Elly moved up to him and rubbed her hand along his upper arm. He barely felt it through his coat. “Hunter, the chances of finding him out there are miniscule. Cole is smart. He’ll be okay.”
“But what if he’s not?” How could they just wait here while his dad could be freezing to death in a snowdrift or something?
Uncle Sean plopped onto a kitchen chair and coughed into his fist a few times before he said, “Elly’s right. Your dad is probably sitting in some empty house in front of a fireplace, eating whatever food was left in the cabinets.”
There weren’t many empty houses like Sean described. The majority were filled with the stench of death and overrun with rodents, and besides, his dad wasn’t heading into a suburb, but out into the country where houses were few and far between. The house he and his dad had found before rescuing Jake and Sophie had been an exception, but only because the owners had fled. Those who had stayed died.
“I can’t just sit here waiting. I have—” He broke off, coughing so hard, he felt like he might vomit. The room wavered and Sophie took his arm and led him to a chair.
“You’re too sick to go anywhere,” Jenna said. She rose and rummaged in a bin full of medication boxes. She handed him a pill. “It’s to loosen your cough.”
He hesitated, not wanting to take medication that Sophie might need more. “Do we have enough?”
“For now, we do.” Jenna held up a bottle and shook it. It was still half-full.
“Sean got this stuff last winter and only took a few. Good thing I cleaned out the medicine cabinet before we left home.”
Hunter poured tepid water from the teakettle into a cup and downed the pill. “There. Now I need to go find my dad.”
“You’re not going anywhere, Hunter.” Sean pointed a finger at him, his voice stern.
Hunter squared his shoulders. He was as tall as his uncle now, and although not quite as muscular, he was strong and quick. “You can’t stop me.”
25
Cole plodded forward and Red followed, his head bobbing up and down as he dragged the deer through the deepening snow. Every so often, the travois would get hung up on something beneath the snow—boulders, tree stumps, buried bushes—and Cole would have to free the horse’s burden.
Suddenly, Red’s head shot up, his nostrils flaring.
“What is it, boy?” Cole scanned the area, but even with his flashlight, he was shrouded in a dizzying blizzard of white snow and black sky.
Of course the horse didn’t reply, but when Red changed direction as if he knew where he was going, Cole allowed the horse to guide him. Despite heading into the wind, one direction was as good as another at this point. He was certain he’d missed the barn by now and kept moving so he wouldn’t freeze. Eventually the storm had to let up. When it did, the moon would be a little past the full phase and he’d be able to see, especially with the snow reflecting the light. But first, it had to stop snowing.
Cole lost track of time as he clutched the lead rope in his fist. He floundered through a chest-high drift, tumbling sideways into the snow. A large clump dropped inside his collar, sliding down his back and chilling him, but there was nothing he could do to remove it. His fingers were too stiff to deal with the snow-caked zipper of his coat. He could get it down, but doubted he’d be able to zip it back up, and that would mean death for sure.
The third time he stumbled, he lay where he fell, panting. The desire to close his eyes and rest for a few moments washed over him with a wave of unexpected warmth. Somewhere in the back of his mind the sensation set off a warning bell, but the warmth felt wonderful after being cold for so many hours, that he ignored it. The snow molded to him, forming a cocoon of relative calmness as the depression from his body created a windbreak.
He didn’t realize he’d closed his eyes until a sharp pain in his shoulder roused him. Red snorted and tossed his head, causing the lead to tighten and yank Cole’s arm. Damn horse. When Red didn’t let up, Cole groaned and pushed to his hands and knees. Using the rope for leverage, he struggled to his feet, shivering as the wind hit him full blast. He eyed his cocoon, longing to fall back into it. His attempt to cuss out Red for dragging him from the warmth would have been comical in other circumstances as his lips and cheeks were too numb to form words. What came out sounded garbled, as if he’d just come from the dentist and his mouth was still numb from Novocain.
