If only she’d waited to find out that Harlan pulled through. Reed had told Earley how terrified Zan had been that night, certain that even if Harlan survived, he’d press charges and drag her in front of the cops. As if Harlan Walkonis would ever admit he’d been clocked by a woman. And though Reed swore that Zan had promised to wait for news up at the treeplanters’ camp, Earley couldn’t forgive him for letting her go. I would have gone with her, he thought. In a heartbeat. I would never have left her alone.
He came home after dark, ate Reed’s gourmet dinners in silence and dropped off to sleep like a stone down a well. Reed seemed to intuit that he shouldn’t join him in bed, and moved through the bus with a martyred sulk that drove Earley crazy.
Last night, when Earley stood up after dinner to head to his room, Reed had slammed down the coffeepot. “Look, I don’t care what we do or don’t do. We don’t have to have sex. But don’t freeze me out like this. I can’t take any more.”
“It’s not about you,” Earley said.
“Oh bullshit, you won’t even look at me. How is that not about me?” Reed was angry. “You know something, Earley? Zan’s left me flat twice. If it hadn’t been Harlan, it would have been something else. Zan runs away from things. That’s who she is.”
Earley didn’t say anything. Reed reached for his hand. “I miss her as much as you do,” he said. “So why can’t we comfort each other?”
“I can’t,” Earley said. “It was different when Zan was a part of it too.”
“What, you’ll sleep with me if there’s a woman between us and not if there’s not? I don’t get it.”
“It’s just how it is. I’m not saying it makes any sense.”
“You’re damn straight.”
“That’s right,” Earley said, dropping Reed’s hand. “That’s the problem. I’m damn straight.”
“Oh yeah? Who the fuck was that kissing me, your evil twin?” Reed glared at him, seething. “You made the first move. You’re as two-tone as I am.”
“I’m not,” Earley snapped. “And the harder you push me, the more I’ll back off. So leave me alone.”
Reed looked at the floor. His jaw muscles were twitching. “It always turns out that way, doesn’t it? The one who wants more is the one who gets left in the dirt.”
Earley took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, lil’ dude. I can’t be what you want.”
Reed’s blue eyes bored into his. “You are so fucking dense. Don’t you get it? You are what I want. I’m in love with you.”
“Why?” Earley blurted.
“Just wacky, I guess. Do you honestly want me to answer that?”
“I don’t know what I want anymore,” Earley had said. He could feel the tears gathering under his lashes.
“I do,” said Reed. “So I guess I’m the lucky one.” He rose up on his toes to give Earley a kiss, sliding both arms around his broad back. Earley didn’t resist.
The bus door swung open. “There’s coffee,” Reed called. Earley turned. How long have I been standing out here, staring up at this mountain? he wondered. Long enough for Reed to fire up a woodstove and brew a fresh pot of coffee. Long.
“Thanks,” he said, ducking his head as he climbed up the steps. The inside of the bus smelled like bacon. Reed flipped over an omelette, then shook up a skillet of home fries. Earley noticed a pile of squeezed orange rinds heaped in the compost pail.
“This is one hell of a breakfast you’re making.”
“Well, hell, it’s my first flyout ever.”
So that was why he was so cheerful. Earley stood still for a moment. He hadn’t intended to bring Reed along. He poured himself coffee and slopped in some sugar and cream. “How’s your leg? Are you sure you’re up to—”
Reed turned before he even finished his sentence. “I wouldn’t miss it,” he said in a voice that refused to accept any arguments. He wrapped his arms around Earley’s back, sliding a hand underneath his suspenders. “What time do we meet them?”
Earley lit one cigarette off the butt of another one as they drove up to the clearcut. Reed glanced at him. “Never saw you do that before,” he said. “Nervous?”
“Nah. Our part is cake. All we do is help Scoter stack bolts in his truck. That, and hope Clay’s not too strung out to fly.” Earley pictured Clay at the Cedar, hunched over his double tequila, and wondered what hair of what dog he’d been hitting this morning. Not that it made any difference. Clay was a whiz in the air, no matter what crap he pumped into his body. It was like handing Keith Richards a Stratocaster. Put a joystick in front of him, Clay would get sober.
