|
Post by bretf on Apr 25, 2020 6:29:46 GMT -6
Five Years Lost
“Uncle Nick!” Hope Gomez called when she saw the horseman approaching. “Did you come to help us weed the garden? And why didn’t you bring Amber?” Amber was Nick’s three-year-old daughter. Hope was four years older than her and doted on her every chance she got.
Alison Smoke harrumphed at the idea of Nick helping weed and her sister Brooke said, “Fat chance!”
“Hey you two, I heard that,” Nick Robbins said. “I resent the implication.” He grinned when he said it.
“Maybe I should’ve said ‘slim chance’ because both fit you,” Brooke said.
Nick ignored her and told Hope, “Her mom thought I might get home too late and didn’t want her to come along. Maybe I can bring her next time.”
“And do you deny it, that you won’t help weed?” Brooke challenged.
“Well,” Nick said, “Actually I brought a crumpled-up paper for you. I think it’s a letter from Chad and Carol.
Hope’s mother Heather rose from where she’d been concealed behind the thick foliage. “Oh, a letter. And it’s a coincidence you showed up at supper time,” she said.
“Hey, I resent that remark, too. I’ve been busy today. This is the first chance I had to come up.” Nick paused and fought to suppress his grin. “So what are you having? Fried zucchini, maybe?”
Heather barked a laugh and said, “As a matter of fact, I think that’s what Lisa’s working on. Would you like to stay and have some?” Her grin equaled Nick’s.
“Well, what do you know?” Nick said, his grin turning into a broad smile. “I suppose since you asked so graciously, it’d be rude to turn down your invitation.”
“Men, you’re all so predictable,” Heather said.
#
After the family and Nick settled around the table, Dan asked the blessing on the meal and everyone filled their plates. Heather was grateful for a bit of piece as Grace, her and Mat’s infant daughter was asleep on the couch. Alison and Brooke stared menacingly at Nick when the plate of zucchini came to him. He saw the looks and passed the plate after taking less than he wanted. Heather flattened the piece of paper Nick had given her and peered at it. It was a mess: crumpled, torn, stained, and had pieces missing. Heather squinted and said, “This isn’t going to be easy to read. Most of it is missing or illegible, but here goes.
Hey everyone, we won’t be home for some time. Sorry it took so long to write, but we weren’t anywhere we thought a letter might get to you until now. Getting to Rock Springs was pretty easy, but once we were there, Carol wasn’t ready to come home. We didn’t want to stay, either. It’s a pretty rough place. So we decided to keep going. There’s not much through that area, lots of prairie and antelope.
“Wait a minute Aunt Heather,” Alison said. “Rock Springs? Isn’t that where they were heading for when they left?”
“Yeah, it was,” Heather answered. “I’m thinking this letter took a long time to find its way to us.”
“I should say so,” Brooke said. “But five years? Man. A lot could’ve happened in that much time.”
Nick grinned and said, “According to his other letters a lot has happened.”
Lisa and Dan were quiet, their forks resting beside their plates, clutching each other’s hands.
At a nod from Mat, Heather started again. “So it’s hard to read for a while but he mentions alkali water and antelope. In the next section, I can’t decipher anything but “Bighorn, Saddlestring, and I think it’s a name, maybe Joe Pickett. I have no idea what any of it means.”
“I do,” Dan said with a wry grin. “Joe Pickett was a fictional Wyoming game warden in a series of books I’d been reading. Chad only read the first two and of course, he liked them because they tied in enough hunting and fishing to interest him. I think they must’ve gone through the area where Joe worked. He knew I’d get a kick out of that.”
“All right, and I can read “Devil’s Tower” and nothing else until near the bottom,” Heather said.
So we’re in Custer, South Dakota. We found . . . got married. Sorry you all couldn’t . . . the wedding . . . only us, the minister . . . wife, and God. We will spend the winter . . . figure out where to go in spring. Love you all, Chad and Carol.
“That wasn’t much of a letter,” Hope said. “He told us all that before except the game warden part. But I don’t get it. What’s a game warden?”
The adults, except for Lisa, laughed at the comment, and Mat explained what game wardens were and what they did.
As he was explaining, Lisa stood and Dan joined her. “Excuse me,” she said, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I need to take a walk.” She started for the door, paused and turned back to the table. “Yes Nick, you can have more zucchini.”
She and Dan left the house and walked slowly to their vantage point to see down the valley. They stayed a long time with much more to say than their standard evening prayer to bring Chad home.
|
|
|
Post by bretf on Apr 25, 2020 6:33:19 GMT -6
Independence Day
“Whoa,” Nick Robbins said loudly and pulled lightly on the reins. The pressure on the lines was unnecessary. The team of workhorses was well trained to voice commands. Besides, Nick had driven them at a trot a fair amount of the journey from Indian Valley and they were ready to rest.
Nick handled the team with practiced ease despite his relative youth. In his mid-twenties, he was more familiar with true horsepower than gasoline produced power some nine years after That Day.
That Day was embedded into the consciousness of all the older people, not so much for those Nick’s age and younger. It was the day the modern world ended. The day Russia and the United States called “Check Mate” and launched their nuclear missiles. Russia fired first though it hadn’t mattered who started it, not with those weapons. The early detection system gave the United States missile commanders time to react. And react they did. The majority of two continents were destroyed That Day and the entire world was plunged into a yearlong nuclear winter. The short exchange followed the smallpox pandemic that’d been engineered in Russia and released at the Super Bowl. The rest of the world was affected as bad as the U.S. and Russia.
Young people like Nick had rough patches but adapted easily. Older people like his parents took it harder. They’d had modern conveniences all their lives and it was tough to do without. His companion on the wagon, Mat Gomez, though a few years older, had adapted easily as well. He’d led a hardscrabble life and it wasn’t much harder after That Day. His younger sisters, Alison and Brooke, fit in like it was the only life they’d ever known. When they gathered with other kids in their age range, they laughed at their elders who always reminisced about the old times, the modern times. The younger generation had mostly forgotten those times so had no trouble letting them go.
Nick and Mat stood together on the wagon bed. Nick was three inches taller with dark brown hair and strongly muscled from years of hard work. His muscles weren’t like those of weightlifters and professional athletes of the past, but the lithe, toned muscles of someone who worked hard every day. But as strong and toned as he was, he wasn’t as imposing as the smaller man beside him. Mat Gomez oozed confident, deadly grace developed over years of running the rough streets of California’s inner cities and going from them to the even rougher villages and mountains of Afghanistan in Uncle Sam’s service.
“So there it is,” Nick said after the wagon’s bed stopped creaking and the horses’ blowing breaths had eased. “What do you think?”
