Hasty Resolution

by Mullens, Sam Taylor

  Zeke is eager to greet me, making me worry he is short on food and water, so I check his dishes on the porch to find they are not. Zeke jumps up at me, forbidding me to leave the porch. Beyond the porch, there is a 1980s Chevy pick-up truck that’s been painted a flat, black color and is missing all of its chrome. Rust stains corrode its finish. It has a gun rack stocked with rifles, most likely loaded, in the rear of the truck’s cabin.

  Two men with long bushy beards are loading the truck bed with the elk. Not the elk in its original form that was hanging in the garage last night, but butchered into pieces with its antlers detached.

  The men survey the property with an arrogant air about them, as if they are entitled to everything and it is here for their taking, filling me with an impotent fear that is quite unsettling. The younger of the men whistles to Zeke to come see him. Zeke stays at my side. I stand irresolute, with my hand rubbing Zeke’s ear. They go about their brazen business with the elk.

  I look over at the garage to find Jake cleaning and storing the wired cables used to keep the animal suspended through the night. He looks over at me with sadness in his eyes. His demeanor takes me aback. Zeke jumps up and down at my feet, not allowing me to walk beyond the steps of the porch.

  “Hey, Jakey! Ain’t ya’ gonna’ introduce us to your lady friend?” one of the men hollers.

  Jake walks out from the garage, wiping his hands with a cloth. “Of course. Liz, these are some of my neighbors.” Jake gestures to me in a sullen manner. “This is Liz.”

  Jake resumes finishing what he is doing in the garage and leaves me alone with these men. Zeke barks as a warning to keep their distance. I hang onto Zeke for security, glad he is next to me, appreciating his warning barks. I stiffen, not wanting these men dressed in camouflage with handguns at their waists to come any closer.

  One man hollers to Jake, “There’s another truck of boys up there fixin’ your fence as we stand here. They’ll be done by the time we get up there if we leave right now.”

  I am relieved at his announcement.

  Jake walks out of the garage, standing closer to me.

  “It is always a pleasure talkin’ with you, Jake. You call anytime you need anythin’. Like I told ya’ before, it might be a while until we can get back here. Since we’ll be gone and all.”

  "By the way, since you mention that, before you guys take off,” Jake adds.

  I assume he’s going to ask them to stay for lunch just as Benjamin offered when we visited. I was wrong.

  “Can you take Liz back with your group?" he asks.

  I gasp in horror and demand he repeat himself.

  Jake turns to explain, “Liz, these guys are leaving across the border back into the States. They are going to Montana. They'll be able to get you back.”

  "What are you talking about?” My voice trembles.

  Jake looks apprehensively at the scruffy men and then returns his gaze to me. I don’t let him explain further.

  I state clearly, but softly, so not to be overheard, “I'm not going with those men. Not to Montana, not anywhere.” Tears roll uncontrollably down my cheeks. “How can you even suggest I do such a thing?” My bottom lip quivers out of control.

  "Liz, this might be your chance to get home," Jake says sullenly as he holds my shoulders.

  I can barely utter the words from my lips and I shake. “I don't care. I'm not going with them, not now, not like this.”

  Jake pulls me into his chest. I tremble as he holds me. I feel like I am a scared little girl, trying to be coaxed into taking a terrifying roller coaster ride.

  “Don't make me go with them,” I plead softly into his ear.

  “Liz, I thought you would want this. I’m doing this for you,” he says with kindness in his eyes. “This may turn out to be the opportunity you need.”

  “Do you really want me to go?” I ask somberly.

  Jake does not respond immediately. He shakes his head and then looks into my eyes. “No, I never want you to go. Don’t you remember I brought you here? I’m better with you here.”

  He clears his throat. “They will be able to get you back into the States without being detected or scrutinized. Maybe this is best.”

  I sob uncontrollably in his arms while the men watch us.

  “I'm sorry if I put you at risk by staying here. I know I am, but I don't want to go, Jake, not with them, not now, and not so suddenly. This doesn’t feel right to me.”

  My eyes feel like they are swollen to the size of golf balls as Jake holds me tighter.

