by E A Lake
Day 1,167 - continued
I gave her at least five minutes before lifting my pack and going after her. It wasn’t like she was going to get lost or anything. The trail was hard to miss. But God only knew what kind of crap she’d get herself in to without me there to help her.
The knife is what caught my attention first. Not the person attached to the knife, or Violet’s thin neck with the knife pressed against it. It was the big, shiny steel knife that brought me to a halt.
“Don’t move,” the attacker warned. The high voice, long hair, thin dirty hands and lack of facial whiskers told me what I assumed he was a she. Why not? We all had needs. Man, woman, everyone.
I raised my hands slowly. “Let’s be careful here. That’s a mighty big knife.”
All I could see was her face hanging over Violet’s left shoulder. “This little bitch won’t give me her pack,” the woman whined. “So why don’t you slip yours off to set a good example for her.”
I took another step closer and she tightened her grip on Violet. “Violet, why don’t you just give her your pack and let’s get this over with.” That seemed like a reasonable solution to me. Not her.
“Screw off,” Violet seethed. “She isn’t getting anything.” Great, just great. Copping an attitude at a time like this probably wasn’t the best of all strategies. But it was Violet after all.
“Your girlfriend’s about to get her neck slit,” the attacker warned. “Give me your pack, mister. And then we’ll get hers—”
“I am not his girlfriend,” Violet shrieked. “Why don’t you just shoot this idiot so we can get this over with, Bob?”
Oh, this was all kinds of wrong. The crazed woman looked desperate enough to me to slit Violet’s throat without another thought. And good old Violet was giving her all the reason she needed, and then some.
I set my pack on the trail between us. Nodding at the woman, our eyes met. “There. Why don’t you let her go and we can part ways?”
A struggle ensued as the woman pulled on Violet’s bag. I jerked my 45 from behind my back and waited for an opening, though I didn’t really want to kill a woman.
The straps tore from Violet’s fingers and the bag went flying, releasing the contents all around the pair. Still, there was no clean shot and the knife didn’t leave Violet’s throat.
“Shoot her, damnit!” Violet screamed. “Get her off me.”
I moved closer, but the woman spun as if it were a choreographed danced. I dipped right, she pirouetted left. And Violet remained between us.
“Shoot her!”
“I’m gonna cut her!”
With a large push from Violet, the pair fell to the ground and for a brief moment, the knife fell between them. A hand flashed and searched for the blade. Another shot out and found it first.
On the ground they tussled, Violet blocking my view for any clean break. They wrestled and pushed until I heard a sickening slosh as the knife dug into one of their chests. A loud exhale signaled victory for one of the two.
But which one?
Violet folded on top of the woman, still fighting her hands. When I found my opening, I grabbed her by the back of the baggy dress and pulled her away. It was then I saw the knife, the blood, and certain death.
Sticking out from the ribcage of the emaciated woman, the dark wooden handle moved with each gasp. She shook briefly and then no more. I released Violet and she kicked the lifeless body.
“Stinking bitch,” she shrieked, giving the former living soul another boot for good measure.
I pulled her back. “Violet, she’s dead. Leave her be.”
Angry, almost possessed eyes met mine and I released her. Her chest rose and fell with great breaths as she calmed a little.
“Why didn’t you shoot her?” Violet asked, a tinge of anger still there. “Aren’t I good enough for you?”
I shook my head at her illogic. “Why didn’t you give her your pack? Once she let you go, all I needed to do was show her my gun and that would have ended just fine.”
Her tiny nose twitched several times as her lips slid back and forth, considering my plan.
“Huh,” she replied, a little less tense and angry. “I hadn’t thought of that. Good plan; let’s use it next time.”
She left me standing there, staring at the dead body. The woman was more of a girl, I decided. Perhaps Violet’s age, maybe a year or two younger. But she was desperate. And desperate people…
Watching Violet collect her belongings like nothing had happened bothered me. She still had anger issues, and I still had no idea where they stemmed from. At least she didn’t seem upset with me any longer.
I helped her collect the last of the strewn items, handing them to her with a cautious smile. As odd as it seemed, she smiled back and thanked me for each item I handed her.
Something caught my eye as she stuffed it in her bag, turning away as she did, like she was trying to hide it from me.
“What’s that?” I asked, holding my hand out, believing she might hand it over willingly.
“Nothing,” she replied, searching the forest floor for any of her remaining possessions.
“That was a knife, Violet. A fillet knife.” She still refused to look at me. “Where’d you get it? Because you sure didn’t have it when we left home.”
She glared at me, her eyes narrowing. “I found it, okay? I found it in the grass outside a fish camp, one or two back. Just drop it.”
No, she hadn’t. She knew better and she knew I knew better. She’d stolen it. But why?
Day 1,167 - continued
We should have walked without a word, but that was impossible for my babbling travel companion. I knew she was hiding something. Something about the knife, something about Daisy, maybe even something about home — No Where.
And so she talked non-stop for the remaining miles to the North Canal Fish Camp. At least it was something she was good at.