He’d stopped the wagon in front of a wreck of a house. Despite years of neglect, vandalism, and damage from wildfire, the house still displayed a portion of the grandeur it’d held when it was new. The home had large log beams, many of them black and singed, and large windows with a view down the river valley. The back half of the building was a charred mass where the range fire had engulfed it but the steel roof and front remained relatively unscathed.
“Are you sure the owner hasn’t been here?” Mat asked.
Nick looked at him and nodded his head. “Yes Mat, I’m sure. This place was built by a dentist from down in the city. He was planning to retire and move here, TEN YEARS AGO. He never made it out when the stuff hit the fan. It was never occupied except for transients over the years and not at all that I know of since that big range fire whipped through here three years ago. So, I repeat, what do you think?”
“We could sure use the material, but I’m not a thief,” Mat said.
“Dude, look around you!” Nick stated. “The guy never got out of the city and the place has been falling apart for years. You won’t get another chance this good.”
Mat pondered the wreck for a while. They needed building materials if they were going to get a second house built for Chad and Carol. Not that they had any idea when they’d need it, but the last letter they’d received indicated his brother and family were coming home. And since That Day, it was impossible to buy building materials at a lumber yard. He studied the building and made his decision. “All right, let’s salvage what we can,” he said.
“About time you came to your senses,” Nick said. He gave the reins a light flip and clucked, starting the team moving. He’d unhitch the wagon near the house and hobble the horses to graze while he and Mat worked. Not that much forage was available as late in the season as it was, but every little bit would help.
Mat hopped off the wagon and studied the home. He especially wanted the steel roofing, windows, and bathroom fixtures. After that, he’d decide what else to take. Nick would have to determine what they hauled since he was more familiar with the horses and how heavy a load they could pull.
The home they were building was as much as possible like his own using limited resources. His house was built into a south-facing hillside with large windows along the front. With thick earth insulation and southern exposure, it took little to heat in the winter and stayed comfortable in the summer. They couldn’t make an exact copy but he thought they could capture the important features.
The wood for the new house was accumulated. The family had hewn timbers and lumber from pine and fir trees they’d harvested in the nearby forest. It’d been a long, hard process, completed over three years, but they were confident they’d produced enough for the project. Mat hoped so. He didn’t want to pick up his drawknife ever again if he could help it.
The location for the new house had been excavated, thanks to Nick with the workhorses and a Fresno Scraper. It’d been another, long slow process, a poor substitute for a backhoe. But it was the best they had and was hands-down better than moving that much dirt with shovels and a wheelbarrow. Nothing was done quickly, not since That Day.
Mat wasn’t looking forward to moving the pile of dirt over the roof once it was in place. The horses couldn’t help much with that task. Although he longed to see his brother again, his homecoming was causing a lot of work. But in his heart, he knew it was worth it. He only wished Chad and Carol would get home sooner rather than later.
Nick stopped the team where he wanted the wagon, and Mat moved over and unhooked the trace chains and neck yoke. Nick unhooked the cross reins and each man led a horse to a stand of dead trees. The trees hadn’t lasted long on the dry hillside without irrigation. The men took the harnesses and collars off the horses but held off on putting the hobbles on them. The horses went to bare spots of dirt, scraped a bit with their hooves, then lay down and rolled their sweaty bodies in the dust. When they’d finished, stood, and shaken, the men put the hobbles on them.
“All right, I guess it’s time for us to get hot and sweaty,” Nick said. “Should we start with the roofing?”
“I think so,” Mat said and took the ladder off the wagon, leaning it against a solid section of the wall.
“So are you sure he’s worth all this work?” Nick asked with a grin as he strapped his tool belt around his narrow waist.
“I’ve asked myself the same question quite a few times,” Mat said.
#
The chill of late summer morning was giving way as Nick rode up to Mat’s house. He admired the second glass wall, proud of what he’d helped create, but dreading the next step.
Dan Smoke limped from the goat barn leaning heavily on his walking stick with one hand, the milk bucket in the other. “Good morning Nick. It’s a beautiful morning, isn’t it? Too bad it’ll get hot as soon as you guys start moving dirt.” Covering the new house’s roof with dirt, insulation for the passive solar design, was the next thing to do.
“Isn’t that the truth. But before we get to that, we should read the letter I brought. I wanted to read it at home but held off since it’s not addressed to me,” he said.
“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Dan demanded. “Take care of your horse and get in the house.”
Dan hobbled on to the house. Alison and Brooke, his twin daughters, were in the kitchen area, helping their mom. “Girls,” he said, “If your mom can spare you, one of you get Mat, Heather, and Hope. Nick brought a letter.”
The girls looked at their mom and she shooed Ali away. “Hurry, do as your dad says,” she stated. She also dropped what she was working on. It could wait and so could the milk.
Soon, the entire family and Nick were settled in the living room area and Nick handed the letter to Heather. She did a better job of reading the letters out loud without getting emotional. She slit the top of the wrinkled envelope, extracted notebook paper and read:
Hey everyone,
I hope all is well at home. I’m not sure if you got my other letters telling you we were coming home, but we are, rather we were. We started for home a few months ago but didn’t get as far as I’d have liked. We started fine, making good time. We’d traded for a weather goat and a bike cart. I worked on the cart so I could hook it to the goat and trained him to pull it. The tires and tubes were rotten so I found some hydraulic hose and wired it to the rims as replacements. It’s fine for slow travel with the goat but I’m glad I’m not pulling it with a bike. But at least we don’t have to worry about flats. We also have a friend traveling with us and it’s nice to take night watch in shifts.
John keeps us on our toes but we put him and most of our gear in the cart. The goat and trailer are a great help and we made good time and John held up well to the travel. Then I noticed Carol was having more problems than in the past. She finally told me she was pregnant and was having a lot of nausea and sickness with it. She didn’t want to tell me before because she knew how much I want to get home.
“She’s pregnant again, huh,” Mat said. “Well, in that one letter he told us it was cold. I guess they figured out a way to stay warm.”
“Mat!” Heather scolded and elbowed him in the side.
“Oh God,” Lisa said. “I hope they found somewhere safe.”
“Maybe he’ll address that,” Heather said. “Let me read more.” She flashed a scowl at Mat before she continued.
We heard about a safe settlement in northern New Mexico, called Philmont, where they have a healer, a doctor of sorts. We hope to get there in another month or so, but we aren’t moving very fast now. We stopped at another compound and the midwife checked Carol out. She thinks she’s carrying twins. How about that, more twins in the family. But she recommended we stop traveling, that the strain and unreliable meals were too much on her. So we will stop, once we get to that other place. I’d like to keep going, but oh well, it’s supposedly a nice place.