After what might have been five minutes or an hour—Cole had no idea— a looming, dark shape formed a hundred feet or so in front of him. It was a building of some sort. Red picked up his pace, and Cole stumbled a few times as he tried to keep stride with him. He didn’t care what the building was at this point—any port in a storm. Closer, he saw it was a small pole barn. He prayed it wasn’t full of dead animals, but he didn’t think Red would be so eager to get inside if that was the case.
He slipped the flashlight into his pocket so he could grab the handle, slipping to his knees when the door refused to budge. He turned, searching for another building. Anything. A house, garage, or shed, but the snow was too thick. Since there was a barn, it stood to reason that a house had to be close, but he didn’t know which direction and couldn’t risk losing this barn in the storm. He fumbled Red’s reins through the barn door handle, forming a ragged knot so he could search the side of the building. When he went left, he bumped into a wooden paddock fence, so he turned back and headed around the right side of the building. There must be another way in. He fumbled the flashlight from his pocket, switching it on. It barely cut through the swirling snow.
He almost missed the door as snow drifted in front of it and coated the wood, but light reflected off a glass window. He brushed the snow away and found the handle, but it too was locked. Cole punched through the glass, thankful for the thick leather mittens for protecting his hand. Knocking the shards out of the way, he reached down and turned the handle. He still wouldn’t be able to open the sliding doors in front, but Red and the deer would fit through this side door if he helped guide the deer through.
In a few minutes, he had the horse inside and the travois unhitched. Leaning against Red, Cole pressed his forehead to the horse’s shoulder and rested. He stroked the horse’s neck, brushing clumps of snow from the animal’s mane, then stepped away and batted caked snow from his jeans. One thing he had packed was a change of clothing. He’d learned that much even as a kid out hunting with his dad. Wet clothing was dangerous.
Whatever animals had lived here were gone, not dead, and relieved, he spotted bales of straw on a pallet in a corner. He fought the temptation to throw himself on top of the straw and go to sleep. He had to take care of the horse first. Sighing, he set the flashlight on a bale, and unsaddled Red. Using a rag he found hanging on a hook, he wiped him down before spreading straw on the floor of a stall.
“Good boy. You saved my ass.” He fished the last carrot from his pocket. “I know it’s not much, but when things get better, I’ll feed you a whole bucket of carrots.” Red crunched the treat, not seeming to mind that it was the only one and seemed as happy as Cole was to get into a nice, warm stall. The barn was cold, but just getting in out of the wind made it feel much warmer. He wondered if he could build a small fire. His toes were so numb, he wasn’t sure they were still attached to his feet and he worried about frostbite.
A metal trash can in the small tack room was half-full of grain. He’d found a similar set-up in the old barn where the man had hanged himself, and he glanced up at the rafters, relieved to see nothing but an old bird’s nest. The can had kept the grain safe from mice and other rodents, and he sent a silent thank you to the owner or whoever had filled this can prior to the pandemic. He prayed they were somewhere safe and that they hadn’t been a victim of Sympatico Syndrome.
A quick search revealed a bucket hanging on a hook outside of a stall, and he filled it, bringing it to Red. The horse snorted his appreciation and dug in as Cole contemplated how he would melt enough snow for water. The barn was still too cold for anything to melt
very soon.
His eyes fell on the pallet. He could build a fire if he was careful about all of the straw. The center aisle was concrete so he had that going for him.
His body ached from the exertion, his belly felt like it was gnawing a hole through to his spine, and he wanted nothing more than to fall asleep, but he had too much to do still. He opened the door long enough to scoop a couple of buckets of snow from beside the door, making sure to get snow they hadn’t trampled when they entered. He set the buckets beside the fire, crossing his fingers that the fire would burn hot enough to melt the snow. He hacked a hunk of meat from the deer and skewered it with a coat hanger he found on the back of the tack room door, and set the skewer on top of the buckets with the fire in between. Voilà —a spit, of sorts.
It seemed to take forever, but he finally had enough water for Red, and his meat finished cooking. He changed into the second pair of jeans, and draped the wet pair over a stall door opposite Red’s stall. He hoped they would dry at least a little bit before morning just so he’d have a dry pair in case he needed to change the jeans he now wore. He did the same with his socks, putting both damp pairs beside the jeans.
