named him, after a character in a book that he had read. He wasn’t sure if the story was made up or not but it was about a good man, named Maximus who had been betrayed by an evil king, and was made to fight in a big place called an arena while people watched and cheered. Sometimes he had to fight several other men at once and sometimes he had to fight animals. Zack never got to find out what happened at the end because some of the pages were missing. But he still thought that it was a really good story.

  Tal was loading up the mule and said, “Oh, don’t want to forget those!” and took the burlap sacks from Zack who then went to Grace’s stall and led her out.

  “Hey, girl, I think you’ve been cooped up long enough, how about a ride today?” he asked the mare, who chuffed and stamped a couple of times as if to answer.

  “That’s what I thought.” he said smiling, while throwing the saddle blanket over her and then picking up the saddle. “That’s a fine piece of leatherwork,” Tal said, nodding toward the rifle scabbard that was slung over a stall rail.

  “That it is,” Zack responded, running his hand over the leather.

  “Toby is pretty fond of you….I know he’d like you an’ your ma to stay on here, Emily too.”

  “I know, and I really love it here, but if I find a map tomorrow…. I’ll have to go Tal.”

  “Of course you will,” Tal said, looking like he wasn’t so sure.

  They rode out just as the sun was over the top of the mountains, taking an easy pace because of the pack mule that Tal was leading. They expected the ride to take them about three hours and talked of simple things like fishing on Hat Lake, or Dry Creek, hunting deer in the foothills, past harvest dances and traveling shows that they had seen. Zack hadn’t known Tal all that well prior to the gang arriving, he had just been the stable and tack man; polite, in a gruff sort of way, and thought fair to trade with by the townsfolk. Zack now considered Tal a friend, and though unspoken, the older man held the same feeling for him.

  “For being such a smart fella, you ain’t very observant are ya?” Tal said, smiling at Zack who looked bemused at the question.

  “What are you talking about?” Zack asked, “what did I miss this time?”

  “Look behind ya.” Tal said, not turning his head from the road. “I think he’s wonderin where yer off to.”

  “Jeez!” “Hey Max! Hey big fella!” Zack called to the wolf, who was loping along keeping pace less than twenty feet behind them, just like he belonged there. Tal laughed heartily, big bellowing laughs from his gut, and for those few moments, and maybe for the last time in his life, Zack felt like a fifteen-year-old boy again.

  11

  The Sanderson’s dogs started barking when Zack and Tal came within view of the house. Max, who had paced them the entire way, stopped and would not go further no matter how much Zack tried to coax him.

  Leaving the wolf to his own devices they continued on to the ranch. “Ain’t quite ready to sit at your feet on the front porch is he?” Tal asked, mostly rhetorically.

  “No, I guess he isn’t,” Zack said, leaning forward in the saddle and waving at Holly Sanderson.

  The house wasn’t nearly as grand as the Martin’s, it was large but simple, built by Bert Sanderson’s grandfather out of hand-cut unmilled logs that were cunningly fitted together and sealed with clay.

  “Tal, Zack! Hi! Tie up right here,” Holly said, pointing at a hitching post below her front porch. “Sadie! Jack! You quit now!” she exclaimed, scolding the barking dogs. “You’re just in time,” she said, coming down the porch steps. “We were just about to have some lemonade.”

  Zack and Tal tied up and followed her around to the back of the house where a table was set up beneath a huge oak tree. The Goodman women, Jonus, and the Kings were all sitting there in the shade with mugs in front of them. “Should have known that shiftless ‘ol Jonus would be sitting on his haunches when there’s work to be done.” Tal joked, striding forward and patting Jonus on the back and giving him a friendly but rough shake.

  “He’s been a godsend,” Holly said, filling two mugs with lemonade

  Mary King stood up “Come over here, Zack, and let me take a look at you.” Zack—whose mother had been friends with Mary her entire life—walked over obediently, allowing himself to be hugged fiercely by the plump, large-bosomed woman. She released him from the bear hug and held him at arm’s length: “How’s the shoulder dear?” she asked, scanning his eyes with hers.

  “It’s fine Mrs. King, really. It’s healing up good, see?” he said, rotating his shoulder and trying not to show how much it still hurt.

  “Okay, well you be careful boy, Holly told me about all of this turning back time nonsense and I don’t know what to make of it. Sounds like a bunch of craziness, and you all believing it—”

  “Now Mary, you just mind your manners,” Hal King said, getting up from his place at the table and taking his wife by the hand. “Don’t you tell me what I can or can’t say Hal King! You said yourself that you thought this whole thing was a big load of horse pucky and that folks should get to grieving and forget this nonsense!”

  Hal King, a wiry but well muscled man in his fifties, with skin tanned dark from long years working cattle in the sun, still managed to flush considerably and said simply, “Okay ma, you said your piece, let’s go have our lemonade. It’s good to see you Zack.” he added, giving Zack a sort of melancholic smile before walking his wife back to the table.