Once there, we’ll stay until the baby or babies are born. It’ll be late enough in the year we’ll have to stay until spring. That should give Carol and the little one(s) time to get strong enough to travel.
“Hopefully the coming winter will be milder so they don’t need to take another long break next summer,” Nick said and winked at Mat. He felt safe enough saying it, being out of range of Heather’s elbows.
He may have been out of range of her elbow but not the glare she shot him before she started reading again.
Yesterday was the 4th of July, Happy Fourth by the way, and they celebrate it here a lot like back home. There were games and contests on the green. I can’t remember them all, but there were sack races . . .
Heather quit reading at a loud sob from Lisa. Tears were streaming down her face and she pulled out a handkerchief and blew her nose.
“Mom, are you crying because there might be more twins in the family?” Alison asked.
“We aren’t that bad, are we?” Brooke added.
“No,” their mom sniffed. She chose her words carefully. “I’m crying because they’re going to stop somewhere safe, with a doctor. They should already be there. I’ll be a grandmother again and I’ve never seen or held my first grandbaby. I’ll be an old lady before I ever get to hold one.” Silently she thought, If I’m still here when they make it home. Please God, let me see and hold them all before you take me.
Something was wrong with her and she was certain nothing could be done about it. Doc Stevens was good with many ailments, but if her assumptions were correct, he couldn’t help her. In a few days, she’d see him to confirm her fears. She hadn’t shared her concerns with the girls yet.
“But Mom, you –” Brooke got out before Alison shushed her.
“DON’T say what you were going to say!” Alison hissed to her sister.
Ignoring her daughters, Lisa added, “And he said it was July 4th. That means the day before was his birthday. He would’ve turned twenty-three that day.” She wiped her nose again.
“Remember the first Fourth of July celebration we went to in town and Chad’s birthday?” Mat asked. “He was pretty embarrassed when John Burns and his group did ‘Happy Birthday’ and John got him to sit in with them to play.” Mat looked thoughtful for a moment and added, “But I think he really enjoyed the gift Carol gave him later, a lot.”
“What gift? I don’t remember her giving him anything,” Heather said.
Mat laughed and said, “You didn’t see him stumble up the steps onto the Camp’s front porch with the goofiest look I’ve ever seen on his face. Carol kissed him for the first time that night.”
“Yep, he was quite the mental case after that,” Nick said.
“Oh, that’s right,” Heather said. “What a night of firsts for him, playing music in front of a group, first time with a guitar, and Carol. Wow.”
Lisa sniffed and said, “That’s when we first met Carol.” It was quiet for several minutes as they recalled their memories of the event.
Lisa broke the silence saying. “Okay, you can keep reading.”
“Right, now where was I?” Heather asked scanning the paper. “Oh yeah, here we are.”
There were games and contests on the green. I can’t remember them all, but there were sack races, three-legged races, tug of war contests. There were baseball games. They had a horseshoe contest and a lot of other games. They had a big barbecue and music and dancing. I played and Carol sang. It was like being home again. But it wasn’t, no matter how much it felt like it.
So it’ll be some time before we start for home again. I guess in the meantime, I better figure out a way to make the goat trailer bigger.
We love you and miss you, and hope to be home next summer. Chad, Carol, and John.
Lisa was crying more than before and fell against Dan’s shoulder and sobbed.
Heather wanted them to have time to themselves so she heaved herself to her feet and beckoned Mat after her. “Come on girls, let’s get breakfast together. You and the guys need to eat before you start moving dirt.”
They left Dan and Lisa sitting close together. When they were in the kitchen area, Mat looked at Nick and said, “I’m glad we haven’t finished the inside of the new house yet. It sounds like we need to plan another bedroom into it, maybe more before they make it back.”
“Yeah, and maybe an additional bedroom for you guys while we’re at it,” Nick said with a wide grin. “Seeing as how last winter was so cold.”
Mat winked at Heather and patted her expanded abdomen.
|
|
|
Post by bretf on Apr 25, 2020 6:34:41 GMT -6
Returning to . . .
“Hey Dad, check this out,” Glen Camp told his father, Russ, as he held up an envelope. “I was talking to Angie and a guy passing through town had this and gave it to her. She said to let you figure it out. So what do you think we should do with it?” Nothing had been made official but Russ was the town’s de facto leader, the man everyone went to with their problems.
Russ was standing over a round of Douglas fir, a splitting maul poised in his hands. His shirt and the cuffs of his gloves were soaked with sweat. A pile of rounds was on one side of him and a second pile of split wood on the other. Leaning the maul against the block of wood, he pulled his cap off and wiped his forehead with the back of a gloved hand adding more sweat to the darkened leather. The weather was unseasonably warm for October and Russ was glad for it. Spring had come late, delaying planting and setting everything related to the crops back later in the year. It’d created a flurry of activity to get everything harvested before freezing weather hit, as well as getting the winter supply of firewood in. The Camps, like so many of Hamilton’s residents, still had to get the wood split and stacked. It was their only source of heat in a world without electricity or fossil fuels.
Russ put his cap back on, pulled his gloves off, and took the envelope and turned it over in his hands studying it. The paper was in better shape than most letters he’d seen carried by travelers. Most had been through rough treatment with few spots that weren’t creased, wrinkled, and covered by stains in various colors. Many times, Russ was certain the stains were caused by blood. He wouldn’t venture to guess what others were caused by.
But the letter he held was different. It had been carried with care and the seal was unbroken. He knew letter carriers often opened the correspondence they carried and read what they contained. Travelers would read anything and everything they could get their hands on. Personal letters were no exception.
On the front of the envelope, the lettering printed in heavy black letters was, “Cindy Burns, Hamilton Idaho”.
“Have you ever seen him before?” Russ asked.
“No, he didn’t look familiar but he gave me the chills. You know how Mat Gomez always looks coiled up and ready to strike? This guy looked like that and a whole lot more,” Glen said. “After Angie read the envelope, she told him he needed to talk to you or me. He said he’d rather leave it and get back on the road because he had another letter for the Smoke family and wanted to know how to find their place. If possible, he hoped to get there before dark.”
“You say he looked dangerous? Do we need to get a truck and go warn Mat?” Russ asked.
Glen tilted his head in thought and said, “No, I don’t think he means to harm them or anything. When he asked how to find their place, he tapped his breast pocket and said he had another letter. And he’d promised Chad Smoke he’d hand-deliver it to his family. The guy looked pretty road-worn though and might appreciate a ride to their place.”
“He’s seen Chad? And Carol?” Russ asked. He’d address a possible ride for the man later.
