by M. L. Banner
Steve played along, tipping his baseball cap. “Maybe today, ma’am.” His southern accent left much to be desired. “If the chow is good, we’ll let you in on our big surprise.”
Darla reached behind herself and whipped her back-support pillow at his head. It connected squarely and knocked off his ball cap. Both pillow and cap landed in silence on the floor.
“Fine, I’m out of here then,” he said, lightly tossing the pillow back to Darla in a long arch.
Darla grinned as she caught it and slipped it back into position, bringing relief to the ever-present ache.
Settling in, she unscrewed the cap to an elegant fountain pen, a gift from Herb, whose deceased wife had loved using it to write her letters. She opened the composition notebook, one of her better scavenging finds during their long travels here. Scanning what she had written on the first page, she turned to the next and started a new entry.
May – Approximately 300 Days AE
We settled into a comfortable life on Herb’s ranch, almost as if we had lived here much of our lives, when it has only been since last December. It was such a long and tragic journey to get to here.
We lost Doc Reynolds to a bear attack, of all things: I guess the bears were hungry too. I didn’t think it would hit us that hard, after losing my brother, I felt like I was numb to loss. But, Doc was the father I needed, a surrogate since I would never see mine again, so facing his death was like admitting that my father and mother were probably dead too.
It wasn’t just me though; he was missed deeply by all, especially Olivia, who not only looked up to him as a father, but also as a mentor. Doc had taught us much during our long passage, when all we had were our thoughts and our conversations. He said it was important to pass along your knowledge to others. Good books were hard to come by, not that any of us had the time to read. So he said teaching your vocation to another was the only way to ensure what you knew wouldn’t die with you. Every day, while we walked, he spent hours tutoring Olivia about medicine. Doc said a couple of days before that bear got him that Olivia knew more about nursing than any of the university-trained nurses he used to work with when he was younger. I think O felt a lot of pride at this.
We came close to losing Joselin, who almost died from an infection due to several cuts on her leg; gangrene started to take hold, and Doc had to amputate. We had to stop for a while to let her recover; although she came through it physically, emotionally she felt like she was not a whole person. When she was barely healthy enough for us to travel, she still had to be carried on a modified cart by Steve one day and then Wilber the next. Doc and O looked after her health daily; I tried to nurse her faltering spirits.
I believe it was her blood that led the bear to us and to the doc. When the attack happened, Doc was dutifully tending to his patient’s dressing. Just as it was about to maul Joselin, Doc threw himself in front of the bear. He sacrificed himself so that Joselin could live. Doc told us often, no matter what life throws at you, even the bad; you must consider that there was purpose in it. From this tragedy, we gained fresh meat and Joselin gained a new vigor for life. She figured if this man would give his life for her, she was responsible for making it the best she could, even with just one leg.
Before this, we were losing hope that she would make it, but she grew stronger and finally Steve, my husband–I guess that’s another story to tell–created two crutches out of thick aspen limbs and twine. Our pace was a little slower after that, but it was worth it to have her walking on her own.
When we finally arrived at Herb’s gate, we were out of food, water, bullets, and energy. I didn’t know what to expect, I mean what the hell did we have to offer? We were half-dead, skinny from lack of food, and had no supplies left. But Wilber’s brother, Herbert Wright was more than receptive: He was very excited to have his brother and sister-in-law back, and he treated us all like… well, family. We’re all healing well, even flourishing, while helping the Wrights with the many chores around the ranch and the household, which had doubled in size.
When we arrived, there were six people living at their ranch home: Herb (his wife tragically died one month before the Event), his grown son, Jas, teen-age daughter, Pen, a ranch hand, and two neighbor friends who joined them after the Event. I guess they had to defend themselves a few times in the first couple of months, as I’m guessing every community around the world, that had made it that long, did the same. Now, including us, there are eleven.
Many shared the bunkhouse, whereas Steve and I were given our own room in the main house, next to Wilber and O’s room. This summer, Herb promised to help us erect a dwelling of our own on the property.
