by Foy W Minson
“Okay,” Charlie said. Then catching Rachel’s attention as she walked past, “Hey, Rachel, what about your hubby? He feelin’ up to making the trip?”
She turned with a smile, nodding. “Oh, sure. Larry’s fine, and looking forward to it. Takes a lot more than that to crack that hard head.”
“Okay,” Charlie said, laughing and shaking his head. Then to Erin, “Oh, and The Judge told me he’s not feeling so good, so he’s staying, too.”
“What’s wrong with him? Is it something Lila might be able to treat?”
“No, I don’t think so. He said he’s just feeling old and worn out. The man’s got a lot of miles on him. Probably just having a couple of weeks without some new crisis to eat at him’ll help as much as anything.”
“You’re probably right. He’ll be missed at Riverhill, though.”
“Okay, then. I guess I’ve got everyone that’s staying behind. Anything else, anyone? No more orders to put in?”
A man held up his hand toward Charlie and asked, “Did you get the sixth boat patched? Five would do, but they’d be crowded.”
Charlie nodded and said, “Pitch isn’t set good yet, but it will be by the time we need it.”
A woman nearby asked, “Is Lila still going to take a boat by herself? She’s awful young to take that on alone.”
“Oh, now, Carlene, she’ll be fine.” Erin wrapped her arm around the woman’s shoulders and hugged her. “I know you still think of her as your little girl, but she’s almost fourteen. She’s small, but she’s strong, stronger than anyone else in the village except for Woody. Even Emmie can’t match her. She’s been our doctor from the beginning, and everyone trusts her. And we wouldn’t be able to take six boats without her, and we need six. Remember how crowded we were last time with just five? Vonnie can take one, but Lauren can’t handle one by herself. Rod might be able to, but I wouldn’t want to ride in it. Rod and Lauren have to double up, and even then, most of what they’ll carry is baggage, not people. With Emmie, Sayeko and Woody in one each, that only leaves Lila for number six. She’s strong, and she’s good. She’ll be fine.”
After Carlene and Erin walked away, still talking about the upcoming trip, Sherri reached out and touched Dagar on the arm. He turned and smiled when he saw her and her two children.
“Are they talking about the girl who healed my wounds?”
“Uh huh,” Dagar replied. “She’s just a bit nervous about her little girl taking on such a grownup job. Ha! As if being the village’s doctor and surgeon is child’s play.”
Dagar guided Sherri and her children off to the side near where Dan and Raymond were standing, out of the way of everyone still milling about. He said, “Carlene became Lila’s foster mother not long after we all arrived here. She had a little girl about Lila’s age, but she and her father were killed during the nightmare of the invasion. Lila’s parents were killed then, too, and her brother, Jared, died during the final battle of Petaluma. He was fighting beside Billy Ray when they cut him down. Afterwards, the big guy just couldn’t do enough for her. I think it was out of guilt, at first, ‘cause her brother had died defending him. But, over time, they grew close. Then, after we all got settled in here at the river, Billy Ray’s constant doing for Lila turned into him courting Carlene. Lila was just part of the package, or maybe more like the magnet that brought them all together. They became a real family when Carlene had a son a year later.
“But, it sounded like you’re expecting Lila to be in charge of a boat full of people,” she said, making brief eye-contact with Dan who took a couple of steps to join them. Then, back to Dagar, “Why does it have to be her with all the adults here?”
“Oh, I think I see your problem.” Dagar smiled, extending it to Dan and Raymond, and went on, “She won’t really be in charge of her boat. Actually, I think Billy Ray is going to be on the rudder if it needs steering, and Carlene will be sitting right behind her. She’s just going to be the power moving it. No —” he laughed when Sherri opened her mouth as wide as her eyes and started to say something. “Really, we aren’t going to put oars in her hands. Each boat will have one of our movers on board, and two on one of ‘em. The movers are the ones that can move things with their minds, like Emmie. All of ‘em together were able to mount the waterwheel. Besides being a healer, Lila is also a very strong mover.”
