by J. Reichman
“I’ll stay until all the pets are gone,” Herb said. “Prissy’s got to go. Meet up with our two kids, you know.”
“I already collected eleven cat carriers,” Prissy said. “Need twenty-two more. We got fifteen dogs.”
“Does that count Duke and Dolly at our house?” Lyn asked.
“Oh, I forgot them,” Prissy said. “Make that twenty-four.”
“Doak and I will move the daycare generator to Brett’s house tomorrow,” Steve said.
“Good,” Shannon said. “I can take my plants over.”
“You seem very organized,” Marshal Reid said.
“We’ve been isolated since last Thursday,” Stella said. “We’ve had lots of time to get organized.”
“Had good leadership, too,” Cooper said.
I’ll have to tell Nick what Cooper just said, Lyn thought. I don’t think he’s referring to Chuck.
“The next evacuation helicopter will come day after tomorrow, weather permitting,” Lyn said.
“Why the wait?” Chrissy asked.
“That’s when Brett and the group planned to return,” Lyn said. “Only twenty of us left. Two flights and we’ll all be gone.”
THIRTY-THREE
Nick knew his care was inadequate, but he’d done what he could for the two men. The bullet Jeff fired at Holmes had angled downward through his chest, missing the breast ribs, but hitting a rib under his arm before exiting. Nick cleaned, treated and bandaged the wounds and gave the man painkillers. Wade tied the man’s hands, declaring him no marshal. As Nick had seen the man aim at Wade, he agreed. The man would live.
Nick believed the killer would not. Red streaks from Teddy’s deep claw marks in his biceps ran up and down his swollen arm. Lyn’s bear had sealed the killer’s fate. Fingers showed the blackened sign of gangrene, and the arm smelled of rotted flesh. The man rambled, making no sense, but experienced intermittent periods of lucidity. Nick administered all his antibiotics but knew they wouldn’t save him. Jeff said to let him die, but Nick was a doctor not a judge. He believed amputation might give him a chance, but amputation without sterile equipment or anesthesia? Nick debated what to do.
Wade and Jeff returned from the helicopter with the abandoned supplies and the pilot’s body. Luckily, flames hadn’t spread to the cockpit. The pilot’s body rested in a sleeping bag beside Brett’s body. Damaged in the crash, they found the helicopter’s radio inoperable.
Six men and two bodies crowded the tent which could comfortably sleep five. It rustled and flexed in a cold north wind. Nick knew they had eight horses for the eight men—two injured and two dead—and only five saddles. Wade believed with one riding bareback they could make the ride back to North Fork Glen tomorrow, leaving the supplies and the tent. Nick felt apprehensive about that. His hip hurt from landing on that rock yesterday, and the morning’s ride had aggravated it further. He doubted he could manage a full day in the saddle. He prayed for help as they shared a cold meal in the tent.
Carl stirred.
Nick felt the killer's forehead. "You awake?"
Carl mumbled a reply.
"Want something to eat?"
Carl leaned up on his elbows. "Water."
Nick gave him a bottle of water.
"Thanks."
"I've part of a sandwich." Nick offered it to him.
The killer took it.
"We need to talk." Nick pealed an orange. "Your condition is serious."
Carl glanced at Nick and swallowed the food in his mouth. "You're the doctor?"
"Yes." Nick separated the orange slices and gave the killer half. "Your wounds. They've festered. They're releasing poison into your system."
"You gave me something for that. I remember."
"I gave you all I had. It won't stop it but there's a way to give you a chance."
"A chance? You're saying I could die?"
Nick nodded.
"What's this chance?"
"Amputate the arm."
Carl shook his head violently. "No way!" He backed off.
"I know it sounds radical." Nick touched Carl's shoulder. "Look at me."
Carl turned. "I won't let you do it."
"It's your only chance."
"Chance! What kind of chance is that?"
"It's better than being dead."
"I've been dead for seven years." Carl curled up in a fetal position on the sleeping bag. "Go away!"
Damn it! I failed.
A violent gust shook the tent which vibrated and snapped. Jeff carried saddles into the enclosure.
