“That seems a little extreme,” Adam said.
Day shrugged. “Frankly we spent as much time helping get the three amigas settled as we did spying.”
Jake kept his focus on Day. “Can you tell if the Returners have specific plans? Or the feds?”
“Rumors go from attacking the cities again—only winning—to shooting found nukes.”
“Surely that’s ridiculous,” Coryn blurted out. “Nukes?”
“A lot of Returners are ex-military.”
Jake grunted. “I’m dubious about live nukes. There was a spasm of denuclearization before the taking.”
Julianna paced. “Not everywhere. Maybe they came from another country.”
Day raised an eyebrow. “Like Canada?” He waited until he had everyone’s attention before he continued. “Or like Russia, via the arctic and down through Canada. That’s one rumor.”
But something else he had said intrigued her more. “Aren’t the feds weak?”
Julianna laughed. “Weak bureaucracies can cause more havoc than good ones. Besides, the Outside is federal no matter what we say. That’s why you had to apply to them for the wilding permits.”
Coryn had spent the last few weeks helping to set up the Outside-N Foundation Jake was designing to gain more access to the Outside and information. And, not incidentally, to employ Lou. The project kept running into unexpected obstacles—waits for permits, forms that shifted from day to day. It felt as if the various bureaucracies were combining to stop them from succeeding. Coryn turned to Day. “We’ve been trying to figure out where the Returners are concentrated. Could you tell?”
Day hesitated, and Blessing stepped into the silence. “Lou thinks they’re in Chelan.”
Day added, “But we’re not sure. They might be. But it sounds like they are on the move all the time. Moving would let them share information without using electronic networks. What have you seen on the satellite pictures?”
Adam raised his hand and waited for Jake to nod before he spoke. “I’ve been analyzing the patterns I can pick out of the daily satellite shots. I can’t prove it, but based on the farms that are operating and a few boats that run all the way down from the top of the lake, someone is using provisions in Chelan. My current theory is that they keep women and children there. It’s easy to defend; there’s one road in and out.” He pushed a few buttons. A map of Promise appeared. He zoomed in on a lake that looked so long and thin it resembled a blue earthworm.
He pointed at the south end. “This is Chelan. It should have been abandoned. The main utilities were shut off and the whole area is prone to wildfires.” He was on a roll, enjoying the floor and the ability to hold a room’s attention. “The topography makes it easy to defend, though.”
He was a good speaker. She would almost describe the look on his face as blissful.
He zoomed in so they could see a big old hotel by the south end of town. Two big buildings stood by that, and opposite it, a new and fairly large warehouse with a green roof that looked tended. “That one,” he said, pointing at the green roof, “could be a grow operation. You could do a lot of vegetables in there. It was built during the heyday of the marijuana industry, and a lot of grow operations turned into vegetable and food production after martial law.”
Jake looked fascinated. “If you built tunnels to go between buildings you could hide a lot of people.”
Julianna turned her attention to Coryn. “Do we have a permit request in to home the new foundation in Chelan?”
“Yes. There is a one-week wait time posted.”
Julianna’s lips thinned. “Be very quiet about it. I suspect that if the Returners find it, they’ll lodge a complaint.”
“On what grounds?” Adam asked.
“None whatsoever. But while the Returners are no citizens of ours, they long for the old world, and they could slow things down with the feds.”
Jake leaned back, looking ready to settle into the meeting for some time. “Blessing, tell us the whole story.”
“Don’t we need lunch?”
Julianna smiled. “I’ll call for some. But go ahead and start.”
Coryn had to struggle not to go check the permit database right away. Julianna was right, but how was she going to wait a whole week without drawing attention to how much the permit suddenly mattered?
CHAPTER EIGHT
Lou and Matchiko walked slowly around the interior of the log cabin. They’d pushed all of the furniture to the center so the table butted up to the couch and the big comfy chair faced out as well. Matchiko’s right hand rested on Lou’s left arm, and she hobbled around the circuit, sweat beading her forehead. “That’s five laps,” she gasped out.
