by Ray Gorham
“Come in,” Jennifer said, swinging the door open. “It’s cold outside.”
Curtis kicked the fresh snow off his boots and stepped inside, then held out the baby. “Here,” he said, thrusting Madison towards Jennifer. “You need to take the baby back.”
Madison was awake, but not crying. She was wrapped in a pink blanket that Jennifer had retrieved from her old house two days before, her first time being there since Kyle’s arrest. Going back had been harder than she could have imagined, not only with the bloodstains in the bedroom carpet, but also because of the dead girl that had been found in the basement. She’d hurried in, found the box of clothes and blankets from when Emma was a baby, then retreated in a rush like she was escaping from Chernobyl.
“I was going to come over this morning,” Jennifer said, taking the baby. “I was just cooking now and…”
Curtis interrupted her. “It’s not about the food, or the help. The two babies are too much for Allison. She was struggling before this, physically and mentally. The pressure of caring for Madison, it’s too much. I’m sorry. I really am, but I have to think about my family and do what’s best for them. We just can’t help you with her anymore.”
Words escaped Jennifer as she looked from Curtis to the baby, then back to Curtis again. “What are we supposed to do? There aren’t any other options, you know. No one has baby formula, and Allison is the only one who’s nursing.”
Curtis shook his head. “Don’t put that responsibility on us,” he said, his voice stern. “That’s not fair. This isn’t our problem or our fault. We did our best to help, but it didn’t work out.” He looked at Carol, who stood close to Jennifer, arms folded. “Listen, maybe, maybe there’s a way to, you know, to just let her…” he was having a hard time finding the right words. He stopped and thought a second, then continued. “Maybe you can just let her die.” He let out a deep, distress-filled breath and tried to smile, but couldn’t. “I know it sounds really cold, but she’s only three days old. She doesn’t know anything. If her mother had died a week ago, she never would have been born. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to live.”
Jennifer looked at him, aghast. “You can’t be serious!”
“You know,” he said, gathering resolve. “Like the Romans did when they didn’t want the baby, or like the Chinese do; they just leave it in a rice field. Call it a late term abortion, if that makes it easier. Nobody asked for this baby, and no one will blame you if you do something about it. Say it died of natural causes, and everyone will give you a hug for trying. There are plenty of other things for us to spend our energy on right now. This baby will just take food from people who need it more and who’ve earned it.”
Carol shook her head. “We won’t do that, Curtis. Tell Allison thanks for helping.”
He grabbed the door handle and paused. “We’re not bad people. You have to understand how tough things are, and not just for us. It isn’t wrong to look out for the good of the majority. This baby and a few other people are just a drag on the community. We don’t have the luxury to waste so much energy on them. When times are good, I get it. You can look out for the weak ones. But right now…” He stopped and shook his head.
“What would you have us do?” Carol asked, shocked by the gall of his suggestion.
Curtis shrugged and shook his head. “I don’t know; you’re the doctor. If we just don’t feed her, it would only take a couple of days. This baby, and some of the older people, are just takers, a burden on the rest of us. It’s time someone said what a lot of people are thinking. We’ve got to make difficult decisions.”
“That’s murder,” Jennifer said, glaring at Curtis and cradling Madison.
“It’s not murder. I’m not saying to shoot them, just ignore them. Let nature take its course.”
Jennifer shifted the baby to her shoulder. “When did she eat last?” she asked, unwilling to look Curtis in the eye.
“Less than an hour ago, but there wasn’t a lot of milk. Our boy had eaten before the baby woke up, and he drained Allison pretty good.” He opened the door and let himself out. “I am sorry, but it’s time to face the reality of our situation,” he said and closed the door behind him.
Jennifer turned to Carol, flabbergasted. “Can you believe him?” she asked, trying to control her anger, her voice shaking. “This poor baby. At least they brought her back to us alive.” She rocked Madison and kissed her on the forehead, causing her to stir.
