No Road Out

by M. J. Konkel

  What was missing was alcohol. A few people had a special bottle of wine or whiskey stashed away, but there wasn't any of the everyday variety left. A few believed it was a good thing. “Do you notice how much quieter it is at night?” Ron Lasgaard would ask people.

  “Yeah, but it is the noise and laughter at night that I miss,” Al Jackson replied.

  A few got the shakes after the source of their addiction dried up. For those, it certainly was a good thing that there was no more for the time being. Several people had plans to make wine, brandy or whiskey once they had supplies of grapes, berries or corn later in the year. Then Joe Dagheart heard about those plans, told everyone that there was still corn in his silo on his farm, and soon there was alcohol flowing again on Ridgeback in the form of moonshine – much to the chagrin of Ron Lasgaard.

  Other habitual drugs were soon depleted too. Marijuana seeds had been planted by several of the community's pot aficionados, but it would be several months before any of it of it could be harvested. Those plants were hidden away on the sides of the ridges that lined the river as what was planted on Ridgeback soon disappeared. Many people were opposed to marijuana on Ridgeback and went on raids on any plants that were spotted. Lonnie and his friends were among those desperate for any drug that could get them high.

  Chapter 29

  It was the first week of June, and there seemed to be a jinx on the island. Al Jackson's twelve-year-old bottle of scotch mysteriously fell off the cupboard shelf in his houseboat where he had stashed it away for a special day. He hoped to open it the day they were rescued. It shattered on the floor, and he cut his finger on a sliver of the broken glass. Alice Pearson, the pharmacist, lost her wedding ring into the river while fishing from the bridge. It just inexplicably slipped off her finger and fell into the swift current. Although others noticed that she had lost a good deal of weight recently, it stood to reason that her thinner fingers might have had something to do with it. That week many others also had things unexpected and unpleasant happen to them. The worst was Ron Latz who was attacked by a raptorsaur while out hunting. He saw the raptor leap at him, and he swung his rifle around and fired before ducking out of the way. The shot was a good one, but the sickle claw of the raptor just caught Ron's ear as it went sailing past him, and Ron's new nickname became Van Gogh.

  At dinnertime on the Friday of that week, the predominant topic of conversation around many of the tables was the streak of bad luck that seemed to have descended upon them.

  “I think it is a jinx,” said Al Jackson between bites of raptorsaur kabobs.

  “It is just coincidence,” replied Jack Currents.

  “I don't know if it is a jinx or just coincidence, but a lot of bad things happened the last couple of days,” admitted Alice Pearson, rubbing her bare finger.

  “I say it is a jinx and we need something to counter it,” replied Al Jackson.

  “Why would we be jinxed?” asked Jack.

  “I don't know. Maybe we left someone or something behind,” said Al.

  “At least no one has died 'cuz of it,” said Jerry.

  “At least not yet!” countered Al.

  “It just superstitious stuff, these jinxes or curses,” said Jack.

  “I don't know. It is hard to explain our string of bad luck without a jinx,” said Al. “I tend to believe it is real.”

  “How do you counter a jinx?” asked Alice.

  “I don't know,” replied Al.

  “How about the Frenchman?” asked John Splitfeller. The Frenchman was a wood statue of a man that supposedly had explored the area in the seventeenth century. Many thought it was supposed to be Picard Du Gay, but since the artist never told anyone, no one could say for sure. The artist died in a battle in the South Pacific during WWII. Afterwards, his brother found the statue in the man's shed. In memory of his fallen brother, he requested the city to put it on display somewhere, and it has stood in the Brown's Station City Park ever since. Since it had been carved out of a log, the base had been buried a few feet underground.

  “I think that might do the trick,” replied Al.

  “It must be under water. How are you going to get it?” asked Alice.

  “We could take a boat out there and pick it up. There can't be more than a couple of feet of water there.”

  “Shouldn't you run that past the council?” asked Alice.

  “You would be wasting your time with such nonsense,” said Jack. Al ignored the comment.

  “Joe!” shouted Al to the table where Joe and the rest of the council was eating and discussing the day. “Do we need Council permission to go get the Frenchman?”

  “Why are you asking me? Ask our elected leader,” answered Joe.

  “Why do I flippin’ care?” asked Mr. Span, not catching the sarcasm.

  “I want to go with you,” Johnny volunteered from the next table over. “I don't believe in jinxes, but it sounds like it was a part of the history of the community and a piece of art. Besides, the quest sounds like fun.”

  “Me too,” said Anne.

  Most people did not believe in the superstition of the jinx, but many were bored and just looking for an adventure.

  The council continued its discussion. They had been discussing what to do about slackers in the community. Those with healthy able bodies that weren't doing any work in the community, but still going through the cafeteria food lines. Like their debate over punishments, they could not agree on a course of action. In the end they decided to wait and see if the change could be brought about by social pressure.

  “We should also award those that are doing outstanding work.” suggested Roger.

  “The problem with that is that there are so many people that are working their butts off to help out,” said Joe.