  There was a moment of awkward silence before Tal broke it with an invitation: “Toby and Miranda want everyone to come back to their place for dinner tonight; that is if you don’t mind closin’ up shop here until tomorrow, as there ain’t no sense in ya comin all the way back out here tonight. They thought that it might be nice for Hal and Miranda to be able to spend some time with Dalia.”

  “Okay with you, Holly?” Hal asked.

  “Of course it is, Hal, you all have worked so hard that this place will be fine without you for a day. In fact, why don’t you and Mary go ahead and pack up your essentials while I get Tal and Jonus here to hitch May and Mel to the wagon and tether up three riding ponies. We’ll be on our way in an hour.”

  “That sounds really good,” Hal said before draining off the last of his lemonade and standing. “C’mon hon, let’s get moving so we can go see that daughter of ours.”

  Tal and Jonus had gone to the barn to h
itch the mules, leaving Zack drinking lemonade with Holly, Kendra, and Cassie. “I’m riding Grace up to the cave tomorrow and wanted to see who still wanted to come with me.”

  “I figured that was why you rode all the way out here,” Holly said. “All three of us were planning to go.”

  “Okay, I thought we’d leave right after breakfast.”

  “All three of us are planning to go to the time-rip as well,” she added, looking at Zack levelly, as if expecting an argument.

  “Okay,” Zack said meeting her gaze. “That is if we find a map or directions or something. Emily is going to come too, and whoever else wants to. The way I see it, the more people that go, the safer that we’ll be while we’re there and the better chance we have of at least one of us making it back.”

  “What if we all come back crazy?” Cassie asked.

  “Well then were crazy I guess. But the rest of the town will all be back like it was….your town will too. At least that’s what were hoping.”

  “It’s worth any risk, at least to me it is. I have nothing more to lose.” Holly said.

  “Well, I guess we’ll find out soon enough,” Kendra said. “Cassie, let’s go pack up those clothes that Holly gave you so we can get a move on.”

  Zack helped Hal unload the supplies from the mule and put the flour in the pantry while Hal carried the produce down to the cold cellar and then fed the dogs. They were walking out of the house together when Hal reached out and tightly gripped Zack’s arm and spoke quietly. “You keep an eye on Holly for me, Zack. She and Bert have been good to Mary an’ me over the years and I’m worried about her. Ever since she come back she just hasn’t seemed right. Now I know she’s grieving an’ all but this is different, she just keeps going on an’ on about this time thing, an’ turning back the clock, an’ having Bert and Jenny back. Like she’s….you know, obsessed with this notion that she can fix everything. I understand that you all believe what this fella on the machine said but just don’t do anything foolish, and don’t let her do anything foolish cause I wouldn’t trust her to make the right decisions just now, not at all.” Hal dropped his hand from Zack’s arm looking deflated and tired.

  “I’ll do the best I can, Mr. King,” was all that he could think of to say.

  The newly named wolf—Max, was waiting about a mile down the road, off a ways under the shade of some trees. He let the wagon trailing the Martin’s mule and the riders pass before falling in behind them as before. This time Zack, who had been keeping a sharp eye out for him, spotted him under the trees and pointed him out to the others. He called to him as they passed but Max stayed put until they had gone by. “Ain’t that the darndest thing,” Hal King said, craning his neck around from his place in the driver’s seat of the wagon.

  It was late afternoon when they arrived at the Martin’s, and the Miller boys shouted their arrival from the dooryard where they had been playing tag with Henry and Caden Mccarron. Dalia Martin was the first out of the house, anxious to greet her parents, who she hadn’t seen since the tragedy three weeks earlier.

  Miranda Martin had invited everyone inside while Toby, Heath, Zack and Tal tended to the animals and the wagon. Jonus had protested, wanting to help, but Tal had convinced him that he deserved a break and told him to go pour a whiskey for himself. “You don’t have to tell me twice,” Jonus said, limping eagerly toward the house.

  The Sturgess family had showed up a short time later and Miranda announced that the food was ready. Dinner was roast beef with potatoes and spring greens, apple wine, beer, and coffee, with cherry pies for dessert. To everyone’s amusement, Zack told how Max had just appeared and followed him and Tal to the Sanderson’s, and then just disappeared again when they got back to the Martin’s. Hal and Toby talked in length about coming livestock births, and the Millers discussed plans for their outing to Hat Lake the following day with the Mccarrons and Eileen Deveroux. It would be the last such meal together for the town’s survivors.

  12

  Desmond Trask walked up the road with Alejendro Reyes’ saddle thrown over his shoulder. The sun had burned his weeping, scabby face an angry red, and to the few people that passed him on the road he conjured images of half remembered nightmares.