It’s funny to me how we have all accepted that this is the way it will be for the rest of our lives. We will live in this community, all of us brought together by random events–Wilber says it was God. Herb’s neighbor Phil, who’s a follower of some offshoot of Hinduism, says it’s the gods getting even with us, sending us the snake beasts in the sky to exact their anger for what we’ve done to their planet. Whatever! I’m just amazed at our easy acceptance of our lot in this life, and how much our lives have changed in… almost one year? In my previous life, I would be finishing up with my degree in IT–wow, what a waste that was. I’m sure there are no more functioning computers left on the planet, and probably won’t be until after I’m long dead and gone.
Mmm, I wonder, when someone does bring back the computer, will the code be really different? Will it look different? I do miss my iPhone though…
Sorry, I’m rambling again. O says I can excuse it to my pregnancy–I like that.
Darla looked up to the front of the house where she saw Norb approaching the window.
“Herb?” he called from outside the house. “There’s a group outside the gate asking for help.”
“Thanks, Norb. I’ll get my dad.” Pen’s high-pitched voice carried easily from the kitchen to outside the house’s thick stucco walls.
She poked her head into the great room, or what she called the parlor. “Hey, would one of you mind and getting my dad or Jas? I think they’re in the canyon, but I’m not sure.”
“Sure, Pen,” Darla answered, “I could use the walk.”
She quickly jotted down another thought.
I will have to write down why Herb insists on calling everyone by a truncated name. I’m Dar; Steve is Stepha, short for Stephan; his daughter Penelope is Pen; his son Jason is Jas; their friend Norbert is Norb; and so on.
Anyway, duty calls. I will write something down here every time there is something to share. I want there to be a record of what has happened for my son and for all the other sons and daughters who come after us.
She secured the pen to her freshly written page, closed her book, and headed out the door.
As she passed the kitchen, the aromas from the brunch Pen was cooking made her want to stop and savor; her belly rumbled some more, but this was no time for food. She speed-walked toward the towering cliffs and the cave’s entrance, suspecting that’s where the men were working. She stopped at the opening of Horseshoe Canyon. It was a natural ring of immense cliffs and rocky spires surrounding a flat basin that was not visible, blocked purposely by a bramble of landscaped spiny plants. From here, she could see what she knew to be the slit of the cave, but there didn’t appear to be anyone around, nor were there sounds of activity. But she knew the canyon’s shape enabled them to hear anything coming from its mouth. Cupping her hands like a megaphone, she yelled, “Herb? Jas? Are you out there? Norb says there’s someone at the front gate…. Hello, can you hear me?” Her words echoed off the cliff walls.
Out of the slit darted Herb, his rifle slung around his shoulder, followed by Jas, also carrying a rifle. They ducked down a natural walkway leading from the caves to the basin, and were out of sight; the echoes of their footsteps were the only evidence of their presence. The receding reverberations were replaced by distant trotting hooves, muffled by the canyon’s acoustics. They erupted out of the bushes in fr
ont of her and thundered right past. Herb bellowed “Thanks, Dar” over his shoulder with Jas right on his heels. Dar thought Jas tried to smile, but it didn’t work very well. Just as quickly as they had appeared, they vanished around the front of the house and continued down the dirt road toward the front gate, their horses’ sprinting hoofbeats vanishing with them.
56.
A Trap?
Phil and Norb, arms shaking, held their guns on the strangers, who complied with their hands weakly held upward.
One of them, a dark-skinned man with a thick Mexican accent, asked, “Joo mind if we put our hands down? We’re kind of tired?”
Phil and Norb exchanged a look, considering the request. Norb nodded silently.
The man whispered, “Thanks,” and put his hands down. Next to him were two women. They guessed one was the man’s wife, with a similarly dark complexion; the other was white. The white woman was the worst off, with cracked lips and a bad sunburn. A towel covered her head, mostly hiding her face, as she gulped eagerly at the water bottle Norb had brought her, like a baby at its bottle during feeding time.
