Graham's Resolution Trilogy Bundle: Books 1-3

by A. R. Shaw

  Sam broke into her thoughts. “Let’s not waste time, guys. I’ll lead in. Marcy, you stay between me and Mark. Remember, no noise, and follow my lead once we get into the clearing. I’ll signal for you two to head out separately. Remember each other’s location. I do not want any accidents. Long, slow, ten-second steps, then stillness; be observant. If the coast is clear, keep your eyes peeled, and wait for a clean shot. Once you shoot they’ll scatter, and that will be the end of the hunt here for the rest of us. Any questions before we start?”

  Marcy and Mark shook their heads. Marcy’s excitement level grew. Let the hunt begin.

  They made their way down the draw with the wind in their faces and slowly crept into the clearing of a snow-covered valley where spiked sprigs of native grasses held bravest and strong through many layers of snow. This is where the deer would come: their hunger would bring them to these few remaining grasses.

  Sam turned and motioned with his left hand to his chin, up and down. Marcy remembered that meant for each of them to move at a different angle. This way the three of them each took a separate route into the valley. In their camouflage gear they headed forward at a slow, careful pace. So as not to alert the deer’s sense of movement, never did two of them take their ten-second pace at the same time. All three moved forward with the keenly heightened sense of a hunter.

  The snow made the hush of the valley nearly unbearable to Marcy. Her breath vaporized in front of her and then trailed backward. She perceived most strongly the beat of her own heart pounding in her chest. Her steps were clean and guided. She looked to Mark, a few yards away, for encouragement; he nodded gently in approval as she finished bringing her foot down slowly and without a sound. Next it was his turn to move. Her eyes scanned the valley, the hidden dark brush against the contrasting white, looking for any hint of brown or movement of a tail or twitch of an ear.

  Getting used to wearing the gear was difficult; Marcy thought Sam had gone a little too far with his requirements for hunting. She wasn’t allowed to use scented soaps, deodorant, or anything even remotely perfumed; even lip balm and lotion were forbidden. Not only that, but Sam claimed the deer could detect the color blue, so she was forced to wear brown canvas pants. They weren’t nearly as soft as her worn denim jeans, and her left upper thigh itched terribly as she stood still, resisting the urge to scratch. She didn’t want to be the cause of a lost hunt by triggering the prey to scatter.

  In her peripheral vision, Marcy saw Sam make this careful move. Mark nodded slightly again, signaling her to begin her next step. She’d already planned to maneuver around a clump of desiccated brush that would separate her farther from the group. As she began the careful process of lifting her right leg, she saw a twitch far out to her left side and froze.

  Macy’s heart began to pound even faster. She knew this was it. Turning her head very slightly toward Mark she could see that his mouth was a tight thin line, and he tipped his head down to encourage her to take the shot.

  Both terrified and intent, she glided her eyes ever so slightly toward her target. A doe with warm brown eyes stood with her head down, munching her way through the sparse grass, and her breath snorted out in little whips about her. The doe was beautiful, yet Marcy knew what she must do.

  She swallowed and slowly brought her rifle down into position. Her hands shook from both the adrenaline rush and the regret racing through her veins. She sighted the deer, aiming for her heart, hoping to end it as painlessly as possible, not wanting to cause her to suffer. She knew Mark was getting impatient with the time she was taking. Before she let too much regret take her over, she pulled the trigger with measured determination. All erupted around her. Unseen birds took flight, and hidden deer startled well before she heard the explosion erupt near her ear, sending it ringing.

  In horror, she saw the doe leap with a graceful motion as the bullet hit its side, but then it fell to a heap on the frozen ground. What once was beautiful now was gone, and Marcy fell to her knees, heedless of the idea of cautious motion, profoundly weeping for herself and the doe.

  Mark took paces to comfort her. “You did what was needed, Marcy. Remember what Graham says: don’t regret.”

  Macy nodded, wiping away her tears.

  Sam passed by them on his way to the doe, then stooped to survey her kill. “Good girl, Marcy. It’s a clean shot.”