“Don’t let it upset you, Jennifer. We asked a lot of them. They’re young and have a lot on their plate.” Carol took the baby from Jennifer. “I think I smell something burning.”
Jennifer ran downstairs and returned a minute later, toting the Dutch oven full of cooked wheat. She placed it in the kitchen sink. “Good thing you have a sensitive nose. I don’t think we lost too much.” She retrieved a stack of bowls from the cupboard and set them on the counter. “So what do we do? Talk the Shipleys into giving us milk every day?”
Carol nodded. “We do, but it needs to be goat’s milk if possible, not cow’s milk. Some of my clients raised their children on that exclusively.”
Jennifer paused. “Goat? Are you sure?”
Carol nodded. “Mother’s milk is best by a long shot, but there’s a growing community that swears that goat’s milk is the next best thing.”
“Does the Ranch have any dairy goats?”
“They do,” Carol said. “Not sure how much they’re producing now, though.”
“Any idea where we can get more baby bottles?” Jennifer asked, dreading the need to go begging once again.
CHAPTER 36
Sunday, February 12th
Moyie Springs, ID
It was just after noon when Kyle led Garfield towards the checkpoint on the east side of the Moyie Canyon Bridge. The sky was overcast, and a light snow fell intermittently, just enough to dust the highway and give the area the feel of winter. He’d seen guards as he approached the checkpoint, three people with rifles slung across their backs, who, when they saw him, became active. Two retreated, one inside a high-end motorhome parked at the end of the bridge, the other behind an embankment of dirt and timber that formed an elevated defensive position.
Kyle approached with a rifle slung over his shoulder and a handgun stuck in his belt, but his arms held to the side. He waved when he got within earshot. “Hello!” he called out.
The man that remained at the barricade waved back and waited for Kyle to approach. “What brings you to these parts?” the man asked when Kyle was close. He held his rifle in his hands, though still pointed at Kyle’s feet. A gold sheriff’s badge was pinned on his coat.
Kyle smiled nervously and took a look around. “I’ve come to check on my parents, Gene and Sandra Tait. They live in town here.” He noticed a rifle aimed at him from behind the embankment and a woman watching through a slit in the curtains of the motor home.
The sheriff, a tall man with broad shoulders and a weathered face, stroked his scrubby beard while sizing Kyle up. He sniffed, shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t recognize the names. Where do they live?”
Kyle pointed southwest across the canyon, towards the facing hillside. “Over there, on the hillside. They have a bed and breakfast with five small cabins. Call it Moyie Manor. They’ve only owned it a few years, so you might not know them.”
The sheriff nodded. “I know the place, though I don’t know them. Bad time of year to be traveling, isn’t it?”
Kyle nodded. “I’d have come sooner, but I was in Houston when the EMP happened. Took me a while to get home.”
The man looked at Kyle wide-eyed. “You walked here from Houston?”
Kyle nodded and explained his situation, with the exception of the trial in Deer Creek, and the sheriff responded warmly. “Welcome to Moyie Springs,” he said. I’m sheriff Greg Pratt, one of the leaders of our militia here. I’d just come over to check on my team when we saw you coming. If you want, you can walk with me. I was just about to head back across the river.”
“Your son not much of a talker?” Greg asked, indicating Collin sitting in the saddle.
“He’s not my son, and no, he’s not much of a talker. His name’s Collin.”
Greg furrowed his brow and eyed the boy for signs of distress, but the boy just clung to the saddle, his eyes locked on the bridge ahead of them. “He been with you long?”
“Just a couple of days. His mother died in an accident, so he was left all alone. I haven’t been able to get him to talk. Not sure if it’s because of the messed up state of his world, or if there’s something wrong with him, but don’t count on an answer.”
The sheriff studied Collin for a minute, then waved the other two guards over. He gave them instructions, then he, Kyle, and Collin set off to cross the bridge. They’d only gone a few feet when the boy cried out and grasped at Garfield’s neck with both arms, his eyes filled with terror. The bridge they were about to cross spanned a deep ravine, deep enough that it made Spencer and Emma nervous to cross it in their car. Kyle recognized the same fear in Collin’s eyes.