“But — a boat full of people? Why can’t you just paddle?”
“Oh, I suppose we could. But they’re good-sized boats and going upstream that far would be difficult. It’d take a lot of strong rowers. Don’t know if we could manage that, not for six boats. A lot of the folks on board couldn’t row, so they would have to stay home to lessen the load. Then, what’s the point of going?”
Fascinated by the mission coming up, Dan asked, “So, Lila and the other…movers are just going to push the boats upstream against the current? It looks pretty strong. How far do they have to do it?”
“Well, they are going to push the boats against the current, but only a little bit. They’ll also lift the boats part way out of the water so there’ll be only a little current to fight, but the water will still support some of the weight. I don’t really understand it, but they claim it takes less mental strength to do it that way than to just push a boat against the current. Apparently, lifting against gravity is easier than pushing against water. Anyway, Riverhill is just a few miles up the river, takes about half an hour. It’s on a tall hill the river bends around after coming down from the north just before it turns west and carves our valley on its way to the coast. It’s in what used to be a town called Healdsburg. Most of the town burned down, so they created a new one, or a village, anyway, on the hillsides. They’ve got a couple of industries going there, like leather tanning and making arrowheads and other things out of scavenged sheets of steel, so other villages are eager to stay on their good side.”
“I think I used to go to Healdsburg with my parents,” Sherri said. “There was a nice beach just outside of town.”
“Yep. Beach is still there. In fact, that’s where we land the boats. They’ve got a couple of piers closer to their hill, but not with room for six visiting boats. So, would you like to ride in Lila’s boat?”
Sherri looked down for a moment before replying, “I would rather not go, if that’s all right.”
“Well, of course you don’t have to go if you don’t want to. But, why not?”
She shifted Daryl to her other arm and caressed Sarah’s cheek with the hand she had just freed. “You all seem like good people, and all. And, I’m sure you are. But…I just don’t think I’m ready for the boat ride and even more folks doing things. For the last six years, all I heard was how evil such things were. I just need more time to think about it.”
Dagar smiled and said, “That’ll be fine, I’m sure. I ‘spect it can be a mite unnerving at first. I remember back when I first saw something. Emmie was just a little thing, even younger than Lila is now. She tossed that kryl around like a dog shakin’ a rat. Sent a few chills up and down my spine, I’ll tell you. What about you, Dan? Raymond? You gonna go with us?”
Raymond was the first to respond. “You know, I think this might be a good opportunity to test long-distance linking with Raven if I stay behind. She’ll be going, won’t she?”
“She wouldn’t miss it. Dan, you coming?”
Dan thought for a moment, then, as he exchanged smiles with Sherri, he said, “I think I’ve traveled enough in the last six years. Maybe I’ll just lie around here and rest.” Then, with exchanged smiles with his fellow visitor, he said, “Maybe Sherri and I can help each other understand and accept things a little better.”
CHAPTER 17
Olen Johnson watched the others disappear around a bend in the trail ahead. They couldn’t have been much more than a hundred yards ahead of him, but, as he staggered to a halt, he suddenly felt as though he were the only being within a hundred miles not armed with fang and claw. He wondered if the woods on both sides of the trail hadn’t
become denser in these past six years of untended growth. He couldn’t believe the land between towns, even this far from the river, would have been let go to such uncontrolled wilderness in the years of sanity before the invaders had come.
His son had journeyed many times with Jerry, but Olen had never been one to voluntarily experience the great outdoors. And, now, trekking through the forest, he was convinced it had been a good policy. If he stepped off the trail just the few feet it would take to lose sight of the trail, he would be hopelessly lost. He had absolutely no sense of direction, an asset he was never sure he believed others possessed. When someone would point off to some point of the unfamiliar world and announce that it was north or southwest or any such, he wondered if they weren’t just saying it to appear superior. How could a person instinctively know such a thing? He couldn’t. How could they?