  Marcy chalked it up as a lucky first strike. If anything, she hadn’t wanted it to suffer and thus to force her into tracking it down to finish it off; she’d been warned beforehand that might be necessary. This way she’d proved she could do it once, and cleanly.

  Feeling the cold sting of snow melting into the knees of her pants, she rose and Mark led her to the downed deer, holding her gently by the hand. She held her other hand over her mouth and nose, hoping to stifle her emotions. Her chest still shook as she breathed in and her throat locked.

  The brown doe’s eyes were open as if she were still alive. Marcy wanted the doe to think she had made her free and wished she could believe the doe’s soul was in a peaceful spring green meadow.

  She knelt down next to Sam and removed her glove. As a mule deer, the doe was larger than a whitetail, and her ears were so large they looked out of proportion to her head. Underneath her neck was a lighter patch of fur. Marcy ran her fingers from there down her sleek neck, fading to grayish brown. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, tears still streaming.

  Sam patted her on the back.

  “I’m sorry I’m upset. It’s just harder than I thought,” she tried to explain.

  “It shows you’re human, Marcy. A kill should never be wasted. You’ve done a good thing here. You’ve provided meat to stave off hunger for our family this winter.” He patted her again. “Why don’t you stand back this time and watch how to field dress? Mark will do most of it.”

  She gladly stepped back several paces, being careful not to trip over her snowshoes while Mark took out a Ziploc bag and a shoestring. He stood over the deer as Marcy watched with her arms crossed over her chest. He seemed to be contemplating something. “Marcy, you’re not going to hold this against me, right?”

  “Field dressing the deer? No, of course not.”

  Mark blew a sigh of relief. “Okay, I just wanted to make sure before I started.”

  Sam chuckled at the exchange.

  “Go ahead,” she reassured Mark, wiping her tears away. She wanted him to see she could be strong.

  Blood already seeped down from the chest wound into the surrounding snow, turning white to scarlet. A little also trickled out of the doe’s mouth.

  Mark readied the tip of his knife, stood on the doe’s leg with his back to her head, and rested the right hoof on his right knee. He bent down and pulled up on the doe’s teat, lifting the fur and skin away from the insides. He slid the tip below the skin and sliced her down through the belly, being extra careful not to nick any of the intestines.

  As he came to the rear, he reached in and closed off the bowel with the shoestring. He cut around the anus on the outside, then tipped the guts out of the deer’s cavity by running his hand through the warm mass. Steam rose, and again, Marcy cupped her mouth and nose; nothing smelled, but the bloody sight alarmed her. Mark then separated the liver and the heart and placed them into the Ziploc bag. The rest of the guts would be a treat for any animals nearby—a steaming present for them to enjoy.

  He handed the bag off to Marcy, who held it and felt the warmth of the animal through the plastic.

  After Mark hoisted the doe over his shoulders, Sam said, “Great job, crew. Let’s move on.”

  They headed back to the truck, this time taking fluid steps with the snowshoes on. As the two men headed out in front of her, Marcy stopped before they left the valley and looked back across the snowy meadow where now the pristine whiteness was stained by a scarlet mound in the distance. The cold wind changed direction and blew the grass stalks south, chilling her. She blinked back falling snowflakes. What was once peaceful now seemed foreboding. />
  9 Whiteout

  Hitting the windshield faster than the wipers kept up, the snowfall came down like a cascading tatted drape. Sam, nearly unable to get a glimpse through the veil, cursed the storm. He knew it wouldn’t let up anytime soon. The tires struggled through the deepening snow, though the Scout was in four-wheel drive.

  “We’re going to have to stop,” Mark concluded.

  Sam nodded. They had no other choice. Since they’d left the first hunting spot, the weather had grown increasingly bad. Not only that, the wind was picking up past a howl. Yesterday morning’s clear sky had given no warning of these formidable conditions to come. They’d have to find a place out of the freezing temperatures and hole up through the storm.

  “Yeah, I’m trying to drive over to that house there. Can you make out the structure now?” Sam said, pointing.

