Years After Series | Book 1 | Nine Years After

by Clary, LeRoy

  There were cool grasses and bare dirt under me. A tan canvas tent above, one not too clean. It smelled old and of mildew. There were voices outside. All male, from the sounds of them.

  Mayfield. Her name throbbed in my head. Mayfield. Mayfield.

  The bad dream turned worse as I remembered the man emerging from behind the trunk of the tree. The flash of his gun. My returning shot. Mayfield was dead. I’d touched her and knew even before I’d seen the milky, open eyes in the dim light. Tears flowed and eventually softened the dried blood enough for both eyes could open.

  Cap was also dead.

  Cap and Mayfield.

  I twisted and rolled as I peered around. There was no one in the tent but me.

  Tess? I couldn’t think straight. She was missing. Mayfield was dead. No matter what I thought, the next thought to enter my mind was the same. Mayfield was dead.

  Not that I blamed myself. We’d done our best to escape and take Tess with us. I couldn’t live with the guilt of having done less.

  Memories from long ago flooded back as if they occurred today. A footrace she had lost and her temper tantrum. A spelling contest she had won. Hand-to-hand combat practice with sweat covering us so it was impossible to gain a grip on the other. She was smaller, thinner, and quicker. We’d both chalked up wins and losses.

  When I did less than my best, it was her disapproving looks that made me try harder. When I’d excelled, it was her face I saw that smiled and encouraged me.

  I shut my eyes to refuse to continue thinking about her and concentrate on what was happening now. It didn’t work. My misery went on and on.

  The door flap was thrown open. A harsh voice behind me said, “He’s awake.”

  “Drag his ass out here.”

  Hands from two men went under my armpits none too gently, and I was lifted and drug outside. A fire pit had flames, and four men sat around it, each on a log. The white river was behind them.

  Off to my left was our tent. They had taken over our meadow.

  They wore similar clothing, patched and mended, but they were the same sort the army we’d followed and killed wore. One was the leader. He wore three stripes on his left sleeve.

  The men were all young, not much older than me, and probably under twenty. Only the one with the stripes approached thirty. “Put him down here where I can talk to him.”

  His finger pointed to the ground in front of him. I fell limply at his feet.

  “Who are you?” he asked in a calm voice that chilled me despite the heat of the afternoon.

  “Danner. My name is Danner,” I clarified.

  He leaned forward and swung a backhand fist that snapped my neck when it connected with my cheek. “I didn’t ask your damn name. I said, who are you?”

  In the best of times, with a clear mind, that would have been a hard question to answer. Instead, I said, “Tell me what you want to know.”

  He held up one of our rifles and shook it at me as if that would make his question clearer as he shouted, “Who are you?”

  My pain was pushed back down, being replaced in equal measure by anger. Knowing what was about to happen, I decided to answer incorrectly. I said shortly, “Danner.”

  The butt of the rifle struck the side of my head. I was out again.

  When I awoke from water being poured over me, it was near sundown. The same man sat in the same place, the same rifle in his hands. It was as if he hadn’t moved or had a new thought while I’d been out.

  “Explain,” he said.

  Lies come easy to some. It’s always been that way with me. “I think it was about twelve or fifteen days ago, two of us were kicked out of a government shelter. We’d been there for nine years.”

  “And they gave you these weapons because you are so pretty?”

  “They wanted something from me. We were supposed to look around and report back to them what we found up here. Is it safe for them to come up? What are the dangers? That sort of thing.” My mouth was not working right, the words were stilted, and it was painful to speak.

  “Where was this shelter?”

  I snorted. “If we knew, we’d have gone back down after the first day. We got turned around and can’t find it again.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  The results of our sunburns were still evident. I said as I held out my arms for him to examine, “The sun turned us bright red and we had a fever. For a few days, I don’t know what we did. When we tried to find our way back, we got more lost. I have no idea of where we are now and can’t even point in the direction of the shelter. Can I have a drink?”

  “How many weapons like this are down there?”

  “I don’t think many. They made me promise to bring them back.” I slowed my words and slurred a few. Not that my mind had recovered totally, but at least the ringing in my ears was less and my stubbornness was kicking in. I’d tell him what I had to, mixed with lies he couldn’t prove.

  The guy sitting in front of me thought he held all the cards. He did for now, but there was always a new deal in any game. When and if I had the chance, he would die. That decided, I felt better.

  “We sent a squad of soldiers, recruits on a training mission, up this way over a week ago. They were supposed to stay here a few days and return. They haven’t. Know anything about that?”

  “I don’t know who you are and with my head pounding from the kick one of you gave it, I can’t concentrate on anything. Can we please talk later?”

  His voice grew stern, impatient. “Have you seen other men dressed like us? In blue? The army of Sir Wilson? He’s going to be very interested to hear what you have to say. I think a generous reward is coming my way for capturing you. Anything to say about that?”

  “Never seen men dressed like you. Fact is, we haven’t seen but one old man with a dog that chased us until we go away.”

  “Why did they kick the four of you out? What’d you do?”