The stitch in his side that had brought him to a stop had also prevented him from even attempting to jog ahead to keep up or to catch up to the others when he lagged. The pace Hughes was setting could still be considered walking, he supposed, but just. It was as close to sustained jogging as he could imagine. He doubted he could even work up the wind to call out his distress. Panting heavily, he eased himself to his knees then leaned forward until his hands rested on the ground before him. And there he remained with his head hanging down, panting, gasping for breath like one of the worn and wounded bulls he had so enjoyed watching in the fighting rings of Spain and Mexico. He could even feel the cruel blade in his side and wondered if it would eventually withdraw.
How far would Jackie and the others have gone by the time he’d be able to push himself back onto the trail? The way their course twisted and turned he was certain they would not be in view. Would he ever catch up to them? If they made even one turn off the trail, if the trail split, if the trail simply ended at the base of a cliff or wall of trees, would he ever be able to find it again? Would he want to? If Jackie could just leave him like that, should he even bother to follow?
He was well into a rolling series of curses at Jackie for abandoning him when a shadow fell across his hands. Startled, frightened that he was about to be eaten by a hungry bear or tiger or whatever beasts inhabited the woods, he cowered back and whimpered as he looked up. But it was only Jackie, his caring and devoted son for whom he had sacrificed everything he had accumulated over the past six years back at Wolfehaven, standing there with his hands on his hips and an impatient twist to his lip that curled it up to one side.
“If you can’t keep up, you’re gonna get left behind.” His tone was scolding, not encouraging and empathetic like it should be when talking to his father. It was more like he was talking down to a lazy and incompetent servant. “I convinced them to take five, but after that, you’re just gonna have to keep up.”
Rather than climbing back to his feet to talk to Jackie, he turned and sat in the dirt with his legs spread and his hands in the dirt on both sides to hold him upright. Then, twisting his brain to look at his options from every possible angle, Olen said, “No one is going to follow us. Most likely, they already decided to just kick you two out of the village. You know — exile. So, now that you’re gone, they aren’t going to go to the trouble of chasing you down just so they can tell you not to come back.”
Jackie shook his head and glanced over his shoulder toward where Jerry and Don Hughes were waiting — he hoped. “Yeah, but we don’t know that for sure. Maybe they were going to hang us, or something. And who knows what they were going to do with Hughes. Plus, they’d probably like to hang you, now. There’s a good chance you killed Larry the way you bashed him over the head.”
He hadn’t thought of that. He might have swung his club a little hard. But, hell, he had never swung a club at anyone before. How was he supposed to know how hard to swing? Would they really hang him? Of all the times he had been a courtroom, he had never been the one with his life in someone else’s hands. He had always privately held his clients in contempt for allowing themselves to be put in such a position. Not necessarily for doing the crime, but for being so incompetent as to get caught. His stomach started going sour as he contemplated possibilities and likelihoods. He didn’t like any of them — not at all. So, now, he had even more need to keep up with the others. He might actually be a wanted killer. The idea almost made him laugh, but it chilled him, instead.
Jackie paused for a moment before continuing, as though pondering the chances that his father wouldn’t make the effort. “I’m just passing on what Hughes told me. He said he ain’t gonna give those devil worshipers any chance to catch him again. Jerry and I are gonna to go with him; he says they’ll be happy to see us at New Napa. If you want to come, keep up.”
Olen tried to think of something to say, some cleaver response that would turn his son around, bring him back to his father’s side where he belonged. He was still trying to think of something when Jackie turned his back and quickly disappeared around the bend in the trail.
He would have stayed there on the side of the trail, reclining in the shade of a huge oak, if it had been up to him. But he feared being left behind. He had no misconceptions about his abilities to survive in the wilderness. He would starve to death while lying amidst harvestable, nutritious plants because he had no idea what he could eat and what would kill him. And, as far as catching an animal to kill and eat, the thought actually induced a sarcastic chuckle. Even if he could catch some slow and stupid animal, he had no idea how best to kill it, or, if somehow successful, the desire, once killed, to clean it. He supposed he could build a fire — he had made himself learn to use flint and steel for simple, everyday living back at the village. Matches had become a thing of a memorable past long before the end of the first year. Even lighters required propane or lighter fluid of some kind, so they, too, were useless relics. But, he could make a fire, so he could have light and heat after nightfall. But, he had never cooked anything. He had always relied on others for such mundane tasks even after his wife died. The village kitchen was always available to anyone that could tolerate eating with others. But, now there were no others; just Jackie and Jerry, and Don Hughes. And, if he wanted someone to fix his next meal, he would have to stay with them even if it meant running his heart out.