“I can’t believe a woman would try to kill one of her own,” she commented, walking ahead of me but looking back for acceptance often. “I mean, we haven’t seen a lot of single bad women over the last four years, have we, Bob?”
“Not sure,” I muttered. Watching Violet pick her way through a rocky portion of our trip, I noticed she hadn’t maintained eye contact for very long with me. Just a quick glance, maybe a smile, then her eyes darted forward again.
“I’m on to you,” I called ahead. “And I want to know why you stole that knife.”
“I don’t think she would have really killed me, do you?” Another quick glance and then back to the trail.
“You’re avoiding the conversation, Violet!” I shouted, making sure she heard me.
I noticed her head shake for a moment. “I wasn’t giving her my pack; no way, no how.”
Okay, that was enough. A few minutes of diversion was understandable. But this had been going on for far too long. I trotted ahead and grabbed her by the arm.
“Why’d you steal that knife?” I demanded, seeing a flash of anger cross her face.
“To protect myself,” she spewed, shoving me away. “If someone gets too close and I can’t use the rifle, I need to be able to take care of things. Like that woman earlier.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you took the knife then? Huh?” Her eyes rolled several times as a quick snort escaped her lips.
“Because you’d judge me. And you’d make a big deal out of it.” She waved her arms out by her sides. “Like now, you’re making a big deal of it. It’s a crummy fish knife, Bob. They have plenty. I just took one that someone had tossed aside, claimed it never held an edge. So…” she inched closer to me, “no. Big. Deal. Okay?”
Yes, and no. Yes, because even in the apocalypse, stealing was stealing. The only thing that separated us from becoming wild animals were our morals. Of course, Violet was able to kill without remorse, go after another woman’s man. Stealing was probably an improvement in her character in her mind.
No, it wasn’t a big deal. Besides fish, the
one item every fish camp had plenty of were bent and worn-out knives. So she took a cast-off. No big deal, I supposed.
I stood over her, casting her the scolding look I’d learned from my father. “Okay, no big deal. Let’s just try and not steal anything from this next place, okay?”
Violet smiled, nodded and raised on her tiptoes to kiss me. “I knew you’d understand. Thanks.”
So quick, and all was well and forgiven. At least in her world.
Day 1,168
Smaller and dingier than what we found at Beacon Hill, the North Canal Fish Camp still held some charm. People were happy to see us. Claimed they didn’t get a lot of travelers coming through. Something about the larger Houghton Fish Camp being only 10 miles downstream and more inland. Houghton was quite an operation, they claimed. But what we found at North Canal was just fine with me.
The assemblage of workers, though smaller than Beacon Hill, was equally as happy. All throughout the smallish, 12-tent camp, laughter rang out often. That was something missing from many places nowadays, and I found it infectious.
In the middle of the camp sat the mess hall. Unlike most other camps, this one had an assortment of dried meats along with yellow and orange cheeses to feed their employees. Nowhere did I see a trace of fish. Yet, at the fillet tables, fish were plentiful.
On the far edge of the mess tent, silhouetted against Lake Superior, a man played the accordion. Next to him, a woman strummed a ukulele. The scene seemed almost surreal to me, something I would’ve only dreamed of nowadays. The music lightened the already festive mood. Was I dead perhaps? Was this heaven?
Violet elbowed past me, making her way towards the tent where the camp records were kept. I figured she had to be anxious to find out if Daisy was here or had ever been. After several steps, she stopped and turned.
“Are you coming?” she asked bitterly.
“Don’t you like the music? Doesn’t this seem nice to you?”
She shook her head and took a step closer to me. “Oh, yeah. It’s a real polka party festival here.”
I stared at her for a moment, attempting to figure out what her deal was.
“It’s corny,” she ranted. Grabbing my shirt, she urged me forward. “Let’s see if they know anything about Daisy.”
Well, I liked it. I even hummed along to a tune, the name I’d long forgotten. The place seemed nice to me.
The man in charge of rosters and his young daughter assistant looked at each other for a long time. Just when I thought one would say something, the other shook their head. When the blond-haired man’s eyes finally made their way back to mine, I noticed the emptiness they held.
“I’m real sorry, Mr. Reiniger,” the man named Willows said. “I don’t have anyone by that name or description on the roster. And not in the past year either.”
Different place, same story. Every time Violet and I walked into a new fish camp, my stomach contorted into a bundle of knots. Maybe this was the one, I would think, every single time. Thus far, the trip had been a string of misses and disappointment.
“You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like, though,” Willows went on. “You and the missus look like fine workers. And fine workers are always in need here at NCFC.”
I didn’t recognize the acronym and my face must’ve shown it.
He leaned forward as if telling me a secret. “North Canal Fish Camp,” he said. “Hell, we’d have t-shirts and hats made up…if there was such a thing anymore. That’s our motto these days: ‘NCFC or bust’. Kinda catchy, don’t you think?”
My blank stare should have insulted the well-meaning man. When I glanced at Violet, I noticed her mouth hanging open. That meant something not-so-nice was about to roll out.
“Darn catchy,” I replied, positioning myself between Violet and the man. “Come along, dear. Let’s make ourselves useful so they feed us and give us some supplies.”