  He believed it was four of us. If I agreed and Tess was alive and told the truth, we’d probably both be beaten for the lie. Things that can be checked easily should be the truth. “It is two of us. We met the others when they were tracking a killer. What about that water?”

  He eyed me in the superior way the four rulers in Deep Hole had. He had no compassion or as little as they had. He motioned with his hand. “Throw his ass back in the tent. I need to think about this.”

  Without offering me the water I craved, two of them picked me up again, almost dislocating my shoulders as they did, and carried me back to the filthy tent, one holding my legs, the other my arms. I swung between. They roughly shoved me inside. I fell face first, my cheek taking most of the brunt, before rolling over.

  My mouth was dry. My vision swam. My head pounded.

  I was alive.

  I relaxed. At least, they were not beating me at the moment. Exhaustion took over and I slept.

  A hand placed firmly over my mouth woke me. Lips near my ear said, “Don’t make a sound.”

  It was Tess. She cut the ropes on my hands and feet and massaged them to life while I tried not to cry out in pain. They stung painfully as the blood rushed to extremities.

  She whispered, “We’re getting out of here.”

  If crawling across cactus spines would get us away, I was up for it. If escape involved walking or running, my legs were refusing but I’d get them working.

  Tess pulled a handgun from her waistband, a revolver from the brief look at it in the dim light. That meant only five or six shots, at most. Holding it in her right hand, she put her left shoulder under my arm and helped me stand, much like Mayfield had done with her. We turned to face the knife-cut in the rear of the tent. She had slashed it open from head-high to the bottom.

  That told me several things. The first was that she had taken the knife and weapons from someone else. Next, she could have escaped on her own and left me. I was worthless against trained soldiers who knew how to live and function on the surface. Last, she had come for me. I coul
d do no less than my best to escape, if for no other reason than to help get her free.

  She pulled the canvas aside and poked her head out before pulling me along with her as we stepped quietly through and into the darkness. I wanted to cry out in pain with each unsteady step. Holding it inside was like having cramps. The pain became my center of the universe.

  The coolness of the night air felt good on my heated face and I realized I had a fever. My body was soaked in sweat.

  She steered us carefully and slowly under the darker shadows of the nearest trees, making almost no noise, then once we were away several steps, she speeded up, not so careful about the noise we made. I limped along.

  Instead of getting more tired, as would be expected, stretching my muscles helped. Blood ran to my hands and feet and feeling returned. The prospect of getting away helped too. It was becoming a reality.

  Tess put the gun away in her waistband and pulled me to move faster. I did my best to comply.

  There were no shots behind us, no warning shouts of discovery, and we continued stumbling along. She insisted we climb a hill, and once on top, she paused to examine the valley floor as if searching for something. Then, she changed our direction slightly and we descended.

  I’d heard them talking while in the tent. Sir Wilson was not entitled to the word, “sir” in front of his name. He liked to dress and act like Irish royalty and sometimes claimed he was part of that family several generations ago.

  They said Wilson was an Irish name, and he was a descendant of the rightful crown of England that had been exiled to that island, or some concocted, convoluted story. How he got to the west coast of America wasn’t discussed. What was, was that his men, the few we’d heard, had little respect for anything but the leadership he displayed. Behind his back, he was disliked and something of a joke. His soldiers were uniformed outlaws.

  There had been more, much more to the story, but I only remembered parts of it. I let my mind concentrate on those memories in case there was something of value in them. Besides, it kept me from thinking about Mayfield.

  The slope we traveled down was gentle, and we emerged onto the flat valley floor and followed a split-rail fence until she was satisfied at the distance. We climbed over the fence awkwardly and moved across a pasture with sheep that parted to let us pass. We headed directly for the farmhouse. It was like the sheep respected us. Or feared us.

  A dog growled a warning. Tess pulled to a stop and knelt as she called, “Here boy. It’s me. Come get your belly scratched.”

  A black and white dog that stood as tall as my waist hesitantly emerged from the shadows, then as it recognized Tess, it ran to her, tail wagging. She greeted it and then hurried us to the rear door of the small house where she tapped quietly on the door.

  It opened a minute later. A disheveled man held a shotgun pointed at her middle.

  “It’s me. Tess. Sir Wilson’s men are after us.”

  “How far behind?” He didn’t question her as to why as he stood the rifle inside the door.

  “We’re going to steal two horses and leave them at Russian Creek Crossing. I wanted to let you know so you can go get them.”

  A slight woman in a long dress pushed her way past the man and said to him. “Saddle the horses and by then I’ll have some food ready. Help them, dear. Be quick about it.”

  The man came outside barefoot. He ignored whatever he might step in or on. At the barn, he grabbed a saddle from a wooden table and Tess took the next. They went to a stall where three horses were nervously gathered, watching and listening to our activity. They tossed the saddles on a pair of them and started tightening straps and other things while I slid to the floor and closed my eyes.

  I heard Tess say, “When they get here, tell them we stole the horses and rode north. I don’t want them knowing we’re related.”

  “Isn’t that the way you’re going?” He asked, obviously not understanding why he couldn’t lie to protect her.