“You want to get down?” Kyle asked, extending his arms towards the child.
The boy nodded and lunged for Kyle, grunting as he dismounted. When his feet hit the pavement, he turned and headed back away from the bridge. Kyle, bruised and still sore from being shot, grimaced and rubbed his chest and shoulder.
“Collin!” Kyle called after the boy. “We’re not going that way. You need to stay with me.” He motioned to Garfield. “Come hold onto the stirrup and walk beside him. He won’t let you go over the edge.” Kyle watched Collin think about the idea. He couldn’t imagine what the boy was going through, with everything and everyone he knew stripped from his life.
After the events with Collin’s sister, Kyle had kept his word and gone in search of the cabin where her brother was supposed to be. He found a narrow dirt road and followed it through the trees for a little over a mile, finally coming across an old cabin with smoke rising from the chimney. Kyle waited in the bushes for half an hour, watching for any signs of life. There were a few noises, but nothing indicating a group of people, so he crept closer, peered through a window, and spotted Collin reading a book on the couch, but no one else.
Taking a deep breath, Kyle knocked on the door then retreated, taking cover around the side of a shed. Kyle could hear the door being worked, and watched as the boy pulled it open and stepped outside, curious and cautious at the same time. To Kyle’s eyes, the boy was just a little younger than Emma, probably nine years old, with dark hair that had grown long enough to hang down in his eyes. The sweater he wore was oversized, but his jeans seemed two sizes too small. His dark eyes darted nervously around.
As the boy turned to go back inside, Kyle called to him loud enough to be heard, but not so loud as to scare him. “Collin, Stacy sent me.”
The boy jumped and retreated inside the doorway.
“It’s okay,” Kyle said, stepping slowly from behind the shed, his empty hands held out to his side. There was no verbal response from the boy. He just stared at Kyle, gripping the doorknob, uncertain what to do.
“Is Stacy your sister?” Kyle called out, trying to sound friendly.
Collin nodded slowly.
“She asked me to come and help you. She was worried about you. Are you alright?”
Collin nodded his head, the movement barely perceptible, but he still refused to speak.
“Are you hungry?”
The boy shook his head slowly from side to side.
Kyle smiled, trying to reassure the child, but he was anxious himself. He’d debated the merits of keeping a promise to a dead woman who’d tried her best to kill him, and had himself talked out of it three times before finally deciding to find the cabin and at least check things out. Had Kyle seen any adults, he would have left without a second thought. He had feared an ambush, but now, faced with a lone nine-year old boy, he wasn’t sure what to do. To abandon the boy would mean almost certain death. To take him along would mean delayed travel at a minimum, and who knew what other problems would arise.
“Is there anyone in the house with you?” Kyle asked, carefully scanning the area, but seeing nothing.
The boy shook his head, the movement so slight Kyle could barely discern it.
“Listen,” Kyle continued. “There was a bad accident, and the people who were here, Stacy and her two friends, they’re not going to be able to take care of you anymore. I’m really sorry.” Kyle watched for any change in expression, but Collin just held onto the doorknob, not moving.
Kyle extended his hand and took a step forward. “How about you come with me?” he said, trying to sound as safe as possible.
The boy’s head snapped back, and he ran inside, throwing the door shut behind him. Kyle heard the deadbolt lock, and he swore under his breath, recognizing that helping Collin was going to mean a serious delay. He walked to the door and knocked softly on it, trying not to frighten the boy any more than he already had. “Collin,” Kyle said. “Please. I’m here to help you. Your sister isn’t coming back.”
He waited, but there was no response. He went to the window on the front of the house that he’d peeked through earlier and noticed the screen was torn and the window wasn’t latched. Kyle pulled off the screen and tugged the window open, but didn’t want to terrify the boy, so he didn’t climb through. Kneeling down by the window, Kyle called for the boy. He could see Collin peering at him from behind a kitchen cabinet, eyes so wide he thought the poor child’s eyeballs would just tumble right out of their sockets.