Lou chewed on her lower lip as she looked at her. “Do you need to rest?”
“One more.”
Lou nodded and started the next lap. They’d been here almost a month, and were running out of staples. “Did you see the frost this morning?”
“It was beautiful,” Matchiko said. “Like every leaf was it’s only sparkling creation.”
“Like we need to get north now.”
“Blessing and Day are only a week overdue. They’ll be here.”
“I know.” But still, Lou worried. They could depend on Buster to carry Matchiko. But horses were targets, and the chance of losing them was high. They also needed feed and water and vet care, none of which was cheap. They’d given up shoeing them, but Buster was developing what looked like a thin crack in his hoof. Not a problem yet . . .
The hidden house was roughly half the way up the state, and west of their old territory in the Palouse. It was far enough off any remaining roads that they hadn’t seen anyone since Blessing and Day left. Since it was below the crest of the nearby hills, they had no horizon, no view. Living in a bowl made her scan the tops of the hills regularly for dangers. Matchiko did not seem to be as bothered, but Shuska actually climbed some of the hills near dusk on most days.
After they finished the last lap around the living room, Lou helped Matchiko settle into the big chair and prop her foot up. There was no visual swelling now, but when Matchiko walked any distance, her face lost all of its color, her lips paled, and her eyes sometimes grew damp. She never actually cried, but then Lou had only seen Matchiko cry once, and that was over the death of a dog rather than anything that happened to a person.
Lou stared out the window at the cold morning while water heated up, then made coffee for all three of them. She handed Matchiko hers and took her own plus a cup for Shuska outside.
A simple bench occupied a third of the small, weathered porch. Shuska had put it together using nails she pulled from abandoned boards and rocks for a hammer, so it wasn’t straight even though it was sturdy enough to take all three of them.
Shuska’s eyes lit at the sight of the coffee. “I knew you were a goddess.”
In truth, they’d been getting sick of each other, all of them. Lou marked it up to the strange stress of being unable to go anywhere. She handed Shuska the cup and sat down beside her on the bench. “We need to leave.”
“Blessing and Day are coming here.”
“I know. But what if something happened to them?” Lou sipped at her coffee, savoring it. “We can’t winter here. There’s not enough to eat.”
“Give them a week.” Shuska blew on her coffee to cool it. “If they haven’t shown up by then, we’ll go.”
“It’s going to snow before we get settled anywhere north.”
“It’s forty-five degrees,” Shuska countered. “Nowhere near freezing. You just hate waiting for anything.”
“Hey! You’re the worrier. Why aren’t you worrying more this time?”
“Matchiko needs the healing time.” She scooted closer to Lou and put an arm over her shoulder. “It will be okay.”
“Don’t spill my coffee.”
“Never that.”
Lou laughed and leaned into Shuska’s shoulder. Shuska amazed her. Sometimes she fussed about every choice, every moment they
were in danger of any kind, every stranger. Other times she was so zen it was almost scary. Obviously this was a zen week.
Buster and his stable buddy, Pal, both lifted their heads and whinnied.
Lou spilled a few drops of coffee on the ground, and she and Shuska stood.
A row of six horses and riders crested the hill opposite them, just like in an old TV Western she’d seen part of once. The sun shone from behind them, making it impossible to tell if they were friend or foe.
Two dogs started down ahead of the riders.
Neither Blessing or Day had ever had a dog that she knew of.
Shuska lifted her rifle and Lou slid the door open, reaching in for her stunner, which was just inside the door. “Visitors,” she hissed at Matchiko.
Should she expose herself on the porch or stay inside and watch through the window? Shuska backed in, convincing Lou to go the window.
“Can you tell who it is?”
“No. But the dogs are halfway here.”
They waited.
The people on the horses waited as well, everyone still except the dogs.
