by Craig Lesley
"These dogs are good swimmers," Lettie offered. "Lighten the load." She laid a hand on each one's neck, prepared to urge them into the water.
"Thanks," Jake said. "But we still couldn't make it. And they'd probably stick with us anyway." Turning the boat downstream, he opened the throttle.
As we raced toward Deer Island, I glanced backwards toward the trees. Terrified, but fascinated, I saw dirty clumps of ice and brown frozen ferns clinging to their roots. After separating at the bridge, the trees had locked root masses, forming an inverted V that threatened to swallow the boat.
I couldn't guess Jake's plan, but I didn't think we could outrun the trees too long. We bumped against chunks of debris, nearly knocking a box of baskets overboard. Gripping the sides of the boat with my hands, I tried to wrap my legs around the loose cargo.
When we hit the rapid channel around Deer Island, both dogs hunkered and whined. Lettie clung to the dogs rather than the boat. If she fell out, they would, too. We flew down the rapids with the boat chunk-chunking against the water with spine-jarring blows.
Over the roar of the motors, I heard a crash and limbs breaking with a noise like a giant falling tree snapping the trunks and branches of smaller trees as it crashes to the forest floor. I realized the two big trees were smashing through some of the flooded pines on Deer Island.
Reaching the foot of the island, Jake turned the boat upstream and we hovered in the current, using the island and its bigger trees as a shield. One of the floaters came by, seeming large as a ship when it passed. Jake pretended to wipe sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. The other tree had hung at the top of the island, partially blocking the channel.
"I guess that bastard's stuck good," Jake said. "But I'm going to sit right here a couple minutes, make sure it doesn't bust loose. I'd take a piece of that jerky now, Lettie. My mouth is a little dry."
I asked for a piece, too.
She gave two to the dogs. "Cola knew we were going to make it," she said. "Bagel was kind of nervous though."
"Seeing those trees come straight at you makes you a little more sympathetic towards the loggers, doesn't it?" Jake said. "You know how some poor fella feels when a widow maker splits wrong and falls right toward him. For a minute there, I thought that sucker had our number."
Ten minutes later, Buzzy flew by us in the yellow Stearman. After circling the island's head, he came in treetop level and waved the all clear. Still, Jake waited, and I realized how scared he had been. We heard honking, faint across the water, and saw Billyum's rig bouncing along the bumpy abandoned railroad grade. Stopping across from us, he flashed his lights a few times, then got out of the car and waved that it was okay to head upstream.
"Guess that tree is hung good," Jake said. "But we'll take the opposite channel back up and hope nothing else sweeps down. If something catches us midchannel, we're deader than this venison."
As we made a late run, the sun's rays broke through the dark clouds. Jake blinked with the sudden brightness. His gaze swept the Hollywood shore and fixed on the chartreuse house now undercut by the floodwater. When I looked, I didn't see anything but orange light bouncing off the upstairs windows.
By the time we were almost finished loading Mrs. Sandoz, Juniper's aunt, and her menagerie of animals, it was growing dark. I could see the big red Texaco sign and the burn barrels illuminating the opposite shore.
"Last house," Billyum said. "Good thing, too." His boat and Jake's were the only ones left. Now they were filled with cages holding rabbits, raccoons, a couple descented skunks, and a fox. She had other animals, too, but we'd run out of room.
"I came out here on an ambulance run once," Jake said. "Damn skunk bit me. Waited a week to find out if it was rabid."
Now a couple of rabbits had gotten loose from their cages and Mrs. Sandoz refused to leave without them. They were a French breed with long floppy ears. "Paid top dollar for those rabbits," she said. "Maybe you can catch a rabbit. You stumblebums can't find Kalim's killer."
"Come on," Billyum said.
My uncle shook his head. "Your jurisdiction. I'm trying to stay on her sweet side."
Although we were clumsy in our hip boots, Squeaky, Billyum, and I came at them from three sides. Using the same net I'd used to snag Christmas presents, I got one before it could hop away. The second, frightened, bolted between Billyum and Squeaky. Lunging for it, Billyum missed, sprawling on the grass.