"It's crowded enough in here," Chuck said.
"Use them as pillows." Jeff left the tent again.
"You'll be glad of a dry saddle in the morning." Wade placed a saddle at the top of his sleeping bag.
"And we have only three sleeping bags for the five of us," Chuck said. "I vote we leave the marshal out."
Jeff re-entered with the final saddle and an armful of saddle blankets. The next gust to hit the tent carried a spattering of raindrops.
"I can use the saddle blankets," Nick said.
"We'll put them on the floor and cover up with a sleeping bag," Wade suggested.
Carl turned toward Nick. "If you did it, what would my chances be?"
Nick considered for a few seconds. "Fifty-fifty."
"And without it?"
Nick didn't reply.
"Dead certain?"
"I could be wrong but I doubt it."
"I'm betting my life you're wrong."
The men prepared for the night.
Nick helped the killer remove his shoes and climb into his sleeping bag next to Brett's body. “Wade says you know the marshal.”
“No marshal. Name isn’t even Holmes,” Carl said. “Hired to kill me.”
“Why?”
“Long story.”
“Why would he shoot Wade?”
“Leave no witnesses.”
Nick zipped the killer into the sleeping bag.
Holmes sat next to Chuck who attempted to unroll his sleeping bag. "You're in the way."
"Chuck, you and Nick stand over there by the flap," Jeff said. "Wade and I will arrange things." He unrolled a bag at the back of the tent and helped the marshal to it.
"Shouldn't we tie his hands again?" Chuck said.
"The man can't walk without help," Jeff said.
"What about that guy?" Chuck pointed to Carl.
"He's not going anywhere," Nick said.
"We'll get murdered in our sleep."
Wade placed the saddle blankets on the tent floor and put two saddles at the head of them. He unrolled a bag, unzipped it and lay it out flat on top of the blankets. "You and me." He motioned to Nick.
Everyone bedded down. Jeff reached up and dimmed the light. Wind and rain lashed and rattled the tent. Lightning flashed followed by far-off thunder. His head on a saddle and Wade crowding him on the left, Nick pulled the sleeping bag up to his shoulders and turned onto his right side. He lay awake for a long time. Two killers in the tent, one hired to kill the other. The assassin injured; the sadist dying. We should have tied them, Nick thought. Even injured as they are, they are violent men. Nick only realized he'd been sleeping when Wade woke him by putting on his boots.
"Sorry," Wade whispered. "One of the disadvantages of getting older." He unzipped the flap and went out.
Nick leaned up on his elbow and looked around at the sleeping men. Wind still battered the tent but without the accompanying sharp patter of rain. Sweat sheened Carl's forehead. Nick opened the man's sleeping bag to cool him as Wade returned.
"A dusting of snow out there." Wade sat to remove his boots. He lay down and adjusted his blanket. "My knee says we'll have fine weather tomorrow." He turned his back.
Nick closed his eyes and thought of Lyn. What’s she done today? Did the sheriff fly in? The marshal. How did he know where to find Carl? Nora. Did she give him directions? Sleep overtook him. Sometime later, he was jarred awake. The wind still pummeled the tent, an
d he thought the noise must have awakened him. A nagging feeling settled over him. Something was wrong. He sat up and looked around. Carl's sleeping bag lay empty.
THIRTY-FOUR
“Wade!” Nick’s shout roused the sleeping men. “Carl’s gone!”
Wade threw off his cover and stared at the empty space beside Nick. On the other side of the tent, Jeff stood and turned up the hanging lantern. The tent’s door flap fluttered in the breeze.
“He won’t get far,” Jeff said.
“Especially without his shoes.” Nick held Carl’s shoes in his hand.
“Told you we should’ve tied him up,” Chuck said. “This guy, too.” He pointed to the sleeping marshal.
Jeff opened the tent’s flap. “A little light in the east. Let’s mount up, Wade.”
“I’ll go, too,” Nick said.
“And leave me alone with Holmes?” Chuck scrambled to his feet.
“Wade knows the area,” Jeff said. “I’ll stick to the stream. You got a patient here, Nick.”