Cole examined his feet. His toes were pale, but not dead white. Even as he examined them, the first needle of pain lanced through them as they started to warm. He took that as a good sign even as he gritted his teeth. He’d only brought one extra pair of socks, but at least they were thick, and he warmed them a little by holding them near the fire before he pulled them on, sighing as the heat enveloped his feet. He wasn’t sure anything had ever felt so good as those warm socks.
While his venison cooled, he filled his water bottle and tilted the bucket, drinking the last few ounces that wouldn’t fit in his bottle right from the bucket. It tasted a little oat-y, too bad he didn’t have a way to grind it. He made a mental note to figure out a way to transport the oats back to the island for the animals.
He spread more straw inside the stall next to Red’s and threw a ground tarp over it, then tossed his sleeping bag on top of that. Exhausted, he put out the fire, intending to check the loft in the morning for more pallets. Snug in the stall, wrapped in his sleeping bag on top of a thick pile of straw, Cole slept.
Elly caught Hunter by the sleeve. “You can’t go out in this. I’m sure Cole is fine. He said he’d hole up in a house.”
“He’s my dad.” Hunter shrugged off her hand and continued to wind the scarf around his neck. “I have to, Elly.” He patted his pockets in a quick inventory—mittens, extra gloves, matches, and a flashlight. He’d thrown some cans of tuna and a can opener in his pack, along with first aid items, extra clothes and a blanket, then tied his sleeping bag to the top of the pack. He’d draped his canteen across his body. “Look, what if my dad gets taken like Jake and Sophie were? How could he think it was a good idea to go out alone?”.
“You know why he went out. You’ve seen the stores we have left.”
Hunter winced at her comment. They were low and they did need food. “He could have waited.”
“The weather looked like it would hold. With the pattern we were in, we should have had another day of good weather before another storm hit. That’s what your dad was counting on.”
“All the more reason to go find him. He wasn’t expecting the blizzard to hit.”
“You have no idea where he could be, Hunter. It would be suicide.” Elly coughed into her fist. He took the opportunity and stepped out of her reach.
“Look, I waited until morning like you all insisted, but the sun is coming up and I need to be on my way.”
“Give him a chance to get here this morning. That’s all I’m asking.” Elly blocked the doorway, her look defiant.
“Elly, come on. You know if it was me out there, my dad would have already been on his way.”
“Not if he didn’t know where you were. Remember last summer? He told me he felt so helpless knowing you were out there, but unable to search because he had no idea where to look and knew the chances of missing you were too great. If he stayed put, you’d make it to him, and that’s exactly what happened.”
“But that was different. My dad wouldn’t have gone that far. He was only going hunting, not traveling hundreds of miles.”
“That’s true—but how about this, if I let you go, he’ll kill me when he gets back.”
“If he gets back.” Hunter hiked the backpack on his shoulders. “Besides, he wouldn’t kill you because he knows you can’t stop me.”
Elly stepped forward. “Just because I can’t doesn’t mean I won’t try.” She pressed a hand against the front of his coat. “But will you just listen to me?” She pointed to Sophie sitting on the edge of the couch, her face pale and one hand pressed to her stomach. “If not for your dad or me, at least consider Sophie. She needs you, Hunter. You have your own responsibilities now and your dad would be the first to tell you that. You can’t put yourself in harm’s way because you have two people counting on you. Especially now.”
Sophie bit her lip, her eyes wide. He knew she wouldn’t beg him to stay, but her eyes pleaded with him. She didn’t want him to go. Torn, Hunter looked from Elly to Sophie. He glanced at Sophie’s hand and where it rested. What if something did happen to him? The others would help Sophie with the baby, but it wouldn’t be the same—Sophie and the baby wouldn’t be their first priority. Elly was right. He had to stay for their sake and his father would agree with the decision. His child and Sophie were now his first priority. Period.