"Damn!" Crying out in pam, he stood, inspecting his bleeding hand. He'd hit some broken window pane and it was a wicked gash.
"How come you let my supper hop away?" Jake asked, and Billyum shot him a look. Jake tossed him a clean rag from the compartment under the seat. After wrapping his hand with the rag, Billyum stood by his boat and sulked. "Your turn."
With an exaggerated sigh, Jake left the boat. "Three men can't catch a baby bunny, for Christ's sake." He took the net and walked right up to the rabbit, which stood still for some reason. After scooping it into the net, Jake grinned at Billyum. "Technique. It's all in the wrist."
We caged both rabbits.
Mrs. Sandoz rode with us after deciding our boat had a better spirit. I think she meant to avoid Billyum's sulky mood rather than his boat. By then the river and sky seemed equally dark, and Jake kept his eyes peeled for obstacles. As we approached the far side, I saw Franklin's car parked up by the Texaco, and I could make out my mother's figure alongside one of the burn barrels. "The party's over," Jake began to sing off key. "The lights are dim." He had seen her, too.
"Better get ready for an injection of iron," he continued. "Your ass is grass and here comes the lawnmower. All the time she was warm and dry inside Sunrise Biscuits, you were busting your hump in this rescue operation, but she thought you were cozy at home."
"Stop riding me," I said. "I'll handle her."
"You might be able to handle her," Jake said. "She's been weakened a little by the flu."
When we nosed close to shore, I tossed the rope to one of the waiting men and they pulled us in. After we helped Mrs. Sandoz ashore, we started unloading her animals. Billyum arrived, too, but something was wrong with his motor. Coughing and sputtering, it barely made shore.
"You buy your gas on the rez?" Jake asked. "They must be using sludge again."
Billyum ignored the remark. As he unwrapped the bandage, we could see the wound was still oozing. "Shit. If I lose any more blood, I'll turn white."
"You go see the doc," Jake said. "We'll unload your boat. Later on we can check out the motor."
"Bad spark plug maybe," Billyum said. "We took it to the tribal shop a couple weeks ago. Squeaky's brother-in-law worked on it."
"You just located the trouble," Jake said, and they both laughed.
Mrs. Sandoz began talking rapidly and gesturing across the river. Billyum shook his head. "No, that was the last run," he said. "In the morning, we can look for your other animals."
Jake had climbed back into his boat and started the motors. "Shove me off, would you, nephew."
Billyum waded into the water, gripping the gunnel with his good hand. "Too damn dark. Don't go risking your life for a few animals." He lowered his voice. "Just because she's Juniper's aunt, I don't want you hotdogging and stealing the show."
Jake shook his head. "I don't care about those animals," he said. "Somebody's still over there. I saw his face in the window."
"Where?" Billyum asked, more of a challenge than a question.
At first I thought maybe Jake was showing off for Juniper, or even my mother, but that didn't seem quite right. Jake took big chances, but I doubted he'd take one with the flood in the dark.
"The chartreuse house sitting off by itself. I saw a face in the upstairs window. And that place won't last the night."
"Nobody's supposed to be there," Billyum said. "The whole family's back visiting people in South Dakota."
"Maybe somebody stayed behind," Jake said.
Billyum studied the opposite shore as if he expected to see what Jake h
ad glimpsed. "You saw a reflection, trick of light. Squeaky checked that place earlier. Downstairs was already flooded."
"We'll see," Jake said. "But time's wasting and the water's rising."
Billyum started to climb into the boat. "I'll ride shotgun. The hand can wait."
"Bullshit!" Jake said. "You're not bleeding all over my boat."
The floodwaters had risen enough to free the boat, and Jake revved the motor a little, backing just enough to throw Billyum off balance, but he hung on. "Look," Jake said, "I don't want to be burdened with any one-handed, almost-turned-white peckerhead."
"I'm going." Billyum braced his legs and gripped the gunnel with his good hand.