Wade lifted a saddle and a blanket. “I’ll call the horses.” He left the tent.
Reminded of his responsibility, Nick shook the marshal’s shoulder. “Hey, Holmes.”
The man didn’t respond.
Nick felt the man’s forehead. No fever. That’s good. “Wake up.”
Still no response.
Nick rolled Holmes onto his back. With his eyes closed, the man seemed to be sleeping peacefully. Nick checked for a neck pulse. Nothing? He opened one of the man’s eyelids. Fixed.
“What’s wrong?” Chuck asked.
“Don’t know.” Nick sat back on his heels. “I must’ve missed something.”
Jeff knelt and unzipped the sleeping bag. Blood pooled on the man’s chest. “Stab wound. Killed in his sleep.”
“You didn’t miss anything,” Chuck said. “How could he do that with the rest of us sleeping inches away?”
“Practice,” Nick said. “He’s good with a knife.”
“We’ll bring him back.” Jeff picked up a saddle blanket and a saddle. “You two break camp while we’re gone.” He left the tent.
Nick zipped Holmes into the sleeping bag. Another death. At least this one makes more sense than Brett’s dying.
Nick fretted as he rolled up the remaining sleeping bags. It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t told Carl he was dying, the man wouldn’t have killed Holmes and taken off the way he did. I’m supposed to cure people not drive them to murder and suicide.
Sunlight soon flooded the campsite. Wade and Jeff had yet to return from their search for Carl. Over the gurgle of the rushing stream, Nick heard a far-off thrumming. A helicopter. He searched the sky. A speck appeared above the pass. He hurried to the tent.
"Helicopter coming."
"My God!" Chuck said. "What'll we do? Where's Brett's rifle?" He searched through the supplies.
"Jeff took it with him," Nick said. "It's probably help." The thrumming grew closer.
"I'm not going out there." Chuck sat on a bedroll. "Might get shot."
Nick stepped from the tent and watched the helicopter grow closer. A huge evacuation craft with a National Guard logo. It banked to the left then back to the right over the stream. Nick stood beside the fire as it hovered over the far bank. A man in a blue jacket waved to him and Nick returned the greeting. The craft flew over the aspens and continued downstream. It's thrumming faded and vanished. Nick's shoulders fell and he rubbed his bruised hip.
Chuck appeared. "What happened?"
"A guy waved and they went on. Let's empty the tent and take it down."
They stacked the saddles, the blankets and the supplies on the ground. Chuck sat on the stack of saddle blankets.
Nick stuck his head out of the tent. "Come on, Chuck. We got to move the bodies."
"Just drag them out.”
"That's no way to treat them. Come on."
"Jeez. All this work and nothing to eat."
They moved the three bodies out into the sunlight.
"Now we take down the tent."
"I need a break." Chuck resumed his seat on the saddle blankets.
Nick walked around the tent removing the stakes.
"Hey, I hear voices." Chuck scampered into the tent.
Nick peered around the corner of the tent. Wade led his horse and walked with two men. Nick recognized the man in the blue jacket and walked out to meet them.
"Nick, this is Colin Reid, U. S. Marshal."
"Another one?"
Wade chuckled. "He's the real deal. Known him for years. Met him in the Army."
"Nick Woodburn. Glad to meet you." Nick shook Reid's hand.
"Spoke to your wife yesterday," Reid said. "Tough lady. Understand you've had a bit of hard luck."
"Wade, glad you're back,” Chuck said. “No luck?"
"We’re lucky to see these guys. The pilot Sgt. Gene McDermott." Wade pointed to the three sleeping bags. “Hayes told me about Carl stabbing Holmes. Must’ve been my knife. I took his gun. Forgot about my knife.”
A whistle from across the stream caught their attention. Jeff led his horse through the aspens. A body lay across the saddle. In silence, they watched him cross the stream.
"Found him caught up in a log jam about a mile down."
"U. S. Marshal Reid." He stepped forward. "You may have noticed us flying in."
Jeff nodded. "Jeff Hayes."
"Wade has apprized me of the situation here." Reid held down his hair as a breeze threatened to dislodge it. "We'll take the bodies along with us. We’ve room for you and your supplies.”