  “Barely.” Mark leaned forward to gain a better view through the vertical blanket of snow.

  “At least we won’t freeze to death inside,” Sam said as he headed down to where he hoped the driveway led to the farmhouse, which sat in the middle of an open snow-covered field.

  Marcy had fallen asleep after shooting her first kill. In the mirror, Sam saw a flicker of motion as she sat up.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  Sam glanced at Mark, saw him clench his jaw and draw in his eyebrows, frowning as if in contemplation of how much to reveal to her. He nodded to the youth. They were in this together. All of them. Marcy had a right to know.

  Mark still tried to downplay the danger. “We’ve hit a little snowstorm,” he said. “We’re going to hide out until the blizzard passes, in a house down here.”

  Mark glanced briefly at Sam as if to say, She doesn’t need the full extent of this. Though he didn’t fully agree, Sam gave him a subtle nod. He’d probably have done the same thing if it was his wife involved; momentarily it caused him to think back to the time before she died.

  Marcy sat up and immediately looked out—all around, front to back, side to side. The view out each window of the Scout was completely opaque. The snow crunching below the tires was audible even over the vicious sound of the wind against the side of the truck, shaking the vehicle from side to side with a terrible force. From the worried look on her face, Sam knew Mark’s calling it “a little snowstorm” hadn’t really fooled Marcy.

  “What if we can’t get to the house?” He heard her breathing rasp in and out, too quickly. Was Marcy claustrophobic?

  “Don’t worry, girl. We’ll be fine in the truck,” Sam said. “A bit colder, but fine.” The temperature dropped quickly, and he knew they’d have a hard time staying warm in the truck cab, but Mark’s idea of soft-pedaling the danger might not be so wrong. Marcy didn’t need to be aware of the precariousness of their situation yet.

  The harshness of the season made no sense. As the pandemic affected human life, so too did the weather seem hell-bent on damning the earth.

  “Are we going to be able to drive over there?” Marcy asked.

  Sam leaned into the windshield, trying to maneuver in the direction of the house. At the same time he fought unpredictable wind gusts blowing him first one way and then the other, banking the truck rudely to either side. “Too early to say yet,” he replied after an anxious moment that lingered too long.

  As he got even closer, the snow seemed to increase even more, if that were possible. “I’m worried about running into a ditch,” he said. “Mark, open your door and see if you can detect anything, like an indentation where a drainage ditch might be. I think we’re on the driveway, but I can’t tell.”

  Mark opened his door about five inches, but just then the wind shifted and blew an opaque stream of snow into the cab. That blinded Sam even more and he hollered, “Okay, shut the door!”

  Mark slammed it, straining hard against the wind. “I can’t tell. Everything is so white. I’ve never seen winter conditions this bad. I’ve lived in this area all my life.”

  Sam saw an expression of terror on Marcy’s face as she leaned forward from the backseat, between him and Mark. “It’s okay,” he told her. “We’ll be fine. Once we get into that house, we’ll start a fire and warm up.” They sat silently, listening to the raging storm with eerie contemplation as the truck crept along.

  “I thought you said this would be the last safe time to go on a hunt,” Marcy said, her tone accusatory.

  “Marcy!” Mark snapped. “The weather is not Sam’s fault.”

  “It’s all right, Mark,” Sam said. “She’s just scared.”

  As he said the words meant to calm the both of them, the truck slid and then dipped down on the driver’s side. After letting up off the gas, Sam put his foot on the brake. He stopped and tried reverse, hoping to gain some traction but, it was no use. He gave the gas pedal a tentative push, but the wheel only spun, then the whole tire dipped down into an invisible gully. He knew not to try again; it would risked digging the truck’s tires in deeper.

  After turning off the engine and shifting into park, he cut the headlights. “No sense in draining the battery. Mark, hand me the spotlight,” Sam said in the pitch dark as blasts of wind rocked the truck. They could only sit, a captive audience to the weather’s tantrum.