“Evidently,” Glen said. “He said his name is Larry Cooper and wants to shake the family’s hands, especially Mat for making Chad into the person he is. He told me he’d traveled with them for a while and Chad saved his life once and nearly took a bullet for it. He said he had a blood debt to find his family.”
“A bullet? Is Chad okay?” Russ asked, absently rubbing his left leg.
“It sounds like it was a near miss, so yeah, he’s okay, at least he was when that Cooper guy last saw them. He said they have a kid now and Carol’s pretty far along with another, or maybe twins. They’re planning on heading home as soon as Carol and the baby or babies can travel and the snow goes off the high county,” Glen said.
“Well, we need to pray everything goes well. I know Lisa wants to see them, needs to see them while she still has a chance,” Russ said.
They were quiet, considering the implications of Russ’s statement.
After several minutes, Glen broke the silence and pointed at the letter he’d given his dad.
“So what do you think Dad?” Glen asked.
Russ stared at the envelope, lost in thought. His left hand dropped to his pants’ leg and caressed a spot below the pocket.
“Dad?” Glen asked after a couple of minutes. “What should we do with it?”
Shaken back to the present, Russ said, “I guess we’ll have to read what’s in it before we decide. Your mom and I were ready to take a break for a while anyway so your timing’s perfect.”
Linda Camp appeared at that moment from the back of the house where the well and hand pump were located. She held a tall glass of water in each hand. Her shirt was also dark with sweat from stacking the firewood as Russ split it. “You can share my water honey, I took a long drink at the pump,” she told her son and offered the glass to Glen. Holding the other glass out to Russ, she saw the envelope he held. “What do you have?” she asked.
“I think it’s a letter . . . addressed to Cindy Burns,” Russ said.
Linda was taken aback by the answer and her hand with the glass stopped water spilling out. “Oh . . . well. I wonder who it’s from and where it came from. Obviously, they don’t know what happened. So what are you going to do with it? Are you going to read it?” she asked.
Russ looked troubled. “We won’t know until we open it but from what Glen just said, I’m guessing it’s from Carol. You know, I don’t like reading something meant for someone else but I think we should, don’t you? It might have something in it that would be important to Chad’s family or someone else.”
“I think you’re right. We should look at it, and because you don’t want to, you’re the perfect person to do it,” Linda said. “Now let’s go have a seat.” She led the way to the chairs arranged on the front porch.
Russ sat with a heavy sigh, took his cap off, dropped it beside his chair, and wiped his forehead with the back of a glove. He pulled the gloves off and dropped them beside the cap. He took a long drink after accepting the glass from Linda.
Russ set the glass on the porch floor near his cap and gloves. Holding the envelope up, he studied it and sighed heavily again.
“Well, go ahead, Dad, open it,” Glen said.
Russ shot his son a cross look as he tore the envelope open and pulled a single, folded sheet of paper from it. He unfolded it and rubbed it across his leg, trying to flatten the wrinkles. Holding the paper up, he moved it farther and farther away from his face until his arm was fully extended and he was squinting at the paper. With a harrumph, he held the paper out to Glen and said, “I can’t make any of this out without glasses. You’ll have read it,” he said.
Glen took the paper, not showing anywhere near the reluctance his dad did to read a letter addressed to someone else.
“Okay, here goes,” Glen said and started to read aloud.
“Dear Mother,”
Linda Camp gasped and said, “You were right. It has to be from Carol. Oh Lord, of course, she doesn’t know.” Russ’s lips curled in a frown and his brow wrinkled. He gave a sad shake of his head in response.
Glen raised his eyebrows at his mom and asked, “Can I continue now?”
“Oh, I’m sorry honey. Yes, please continue,” she said.
Glen thought she seemed sorry all right, for Carol not for interrupting, but he didn’t voice his thoughts.
“Dear Mother,
“I can’t believe I’m using that term for you. After the way you betrayed me and acted like Dad never existed, I swore I’d never use that word toward you. You were dead to me.”
Glen stopped reading and looked from one parent to the other, waiting for his mom to chime in, knowing she would have comments regarding what he’d read.
“Oh Lord, poor Carol,” Linda said.
Russ had a faraway look in his eyes and absently rubbed his leg, the scars hidden by his pants. Glen guessed what he was remembering, what he saw and heard in his mind. The images of the flames and Cindy’s screams had haunted him for a long time too. And he handed been shot in the exchange like his dad had been. After a couple of minutes of silence, Russ said quietly, “What else does she have to say?”
“But time heals wounds, and being with Chad and having his love and support, I’ve decided to give you another chance. You’re a grandmother now. Chad and I have a wonderful son, named after the wonderful grandpa he’ll never get to meet. John. We also have another child, possibly two, on the way. You’ll have to meet us on our terms if you want to see them.
We’ll be starting for home in the spring when most, but not all of the winter snow is gone and buds are coming out. A good friend of ours is heading your direction tomorrow, trying to get home before winter so I’m writing this for him to carry.
“Yeah, looks right you’re right Mom. Carol wrote this,” Glen said looking at his mom and no longer reading. “She didn’t say it, but the guy who carried this said they’re in northern New Mexico.”
“Just keep reading please,” Linda said.
Glen grinned at her and read aloud,
“We have a long way to go with dangerous areas to go through or around. Chad is nervous to take me and the children through those places and we won’t be able to travel fast. So it will still be a long time before we get home. When we get there, we’ll be going to Chad’s home. So if you want to see any of us, you’ll have to come to us. I made the first step, the next will be up to you.”
“And it’s signed, ‘Carol’. She didn’t add ‘love’, or ‘sincerely’, or anything like that,” Glen said.
Russ stared silently at the paper in Glen’s hand, a look Linda had seen too frequently in the last year. A minute passed, followed by another and another.
Russ stood, favoring his left leg more than he had when they’d sat down. “We need to get that to Mat and his family. Glen, get a truck and try to find that guy and give him a ride. I’ve got to get back to work. That wood isn’t going to split and stack itself.”
Russ walked off the porch rubbing his leg. In his mind, he heard Cindy Burns’ screams and Frank Young’s manic yells. And the gunshots. His leg throbbed and he walked as swiftly as he could to the woodpile, hoping the splitting maul slamming into the wood would displace the sounds in his head.
|
|
|
Post by bretf on Apr 25, 2020 6:38:58 GMT -6
Coop
“Hello, Smoke and Gomez home,” Dan heard a man call from the trail. He turned and leaned on his shovel, taking the weight off his weak leg. As he watched the trail, a weathered man walked into view. The man had a pack on his back, a rifle over one shoulder, and his left hand around the end of a walking stick. The stick flicked forward with each step and Dan noted the man’s right hand was empty.
