WWIV - Basin of Secrets

by lake, e a

  Chet’s head shook. “No, please stay. We value your insight. You know the Tarlischs better than anyone here.”

  Checking his wife, he noticed a quick peek and a small nod.

  Chet rose to speak first. “Cara, I’d like to say I’m sorry for not listening to you earlier. It would seem that once again, you’ve proven a capable leader. Very wise, very wise.”

  “Cara,” Carol Johnson added, “I, too, would like to apologize.”

  Her red hair moved slightly as she shook away their remorse. “We will not live in the past. We never have, and we won’t start now. We must deal with the problems we will face. I think it’s best if we stay focused on that.”

  “Agreed,” said Charlie Watson. “And the first question is this: That Wilkins kid said Tarlisch is going to come searching for Bond. How much stock do we put in his words?”

  Eyes shifted back and forth to one another, most finally resting on Cara. To Steven, it seemed as if no one wanted to be caught second-guessing the fiery woman who was already one up on most of them.

  “I think we have to be prepared,” Cara answered. “We have to realize that 100 or more armed men may show up at our gate. We need a plan for that…in case it happens, of course.” Steven smiled as his wife tempered her well-deserved anger against the group.

  “I guess,” Chet paused as he stood, “the biggest question is: Will Tarlisch attack?”

  In a corner, deep in thought, Steven noticed the silence first, then the feeling that every set of eyes was staring his way. He looked up to discover his premonition was true. “Yeah, he will…eventually.” Heads turned back to Cara. A deep sigh rose and fell in her chest. “Before that,” Steven continued, “we need to get our story straight about Talbot Bond. Just in case.” Four heads signaled their agreement with small nods. Cara stared at her husband, perturbed she had ever heard the name.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Late in the warm morning sunshine, Betsi and Jeremy carefully studied the small enclosed community directly to their south. Betsi hoped it was Camp Eight, but she felt lost. From what she knew, Camp Eight should be larger. Her father had once told her it had nearly 60 residents. This looked like a smaller gathering of souls, perhaps 25 to 30. Finally, she glanced back at her strangely silent husband.

  “This isn’t Camp Eight. It must be Camp Six or Camp Seven,” she whispered.

  “Shouldn’t we go ask?” he replied, too loud for her liking.

  Betsi turned, surveying the scene once more. Letting her lips twist, unsure of her next move, her head shook. “Some of these places aren’t the friendliest, Jeremy. These folks can be real skeptical up here. Not all the camps are loyal to the militia or the Upland Guard, you know.”

  Jeremy stepped past her and into a small opening. “Are those ducks?”

  Watching the white fowl, Betsi sensed something wrong with the scene. She was just about to reach for him when one of the birds spotted the stranger in the opening and began honking. She gasped as he retreated toward her. “What the heck?” he said.

  Others joined the honking. One by one, they followed their leader on a mad, albeit slow, trot at the intruder.

  “Crap,” Betsi chided. “Geese.” It was too late. Now men appeared through the front gate, making their way at the pair, crude weapons in hand. “Well, here comes the welcoming committee,” she added, stepping from the brush.

  “But why not dogs?” Betsi asked the camp elder. “Who ever heard of watch geese?”

  The man grinned at the others in the small, windowless room behind the captives. Once greeted, they had been ushered into camp and straight into some sort of cell and interrogation room straight from the 1600s, Betsi thought. Now facing one another, she and the elder tried to get questions from a non-answering other.

  “You still haven’t told me who you are, young lady,” demanded the elder. Betsi opened her mouth to reply for the tenth time, but he cut her off. “And don’t give me that hogwash of looking for your lost parents. No one goes looking for anyone anymore.” His stony face gave her no hope; this man would reveal no secrets, she feared. “And no one,” he added after a long break, “has seen a live dog in years up here. They seem to have all been eaten by wolves or camps. Geese are still plentiful. They make quite a racket – as you just discovered – they multiply quickly, and they’re easier on the pallet than pooch.”

  “I’m Carla Atwater. And he’s my husband, Joe.” Betsi managed to squeak out between gritted teeth. “But I’ve already told you that. Like five times, you old coot.”