The dogs were quite well trained. They stopped three-quarters of the way down, far away from each other, watching the house. Lou decided their heads would reach her waist with all four feet on the ground. They had not made a sound.
Two riders came down right between the dogs, slowly, their horses under perfect control. They held guns, but at their sides rather than at the ready. Once they descended out of the backlighting sun, she saw that they were a male and a female, both easily over fifty. They had weathered skin and graying hair, although the woman’s had once been black and the man still had a few streaks of a light brown. The woman called out, “Hello the cabin.”
Lou slipped out of the door, keeping her weapon at the same angle, pointed down. “Hello the hill!”
The man laughed. “We wish you no harm. This is a periodic stop of ours. We’re surprised to see it occupied.”
“Who are you?”
“Wilders.”
“Who do you work for?”
“No Fences.”
It sounded familiar. Lou called back through the door. “Anyone heard of No Fences?”
“Yes,” Matchiko said. “It’s okay.”
Lou smiled and set her gun down on the bench. “Lou Williams.”
“I’ve heard of you. You hate Returners.” The woman turned and gestured for the other riders to come down. When she turned back around she was smiling. “I’m happy to meet you.”
“I think this is a good moment to start some stew,” Shuska commented from right behind her.
“I’ll do it.” Matchiko stood up. She was the usual cook, although they’d given her a pass since her injury. Lou considered, but then Matchiko could hardly go help put the strangers’ horses up. “Don’t fall.”
Matchiko stuck her tongue out. “I won’t.”
On her way out to show the strangers where to put their horses, Lou whistled a tune Daryl had taught her in her first year at RiversEnd Ranch, something about frogs. The tune was easier to remember than the words. She danced a little, pleased at the reminder that they were not the only three people in the world.
Maybe No Fences needed help.
‡ ‡ ‡
Lou admired the utter relaxation displayed by the two dogs curled into large balls in front of the fire, their tails sticking out. The furniture had been rearranged into a conversational group. The man and woman who had come down first sat near the dogs, which curled at their feet.
Lou, Shuska, and Matchiko filled out a half circle looking at the fire. The newcomers were Greta and Ray Silverstein. She had heard of them but never met them. They’d worked for the No Fences Foundation for twenty years. That was a long time to be Wilders. Their staff were outside singing and playing music beside a fire with bowls of stew, a little whiskey, and two tents between them.
Ray declared, “It’s too bad the Lucken Foundation went under. RiversEnd was a good outfit.”
“I liked it.” She felt a deep pang of loss for the wide hills of the Palouse, the buffalo and coyote and golden eagles. The views. Some days, when she was in the highest hills looking east, she had thought she could see the curve of the world.
Greta sipped her wine. “RiversEnd used to have a great reputation.”
“Greed,” Lou said. “They were greedy and small.”
“They forgot,” Greta said. “It’s easy for people in the cities to forget that they need us.”
Lou took a deep breath, hoping that No Fences needed her. She glanced at Ray, getting ready to ask.
He was a step ahead of her. His lips thinned, and he said, “I wish we could hire. But we’re out of money and we’ve got a waiting list.”
“We could work for room and board for a bit,” she said.
He shook his head. “No. We can only take legals.”
And they needed an approved job for that. It was the right thing for Ray to say, and she respected him for it. She offered a toast. “To honest leaders everywhere!”
Glasses clinked, although Matchiko gave her a wry look.
Lou shrugged. She had meant it.
Greta brushed her hair out of her eyes. “So what are you staying here for? Are you hiding or waiting?”
So Greta had figured out they hadn’t settled in for the winter. Of course, one look in the kitchen pantry was adequate proof of that. “Waiting. For some friends. They’re due in a week or so. If they don’t come soon, we’re going to ride north and find a place to winter.”
“Most people go south for the winter,” Ray observed.