  “I think I have an idea,” said Karen. “Johnny Faberley was a college journalist. What if we ask him to print up a community paper? I am pretty sure that he would be ecstatic to be asked to be the reporter, but he could also edit contributions from others as well. People that are doing outstanding work could be featured in the paper. In addition, important announcements could be put in it.”

  “That will use a lot of paper and ink to have a newspaper. Our paper and ink supplies will quickly run out,” commented Mary Tankyard.

  “It could be a limited number of prints. Like one or two here in the cafeteria area, one in the library and one down by the dock,” suggested Roger.

  “The ink and toner cartridges for the printers will eventually be no longer usable,” said Roger. “There is no reason to save them forever.”

  *****

  Saturday morning was sunny and already quite warm at 8:30 when Johnny joined the rest of the statue retrieval crew gathered at the dock. He climbed into one boat, along with Anne and Al Jackson, while John Splitfeller and Jerry Comlin climbed into another boat. They rowed hard upriver, but with the strong current, it took over two hours to get to Brown's Station. They took turns rowing, but they all were complaining that their arms were sore by the time they got to the park. The return trip would be easier going with the current instead of against it.

  They took a short rest while examining the half of the statue that was not submerged. That included the Frenchman’s coat, his head and what appeared to be a coonskin cap. It was all carved out of a thick pole and stained a dark brown. According to Al, it had been repainted several times as it stood in the park for over 75 years. Johnny thought it looked in remarkably good shape, considering how long it had been exposed to the elements.

  They dropped anchors to keep the boats from drifting away in the light current. Al Jackson slid off the front end of the flat-bottom boat they were in and stood up in water that was up to the middle of his thighs. Jerry got into the water too, and the two of them tried to rock the statue free.

  “It won't even budge,” said Al.

  “Can you hand me that first long bar, Johnny?” asked Jerry. Johnny hefted the bar over and Jerry grabbed it.

  “What's the plan?�
�� asked Al.

  “Come over here and help me hold this. Johnny, if you can hand me the first cinder block ...” asked Jerry.

  Johnny handed it over, understanding what Jerry was planning.

  Jerry carried the block and dropped it under the bar and close to the statue's base. “Now, if you can hand me that,” he said.

  Johnny handed the hammer that he was already holding. “I am going to give the bar a little bite,” said Jerry. He banged the bar a couple of times on the end, driving it just enough into the hard wood of the statue at its base to give some leverage. “Now we use the cinder block as a fulcrum.” He and Al tried to push down on the bar and it moved ever so slightly.

  “Now what?” Al asked.

  “We set up another bar and cinder block on the other side.” Jerry duplicated his effort on the other side. Johnny jumping in and helped push on the second bar while John got into the water too and helped Al push down on the first bar. Johnny kept peeking around; he had been become wary of spinos ever since he was in the jaws of one. Anne stayed dry in the second boat, holding her shotgun while looking out for signs of trouble from all directions. At first the statue didn't budge, but then it moved a little. They kept prying and wiggling the statue with one bar and then the other. It moved a little more and a then little more. Eventually, it popped free and fell over into the water with a big splash. They were dry above their chests before that. Just the tip on one end of the statue bobbed above the water. It was heavy, made of dense wood soaked in stain, and difficult to move when standing in thigh-deep water. But Johnny and the other three men managed to pick up the statue and carefully heave it length-wise into the first boat.

  “Can you guys pick up the pace? There is a spino a couple hundred yards down the road that is coming this way. It doesn't seem to be in a hurry, but I'd rather not still be here when he decides he might want to vary his diet to include something other than fish,” said Anne. Johnny had already spotted it too.

  John tied the boat with the statue to the other boat. Al climbed in with the statue and the other men then climbed into the boat with Anne while Anne pulled up the anchor. Johnny and John sat next to each other and each grabbed an oar and starting rowing with the statue boat in tow. Al pulled an oar out its lock and paddled on one side and then the other while his legs straddled the statue and his butt sat on it. Anne watched the spino as John suggested to Al that he might want to scoot forward a bit.

  “It is gaining on us. Should we start the motor?” asked Anne. They did have a small motor on the front boat that they could use in an emergency.

  “Just a little further and we will be in swifter current,” said John. As they passed River Street, the current did pick up and then their boats were quickly out over deeper water. The spino reverted to searching for fish to their relief.

  Suddenly, something went bump on the bottom of the front boat.

  “What was that? Did we hit a sunken log?” asked Anne.

  “No, look,” Johnny pointed in the water where a huge dark shape could be seen swimming away from them. He was alarmed by its size. He instinctively reached for a gun just in case it was needed.

  “What is that?” asked Jerry. “Some type of huge fish? My God, it is enormous.”

  A huge green snake-like head popped above the surface and looked in their direction. It turned and made a parallel pass about ten yards from their boats. The head dipped back into the river and it left a huge wake as it sped away at amazing speed.

  “Definitely not a fish,” said Johnny.

  “I think that was a Mesosaurus,” said Al.

  “Looked like the Loch Ness monster to me,” said Anne.

  “I wonder why we haven't seen one before now,” pondered Jerry.