On our way to the clean stations, Violet stopped and turned me. “’NCFC or bust’? What the hell is all that about? What is this place, a high school pep rally?”
I laughed, pushing her forward. Yeah, it was kind of a hokey place, but at least Violet kept that to herself until we got out of earshot of the roster boss. She was learning.
Day 1,168 - continued
I cleaned and Violet filleted. Better put, she helped the people who did the filleting. Three swoops of the knife and the man in charge deemed her to be the worst he’d ever seen. But he did it with a smile, so Violet didn’t pout too badly.
Mid-afternoon I saw Violet coming my way. I was a little busy with my arms buried in fish guts up to my elbows, so she got to me faster than I would’ve liked.
I peeked up at her, nodding my head. “What’s up?”
Later I would look back on that moment and know I should have looked at her face more carefully before asking her such a loaded question. My life would have been easier and more straightforward if I had just asked, ‘What’s pissing you off now, you hard-to-please teenage witch?’
First clue we — she saddled right up next to me. Never a good sign.
Glaring at me, her arms crossed, she huffed loudly before speaking, “I don’t like the people over there. They’re all cliquey and everything. I need a different job.”
I paused from my task of filling a large, blue plastic barrel with fish guts and squeezed my eyes tightly shut. “I’m not in charge,” I replied in the nicest tone I could muster. “Go ask the foreman for a different job.”
She shook her head at me incredulously. “It’s a forewoman, and she doesn’t like me.”
Not really my issue. But whatever it took to keep Violet happy was my only job, in her mind.
“Try smiling once in a while,” I said, glancing at her pouty expression. “Please, thank you; those words go a long way, you know.”
Still, she stayed beside me, arms crossed, pissy attitude and must have decided that shoving her shoulder into my side would help me help her.
“I told them I’d go help with the kids,” she muttered, “but they said that duty was only for the single women. Not those attached. Great plan by the way.”
That wasn’t my fault. That was Wilson’s idea. Something about the fish camps being more open to helping us if they viewed us as an attached couple. I had begged that we use the ploy of a father and his daughter, but even Lettie laughed at that. She claimed I looked too young for Violet to be my daughter. Thus, we traveled as a couple, which should have made Violet happy.
But she never was, happy that is. And once again, her ugly disposition shined through like a beacon in the night.
I glared at her. “So what’s up your butt this time?” I was almost out of patience, and the guts were piling up next to me.
“That woman over there,” Violet replied, shoving her head in the direction of her former station, “the one in the orange top with the big boobs. She keeps staring at you.”
My eyes sought out the woman. The orange top made her easy to find. That and the reddish curly hair, the pleasant smile, and yeah, the other part that Violet mentioned.
“Let her stare,” I commented, pushing an armload of squishy fish intestines into the barrel. “Maybe she doesn’t like us. We are strangers.”
And the problem reared its ugly head three times worse.
“She’s asking me all kinds of questions about you,” Violet seethed. “What you’re like, if we’re happy together, how many kids we have, if I’ve ever thought of leaving you for another man.” To emphasize her disdain, Violet stomped on my right foot.
“Why are you so pissed at me, Violet? I didn’t do anything.”
More rage, I could see it boiling in her narrowed eyes.
“You must have done something to encourage her,” she vented, pushing at my chest. “I should just tell her what a louse you really are. How you sleep with any woman you come across. That would set her straight.”
It hit me like a right hook from an unseen boxer. I halted my gut removal mid-reach.
“Y
ou’re jealous!” I whispered, stifling a grin.
“I don’t get jealous,” she raged, pulling on my shirt to draw me closer. “I want to leave. Daisy isn’t here. Let’s grab our stuff and get the hell out of here.”
I extended my arms in surrender. “Violet,” I said quietly, “we need to replenish our food and supplies. To do that, we need to work a shift or two. You know that. Come on, don’t act like this. I have no interest in that woman, or any other we’ve come across for that matter. You and I are together on this trip. No one’s going to change that.”
She eyed me cautiously, her facial expression softening slightly. “Do you really mean that?” she asked.
I had to give her something. We needed the supplies. Leaning closer, I gave her a small kiss on the lips. “Of course I mean it, sweetie. Now go get back to work. We’ll be out of here tomorrow by this time.”
The minute I used the term of endearment, I thought she’d see through me. That wasn’t something I did too often, and never before on Violet. Her stare made me nervous. But slowly, a small smile grew and I knew we were back on the right path.
She turned and skipped away, her youthful charm back on full display. With Violet happy — and working — I could focus on the task at hand. Only our hard work would get us what we needed: enough food and supplies to make it to the next camp. And perhaps one step closer to who I really wanted. Daisy.
Day 1,169
Before we broke camp the next morning, the woman in the orange top approached me while Violet was in the outhouse. She sported the same smile as the day before, causing my stomach to twist on itself several times. I didn’t need trouble; Violet provided enough of that.
“Say,” she said, stepping into my personal space, “I hear you’re looking for a person.”
I nodded, keeping one eye on orange top and the other on the outhouse door.