  The man displayed no offense to Betsi’s temper. “And you’re looking for your parents?” he asked, eyeing “Joe” suspiciously.

  “No!” Betsi yelled. “His parents, not mine. What is your problem? Don’t you have little children to torture or something?” Focusing on the older man’s emotionless gray eyes, she curled her lips. “And what camp are we at? Seven or Eight?”

  The old man sat back, more relaxed. “My name’s Coldford. Does that help?” Betsi shot him an icy glare. “You don’t know much about the uplands, do you young lady?”

  “Only what my parents told me,” Betsi tossed back. “And that wasn’t much.”

  Rising, the man signaled the others with a nod. Two of the group left the room. “Reverend Jedediah Carson Coldford.” His eyes shifted between Betsi and Jeremy, rather Carla and Joe. “Never heard that name?”

  Jeremy immediately shook his head. Betsi pondered a thought for several seconds. “The nut job from Sandy who claims to have predicted the events of the past 12 years?”

  He smiled at her. “I did predict all of this, young lady. It’s just those fools in the Salt Lake Community decided to besmirch my name. They didn’t want anyone more powerful than themselves in the basin. And who better than a true prophet to show them up?”

  Betsi rolled her eyes and peeked back at Jeremy. Of course, there he sat, all slack-jawed, taking in everything the charlatan said. “According to my father, you’re a fraud. Anyone could have predicted all the things that have gone wrong since the power went out.”

  Coldford smirked at one of the remaining elders. “Funny,” he said beginning to laugh. “That’s what the people of Sandy believed after a while. After Erickson and the council from Salt Lake came down.”

  “He’s dead you know,” Betsi added.

  His face wrinkled as he considered her words. “Erickson’s dead?”

  “Well, all of them actually. Willem Tarlisch and his Red Rangers came into town last week and killed them all.” Betsi watched as he considered her words.

  Finally, he clapped his hands and nodded enthusiastically at the other elders. “God has blessed us, men. I knew I always liked that Tarlisch fellow. A little sullen for my tastes, but smarter than his father in my mind.”

  Watching his reaction like an investigator observing a felon, Betsi knew this had broken the stalemate. Now she could get the information she badly needed. “So, is this Camp Seven?”

  The Reverend’s head shook. “No, this is Camp Six. And you’re welcomed to stay for a small noon meal if you’d like. After that, I can have two of my best men take you right to Camp Seven.”

  Betsi and Jeremy rose, no longer under suspicion by the group. Betsi reached for the old man’s arm. “Actually, we need to get to Camp Eight.”

  The mood changed instantly, again back to dark. “Camp Eight?” the Reverend considered. “Why would you want to go there? That’s a den of sinners. Heathens live there.”

  “Because that’s where my Dad is, I think at least,” Betsi said before thinking.

  Jedediah Coldford stiffened. “Your dad, not his?” he asked, pointing at Jeremy. “You’re hiding something. Something big most likely.” His eyes bore through Betsi’s head and into her soul. “We all have secrets nowadays, Carla. The trick is seeing how long you can keep them to yourself, though. That’s the hard part.”

  After the promised meal, Betsi and Jeremy were back on their way with proper directions. Warned of trouble th
ey might find on the last of the crumbling blacktop, they took side roads and forest trails as directed by the Camp Six elders. Jeremy led the afternoon’s hike, renewed by the recent meal.

  “I don’t know what that meat was, but I liked it,” he shouted back to Betsi. “It really gave that stew a great taste.”

  Betsi’s face screwed up at his words. “Probably ground squirrel or some other rodent, I would think,” she replied. “And I don’t know what kind of milk that was, but it sure wasn’t cow or goat.” Staring at the back of his head for a change, she burped out another round of the interesting lunch. “Let’s agree not to eat with anyone anymore, okay?”

  Her request went unanswered as Jeremy studied the one-time county road, now more like a crushed pavement trail in front of them. Signaling for her to stop, Jeremy craned his neck to get a better glimpse of whatever lie ahead. Betsi stepped alongside of him and did the same.

  “What are you looking at?” she asked.