  "I'm sorry, Jake; I'm not ready to leave here, not yet.” I look up at him. “Not unless you want me to go."

  "No, I don’t want you to go,” Jake whispers in my ear. His emerald eyes well up with tears. “I just didn't want you to think I kept an opportunity from you or that you missed a chance."

  His shirt is stained with my tears.

  "I'm not going to force you to leave here, ever. Even if the time comes when I'm ordered to leave or someone comes and arrests me, you can always stay here."

  "I don't think I want that either. I guess I don't know exactly what I want, but I don't think it's going in that truck with those men."

  Jake kisses my forehead. "It's up to you, solely up to you. I'm sorry, Liz, so sorry. I just wanted to throw it out to you. I didn't mean to upset you."

  Jake holds me tightly and rocks me in his arms. I feel beyond upset. I understand Jake is trying to think of my best interests, but I just can't bring myself to be without Jake at this time.

  I walk straight to the trail, the one that winds around the lake, with Zeke by my side. I give the men standing by their truck a friendly nod and wave so as not to offend. No words are exchanged between us.

  The trail around the lake is turning out to be my walking path for when I am hurt, deeply indignant and need to be myself. I am relieved to see a cloud of dust following the dingy truck up the main road away from the cabin, away from us.

  I am startled when I hear the snap of a twig and find Jake behind me. I turn to him and grab hold of the crook of his arm. We walk side by side along the trail, saying nothing.

  Chapter 25: Liz

  Jake is working in the garage when I hear Zeke growl at a bush. I tell Zeke to hush and leave whatever is stirring him up alone. I hear a pitter-patter of tiny feet on the crusted ground as a critter scurries to another nearby bush to find a safe harbor. I thought Zeke would retreat his attack, but instead, he runs after the critter to yet another bush. There is rustling and stirring as Zeke charges gallantly into the bush. I assume he is on the tail of a fox or a jackrabbit. I watch the bush carefully. To my surprise, out runs a small, bristly creature. He walks away from the bush in a haughty manner, no longer afraid.

  Zeke crawls weakly on his hind legs from the bush with a cry; not a whimper, but a sad cry. He stops once he is clear from the bush. Zeke rubs his nose with his paw, each stroke bringing more cries. I gingerly walk toward him to discover his nose looks like a pincushion covered with porcupine quills. He is crying in agonizing pain as quills embed deeply in his pores. Zeke attempts to shake them off, but the quills do not release their painful grip.

  I crouch by Zeke to grasp a quill at the base. Zeke immediately snaps, biting me. His usually docile demeanor has abruptly changed as he bears an incredible amount of pain. I run to the cabin to retrieve a pair of tweezers stashed at the bottom of Jake's bathroom drawer. I also return with a blanket to provide Zeke comfort. The blanket helps momentarily. I grasp with tweezers, yank, and pull out a quill. Zeke quickly scurries away from me. I rub his belly to comfort him. I stare at the amount of embedded quills on his nose: twenty-five; twenty-five too many in his tender nose.

  I reach for a second quill quickly, only to break off the tip and leave the base embedded in his nose. If quills continue to break, it will lead to an infection.

  Before I attempt another quill, I retrieve a dishtowel from the kitchen to make a makeshift muzzle. I need to keep Zeke from biting me again. I straddle
his body, grasp another quill, and successfully pull it out as Zeke cries. I wish I had a painkiller to give him.

  I keep a grip on Zeke as I trudge through the misery of pulling out one quill after another. I weep as Zeke cries. I'm not sure who this is harder on, him or me. I give Zeke a break from torturing him to find a pair of pliers from Jake's garage.

  Jake is busy cleaning his guns. I ask where I can find a pair of pliers so I can quickly return to Zeke.

  "Why are your eyes all puffy and why is Zeke whimpering nonstop?" Jake asks, looking from his workbench in the garage.

  "Zeke was messing around with a porcupine in the bushes. It must have swatted him with its tail.”

  "You could have come and got me! Are you trying to pull the quills out yourself?” Jake asks, deeply concerned.

  "Yeah," I whimper with the pliers in my hands. "I just didn't want to bother you."