The man was looking all around, not for threats, but he seemed to be categorizing all he saw. He saw Dan in the garden and walked slowly towards him. “Well, I must say, this place is lovely,” the man said. “I’d love to see it in mid-summer when it’s flourishing. But still, it’s exactly like Chad and Carol described it other than the second house and the terraces on the hillside. You must have added those after they left.”
Dan froze, unsure if he’d heard the stranger correctly. “Did . . . did you say . . . Chad . . . and Carol?” he got out. “You . . . you’ve seen them . . . and talked to them?” His voice rose as he spoke.
The man’s statement about the second house and terraces were true. The family had been working on each project over time. Each year they’d added a bit more to the terrace system. It’d only been a vague idea when Chad was home. And the house was another long-term project, anticipating the day Chad and Carol returned with their kids. The man was correct but had wasted his words. Dan hadn’t comprehended a thing after he said the names. Has he seen and talked to my son? Oh God, is it real?
“Yes sir, I sure did. They’re fabulous people. You must be Chad’s dad. And I’ve got to tell you, Dan, you folks have a nice setup. One of the nicest I’ve seen, in fact,” the stranger said.
“How . . . wh . . . where . . . ” Dan stammered, unable to complete a sentence. Chad! And Carol! This man has seen them, talked to them. Talked to Chad! Dan gripped the shovel handle tighter, closed his eyes, and lowered his head. “Thank you, Lord, thank you!” he murmured.
Mat saw the stranger talking to his dad and started in their direction, alert for trouble. Where was that dog, that she’d let him get close, unchallenged? His movements drew the attention of the others, one at a time. Alison and Brooke hurried to their mom, ready to help her if she needed it. They walked close to her, one on each side as they joined the rest of the family forming a half-circle in front of the stranger.
The man slowly scrutinized them in turn as they studied him. He raised his eyebrows at Lisa’s condition but didn’t comment. “These lovely ladies must be Lisa and Heather, Alison, Brooke, and Hope. That one I can’t name,” he said pointing at the baby Hope carried. “And you must be Mat. I want to shake your hand sir and give you my heartfelt thanks. If not for what you taught your brother, I’d have been coyote food out on the prairie some months ago.”
“My brother? Prairie?” Mat asked. The man took his hand and shook it while Mat looked confused. Lindy, the family dog, took that moment to appear, bristling and growling at the strange man.
Aside from the dog, the stranger was met with blank looks all around. He knew all their names, and . . . brother? Dan still wasn’t over his shock.
Chuckling, the man said, “Sorry folks, I forgot my manners. My name’s Larry Cooper. And I have a letter for you,” he smiled slyly, looking from face to face, drawing it out. “It’s from an incredible young couple I traveled with for a thousand miles or so.” He paused again, smiling wide. “A couple whose names are Chad and Carol Smoke, oh, and their son John.”
Lisa gasped, a hand over her mouth and her eyes filling with tears. Her bookend daughters steadied her.
Heather squealed and gave Mat a crushing hug. Larry Cooper watched and smiled at the reactions.
“You were with them?” Brooke demanded.
“Where are they, when are they coming home?” Alison added, her eyes narrowing.
Lisa stared at him, waiting. When he didn’t respond instantly she said, “Mr. Cooper, I’d like to hear the answers to those questions and many more as well. You see, I’ve longed to see Chad again for so long and I’m running out of time. I need, I have to see him and his children. I can’t shake the answers out of you, but Mat,” she indicated the young man she considered her son, “Would if I ask him to. But I’d prefer to stick with my manners for now. So please, Mr. Cooper.”
She swiped at her eyes and sniffed loudly before saying, “Mr. Cooper, you look like you’ve come a long way. Please, come to the house. We can fix you something to eat and get you a cold drink, either water or milk.” Tears ran down her face and she added, “We’ve gotten a handful of letters since they left but you’re the first person in over three years who’s seen and talked to him, to them. So please Mr. Cooper, let’s go to the house and you can tell us all about him and Carol, and of course, their son.”
Coop turned to her and smiled. “Something to eat sounds wonderful, ma’am. Nowadays, a meal can be pretty hard to find on the road and your son bragged on and on how good the food is here,” he said. “I welcome the opportunity for you to prove him right. And I’d be happy to tell you everything I know.”
Despite her offer, Lisa wanted to skip the food and get directly to hearing what he could tell them. She was dying to hear what he had to say. But his physical appearance confirmed he had indeed regularly missed meals.
The girls didn’t show restraint; they were as anxious for news as their mom but were less patient or polite. “Mr. Cooper, where is our brother?” Brooke demanded.
Cooper chuckled and said, “I suppose I better tell you, shouldn’t I. From the stories I heard, you and your sister are liable to beat me with hardwood sticks if I don’t tell you what I know.”
“If we have to, we will,” Alison stated. “Or we can skip the sticks and just shoot you in the leg. Mat and Aunt Heather taught us to shoot after Chad left.”
“And we shoot better than both of them. But it’s more satisfying to thump someone, so start talking,” Brooke said.
Cooper laughed and said, “Well, it would be hard on my ego if you did that, thumping me or shooting me, so I’ll tell you what I know. I’m not sure who Chad would be madder at if it happened, you two or me. Anyway, they’re in a place called Philmont, New Mexico. I traveled with them from the Gulf of Mexico to there. They need to spend the winter but after a week to rest and get some provisions, I left to try to beat winter. Chad wasn’t sure how long they’d stay on. He wanted to stay until he was pretty sure it was safe to travel with the kids. Especially the baby, or babies. The healer thinks Carol’s carrying twins.”
“That’s where they said they were,” Alison said.
“In the latest letter we got,” Brooke said.
“So you’re telling us,” Ali said.
“They’re still there?” Brooke finished.
Coop laughed again and said, “Yep, still in Philmont until spring.”
“New Mexico is a long way from here,” Heather said. “And the letter the girls referenced said he hoped to be home next summer.”
“You’ve got that right ma’am. It’s a dang long way from here and rides non-existent,” Cooper said. “Although, your friend Glen Camp ran me out here from Hamilton in a wood-fueled truck. I wouldn’t mind if he could give me another ride, a hundred or so miles, but ya know, wish in one hand.” He held both hands out as if waiting for them to fill up. “Anyway, if Chad and Carol don’t run into trouble, I’d guess they’ll be here in six months, give or take.”
Lisa gave the twins a nudge and told them to take Mr. Cooper to the house. She sniffled while they led Cooper away. Dan and Heather took their places beside her. She pulled both tight and buried her face against Dan’s shoulder. “Oh Dan, they’re coming home. I might get to see them again,” she said and sobbed. “I might see the babies.”
They held her while she sobbed, each experiencing relief mixed with grief. When she finished, they walked on each side of her to the house.