  Jeremy’s head moved from side to side as he rose up on his tiptoes. Finally, he shrugged. “Thought I saw something big and brown up ahead. Maybe half a mile or so.”

  “Like a moose or an elk?” He shrugged again. “Maybe a Sasquatch?” She snickered, barely getting the words out.

  Jeremy’s head dropped forward as he joined in the laugh. “No, pretty sure it wasn’t a Sasquatch, babe.”

  “Brown, you sure?”

  “Yes,” he said facing her. “It was brown. Like a billion other animals in the woods, plain old brown.”

  Studying the road thoroughly, Betsi jabbed his ribs. “Well, it’s gone now. Hopefully it wasn’t a grizzly bear,” she answered, wandering forward without him.

  Skeptically, Jeremy followed her. “You mean black bear, don’t you? There’s no grizzlies up here…is there?”

  Betsi waggled her head without looking back. “No, I meant grizzly. Dad has said for the past four or five years some of the camps have reported them.” Looking back, she noticed his panicked face. “Well, they used to be all over up in the mountains. From Alaska to Mexico and beyond. Man drove them away.”

  She watched as he hustled to catch up with her. “Well, we’re still around, Betsi.”

  “Yeah,” she replied. “But not as many. What did that one scientist say? The one who came to Salt Lake two winters ago? Within 10 years of no new innovations in the crude medicine we’ve been practicing, something like 40 percent of the population has died. Maybe even 50.”

  “And?”

  She grimaced for his pleasure, or maybe hers. “A lot less people out here. So the bears have no one after them anymore. Plus, no cars to chase them off.” Jeremy’s frown made her laugh. “Up until 1850 or 1860, there were grizzly bears all over up here. They just got pushed out then. Well,” she added with a shrug, “they’re pushing us back now.”

  Jeremy walked next to her for a long time, quiet. “I don’t think it was a bear,” he finally offered. “At least I hope it wasn’t.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Tarlisch eyed Lieutenant Landry questioningly. Rocking gently in his chair, he smirked at her. “So you’ve read her journal from cover to cover, and you have nothing for me?” he snipped.

  Staring down, Melinda’s head shook quickly. “No.”

  Tarlisch rose in a huff. “I expect you to look me in the eye when you answer me, lieutenant!” he screamed. Throwing the book at her, he stormed around the desk to within six inches of where she stood, trembling. “I should have known better than to place any hope in you. I was a fool to believe you had something the others didn’t. I could have had that idiot cousin of mine tell me this much.”

  She looked up at him finally.

  “What do you have to say for yourself, woman?” he roared.

  “Sir, it’s like she writes everything in code. Nothing is straightforward,” Melinda replied, inching away from her angry master. “By the time you get halfway through, you’re lost. North could be south, or west, or east. Up could be down, or up. Nothing is as it appears.”

  Tarlisch cocked his head, as he rolled his lips upon themselves. “I said she was clever,” he answered more subdued than before. “She’s clever but not smart. Her father is Talbot Bond, after all. Just how cunning can she be?” Willem picked the book from the table and paged through the middle again.

  “What do you make of these markings on this side? Here?” Melinda’s eyes followed his finger as it traced several diagrams or patterns.

  “See, that’s the point, sir. Nothing makes sense. She talks about her father leaving and in the next paragraph, she speaks like he’s right beside her again.” She reached for his arm, perhaps some mercy. “It’s all gibberish.”

  Willem ignored her pleas, focused on a strange pattern on the bottom of an almost full page. His eyes bore into the page like a laser into steel. Then, just as suddenly, he focused again on Melinda’s scared and now teary eyes.

  “Do you see this?” he softly asked. “These patterns, these dotted long lines? They mean something I believe.” His long fingernail scraped the page, sounding like the tearing of soft fabric. “These are ridge lines I bet.” His head nodded minutely, almost as if having a tremor.

  From the far side of the room, Howard approached, taking the journal from Willem. Studying the crude hand-drawn figures, he shrugged. “Looks like clouds and stars to me, Will. Maybe ridges, but I’d say those are stars.”

  Almost in a trance, Willem reached for the book. Focusing again on the drawings, he chuckled. “Well Melinda, you were right. Nothing is as it seems.” His lightened expression caused her to smile, but only for a brief moment.