  Jake rolls his eyes at me. "I want you to bother me. Should we take him to a veterinarian?"

  "Maybe. Let's see if I can get the rest pulled on my own. I have less than twenty to go."

  As Jake walks toward Zeke, he crawls backward, inching himself away.

  "Nice muzzle, Liz."

  "Well, he bit me.”

  Jake looks alarmed.

  "Not bad; he is in a lot of pain. It was a natural reaction," I say.

  "You should have gotten me sooner," Jake tells me as he notices the removed quills lying on the dirt next to Zeke.

  "If any more quills break, then let's take him to a vet and have him sedated," I suggest.

  I kneel down in front of Zeke. I make cooing sounds as I slowly take the pliers to his nose. Jake pins him down tightly. One after another, Zeke cries.

  "Oh, Jake, I feel so bad for him," I say, shakily removing the quills.

  With the quills extracted, including the ones accidentally broken at the tip, Jake carries Zeke into the cabin to let him rest on the couch. I cover him with a blanket as if I am tucking a sick child into bed. Zeke is exhausted from the pain and whimpers himself to sleep.

  Pliers in hand, I say, "Thanks for letting me use these. The tweezers just weren't enough.”

  I hand the tool to Jake. He takes the pliers in one hand and leads me out of the cabin with his other.

  "I should stay with Zeke," I say grudgingly.

  "Zeke will be fine all by himself. Just let him rest.”

  Jake leads me to the garage, where I think he is simply showing me where the pliers are stored. Jake’s guns and ammunition lie out on his workbench. It sends shivers down my spine, looking at them. Jake doesn't show me in which drawer the pliers are kept; rather, he asks me if I am okay starting off with a rifle or a handgun.

  I gasp, "Neither!”

  I turn to bolt out of the garage when Jake heads me off at the entrance and blocks my passage.

  "Liz, you are in gun country. You have to stop being intimidated by guns so you can learn how to use one.”

  I shake my head profusely, denying his request.

  Jake breathes in deeply and places his hands on my shoulders. "I need you to do this, for me. I need to know you can use one if you absolutely have no other choice."

  I shudder at his final request. Jake is not giving me a choice. However, I am choosing to stay at the cabin and I am choosing to be with Jake.

  "Let's start off with a basic handgun.”

  I am completely bothered by what I am about to undertake. Jake walks over to the workbench to load the weapon.

  "Can we start with blanks?” I ask.

  "Liz, it will be fine. I don't have any snap caps for practice," he says with a final click of the Beretta. "Nothing will go wrong. You trust me, right?"

  My arms clasp tightly around my waist and I nod anxiously. I trust Jake, but I do not trust myself. Jake slides his free hand into mine. I feel as if Jake is dragging me outside of the garage, even though my feet are keeping a steady pace with his. I have a feeling Jake was planning to teach me how to use a gun today without mentioning a word of it.

  A table is set up outside the garage with safety goggles and earplugs. Jake releases my hand to finish pinning a paper target. Previous shots pierce the target, all of the hits landing precisely in one position, creating a large hole instead of a speckling of holes on the paper.

  "The most basic fundamentals are body position and trigger control. Everything else means diddly-squat if you don't hold your gun properly."

  I swallow as I remind myself that Jake is an expert with guns. He has faced his fair share of fighting in combat and out on patrol. He has had years of practical experience. I need to relax and allow Jake to teach me – for his peace of mind, not mine.

  Jake holds the handgun to my eye level. "Since you are righthanded, that's going to be your main point of contact. Your left hand will be used as a support to stabilize the handgun so you will be two to three times more accurate than just by using your right hand.”

  Jake takes my right hand to place the gun in it. "Start getting used to the weight and feel of the gun. It's not too heavy. Remember to always hold the gun in a safe direction.”

  "It’s not heavy, but it's not a water gun either."

  Jakes smiles at my remark.

  "No, it's not." He smiles, rubbing his thumb on my cheek."It will be all right. You won't get hurt.”

  I smile at his touch. I am not worried about hurting myself. I am concerned I will accidentally shoot Jake.

  He positions the handgun at the target. "Use the end of your finger to press the trigger until the gun is fired.”