Galloping hoofbeats alarmed the strangers, who turned their weary gazes to the clearly armed riders.
The Mexican man held his hands back up, as a show for the oncoming pair. He looked up with the biggest unassuming grin his face could muster in the heat.
“What’s your business here?” demanded Herb, his gun pointed in their direction.
“Our truck break down three miles and our friend badly hurt, and our other friend here is bad off,” he said, watching the men’s faces to make sure they understood him. “You have medico… ah, medical supplies?”
“How was he hurt?”
“Ah, he shoot by gun.”
“What’s wrong with her?” asked Jas.
“She have too many heats,” he said looking at her, and then back. “She need más agua and rest.”
Herb hesitated, thinking, and then said, “Jas, ride the sick woman back to the ranch, and have O look after her. And let her know we have someone else we’re bringing in who will need treatment for a gunshot wound.”
“Okay, Pop,” he said and then coaxed his quarter horse forward.
“Norb and Phil, help the woman up onto my son’s horse,” Herb instructed. “You,” he said to the Mexican man, “step forward and put both your hands on the gate in front of me, and tell your woman to do the same.”
“Si,” he responded and then helped his wife up, mumbling something in Spanish. Her stance was wobbly. He steadied her and kept whispering in her ear, calm and soft. As Jas rode back, Herb checked out the two Mexicans, who carried an empty gun and a knife. Once they were sure that their guests were less of a threat to them than they were to their guests, he gave them more water and shade under the lean-to behind the gate.
~~~
“Any idea who’s at the gate?” Steve asked.
“Nope, but it’s been a while since the last visitor. Maybe another neighbor,” Darla guessed, squeezing his hand tightly, not minding its sweatiness. They were making their second circle around the inside of Horseshoe Canyon, enjoying the shade. Daily, at mid-morning or mid-afternoon, they walked this circuit; it was a way for Darla to exercise without tasking the baby, Steve’s break from the day’s work, and their way to spend some time with each other during the day. Sometimes, it was only a quick walk since Herb and Wilber seemed to be always working at a breakneck pace on some project, most recently in the caves.
“So are you going to tell me what the hell you boys are doing in the caves?” Her features and tone were serious, but Steve knew she was teasing.
“I told you, it’s a secret, but we’re almost done with it, just a few days more. I promise you it will be worth the wait,” Steve finished.
Darla felt a little guilty grilling him on what was obviously a good thing. “Okay, I’ll be patient. I’m sure it’s going to be great. Now quit talking and give me some whiskery sugar.” She repeated the phrase he had used back when they started this journey together. His bristles still felt odd against her face, even though it had been months and every man, in this way, looked the same. For just a moment she wondered if men would take up shaving again in the future.
Wilber and Joselin brushed past them on the way to the ranch house, perhaps with brunch on their minds.
“Steve? Darla?” Wilber called to them.
“Sorry, just sucking face with my husband,” Darla answered, but then noticed their nervous looks. “Let’s get back to the house and see what’s up with the strangers. I have a weird feeling about them.”
“Sure, let’s go then,” Steve agreed.
They all walked briskly back to the house.
~~~
After Jas gave the suffering woman into O’s care, he and his father set off at a fairly quick gallop along the shoulder of the road. Besides their weapons, Herb carried a backpack filled with medical supplies, packed by O just in case, and Jas carried some water and food. Herb was worried it might all be a trap. He warned his guys to be vigilant with the two Mexicans, although their exhaustion, and especially the white woman’s injuries, seemed to back up their story. About three miles down the road, they saw an old model Chevy SUV parked off to the side, almost into the bushes.
“Jas, watch the trees and all around you,” Herb said, cupping his hands around his mouth to direct his voice so that it wouldn’t be heard by anyone else close by. He pulled his horse forward in front of Jas’s and fanned his hand downward, telling the boy to slow down.