  “However, she’s left us a clue. Granted, it seems to be more of a doodle than anything. But still, I believe this is a clue,” Willem declared. “And she’s even circled and double-marked two of Howard’s stars. See here?” He pointed to two darker blotches on the lines.

  Howard and Melinda shared a puzzled look.

  Willem counted the blotches. “But there’s only 10 dots here,” he quipped. “There should be 12, right?” Howard shrugged, Melinda froze. “Twelve camps, people. So there should be 12 corresponding dots.” He held the book in front of their faces for closer inspection. Now both nodded.

  “And what two camps has she highlighted for us?” Willem asked.

  Howard fingered the page carefully. “Two and three, boss.”

  Willem’s mouth dropped open. “Two and three? Are you that slow?”

  Howard studied the map once more. “Two and three.”

  Willem shook his head, disgusted with his friend, and flipped the book his direction to counter Howard’s obvious mistake. As he went to speak, his mouth locked open. “Oh,” he snuck out. “Had it upside down for you. My bad.”

  Twisting the book in his hand, Willem shoved it forward one last time. “Camps Eight and Nine, sir,” Lieutenant Landry shouted, happy to be the first with the hopefully correct answer.

  “Very good, Melinda,” Willem chided, almost as if he were about to reach out and pat her head. “So she’s off to Camp Eight or Nine, it would appear. And even if she’s not, that’s where we will find Captain Bond,” he sneered.

  Within an hour, 150 men and women were called up from the camps, scattered about Salt Lake. Each was outfitted with proper gear, according to Willem’s orders: a rifle or a handgun, and ammunition.

  Willem walked amongst his troops, hoping his energy would charge them. Everyone watched as he eyed the brave men and women called his Red Rangers. Pride showed on his face through a beaming smile, his head held high. They witnessed exactly what he wanted them to see, orchestrating everything from his smile to the fresh red bandana circling his bare right arm.

  Willem’s smile faded as he watched 24 horse-drawn wagons pull into the square. Quickly, his face searched for Howard’s. Spying him some 20 feet away, he stormed up to his second-in-command.

  “Really?” Willem spit. “Wagons? We’re sending our troops to war in wagons? Why not just have them all ride mountai
n bikes up into the hills? It would make about the same statement.”

  Howard rolled his head, trying to ignore his boss’s wrath. “You got a better plan, Will?”

  Tarlisch’s face hardened. “Of course I do. We need horses. One hundred fifty mounted troops storming up on horseback will really scare the daylights out of Uncle Talbot. He’ll know we mean business when he sees that assemblage of power.” Willem straightened, standing as tall and proud as his dream allowed.

  “Yeah,” Howard drawled. “Little problem there, boss. If you remember correctly, we ate most the horses out in the desert. Like three-quarters of them. So, what you see is every last horse we have.” Turning to face Willem head-on, Howard continued. “And we have all of three saddles left. That’s it. We used the leather from the rest out there, too.”

  Willem slumped. “Well that was rather shortsighted of us. Dang it.” Drawing near, he whispered to his friend. “We need a solution here. We can’t send them up in wagons. We’ll lose the element of surprise. That damned Upland Guard will see us coming the minute we leave the city. With horses, well, we can spread them out. Send them every which way into the hills and have them converge once they reach the summits.”

  Howard searched the group for someone. Spotting the right man, he jogged over to him. “Stephens, come here,” he called out. The man turned and approached as commanded. “Stephens, the boss wants horses and saddles. You grew up on a ranch, right?”

  Stephens nodded.

  “Any ideas?” Howard asked.

  Fortunately, Stephens knew exactly where to find the equine.

  Tarlisch glared at Howard. “Leroy Habelmann? Down in Tooele? You must be joking.”

  Howard sighed. “Closest guy who has that many horses, Will. You want me to send Andy?”

  Willem scoffed. “No. We can’t send my idiot cousin to take care of something like this. Habelmann will have him turn over the keys to Salt Lake.” Searching beyond the crowd, he peered at the mountains just to the south and west. “I’ll go.”