He drew in a deep breath, overwhelmed for a moment at the responsibility, but he caught Sophie’s eye, and nodded. “Okay. I’ll stay, but I can’t just sit here. I have to do something. He could be lost.”
“I think all we can do is wait.” Elly moved to the chair nearest the stove, tugging a blanket over herself. “I know. It’s hard. I’m worried about him, too, but the most important thing to him is you, and he really would be pissed if you went looking for him.”
Hunter glanced at her, but he was lost in thought. He couldn’t just sit around waiting, and since he was already dressed, he’d get all the chores done. His fever had broken sometime during the night, and while he still had a cough and didn’t feel up to speed, he was much better than he had been. Elly looked better too and he was glad for that. If his dad lost her, he’d be devastated.
When he made a move to the door, Elly started to stand as though to block him again, but he held his hands up. “I’m just going to take care of the animals. Maybe the chickens have a few eggs today.” They hadn’t been laying as much as before.
“That would be wonderful. I could make a stir fry for lunch if we have an egg or two,” Elly said. “It’s one of the few dishes I can make and I think we have all of the ingredients.”
Hunter did the chores, giving the animals water and opening their pens so they could forage for themselves. With the weather so cold, they had discovered that as dark came, the chickens returned of their own accord to the warmer confines of the shed they’d converted to a henhouse on one side. The other side had a few pens for the goats. He dug around in the henhouse, whooping when he found five eggs.
He put them in an old egg carton and delivered them to the house along with the few cups of milk the goats gave. He hoped their output increased once they gave birth in the spring. By next year, they should have a decent little herd of goats. Somewhere they had to find a few more chickens too.
As he stood on the deck, he gazed across the frozen expanse of the bay. The snow still fell and merged with the ice to form a gray blur on the horizon. What if his dad missed the island entirely? He thought of the tiny flicker of light from the candles last night and how useless that had been. What his dad needed was a bonfire to guide his way. And that’s what he would get.
Gathering up wood, matches, and tinder, he hauled it to the eastern side of the island, finding a spot between drifts on the beach where the snow wasn’t quite as deep. He used a flat piece of wood as a makeshift shovel and cleared a spot for the fire.
A few minutes later, he stepped away from the bonfire, secure that it was going well. The exertion and the heat from the flames had him sweating inside his jacket despite the frigid temperature. He hadn’t looked at the thermometer on the wall when he’d left the house, but it felt like the temperature was around zero.
With the wind still blasting every now and then, it was hard to determine if new snow still fell or if it was just blowing up in the air and re-falling. Although the gusts weren’t as frequent as the day before, they seemed to howl straight down from the north across the frozen lake, picking up loose snow and spinning it into curtains that obscured the mainland from Hunter’s view. A day like this in the old world would have meant at least a few extra days off from school after the initial storm.
A random memory of being home during a snowstorm sprang to his mind. He had probably been in second grade because the memory was tinged with sadness. His mom had died not long before. He recalled standing at the window gazing out at the snow, and feeling a hollow ache in his chest. He’d been too young to realize that the emptiness was grief and loneliness, but his dad had found him like that and suggested they go out and play. After a snowball fight, he’d begged to build a snow fort and his dad had tried, but the snow hadn’t packed well, and after a while, they had gone inside. He recalled being disappointed that the snow fort hadn’t materialized, but his dad had suggested a blanket fort in the living room. Hunter smiled at the memory of gathering blankets and draping them over chairs. After it was constructed, they had hot chocolate and vanilla wafers in their fort as they listened to the wind howl and watched through the picture window as the snow hid the evidence of their fort-making attempts.
Now, the snow hid more than an innocent snow fort. It hid the shore from the island—and the island from his dad.
Cole led Red out of the barn beneath a tree, and returned to the barn for the travois. After dragging it out, he hitched it to the horse. Once it was secure, he made a last trip inside to retrieve his pack and some items he’d found useful: a brush for the horses, a hoof pic, some kind of salve for hooves, and a burlap sack. He poured the oats in the sack and tied it off with a scrap of leather he’d found tucked into a drawer.
Sympatico Syndrome Trilogy Box Set Page 50