A woman popped out of the back of the truck and waved at them. Here it comes, Herb thought. He gritted his teeth and waited as he dismounted, drawing his gun and walking his horse, hoping it would provide enough cover, if they needed it. He motioned for Jas to do the same.
The woman’s expression changed from tired exuberance to terror. Not the response he expected. She backed up a few paces and yelled, “Please, we don’t want any trouble, it’s my uncle, he’s hurt badly. Somebody on the road shot him.” The woman’s words sputtered out of her mouth like water from a long-dry hose.
Herb gestured for her to back up as he walked beside the vehicle, the clop clop clop of his horse’s hooves the only sounds he heard. Looking inside, he could see a little child on the back seat, maybe a year old, sleeping peacefully, but no one else. When he approached the back of the vehicle, keeping his gun aimed in her direction, he peered through the hatch’s opening and saw a man lying there, unmoving except for his breathing. He looked unconscious, and not to be faking it. Plus, he was lying in the wrong direction for a sneak attack, with his head almost hanging out the back.
“Daaaaad,” his son called out to him in alarm. Herb spun and watched in shock as another man had come from behind, a rifle trained on his son, whose hands were already raised in defeat. Dammit! It was a trap.
The approaching man then pointed his rifle upward, following suit with his other hand.
“We don’t want trouble; we only want help for our friend,” he stopped behind Jas, who was saucer-eyed and pale. “Are our other people safe?”
The threat seemed obvious to Herb. I have your son here, give me some assurances.
Herb gambled and put his gun down. “Look, we came here with medical supplies”—he opened his backpack and showed it to the woman, who nodded to the man—“and food and water, but we can never be too sure we aren’t walking into a trap. Hard to trust folks now-a-days.”
The man lowered his gun. “Amen to that one. We passed some people on the side of the road, and when we went back and offered help they shot our friend, there. He said the bullet didn’t hit anything important, just muscle, and then he passed out. We turned around and tried to head back to the town, hoping to find a doctor or nurse, but ran out of gas. Damn gauge hasn’t worked in months.”
“Wait, so this thing really does run? It’s just out of gas?”
“Sure does. It broke down several times, took a round to the radiator once, but Stanley—that’s what my daugh
ter calls him—got us all the way from Mexico to here.”
“Wow, that’s a haul. By the way, my name is Herb and this is my son, Jas,” Herb said, extending his hand to the woman, who accepted. Jas did the same, reluctantly, to the man.
“Sorry, I’m Bill, this is my daughter, Sally, and our friend is Max.”
~~~
Darla, Steve, and Olivia waited on the porch, watching for signs of anyone returning. From what O said, the woman Jas had brought in had a bad case of heat stroke. O had cleaned her up, given her some food and water, and put her in their room to sleep. Jas also told O there were others broken down on the side of the road and someone with a gunshot wound. He’d come back again and raised a bit of a ruckus trying to secure a five-gallon gas can to his saddle. “We’re bringing back some more people and their truck,” he said as he swung his mount around to the gate.
That had been over thirty minutes ago.
They saw an approaching cloud of dust and heard the strange sound of a truck’s engine and wheels rumbling down their dirt road.
They walked toward the approaching vehicle, something none of them had seen in almost a year. It was an older Chevy Blazer, much like the one Darla’s sister had. Same color, but this had metal mesh on the hood and roof, and what looked like a half-dozen bullet holes. As it was pulling up it stopped suddenly. The man behind the wheel slowly opened the door and stepped out, and stared at her. She could see him crying and mouthing words she couldn’t hear as he walked closer.
“Darl…?” creaked out of his mouth, barely visible within his full black and white beard, and equally impossible to hear.
Then she heard “Darla, it’s you,” and saw him shaking.
But, how could he know… “Dad?” Realization hit her like a thunderbolt. She ran into his arms. “Dad, is it really you?” Already knowing the answer, she buried her face in his chest.