  Mark got the battery-powered spotlight going, but all it did was reflect its light back against the snow. However hard Sam tried, he couldn’t make out a damn thing ahead of them. The last time he’d glimpsed the house, he’d guessed they were about a quarter of a mile away, but now it couldn’t be more than a hundred feet in the distance. Yet there was no way he trusted walking that far without the risk of getting lost in the snow and freezing temperatures and missing their salvation all together.

  “Well, hell,” Sam said, when nothing better came to mind. He shut off the spotlight, and the three of them let the sound of the wind settle around them for a time.

  “We can’t even spot the house from here?” Marcy asked.

  “Barely, but I don’t know if we should risk taking a chance on foot in these conditions,” Sam said.

  “Do we have more rope?” Mark asked.

  “Yeah. I know what you’re thinkin,’ but I’m not so sure blindly going out there, even tethered with a rope, is a good idea right now,” Sam warned.

  “Look. I can run a line from the truck and make my way to the house. If I can’t find the house, I’ll just walk back,” Mark argued. By this time the howling wind had picked up even more and they were nearly shouting to one another, to be heard.

  “Let’s wait a while. The storm might die down some,” Sam advised; he silently cursed himself, knowing they were now stuck in a snowstorm. He looked out his side window into the blizzard and thought of Addy and his promise to her—knowing, no matter what the cost, he would keep his word.

  10 Precautions

  After signing off the radio, Tala checked on Ennis. His heavy lids blinked as he stared into the woodstove, and his expression bore the look of pained frustration. In any event, he hadn’t moved much. She knelt down beside him and felt his shins, to make sure he wasn’t getting too much radiant heat from the fire. When he noticed her, she smiled at him in response.

  “Are you in terrible pain? Would you like to go lie down, sleep a little and let the meds work?”

  He nodded, so she helped him up and guided him into the bunkroom and told him when to sit down as she backed him into the bunk mattress. He did so willingly, like a child being led by his mother, and chuckled at her attentiveness. Then she helped him lie down and covered him up with his blanket, then added another one since the bunkroom felt cold and drafty. He looked up at her with worry in his eyes. He whispered, “Whatever is bothering you, missy, trust Graham to do the right thing with your worries.” His eyelids fluttered closed. She suspected he might be worn out from fighting the pain for so long. He couldn’t possibly know what troubled her, and she shut the bunkroom door to let him rest.

  When her tears started to fall, she brushed them away and hurried into the bathroom to find th
e medical kit she and Clarisse had talked about earlier. She willed each step closer by consolation and a little bit of self-bargaining. The med kit from the preppers included almost everything they needed except for the one thing Ennis needed.

  After first putting aside a large tome of medication definitions Graham had found somewhere on his journey here, she pulled the kit out from under the sink. It was an olive drab nylon backpack that strapped on at a moment’s notice if they needed to bug out. She brushed over the various paper-wrapped bandages, pain medication packs, vials of ointment, and prefilled Epi pens until she found the packets of birth control pills rubber-banded together toward the back. She took out two one-month packs for the girls and set them on the counter. Then she looked for the pregnancy test wands.

  She hadn’t told Clarisse what she suspected. The given advice would be to terminate, because they just weren’t sure what would happen to a new life.

  She and Clarisse had talked openly about most things over the past several months, but Tala just couldn’t part with this suspicion—not yet. Her cycle hadn’t regulated since her miscarriage. It had come and gone, but never regulated as in normal times. Stress made cycles irregular, but a late period coupled with morning nausea reminded her of her previous pregnancy and the devastating loss.

  She had been taking the pills Clarisse gave to her, but she had also been intimate with Graham on more than one occasion. She loved him, and they needed each other, especially now.

  Her hand brushed over a few paper-wrapped sticks standing upright. She read the black military lettering and pulled one out. As she held the test kit before her, the package vibrated as her hands trembled. The answers and implications were within reach; all the decisions she’d have to face, flashed before her. With a small window of privacy, with only Ennis resting in the cabin, she thought now would be the best time to go ahead and get the procedure over with so she’d know for sure. She quickly zipped up the medical kit and returned it to its place under the sink.