Jake cut the motor. "What the hell. Get that sucker sewed up and then hurry back. Five minutes."
"You better wait." Billyum released the boat, pointing his good finger at me. "Hold him, Culver." He started double-timing in his hip boots toward the hospital tent.
"Runs like a duck with a ruptured asshole." Jake took a portable lantern from beneath the seat, securing it to the front of the boat with duct tape. Then he put on a battery-pack miner's helmet so he could use it as a minisearchlight by turning his head. "Shove me off, nephew!"
Billyum had reached the hospital tent. As he looked back, Jake waved, gesturing for him to hurry.
"It's awful dark," I said. "What if that guy's hurt or crazy? Why wouldn't he come out? You better wait for Billyum."
"Didn't say it was a guy. Might be a beautiful damsel. Rich, too."
"Let me go then."
He set his jaw. "Your mother would have a conniption fit. I'm already in deep dutch with her."
"I'll take care of it," I said.
"You do that, Shotgun. Just remind her you've done a good piece of work here today. When I come back, we'll go have a big steak. My treat."
"Sure." I was proud of what I'd accomplished that day, and the steak sounded good, if I didn't fall asleep at the plate.
"Be over and back before he gets out of that hospital tent. I heard about that young doctor. All thumbs. He couldn't hang on to his dick with glue."
Jake put the motors in reverse and I gave a half shove. The current took the boat until Jake opened the throttle. As he headed across, the motors sounded strong and even. Listening to the steady drone, I was glad Jake didn't trust anyone but himself to work on it. Buzzy felt the same way about the Stearman. Most of the back-room boys had that streak of self-reliance. Even Sniffy. "In the war, you learned to pack your own parachute," he was fond of saying.
After I had watched Jake's light reach midstream, I walked to the burn barrel where my mother and Franklin were keeping warm. Her face was as dark as a storm cloud, but Franklin tried to ease the tension. "You've been doing a man's work," he said, adding, "Of course, your mother was pretty worried. I'm afraid she might have a relapse out in this weather, but she insisted."
She gazed across the dark water. "Culver, you know how I feel about this river. And now it's more dangerous than ever."
"But we got everybody out, Mom. Almost everybody. Jake didn't talk me into it or anything. I volunteered."
Stepping away from the fire, she hugged me fiercely for a moment, then let go. "What's he trying to prove then?" She nodded toward the river.
"He thought he saw someone and went to check one of the houses. Place will be gone by morning."
"Well, thank God he had the human decency not to take you," she said. "Bumbling around on a flood in the dark like a blind man."
"At least you can find your way around over there," I said. "The houses are painted weird. The place he's headed for is chartreuse."
She touched the V of her throat with two fingers and a frightened look appeared in her eyes.
"What is it?" I asked.
She dropped her hand. "Nothing really. Just an odd memory."
"Like what?"
"It seems silly to even talk about such a thing."
"Tell us what it is, Flora." Franklin had come over and put his arm around her.
"All right then." She rubbed her arms briskly, as if she had goose bumps. "There was a yellow-green house a couple blocks from where the boys grew up. Who would want such a putrid color for a house?" She paused. "It seems a man hung himself in the upstairs bedroom. After that, no one would buy the place. Still, his relatives refused to lower the price."
"I remember that house," Franklin said. "All the kids thought it was spooky."
She nodded and continued. "Jake found a way in through the basement window, and the boys would test their courage by going upstairs. They had to stand directly at the bedroom window, where you could see their faces, and look out to prove they weren't lingering on the first floor but actually right in the room where the man had died. Anyway, one time your father went up to prove his courage to some neighbor boys, but he heard a sound or something and froze. Wouldn't move. The boys were too afraid to go in, so they sent one running to get Jake. He had to climb in and drag your father out."
She stopped to rub her arms again, and I felt goose bumps. "It's nothing really," she said. "That funny color made me think about it."
"Just a curious coincidence, Flora," Franklin said. "Happens all the time. Now we'd better get you home before you collapse."
"Whatever happened to that house?" I figured someone had repainted it since I hadn't seen a Gateway place that color.