“Jeff and I’ll take the horses back,” Wade said. “Let’s get the tent down. We'll pack up everything and move to the landing site.”
They packed the helicopter. Four bodies lay said by side—Holmes, Carl, the helicopter pilot and Brett. The camping equipment from both Wade and the rescue party, saddles and saddle blankets were stowed and secured.
“It’s been nice to see you again, Wade.” Marshal Reid shook Wade’s hand.
“Wish the circumstances could’ve been better, Reid.”
“I appreciate all you’ve done, each of you, the sacrifices you’ve made. Your actions have been heroic.” Reid looked around at the group. “You’ll hear from me about this.”
Nick nodded his thanks. Heroic. I’m no hero. I couldn’t save anyone. Everything that happened was a matter of luck, both good and bad. Nothing went as planned. Chaos reigned.
Wade mounted his horse. “We’ll see you back in town, boys. Let’s go, Hayes.”
Nick watched the two men ride away, each leading three rider-less horses.
“Climb aboard.” Marshal Reid gestured to the helicopter. “We’ll drop you and your supplies in North Fork Glen and take the deceased up to Estes.”
Nick followed Chuck into the helicopter and fastened his seatbelt. Sgt. McDermott donned his headphones and fired up the blades. The noise made talking to Chuck across from him impossible. That suited Nick.
The helicopter lifted off smoothly, and Nick watched the meadow fall away beneath them. The stream and the camping site were soon left behind. Jeff and Wade, each leading three horses, were momentarily visible on the trail. Traveling light and fast, they planned to be back in North Fork Glen by dinner time.
Below him, he recognized the mudslide which covered the trail and took Brett’s life. Soon they flew over the pass and started the descent. Nick remembered climbing switchbacks up to the pass, but the helicopter thrumbed straight down the slope making much better time.
We’ll be home soon, Nick realized. Home and Lyn. He longed to talk to her. He thought about the past week. A short seven days ago, he stood gassing up the CR-V and planning his run for mayor. Now that seemed trivial, meaningless. Soon, North Fork Glen would be a Colorado ghost town overrun by nature, a haven for mice, raccoons and squirrels. The lawns would grow into meadows for deer and antelope. Predators would prowl the streets. Gutters would sag; roofs leak. Vehicles would crouch on drives and in garag
es undriven.
What am I doing? Giving in to defeatism? I can’t let that happen, he realized. I can’t let North Fork Glen become a ghost town. Now is the time for bold leadership. As mayor, I can recreate the town, bring it back to life. Build for the future as I’d planned. He considered where to start. The bridge. As far as he knew, the highway from Estes Park to North Fork Glen was mostly undamaged except for the bridge. Filled with optimism, Nick looked ahead toward home.
A BIT OF HISTORY
In 2013, a cold front met warm moist air and stalled for seven days over the Front Range of the Rockies from September ninth through the fifteenth. Heavy rain fell from the Wyoming border to the Denver suburbs. Recorded amounts ranged from twelve to twenty inches. The resulting flooding ripped through twenty-four counties, killed nine, and covered twenty-five hundred square miles. Dams burst or were overtopped. Flooding washed away houses and cars, destroyed over fifteen hundred homes and damaged over nineteen hundred others. The torrent destroyed thirty-one bridges and damaged another nineteen. Rail lines washed out. Eleven thousand people were evacuated. The National Guard airlifted over seventeen hundred people and almost three hundred pets to safety. The heaviest rainfall in Colorado history caused two billion dollars in damage.
The North Fork of the Big Thompson River begins in Rocky Mountain National Park, flows east through the town of Glen Haven, and meets the Big Thompson at the town of Drake. The flood down this river isolated both Glen Haven and Drake, trapping the villages in the eighteenth century without phone or power. Huge tracts of the highway between the two towns were scoured to bedrock. Repairs to the highway were estimated to take at least two years. Residents of the two towns awaited rescue for days as efforts were hampered by continuing rain, wind and low cloud ceiling which grounded National Guard helicopters. The destruction was so bad that disaster relief couldn’t reach the area.