They stepped inside to see Larry Cooper at the table, a tall glass of milk in front of him, along with a plate holding sliced cheese, tomatoes, cucumbers, and dried meat. He looked up, not done chewing the bite in his mouth and said, “Maybe you folks should read this while I eat.” He tapped a finger on a folded paper near his plate. Alison took it and ran to her mother and held it out.
Lisa closed her eyes, her lips moving silently. When she finished her prayer, she took the paper. Ali and Brooke trailed her to the couch and sat one on each side next to her. Dan, Heather, and Mat brought chairs from the table and sat in a semi-circle facing her. Lisa unfolded the paper and read out loud,
Dear Mom and Dad, and everyone.
I hope this letter makes it to you. And I hope it finds you all safe and healthy. The postal service isn’t exactly first-rate nowadays but I have more faith in this letter getting to you than the others I’ve written. Coop is a very good friend who I trust with my life with good reason. That’s a long story so it will have to wait for another time. Anyway, he said he would carry this to you. I’ve sent other letters with random travelers so I don’t have a lot of faith they reached you. If they did, some of what I tell you will be a repeat; sorry about that. But if you haven’t seen them, I guess it’s a good thing I’m including what I am.”
Lisa had found it more difficult to make out the words the further she read. She wiped her eyes and held the letter out to Heather. Heather took it and found where she’d stopped reading. She waited as Lisa murmured a prayer before she began to read for everyone to hear.
Anyway, Carol and I got to Rock Springs with those guys we left with and she wasn’t ready to go back home so we kept going. We continued east to Minnesota, then went to the Ozarks and south to the southern tip of Texas. From there, we went northwest to where we are now, Philmont, New Mexico. Believe me, we couldn’t be in a better place, except at home. Some of the places we’ve been and the things we’ve seen would make your skin crawl. There’re places where people are considered commodities and all that matters is getting the next meal. Slavery thrives in those areas.
Mom and Dad, if you don’t already know it, you’re grandparents now. Our son John was born in the Missouri Ozarks and our next child or children will be born here. I can’t wait for you to meet them.
By the way, I helped free a group of slaves a bunch of biker trash held in Iowa. I had no idea I was doing it at the time, but I managed to help free my cousin. He wasn’t in Chicago, but off at a camp when everything happened. His mom had left the city to get him when Chicago was hit by a bomb. I guess if you had enough money you could get past the travel restrictions. She lived through that but died later. It’s sad; the survivors caused more problems and destruction than the nuke did. All the lowlifes crawled out of their cracks and took over. I couldn’t find out for certain, but Howie, my cousin, thought his dad, your brother, Dad, is dead. Sorry to tell you. The only one of that branch of the family that’s left is Howie. He’s a real dork and if he hasn’t been yet, he’ll be killed or made a captive again. He was with us for a while and I was ready to do something to him myself. It’s embarrassing that we have the same last name. Oh well, you can’t pick your family they say. In that region, the only civility is when you’re tougher or better armed than the next guy. Howie thinks guns are evil so he’s another statistic waiting to happen.
One cool thing we saw was a bunch of buffalo. It wasn’t a huge herd like before they were all killed off, but the people we talked to say they’re expanding since all the land doesn’t get farmed anymore.
You wouldn’t believe the Gulf of Mexico. That water is as warm as bathwater at home. And the land leading up to it is pretty much flat. I gotta tell you, I really missed the mountains. Not only that, the water is horrible. It would have been nice to have a couple of better filters than we have. But we managed – barely. Thank goodness most of the people are good folks and don’t shoot first.
The area near Corpus Christi is pretty nice. There’re a lot of people of Mexican descent and most everyone is bilingual. Thanks, Mat, for teaching me Spanish. It made it a lot easier. Everywhere we’ve gone, the locals are leery of outsiders (usually with good reason) so it’s nice to be able to talk to them when they act like they don’t understand. There are a lot of farms and ranches that have been in the same family for generations, good people like the folks at home. It would be a nice area if it wasn’t all as flat as a pancake and you could drink the water.
That part of Texas was a nice place to hole up for a while. We needed a long break and the area was certainly better than any cities we got close to. Pretty much every city of any size is a ghost town or controlled by ghouls - living ones. Salvage parties that go into the cities have to be heavily armed and still rarely get out unscathed.
And you’d all be interested to know they’ve got coffee in south Texas. It didn’t do anything for me, that stuff is lousy; it’s too bitter. Maybe it’s because it’s made with lousy water, I’m not sure. Mat, Aunt Heather, I don’t know why you were so crazy about it; it’s not my drink of choice for sure.
We spent quite a bit of time in South Dakota. And Mom, we found a minister and are married according to the Bible. So rest assured we’re not living in sin.
Mat couldn’t help but snort as he watched over Heather’s shoulder. She shot him the evil eye in response.
“Can I start again?” Heather asked with a glare and winked at him.
“Sure Hon,” he said.
And now we’re in New Mexico. We met a guy you might remember, Mom and Dad. Anyway, everywhere we go, we pick any plant I can remember from that book on medicinal plants and trade them. It’s a pretty good deal. So in that settlement, the Healer, as he’s called, is named Frank Jeffries. Do you remember him? You called him the ‘Blue Suit’, Dad, back when he was with the CDC at the start of the plague. The same guy that came to our house. I didn’t remember him, but when I was bartering with him for our dried plants, he kept looking at me oddly, so we got to talking and figured it out. He made it back to Atlanta and found it was a cesspool. There was no trace of his family so he wandered around until he ended up here. For some reason, he remembered you.
Heather stopped reading and looked up. “The writing has been getting smaller as it goes lower on the page. The last was barely legible, it was so small. I think he might not have paper to spare,” she said. Okay, where was I? Yeah, here it is”.
“So, I’m still hoping to be home early next summer. I just want to be sure winter is really over and the passes are clear. Plus, Carol will need time to recuperate and I don’t want to get stranded somewhere with small children. Carol sends her love. Love Chad.
Everyone sat for several minutes, pondering over what the letter said, and also, what it didn’t say. “Read it again,” Brooke demanded.
Coop smiled and took another bite, thankful for more time to savor the wonderful meal.
|
|
|
Post by bretf on Apr 25, 2020 6:41:30 GMT -6
Bob
All right, just a little longer, the man called Bob thought to himself. He remained still despite the stick poking his side and ants crawling over him. Patience, just be still and patient and you’ll win the prize. He was peering through the scope on his rifle at two figures approaching on the road. He’d detected them several minutes earlier when they were small in the distance. As they approached, he decided one was certainly a man, and judging by the stature, the other was either a youth or a woman. The man was pulling an odd cart. That was a good sign and Bob was curious to find out what was in it.