“We’re interested in the Returners. There appear to be a few extra riding about. We’re trying to figure out what they’re doing.” Lou sipped at her glass of wine. It was the last bottle they had, and she was on the last glass she’d have until they got somewhere with a stock of alcohol. “I guess in some ways we’re acting like Listeners. Collecting data while we wait for work.”
“That’ll get you killed,” Ray observed.
Lou decided she was warming to his subtle sense of humor.
Matchiko spoke softly. “No. We’re not acting like Listeners.”
“Sure you are. You’re asking questions.”
Shuska added a piece of wood to the insert in the fireplace and the room brightened, making it easier to see faces. “Aren’t you curious? Any attack on the cities will hurt our efforts to save the world. Resources will go to defense instead of to bison.”
Ray’s laugh came out bitter. “Some days I don’t think we can save anything, not anymore.”
Greta shook her head at him. “You only say that when you’ve been drinking, old man. I’m going to cut you off.”
He stood up, pacing a little. “We have seen more Returners. What bothers me is that they act more organized, and also more high-and-mighty. They seem to have new resources, or help of some kind. I have a paranoid theory. Do you want to hear it?”
Greta held up a hand as if she could forestall his words.
Ray was having none of her attempt to stop him and didn’t seem to care that no one had yet asked to hear his theory. “I think it’s the feds. I think the Returners have infiltrated the feds and they want to change the rules, make land okay to own, maybe allow some farming. Hunting. Undo everything we’ve done.”
Wilders were allowed to farm. But just to eat, and that was it. There was a black market, of course, but it wasn’t huge. Lou leaned forward, intrigued. “I don’t know much about the feds. There’s an office in Seacouver of course. And one in Portland. But they’re not big. They don’t control the cities. Not anymore. Can they hurt us?”
Greta stood up and blocked Ray mid-pace. “The foundations wouldn’t stand for it, and neither would the cities. They just wouldn’t.”
Ray didn’t bother to try and get around Greta. She was his height, almost his size, and clearly stubborn. He put an arm across her shoulders and smiled at her.
She leaned into him, accepting it. That m
ade it seem like a very old disagreement, the kind of words married couples carried on for years.
Greta kept talking, her voice less bitter than Ray’s, maybe more resigned. “He’s always seeing scary things in the night. The Returners do plenty of damage without a federal bogeyman. They kill the wolves and the bears and all the other interesting predators. They’re idiots who don’t recognize there will be more and healthier elk if there are wolves. Someone needs to teach them to read.”
Lou felt like getting up to applaud. The Returners were idiots. Dangerous idiots. But she had her own theories. “I think it’s more complex than that. So complex that some days I think the Returners shoot the predators because they do read, and they want the Wilding to fail.”
“You’re giving them too much credit,” Greta replied.
Lou laughed. “Don’t get me wrong. I’d rather be counting wolves and hunting Returners than hunting rumors. But it does seem like there is more . . . resource . . . around the empty places than there used to be. I used to think the old Returners would die off and we wouldn’t need to worry about them anymore. But they seem to have become everybody’s bogeyman during the last six months.”
The conversation moved on to the various good points about the horses, one over the other, which led to the various bad points about Buster. They drank while Shuska watched, and Matchiko looked more relaxed than Lou had seen her since her injury.
After the fire wound down, Ray and Greta and their dogs went to sleep outside. Matchiko hobbled to bed, and Shuska followed her, undoubtedly to tuck her in.
That left Lou up to keep watch as the coals simmered down. Her mood felt black, roiling with ideas and worries about the Returners. She paced, and then opened the door to the crisply cold night and stood on the porch. The dark humps of their guests’ tents were easy to see in the moonlight. The Milky Way spread above her like a promise. As the cold settled in, she listened to two owls calling back and forth to each other and the occasional stamp of a horse’s foot. The company felt good, both the people and the owls. But the people would leave in the morning, and owls would not feed her and her partners. They had almost nothing left.
Keepers Page 9