  “Maybe they migrate up the river once it warms up. Or maybe they go upriver to mate and lay eggs,” said Al.

  “It moved awfully damn fast,” remarked John.

  “Yeah, it did! It scared the crap out of me,” said Al.

  “I think it spooked all of us,” said Jerry.

  “We’ll have to warn everyone when we get back. They could be dangerous for swimming around the beach area, especially for the smaller children,” warned Jerry.

  “Do you know what?” asked Al. “Nothing bad has happened to any of us on this trip. The statue has already changed our luck.” He wrapped his knuckles against the hard woods of the statue and chipped a bone in the knuckle of his little finger.

  Johnny issued the first copy of the Ridgeback Press the next morning that included an account of The Frenchman’s retrieval and of the spotting of the mesosaur. It also spotlighted Harv Roper's hunting skills as he shot three hadrosaurs over two days. Unfortunately, one was lost to a freddie that sniffed out the hadro (or ducky as some were starting to call them) before it could be carved up. Harv was quoted as saying how it was a combination of skill, luck and the Lord looking over him.

  Chapter 30

  Lonnie was in a very sour mood. He was feeling edgy and he was taking it out on his friends. The problem was that he hadn't been high on anything for several days and there just wasn't anything to be found on Ridgeback anymore. Then when a call came for volunteers to retrieve what could be salvaged from the farms, his buddies were surprised that he volunteered, and even more surprised that he volunteered them too. They were told they would be part of a team to retrieve anything of value starting with Alan and Daniella Wiegler's farm which was up on the ridge a couple of miles south of Ridgeback. Alan had lost a foot in a farming accident and was not mobile enough to help and Daniella, with her heart condition, wasn't any more capable. A rescue team had to carry them down the steep slope of the ridge to the valley floor and to Ridgeback. Their only child had grown up and enlisted in the Navy about a year prior, and so was on a ship sailing for the Middle East on the night of the storm.

  Lonnie and the rest of the team finished rigging up mountain bikes with homemade saddlebags for carrying what they found. They were planning on only taking back small items and taking inventory of larger-sized items for later recovery. Most of the bikes also had child trailers attached to carry most of their cargo. Jerry Comlin was in front and had a radio to keep in contact with Ridgeback.

  It was a warm humid day with patches of clouds drifting across the sky, but no apparent threat of rain as they headed out. Lonny hoped that the weather would hold, but without a forecast, no one knew for sure. Once over the bridge and on the highway, they turned south for several miles until they came to a dirt road that led to a field that was starting to grow some volunteer corn. This was near where the highway just ended at a field. After crossing the field, they headed north, following an old logging road that paralleled the ridge line and slowly made its way up to the top. Jerry was leading the way, and Lonnie was at the rear with Darrel and Tim right in front of him. About half-way up, Darrel stopped his bike and got off.

  “I have to take a whiz,” he explained.

  “You're always pissing,” Lonnie complained, waiting for him. He was irritated with Darrel. He was irritable about almost everything. He hated the feeling.

  Darrel ignored him to go lean up against a tree and do his thing.

  “Hey, do you know what I see?” Lonnie exclaimed, his eyes lighting up.

  “What?” asked Tim.

  “Shrooms!”

  “Where?”

  “Over there.” He pointed to a spot up the slope from them and started to climb. Tim and Darrel got off their bikes and followed behind.

  “Are they psychedelics?” Darrel asked.

  “I don't know, but we should pick a bunch of them and put them in our bags. We can figure out later if they are any good,” suggested Lonnie. He hoped. He felt a need for something.

  “My whizzes are good luck,” bragged Darrel. “Remember how it was my whiz that saved our asses the night of the big storm and the bridge was out?”

  “You're always pissing,” commented Lonnie, again irritated. “Chances are if something happens to us whether it is good
or fucked up, it will still be right after you pissed.”

  “I am not always ...” Darrel started to defend himself.

  “In fact, you should probably talk to the doctor about that,” Lonnie interrupted.

  “Hey guys, we better catch up to the rest of the group,” begged Tim. “They are going to be wondering what happened to us.”

  “Let them wait. We have all day,” he replied. He felt Tim was probably right though.

  When they got to the top, the rest were waiting for them. “What took you three so long?” asked Jerry.

  “Darrel had to take a crap,” Lonnie answered.

  “Next time, signal the rest of us so that we can stick together. These woods are dangerous.”

  “He didn't want to in front of the ladies. It's a private thing you know.” There were two young women on the team.

  He felt Jerry’s glare for a second and then Jerry shouted, “At least, let us know your intentions next time. Let's get going! The Weigler farm is ahead on the other side of this field. Everyone, keep your eyes peeled.”

  A couple of hundred yards north of them in the field was a herd of a dozen hadros. He heard someone say, “Where there’re hadros, there are often freddies or raptors too.”

  The team avoided the edge of the woods and the hadros by making a semi-circle through the field to the farmhouse which sat next to the woods. Predators often roamed the edges of woods and they wanted to avoid them. The rest of the trip to the farm was uneventful.