Bob wasn’t the man’s given name. It was a name he’d acquired after their country had gone to crap following the pandemic and short, efficient nuclear war with Russia. Someone had pinned the name on him because he was a nomad, a man who bobbed from place to place, never staying long. The name was short, easy to remember, and without baggage. Not that he expected to find anyone who knew his real name and past, but you never knew. Fourteen years had passed since his photo and story had been nationwide news, and he’d changed with the passing time. More pressing matters, basic survival, had been on everyone’s mind since. However, he’d never expected to live through a nuclear war, so better to be safe. Thus, he was Bob in the new world.
Few people traveled in the region and most of those did so under cover of darkness. To travel in the daylight on the open roads was foolhardy and a good recipe to end up dead. But there those two were. The silent watcher mentally chuckled. They appeared to be more than regular vagabonds if they had enough wealth to carry in a cart. And in a few minutes, he planned on finding out what it was.
The stillness of the day was shattered by the rifle shot. It hit the traveler square in the chest and he fell instantly. His companion froze, wide-eyed at the sight, making an easy target for the second shot. Bob remained in place for several more minutes watching for further movement before extricating himself from his blind. He walked slowly down the hill, alert for any noise. He didn’t think anyone was near who would come and investigate but he stayed wary in case he was wrong. His wariness had paid off more than once and had allowed him to live longer than less cautious people in the screwed- up world.
Once he reached the fallen people, he picked up the pace. He wanted off the open road. He threw the man across the cart and pulled it down an embankment into a thicket of brush. The body fell off the cart just inside the thicket but Bob forced the cart deeper, stopping at a clear pocket. Hurrying back to the road, he grabbed the smaller body and dragged, depositing it near the cart. The long brown hair fell away from the young woman’s face, revealing heavily pockmarked features. He was sure they were old since he hadn’t heard of a new outbreak of the disease in at least two years.
He stopped to catch his breath, breathing hard from the efforts. When his breathing was under control, he stood listening. If anyone was drawn by the gunfire, they’d easily find where he’d gone, but at least he wasn’t out in the open. He had no intention of hanging around any longer than he had to.
Not hearing anything or anyone coming his way, Bob walked to the man’s body. The man was young and carrying what the press and lawmakers had loved to call an assault rifle. As if his rifle and the damage it inflicted wasn’t worthy of the term. Oh well, they’d all been reactionary idiots. The man’s rifle would be worth keeping, at least if he had ammo to go with it, although it hadn’t done the dead man any good in the end. Reaching to grab his arm to pull him to the clearing, he froze at a sound from behind him. A weak cry had come from the cart. Was something in it alive? Was it a child?
Bob stood still and listened, unsure if he’d heard right. He didn’t hear the crying sound, but he heard something else that set his heart beating faster; the metallic sound as horse’s shod hooves hit the paved road, several of them. Bob knew he had to move, fast. While the brush concealed him, it didn’t offer cover or a position to defend himself. If the riders came after him, they’d take him with ease.
Quickly going through the man’s pockets and pulling the 9mm pistol off his belt, Bob threw the contents into his pack. Flies buzzed around the blood and the man’s odor was rank, his body losing more bodily fluids than blood. It was another reason to get away as fast as he could.
He hurried to the second body. It was also attracting flies and emitting rank odors. Turning his head, he sucked in a deep breath. Rank indeed. He felt no regret at killing her. She wasn’t the first, far from it, and undoubtedly would not be the last. But he did regret not being able to take his time killing her like he used to do with those hookers . . . and her.
She’d been the first and most satisfying. Though he’d tried for years, he’d never reached the same level of ecstasy, nirvana, as he’d drained the life from her. And her screams, so satisfying, had nearly made up for the years of torment. But in the end, she’d let him down and gave up too soon. Just like she’d let him down his entire life. What a poor excuse for a mother. He’d wanted to draw her pain out for days, for weeks and she couldn’t even give him that.
Even though she’d given up too soon, it had still been exquisite. He’d searched for that feeling countless times but none of the whores ever took him to such heights. He’d been lost in his thoughts as he looked at the woman, forgetting his urgency. Returning to the present, he stuffed her possessions into his pack and shouldered the pack and both rifles.
The cart had long handles attached to it and he knelt between them and stood. He cussed silently at the noise as he pulled it through the brush. It was loud, too loud, but hopefully, the sound of the horses would cover it. Beyond the brush was a rock landscape and he crossed it, avoiding dirt areas as best he could to not leave a visible trail. It would be nice to go back and conceal any sign he did leave but he was out of time.
Once across the rocks, Bob paused and listened, hearing snatches of muffled conversation. The riders were closer, though he still had time, but was it enough? He’d holed up the past few days in a shallow cave and decided if he hurried, he could get to it before the riders were at the site of the ambush. Once in the cave, he’d have cover and be in a defensible position. It was imperative he make in time.
Bob was panting hard as he dragged the cart over the rocks he’d piled near the cave’s entrance. The sound came from the cart again but he couldn’t tell what it was over his labored breathing. He’d have to check it out later. For the time being, he had to get it out of his way and be ready to fight if the horsemen came after him.
Lying on the ground behind the pile of rocks, he extended his rifle barrel through the opening he’d left for that purpose. From his position, he could see the tops of the riders’ heads but no more. They stopped at the place he’d shot the couple and looked around. Only catching snatches of what they said, it seemed they were arguing over what to do. He thought one wanted to follow the trail into the brush, but if he heard right, the others were against it. He heard the noise from the cart again but remained focused on the riders, neither turning nor trying to determine what might have made it. It could wait; it had to wait.
After an interminable wait and raised voices by the riders, they continued down the road. Bob watched them, four men, briefly considering adding them to the day’s tally. He decided against it. On horseback, one could easily escape and return with more men than he could face. It was better to let them go on their way, though he wouldn’t mind having a horse. But it was alright. He’d eventually find a single rider.
Wanting to make sure the riders weren’t pulling a ruse, he stayed in place for two hours, watching. Patience had paid off more than once so he lay motionless, watching. Finally, stiff from being in one place for so long, he moved. It was time to see what he’d gotten for his labor, starting with the cart and whatever made those noises.
Pulling the cover back carefully, he peered inside and grinned. At hearing the noises, he’d wondered if a brat was in the cart. But wonder of wonders, it was better, something valuable. The grin turned into a broad smile. A cat was nestled on a laid-out coat with four kittens nursing. Those cats were worth more than the man’s assault rifle to the right people. Mice and rats were always a problem, worse than they’d been before the modern world ended. Grain and stored food were more precious than ever and it was a constant battle keeping rodents out. Bob knew of a compound not far away that would treat him royally for those cats.