He rolled over and used his hands on the ground to push himself to his knees, then with the help of a nearby low-hanging limb that could bear his weight, to his feet. Starting at a slow walk, he pushed his pace until he was jogging as he rounded the bend in the trail. It was more of a shock than he would have thought when he saw the other three already on their feet and starting off eastward. All he got from his son in the way of expression of relief that Olen did not have to be left behind was a quick glance in his direction. Even though Olen sloughed it off, the hurt remained. He and Jackie were all that remained of his once prosperous and respected family.
In the early afternoon of the third day, Olen followed his son and the others down a long grade to the floor of the Napa Valley. Ahead, the Napa River moved slowly beneath the mid-day sun as the rising tide flowed inland from the north end of San Francisco Bay. They turned left at the old highway and headed into the ruins of New Napa, what had once been a pleasant little town and a Mecca for wine lovers. Olen could recall many a pleasant business luncheon along that river.
Hughes led them over to follow a road near the west bank for several blocks, and when the passage became too difficult due to the destruction, over to a concrete promenade atop the bank. Olen could almost visualize as it had been the times he had spent there, the lovely brick-fronted buildings with patios overlooking the river, wonderful food and wine. But it was now nothing but a jumble of wreckage and ruin. They rounded a bend and a low bridge across the river came into view f hundred feet ahead. It wasn’t until they had gotten to within a hundred feet of the low arch that he realized the things hanging from the middle and trailing in the water were bodies hanging by their feet.
Beneath the middle arch of the bridge, three persons hung head-down from r
opes around their ankles and with their arms and heads beneath the surface of the river. Only one of them still moved in his struggles, occasionally managing to curl his body up enough to raise his face and nose above the level of the rising water. But, his sluggish moves made it clear the man’s future was counted in minutes if not seconds. He was free to use his hands to grasp the material of his pants to pull himself up but lacking the strength to pull himself all the way up to the rope about his ankles, and then to the safety of the bridge rail, he merely prolonged the torment.
“Oh, shit!” Jerry muttered. Jackie said nothing.
It was then that Olen noticed the dark skin on each of the men.
“Don! Hey, Don, you’re back!” The voice came from off to the side. Olen saw three men walking toward them from a shady spot overlooking the bridge, two carrying baseball bats and the third with a large knife in his hand.
“Hey, Brad…the Prophet in?”
“He’s in,” answered another one. “Tony told us how you got ambushed. We’ve been wondering if you were gonna come back or if the witches cooked you in their cauldron and ate you.”
“Came as soon as I could get away.”
As the newcomers fell in behind, one of them, the one Hughes had greeted as Brad, said, “Yeah, and it looks like you brought us something.”
Responding with a grin, Hughes said, “I thought you might like that.”
“Well, hell, yeah! We had to go all the down to Vallejo to find these three.”
Jerry remained where he had stopped, and Jackie took only another step before he stopped, too. Don kept going, apparently not concerned that his traveling companions might get lost or sidetracked.
“Keep right on going, boy. Just follow Brother Don, there. He knows where to take you.”
Ignoring the voice from off his left shoulder, Jerry stood and stared at the struggling black man hanging from the bridge. It appeared he had succumbed to his fate just as his fellow victims had until he jerked up again, grabbing for the fabric of his pants. But, when he couldn’t secure a grip, he splashed back beneath the surface. The little bit of air he had managed to suck in did him little good. He tried to curl himself up again, but the water had risen just enough for his diminishing strength to be insufficient. His last struggles burned the last of his oxygen in spasms, and he hung limp at last.