Earley blew smoke out the window and stubbed out his cigarette. “Try to be cool with these guys,” he said.
“What do you mean?” Reed bristled. “No sucking your cock in the clearcut?”
“Don’t be sarcastic,” said Earley. “God only knows what kind of rumors Harlan’s been spreading. If Scoter suspects any part of it’s true, we’ll be dead meat in Forks. There’s guys around here who would lynch us.”
Reed raised his eyebrows. “Bisexual loggers. That’s one of those really short lists.” The word bisexual hit Earley’s ear like a slap. Reed grinned at him, singing some song that went, “I’m a lumberjack and I’m okay . . .”
“Shut the fuck up,” Earley growled. He rounded the bend and pulled into the clearcut, angling into the same set of ruts he had parked in for months.
It was nearly an hour before they heard a rumble of diesel and chains coming up the old access road. “That truck sounds Cro-Magnon,” said Reed.
“Probably is,” Earley said. “Scoter’s dad is a tightfisted bastard. You’ll see when he weighs us out. Probably charge us for wear on his tire chains.” He got to his feet as an eighteen-wheel flatbed rolled into the clearing. Reed did the same, pushing down on his crutch. Scoter cut off his engine and hopped from the cab.
“You call that a road?” he said.
“I’ve driven on worse,” Earley said.
“Fuckin’ hillbilly. I bet you’ve lived on worse.” Scoter pushed back his cap and stared up at the Suhammish clearcut. “Hey, did you hear about Harlan? They’re sending him home tonight.”
“So there’s no brain damage?” Reed asked.
“How could they tell?” Scoter cackled as if he had just laid an egg.
Earley wondered if “home” meant to Margie, or to his new squeeze, but he figured he’d better not ask. “D’you happen to see our friend Clayborne this morning?”
“Fuckin’ A. Think I’d waste my life driving up to this boon-dock if Clay didn’t show? So who did your leg—Doctor Al?” Scoter’s question caught Reed off guard.
“I didn’t catch his name.”
“Mustache?” Reed nodded. “The best! The man’s a prescribing fool. Did you score any ’Ludes?”
Reed shook his head. “Darvon, Tylenol III.”
“Codeine, I love codeine! I gotta break me a leg or two.” Scoter looked wistful. “Either of you got a smoke I could bum?”
Earley noticed the ravens long before he heard Clay’s chopper. There were three of them, high in the crown of a spar tree, shifting restively and trading guttural croaks as if to say, what the hell is that? The whir of the rotors came next, from behind the ridge. As the chopper suddenly lifted up into view, the three ravens rose into the air with an indignant clatter of wings.
“Thar she blows!” called Scoter, waving both arms. Earley stepped forward, shielding his eyes from the sun. Clay’s cockpit window was open, and Earley could see him hunched over his joystick, the glare of the windshield reflected in his mirrored shades. He circled the clearcut a couple of times, angling low, taking stock of the bundles that Earley had flagged for him. Then he steered down towards the two trucks and hovered right over their heads, parked in midair like a thundercloud. Earley motioned to Reed to stand clear as Clay leaned out the side door and dropped down a thick rope with a hook on the end.
“Get on.” Clay’s amplified voice boomed out over the ratcheting din of th
e rotor blades. “Gonna start up at the top.”
Earley wished he was doing the opposite, picking up the closer-in bundles first and saving the long flights for later, when he’d be exhausted, but this was Clay’s party. Anyway, there was no way to discuss it, with Clay up above in that deafening chopper. “Stand by to unload,” he shouted at Scoter and Reed. “I’ll come down when I can.”
He stepped onto the hook, grabbed the rope in both hands and pulled, signaling that he was ready. Clay touched his controls and, without any warning, Earley felt himself lifted straight up in the sky. A surge of adrenaline rushed through his veins and a wild whoop escaped him, as if he were riding a bronco, or white-water rafting. The land seemed to rise up and meet him as he swung above it. He could see his own shadow, foreshortened into a dark blot, moving over the ground.
Earley yodeled and bounced as the chopper flew over the gully and up the sheer rockface. The mudslides, the stumps, the bright slashes of wildflowers swam in a blur far below like a hallucination. They got to the top of the ridge and Clay eased him down gently, a foot at a time, until Earley was on the ground.