“Collin, my name is Kyle,” he began, telling him about his kids, the things he’d seen on his trip, and anything else he could think of that would put the boy at ease. When he started talking about Garfield, the boy seemed to show some interest. Finally, after almost an hour of one-sided conversation, Collin unlocked the front door and let Kyle inside.
Upon entering, Kyle noticed the doorframe was splintered inward and didn’t totally secure the door. The cabin was furnished with a couple of couches, an old TV, a woodstove, and a kitchen table with four wooden chairs around it. Written in marker on the wall above the table was what looked like a scoreboard. There were three entries:
1 @ 75yds
2 @ 200 yds
1 @ 300 yds
He guessed he was meant to be the next entry, the new record, 1 @ 600yds, and likely would have been if not for his vest. He thought briefly of adding an entry of his own, 3 @ 20 yds, but concerned about further compromising what little human dignity he was fighting to retain, Kyle left the wall blank.
Collin followed Kyle through the house as he searched it. A back bedroom was littered with discarded backpacks, the contents strewn on the floor. He wondered who the owners of the backpacks were and what had become of their bodies while he continued searching the old cabin, gathering what little he could find that might be of assistance, which didn’t amount to much beyond a few cans of food, ammunition, and some clothes for the child.
Only after again explaining to Collin that his sister had died and promising that he could see her and say goodbye, along with the promise that Collin could ride Kyle’s horse, was Kyle finally able to convince the boy to leave the cabin and come with him. Collin still had not spoken but did reward Kyle with a faint smile as Kyle described some of the funny things about Garfield. With that small victory, they trudged down the dirt road, Collin trailing ten paces behind, to where Kyle had tethered Garfield.
The boy shed a few tears when he saw his sister’s body, but was indifferent to the two men who lay beside her. Kyle asked who they were, but Collin didn’t say. He just stared at his sister’s lifeless body. Kyle waited for a few uncomfortable minutes before finally insisting that it was time to leave, and to his surprise, Collin came without resistance. Kyle had initially debated whether or not to let the boy see his sister, but had figured the poor child couldn’t be any more scarred than he already was, and
at least having seen Stacy dead, he would know he couldn’t go back to her.
With Garfield’s age and the weight of the load he was already carrying, Kyle decided to walk so that Collin could ride. The pace was a little slow, but likely no slower than it would have been with both of them riding, plus Collin seemed to find comfort in being on Garfield, something about the large, docile creature giving him a sense of security.
They walked until late that night, the moon lighting the way, until they found a pickup truck with a fifth wheel camper on the side of the road, giving them a good place to sleep for a few hours. After gathering handfuls of young pine needles for breakfast, they departed early the next morning.
Now they were just a couple of miles from his parent’s place, and Kyle was getting more anxious by the minute, anticipating and dreading what he might find when he arrived.
“What kind of vest is it that you’re wearing?” The sheriff’s voice startled Kyle, bringing him back to the present.
“I’m sorry. What was that?” Kyle asked.
“Your vest. What kind is it?”
Kyle paused, not sure what to tell the sheriff and not wanting to cause any problems this close to his destination.
“Look,” the man said. “I can see the bullet holes in your jacket, and you’re favoring your left arm. You don’t act like law enforcement, so I’m asking you about your armor. Not trying to trick you or anything, but we do try to be aware of who’s coming into our community.”
“Sorry,” Kyle said, glancing down at the holes in his jacket. “I don’t know much about it, just that it works. A friend gave it to me before I headed this direction. He was military and border patrol, so he probably got it from his work.”
“You’re still sore from being hit. Does it have anything to do with your companion?”
Kyle nodded, explaining what had happened in as tactful a manor as possible, and promising that he wasn’t there to make trouble. By now they were most of the way across the bridge, with the town ahead of them looking relatively peaceful. “How are things going here, sir?” Kyle asked.