  I nod, "It's that easy?"

  "Yeah, but the pulling part uses the whole hand and arm. Your fingers do all the squeezing. It's not like you are going to keep a constant grip and press the trigger, but you will take one shot at a time.” Jake runs his finger along my hand and wrist. "Liz, you are too tense. You need to relax your shooting hand. Your left hand will come up to support it.”

  Jake raises my left arm to show how to support my right hand. "In your right hand, hold the gun as tightly as possible, keeping your thumb down. Hold the grip tightly, but straighten your thumb. Now, take your left hand and wrap it around the shooting hand fingers.”

  Jake glides my fingers into place. "You now have a 360-degree contact around the grip. There are no open spaces to create a weak spot.”

  Jake inches away. "Okay, you're ready, Liz.”

  The gun points at the tree. I close my eyes as I begin to squeeze the trigger.

  "Liz, open your eyes," Jake says, exasperated.

  I open my eyes to appease him and smile in a flirty way.

  He shakes his head. "Good thing you're pretty."

  As I fire the handgun, a case flies above the gun. The bullet grazes the bark of the tree above the paper target.

  "See, that wasn't so bad," Jake says with enthusiasm.

  I smile as I set the handgun quickly on the table and try to escape firing the gun again.

  Jake catches my elbow. "Not so fast. I want you to practice so you can get a better feel for it. At least go through the entire round."

  I grimace and pick up the gun. Jake helps me into position. I squeeze the trigger. I do not hit the paper; instead, the bullet veers off into the woods.

  "You are doing well, Liz. Keep going. This is a semi-automatic; it already clicked. It is ready to go, so fire again when you are ready. You've got a good stance and good control."

  I fire the gun. This time my face lights up because I hit the paper; not accurately like Jake, but closer.

  "You are getting the hang of this," Jake says with promise in his voice.

  Some shots are bad and some are pretty good. Jake compliments them all to keep my spirits high so I will not give up too quickly. He keeps the gun loaded and I continue shooting for an hour. I am not terrible for a novice.

  I shake out my fatigued arm when Jake leaves the firearm unloaded on the table.

  He cups my face in his hands and kisses me gently on the forehead. "I feel better already."

/>   "Good, but I'm not going elk hunting with you this fall,” I say sardonically.

  He smiles and asks, “How about the gun show in Calgary?”

  I playfully slap his chest as I dismiss the idea. I cannot decipher whether he is being serious or trying to be funny. I think he truly wants to go to the gun show.

  “I’m going to check on Zeke,” I say, walking backward toward the cabin.

  “Okay, I’ll let you go for now, but tomorrow it’s onto a rifle so you’re prepared this autumn for the hunting season. A water gun won’t do you any good.” Jake winks with a crooked smile.

  Stopping, I look over my shoulder and smile. Jake prepares the rifles for tomorrow’s practice and I feel fine trying if it makes him happy. I think hunting is really pushing the issue. Maybe if I agree to go to the gun show, I can skip hunting.

  Before walking up the front steps to the cabin, I turn to watch Jake as he reaches for a rifle. He has a strong military stance as he pelts the tree with bullets. I cannot see the target, but I’m sure he’s enlarging the already existing hole previously created.

  Gunshots echo through the trees and across the lake as the weapon fires. The sound terrifies me. It does not affect Jake. For him, firing a gun gives him some sort of stress release. Using artillery comes naturally for Jake. It’s second nature for him to have a firearm in his hands. It’s not something he can just dig a deep hole and bury in the ground. It’s what makes him who he is.

  * * * * *

  As I crawl into bed for the evening, Zeke follows me like a sick child needing comfort. After the excruciating pain he endured today, I allow him. I am almost asleep when Zeke‘s whimpers silence and Jake creeps through the bedroom door.

  Jake forces Zeke to waken by patting him on the tummy.

  “You’re not sleeping here tonight, Zeke. There’s not enough room for all three of us.”

  Zeke whimpers as Jake leads him through the door and down the stairs. Jake examines his nose before allowing him to hop onto the couch to rest for the night. I hear Jake climb the stairs. He lies next to me on top of the bed.