Clay’s amplified voice boomed out again. “Hook it,” he called. Earley went to the first bundle and secured the hook, working as fast as he could. He could feel the impatient throb of the helicopter hovering overhead, shadowing him like a raptor.
He stood clear and waved up a hand signal, shading his eyes as the cedar he’d busted his back for rose up in the sky. Clay ferried it down towards the flatbed truck, so far below that it looked like a piece from a model train set. He could just make out Scoter’s and Reed’s silhouettes. If not for Reed’s limp, there’d be no way to tell who was who from this distance.
Earley made his way to the next bundle, watching anxiously as the chopper slowed over the truckbed and lowered its load. He should’ve flown back with the first one and showed Reed how to offload the hook. Leaving Scoter in charge was a hell of a question mark.
Unloading the first bundle seemed to take three times as long as it should. Earley waited and watched, feeling helpless. After several long minutes, he heard Clay’s voice booming something that sounded like, “Clear out.” The two tiny figures stepped off the truckbed, one quickly, one laboring clumsily sideways. The quicker one raised its hand high and the chopper rose, heading back uphill towards Earley.
The next several trips went the same way. Earley kept thinking, this time they’ll get it, but every unload took as long as the first. After three or four passes, Clay lowered the rope down towards Earley and spoke through his bullhorn.
“Fuckin’ Laurel and Hardy act. Ride down and show ’em what’s what.”
Earley stepped onto the hook and they flew back down. Clay let Earley off a few yards from the truck, then veered over the treeline and disappeared.
Reed looked up. “Where is he going?”
“Just taking a break. Little loop de loop.” Earley strode to the truck.
“About time,” Scoter grumbled. “He’s lame, and I’m time and a half. I’m s’posed to be resting my ass in the cab reading Penthouse, not slogging your shit for you.”
“Life’s tough all over,” said Earley. “Let’s see what we got.” He swung himself up on the truckbed and took a deep breath. The bundles were jumbled on top of each other, and one had tipped over, spilling a logjam of cedar bolts onto the truckbed.
“We screwed up the first one,” said Reed, looking sheepish.
Earley nodded. “We’re gonna have to restack this whole mess or the rest of the load’ll collapse. Won’t take but ten minutes.”
“I’ll be in the cab,” Scoter said. “It’s your fuckin’ wood.”
Earley shrugged and began stacking shake bolts. Reed sat on the edge of the truckbed and swung up his broken leg. It took him a long time to get to his feet. “I’m not tailor-made for this move,” he said, gritting his teeth.
“Too bad you can’t work the top.” Earley tossed the heavy bolts into a stack as if they were firewood. “Hooking’s the gravy job. Nothing to climb on or fit into place.”
“Plus you get to fly on a rope,” said Reed. “Ever see La Dolce Vita?”
“What?”
“Movie,” said Reed. “Never mind.” He moved to Earley’s side, and the two of them stood tossing wood like a well-oiled machine. Neither one of them spoke. There was no sound but their breathing, the dry chunk of wood on wood. Earley remembered how well he and Reed had worked together right from the first, how relieved he had been when his new partner turned out to understand silence.
They restacked the bundles in what seemed like no time. “Don’t unhook the next till it’s toed in right here.” Earley pointed. “As long as it’s still on the rope, you can swing it around pretty easily.”
“Cool.” Reed was flushed and his skin had a sheen of sweat. He looked happy.
Earley pushed back the brim of his cap and squinted up towards the sky. “Listen,” he said, and they froze in place, straining to hear. The faint noise of distant rotor blades came up from somewhere behind the ridge.
Earley shook his head, awed. “Fucker’s on his way back. It’s like he could hear we were finished, he’s that wired in. Spooky.”
“Let me go up,” said Reed.
“What?”
“You said yourself I’d be better at that than unloading. And I want to fly.”
“Your leg’s in a cast.”
“So what? It plays.” Earley looked at him blankly. Reed shrugged. “Heard that from a three-fingered bluesman. Best picker I’ve heard.” He wobbled three fingers.
The sound of the chopper was closer now. Earley twisted his head as it cleared the ridge. He looked back at Reed. “I really don’t think you can—”
“I can do anything.” Reed’s eyes flashed, defiant. “Are you going to stop me?”