Looking past the cats, Bob saw clothing. It appeared to be rough homespun fabric, as most people wore. The factory-made clothing of the past was becoming rarer and rarer, and most of what was seen was as holy as the pants women used to pay high dollar for. Opposite the clothing were two bulging water bladders, again, of the modern style. The larger was made from a cow’s bladder. The smaller had most likely come from a sheep. He raised them one at a time and checked their contents. Each contained water.
Bob pulled a cloth bag free of the cart and looked in it. Jackpot, he thought. It was full of dried meat strips, fruit, and vegetable chunks. Trying not to disturb the nursing kittens, he looked further but didn’t see anything of value, especially ammunition. Reaching his hands under the coat the cat was stretched out on, he felt another bladder. “Probably more water,” he muttered but pulled it out anyway.
After smelling the contents, he smiled broader than he had at discovering the cats. He tilted his head back and drank deeply of the wine it contained. It wasn’t the best he’d ever had but wasn’t the worst either. He took another long drink and studied the cart. All in all, it was a decent take, worth the expenditure of two bullets. Whatever the couple had on their persons would be a bonus.
A flat rock was against one wall of the cave’s entrance that Bob had used before to keep watch. He carried his pack to it, arranged his coat, and sat with his back against the stone wall. Following another long pull on the wine bladder, he opened his pack to see what he had.
The first item he pulled out was a leather packet tied with a thong. Bob untied the thong and unrolled it. Needles, loops of fine string, an awl and a short knife were inside. It was the woman’s sewing kit. It was worth keeping even though he was one of the few people who still wore factory produced clothing.
The next packet held flint, a steel, and tinder. It could be traded. He had a fine fire kit and didn’t see any need to carry a spare. Another packet held a fishing kit. Again, Bob thought he’d trade it. Providing his own food could be hard work. It was easier to take what he wanted or trade for it when he had to.
Pulling the man’s pistol from the pack, he turned it over admiringly. It was a keeper, a Browning Hi-Power 9mm. It was much nicer than the Taurus he carried. Regrettably, he’d only found a handful of rounds for it in the man’s pockets but no spare magazines. He pulled out a nice knife, a full magazine for the AK-47, and a bundle of papers. There was nothing else. Bob took another pull from the wineskin and untied the thong from the papers. It appeared to be a packet of letters.
An unofficial mail service had grown out of the ashes of the destroyed country. When asked, travelers carried letters from village to village. Countless letters were sent that never reached their destination. The packet he held would fall into that category.
Bob opened the first letter and squinted at it. The writer had horrible penmanship and grammar. What Bob got out of the letter, the man was trying to find a lost relative. “Good luck with that,” he muttered and added, “I needed more fire starter and this’s a good start.” He dropped it beside him. More of the notes contained the same basic message. A couple were general greetings to relatives saying they missed them. It was all rubbish as far as he was concerned.
He was down to the last letter as the light was fading from the sky. After dropping it on his pile of fire-starting paper, he changed his mind and retrieved it. He might as well read it before he burned it. Who knew, it might contain something useful, doubtful as it was, but still a possibility.
The front of the paper had “Smoke – Gomez, Indian Valley Idaho” written in large letters. Unfolding the paper, Bob read,
Hi Everyone. Hopefully this reaches you. A couple we met were headed for Oregon so it seemed like a good opportunity to write. The route they planned to take is rumored to have trouble spots but hopefully, this letter will get through to you. We plan to skirt those areas when we head home.
John has a little sister now, born here at Philmont. We named her Faith. (You know, now the family has Hope and Faith.) I can’t wait for them to meet you all.
We’re still in Philmont, in northern New Mexico. If Coop didn’t make it to you and explain, you can check your map. It’s between Raton and Taos, where the plains meet the mountains. Before That Day and the pandemic, it was a Boy Scout Adventure Base that was also a working ranch. The man who gave it to the Scouts insisted they keep it as a working ranch. So anyway, when everything happened, the place had cattle, horses, and buffalo, as well as deer, antelope, and elk. They had tent encampments for hundreds of people at a time. When so much was destroyed, a lot of people migrated here. They figured it’d be a good place to live and most of them had a lot of training and skills to pull it off. Over the years, they’ve put solid structures and bunkhouses up in place of the tents. It’s a thriving community with most everything we could want. A lot of good people live here and it’s been a decent place to stay.
Talk about crazy weather. It might be a long way south of home but winter is harsher, and late in the summer they get crazy thunderstorms. It’s supposed to be semi-desert but we’ve seen more rain in an afternoon than we get at home in a month.
We’re determined to get home next summer or fall. If things go well, we’re pretty sure we can make it. Hopefully, Faith will travel well. We have to have faith.
Well, we have to finish. Our friends are ready to leave. We love and miss you. Chad, Carol, John, and Faith.
“Well wasn’t that sweet,” Bob snorted and added the letter to his stack of fire starter. He stood and walked a few feet away and relieved himself. The wineskin was empty and he didn’t want to eat anything and mess with his buzz. But he should give the cat food and water. She was too valuable not to.
After the cat was taken care of, Bob stretched out in his bed. He was asleep in moments in alcoholic slumber.
Bob jerked awake in a sweat, the nightmare setting him in a panic. He’d been back in the cell on death row, the eight-foot by eight-foot cage tight around him. Just like the danged hole in the rock where he’d slept. He stumbled out into the night. He had to get away and get open space around him.
Out of his bed, it was cold and he started to shake in no time. He looked back at the darkness that was the cave, not wanting to go back. But he had to, otherwise, he’d freeze. He forced one foot in front of the other as he had numerous times before returning to his cell. It took an eternity to reach his bed and he was shivering uncontrollably when he slipped beneath the blankets.
As he warmed, he found it impossible to sleep. His mind raced and he recalled the final letter. It wasn’t too far to New Mexico and that Philmont place. The more he dwelled on it, he decided the place held good possibilities. As the letter said, he had to have faith. He grinned in the blackness and told himself, “Yep, I have faith a change of scenery has a lot of possibilities.” He’d start early the next morning.
Bob fell asleep, content with his decision.
|
|
|
Post by texican on Apr 25, 2020 21:25:36 GMT -6
Thanks Bret for the Letters From Chad.
Texican....
|
|
|
Post by 9idrr on Apr 26, 2020 21:08:48 GMT -6
Thanks, sir. Every time you post more, it reminds me that this is one of my favorite tales. Makes me appreciate this board and all the good writers here.
|
|
|
Post by arkansascob on Jun 16, 2020 9:26:29 GMT -6
Thanks Bret Late to the party as usual.
|
|