  He had pushed the horse relentlessly, until its flanks were slick with froth and the sweet smell of the animal’s sweat had filled his nostrils. The horse eventually slowed—oblivious to Trask’s beatings—then staggered, and collapsed. Trask had cursed and kicked the dead horse repeatedly before growing winded and giving up. He then calmly removed the saddle and began walking.

  Trask had awakened the previous morning confused and disorientated. He had a vague memory of following the line of smoke but that was all. He sat up, wincing at pain that seemed to emanate from every part of his body. He ate the food and drank the water without wondering how it had gotten there. He looked at his chest, and saw the stitches; the old man, now he remembered. He stood up and laced his shirt, which was stiff with dried blood, and then pulled the serape back over his head and walked out the front door. Where was his horse? Trask’s view of ownership was simple—anything that was in his possession, belonged to him.

  He walked around the back of the shack and found what he was looking for tied to a post and contentedly munching grass.

  Auburn was a great deal larger than Payne’s Station; along with two trading stores, a blacksmith, two stables and a clothing outfitter, it boasted an eatery, and a large inn that also served food. Both establishments accepted gold and silver as well as coffee, teas, spices, bullets and other valuables like false teeth, eyeglasses and textiles. You simply bartered with the proprietor until you came to an agreement that was satisfactory for both parties. The proprietor then traded the tea or teeth or textiles to the rancher—both the Martin’s and the Sanderson’s had traded steers in Auburn—or the farmer or the artisan. The system worked amazingly well, and in its fashion, Auburn prospered.

  Desmond Trask walked into The Mountain Rest Inn and Tavern two hours before sunset. The common room, that moments before had been alive with conversation and the music of a lone violinist, went immediately silent. Trask surveyed the room; no one wanted to meet his eyes so the people quickly turned back to whatever they had previously been engaged in.

  Trask selected an empty table and dropped the saddle to the floor with a loud thump, startling the already wary customers at the table next to him. Andy Gross, the innkeeper, sighed heavily from behind the bar, thinking that it was just his luck to get such an unruly group the previous day and then this hell-spawn today. It was normally such a peaceful place, he thought. Sure they had the occasional drunken fistfight or theft, but these men were something else altogether. Brushing off his apron, he resigned himself to the task and walked over to the table.

  “What can I get for you this evening good sir?” Andy asked, trying not to stare at the man’s face.

  “Good sir no less.… my my, aren’t you a dandy one,” Trask said, looking at Andy with open amusement on his ruined face. “I want beer, a pitcher…. Do you have beef stew?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Alright, beef stew and a loaf of bread then.”

  “Very well, and what do you wish to trade with?” Andy asked the usual question with apprehension.

  Trask produced his long knife from under his serape and stuck it deep in the tabletop. “How much is your life worth you dandy son of a cur?” he asked, leaning forward, all amusement now gone from his face. Andy Gross was temporarily frozen with fear, urine dripped from the leg of his pants onto one of his boots. After several moments of enduring the monster’s patient stare, he recovered slightly.

  “No charge for your meal sir.”

  “Well, that’s really nice of you. In that case, some pie would be good too.”

  “To the relief of Andy Gross as well as his customer’s, Trask left the inn after his meal. He walked up the middle of the dirt main street—Which, like Payne’s Station, was just a continuation of the north/south road—w
here wagons and horses were moving purposefully to complete the day’s business before nightfall. Everyone that he encountered gave him a wide berth. “Mommy look, it’s a monster!” one child exclaimed, fearfully pointing at Trask before his terrified mother could yank him in another direction.

  He entered one of the two stables at the end of the street and began moving from stall to stall, examining animals housed there. He spotted what he was looking for almost at once; a jet-black stallion that was easily seventeen hands tall. A gruff voice came from behind him.” “Help ya with something?” the voice asked.

  Trask turned, and the owner of the voice—a rather large man himself—winced, and took a step back.

  “Yes,” Trask said, thrusting the saddle into the stableman’s chest. “Saddle this horse.” Trask stared into the man’s eyes intently. Without another word, the stableman did what he was told.

  Trask arrived at the encampment—about fifty miles north of Auburn—around two in the morning. He located Ben Grayson who was awake and not altogether pleased to see the unpredictable Trask alive.

  “What the hell happened to you?” Grayson asked, holding the lantern that he was carrying up to Trask’s face.

  “Why didn’t you raid Auburn?” Trask asked, ignoring the question.

  “Hell, Desmond, we barely had enough men for the two little piss-pot towns that we hit last, and with you and Stryker and the rest not returning and me losing a couple out there on the plain….there wasn’t enough men for a town like Auburn to begin with, and there certainly ain’t now. I know there’s more than a few guns there and a few men with enough guts to shoot ‘em. And I’ll tell you something else; I ain’t in too much of a hurry to go back to The Crack empty handed neither, and that makes for a bit of a conundrum don’t it?”