"They never sold it," she said. "The place fell into disrepair and finally burned down. A tramp was trying to warm up inside, or so they said. Both your dad and Jake fought that blaze, but the house was a complete loss."
When I informed Billyum what had happened, he lost his patience with the young doctor sewing stitches in his hand. "Come on, can't you hurry it up?" he asked.
The doctor did seem clumsy, but he had been busy all day and was dog tired. "You're going to need a tetanus booster, and I'm out." He cut off the thread with long-nose scissors.
Billyum flexed his hand a few times, testing the stitches. "All right. I'll get one tomorrow." As he shrugged his coat on, he glanced around at the others waiting for treatment or just waiting.
Many flood victims had gathered in the hospital tent, trying to remain warm and dry before they were transported to Gateway's high school, where the gymnasium, showers, and cafeteria had been converted to emergency shelter. These people remained subdued and I was struck at the contrast between this atmosphere and the boisterous one at the fire. They seemed awed by the raw power of the river, their personal losses. Unlike the fire that destroyed a workplace, the flood took personal items and memories. Homes, cars, furniture, clothing, mementos. Everybody knew they would never rebuild Hollywood on that site.
Juniper had been busy calming some of the old people, holding their hands and assuring them everything would be okay. Mrs. Sandoz was crying about the animals she had left behind. Still, she held out hope Jake would bring them across on the return trip.
"I'm sure he'll do all he can," Juniper said. "But we wouldn't want him to risk his life—"
"He'll do it," Mrs. Sandoz said. "I know. When my Thompson had his heart attack, Jake drove the ambulance run with another nice young boy. They couldn't have been more considerate."
When Billyum was ready, we went down by the tribal boat. Squeaky had replaced the spark plug, but it still sputtered and died. "Carburetor," Squeaky said. "I'm pretty sure."
"That's the last time one of your relatives fixes our boat," Billyum said. "I ought to have my head examined."
"Hell, he's just shirttail on my wife's side," Squeaky said. "What's eating you?"
"Jake said he saw someone in that chartreuse house, but I went by it half a dozen times today. Never saw a thing. You were supposed to check it."
"I did," Squeaky said. "Waded right up on the front porch and yelled. No one answered. Jake couldn't have seen anyone."
All of us watched the faint ray of light work its way along the far shore. When it disappeared, we figured he was behind the first row of flooded houses where the st
ructures blocked our view of the beam.
The light reappeared and everyone sighed. "That's close by the chartreuse house," Billyum said. "Check it and get the hell back," he muttered.
The boat seemed to linger there a long time, then the light disappeared again. We waited and waited. "What the hell's he doing?" Billyum scowled. "If he's stopping to get those animals, I'll fry that raccoon and make him eat it."
Then we saw the light, faint but steady.
All of us figured Jake had cleared the flooded houses and was heading for open water. "Here he comes," a couple people said quietly. No one cheered because he still had a long way to get across.
Three fellas drove their pickups to the water's edge and turned on spotlights, attempting to illuminate the water in front of the boat. But Jake was still too far across the river. "Keep those lights out of his eyes," Billyum warned. "He's got to keep them clear."
The light was coming toward us now, and you could see the smaller light from Jake's miner's helmet winking this way and that as he turned his head searching for obstacles.
"Wonder what he found over there," Squeaky said.
Jake was about a third of the way across when we could hear the motors laboring against the current. The fellas in the pickup adjusted their spotlights but the beams didn't reach far enough. They could only sweep the closest third of the river.
Suddenly, the boat light's direction changed, shining off at a cockeyed angle. It began pointing downstream, not following the natural arc a boat makes churning into a heavy current.
"What's this shit?" Billyum said.
The buzz of voices around the warming fires grew louder, and a couple people started up their pickups so we couldn't hear the boat motors clearly anymore, but I think they were still going.
Squeaky said something, Indian words that meant "Wet Shoes" and referred to the restless spirits of drowning victims, the same words Billyum had used a long time ago when we found Kalim.