  “At first,” she said. “We’ll be seen and reported by others, so don’t lie.”

  “How much trouble are you in?” he asked.

  “Too much. Do not get involved. You do not know me. Get angry that we stole your horses and first thing in the morning, at daylight, ride to town and report the theft. Organize a search party if you can. Do it before Sir Wilson’s men get here. That’s important. Act mad. Go hunting us with your shotgun. That will convince them none of you are involved.”

  They helped me into the saddle, never asking if I knew how to ride. It must have been obvious I didn’t. The woman brought a piece of cloth tied with a string. It looked heavy. Inside was food enough to last days.

  Again, no request for an explanation or anger that Tess was bringing soldiers into their lives. Without words, that would have been enough to tell me they were family.

  Tess took the reins of my horse and led us outside, then up a long drive to the road. We didn’t look back, she didn’t thank them, and that reinforced a blood relationship where such things are not needed.

  The saddle bounced me up and down. I flopped from side to side, front to back.

  Tess said, “Don’t sit. Do a sort of squat, supporting yourself with your feet. Keep your butt a few inches off the seat when it comes up.

  I did as she said, and it helped—until my thighs started protesting. She was ahead of me and I watched how she managed. She sat in the saddle as it reached the bottom and raised, with her in it. Then she remained crouched until the saddle came to the top again. It was regular and gave her legs a rest every few seconds.

  Copying her manner of riding was harder than expected, but the brief relaxation on the downward movement gave my leg a chance to recover. As my riding improved, she increased the pace of her horse and mine followed suit to stay up with it. When daybreak came, she kept riding on the road instead of attempting to hide our presence or destination on back trails. That puzzled me for many reasons. She did not attempt to conceal our direction or passing.

  Farmers came out to begin their day and workers started spreading hay to dry in the sun along with other chores. Dozens of them saw us. She didn’t wave. She also didn’t hide.

  I liked figuring things out for myself when asking a few questions would serve me better because I didn’t always reach the correct conclusions. It made sense that the army would follow behind us on foot. They would hear about the theft of two horses and would ask farmers about seeing two riders around dawn. We would be remembered. Some would point the direction we traveled even if others refused to talk.

  I managed to urge my horse to go faster and ride beside Tess. I asked, “Why are we doing this? I mean, going the wrong way.”

  “They’re going to follow us, no matter what we do. They will have the best trackers after us, and rewards will be offered. Sir Wilson will want more of the weapons and ammo you had. He’ll send platoons of soldiers after us, but since we’re riding in the direction of Steven’s Pass, he’ll believe we are going to cross over the mountains and escape there into the vastness of Eastern Washington. That’s where he’ll send his men on horseback to intercept us. The top of the pass.”

  “We’re not crossing over?” I asked, thinking about Mitch and Montana and feeling a flash of disappointment.

  “As soon as we let the horses go, they’ll head home. Or, a farmer will capture them and see the brand, so he knows who they belong to. He’ll send word to my uncle. We’ll double back and spend a few days walking in the forest while the army thinks we are moving in the opposite direction. I have a few other plans, too.”

  I rode on, tired, sore, and my mind dull. The kick to my head had done more damage than I’d believed. Any train of thought only lasted a short time and then faded off.

  Again, and again, I thought of Mayfield. Her death would not sink in. I wouldn’t accept it. My mind tried all sorts of dodges to the truth. I was dreaming. She had only been wounded. And more. Anything but face the truth. I felt sorrier for myself than for her.

  We r
ode past more farms, more workers. The speed of the horses remained constant and as I was being thankful for that, and for the horses moving faster than a pursuing soldier, another thought hit me so strongly that I almost fell from my saddle.

  Cap was also dead. Tess’s Cap. I had only thought of Mayfield and me since waking. She had put her feelings aside and rescued me.

  What a poor friend I was. Words escaped me. I started crying.

  Tess said, “Mayfield?”

  “No,” I slobbered through a rush of tears as I tried speaking. “You. And Cap. I’m sorry.”

  “You have other things to worry about. Besides, that kick to your head has your thinking messed up.”

  “But you lost him.”

  She sat taller. “Shut up about it. I’ll mourn when we have time.”

  The tears didn’t stop. She quit looking in my direction. I understood she was holding everything inside and I admired that she could. I couldn’t.

  Maybe it was the kick to my head. I was never very considerate of others before. I loved to defeat them in a game of poker and give them jobs like mopping the workroom floor for twenty minutes as payment.

  I had also enjoyed beating Mayfield at almost any contest. And, if I admitted it, I loved it when she beat me, too. Without her, the world was different. I wouldn’t try as hard to be successful because she was not there to appreciate it.

  I finally turned to Tess after wiping my eyes dry. “When we get away, what are your plans?”

  “Go home, I guess.”

  “You can’t do that,” I said. “Maybe you can sneak in and out to talk to your friends for a few moments, but even that will be dangerous. Sir Wilson will have your home watched. He wants either one of us badly.”

  “I don’t know where those guns are stored. I’ll tell them that.”