“It doesn’t make sense.”
“Hey, man, I’m free, white and twenty-one. I’m going up.”
The shadow of Clay’s helicopter fell over them both. Earley looked up and saw it move into place, hovering right overhead and then edging a couple of yards to one side. Clay leaned forward, his sunglasses glinting, and dropped down the hook.
“Some other time,” Earley shouted to Reed, and stepped towards the hook rope. Reed looked up at the chopper’s gray belly above, then leaned forward quickly and kissed Earley right on the mouth.
Earley recoiled. “Are you nuts?” he hissed as he swiveled his head, convinced against logic that Clay could see through the floor of his chopper and Scoter could see through the back of his truck. Reed’s lips curled into a triumphant smile. He stepped onto the hook, tugged hard on the rope and was lifted up into the air.
Earley scrambled backwards. Even over the engine and rotor noise, he could hear Reed’s voice echo his own first exuberant whoop.
“YESSSSS!” Reed roared, arching his back to look up at the sky. “I’m flying!” His hair blew loose as the chopper began its ascent, angling over the uneven rows of vast stumps, the deep gash of the gully. He let out a yodel of unbridled joy.
Earley lifted his hand to ward off the sun’s glare, and Reed lifted his hand in return. He thinks I’m waving to him, Earley realized with a sickening jolt. The air seemed to freeze in his lungs as Reed grinned and returned the wave, losing his balance. His right leg swung forward in its heavy cast and his body jerked after it, teetering over the edge of the hook. He twisted to grab at the rope, and his fingers missed, grabbing at air.
Earley stood rooted as Reed hung suspended in space for the briefest of moments, then plunged through the air like a stone.
TWENTY-SIX
Earley charged up the mountain as fast as he could, dodging stumps and dead limbs. He got to the gully and plowed straight through the creek, scrambling up the far bank on his hands and knees, grabbing at roots and stones. It seemed like forever until he reached Reed.
Reed’s body lay twisted at an impossible angle, his neck to one side and his body splayed out like a marionette. Earley sank t
o his knees, his chest heaving.
“Buddy,” he said. “Lil’ dude.” He lifted Reed’s wrist, felt nothing, and pressed his ear down on Reed’s ribcage. His own heart was pounding so hard that he couldn’t be sure what he heard or didn’t hear. Please, he begged silently, sliding his palm over Reed’s chest, but he knew already, had known from the moment he saw Reed tumble off into the sky. But he’s warm, he thought wildly. How can his skin still be warm? He lifted Reed into his arms and sat cradling him as the sound of the helicopter drew close overhead.
Clay lowered his craft onto a minuscule patch of semi-flat land between two massive stumps, so close to Earley that he felt the wind off its rotor blades pulling at him like a whirlpool. The sun glinted off Clay’s mirrored glasses and dogtags.
“Get him in here,” he barked through his bullhorn, “We gotta get him to the medics.” Earley just stared at him.
Clay’s panic rose. “Move, you fuck! Move him out.”
Earley shook his head. His mouth tried to form the words “too late,” but he couldn’t find his voice. Clay cut his engine. The rotor blades ground to a slow halt, bathing the clearcut in silence. The sun seemed to beat down on Earley’s head, baking in pulses. I’m going insane, he thought. I’m going to crack.
Clay pounded his dashboard with both fists. “Fuck,” he said. “I’m gonna lose my damn license. You sure he’s—?”
“I’m sure.” Earley’s voice sounded distant, like someone else speaking a long way away. “What do we do? Take him to the ER, the cops?”
“Oh Christ,” said Clay. “Fuck.”
Earley rose to his feet, holding Reed in his arms. He walked to the chopper and stared through the window at Clay. “If you mention your license again,” he said, “I’ll tear out your throat.” The state police were incredulous. “Why would you take up a guy with a broken leg?”
Clay’s scalp was shaved bald, with a couple raw scratches where he’d botched the job. Earley noticed that his index finger was missing a joint. He wore a wide strip of leather around his left wrist and a skull ring of heavy chrome, worn upside down so its teeth seemed to gnaw at his knuckle.
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