21 – Snowbound
"I found your truck off I-25 'bout half way between here and town." Walt knocked the snow off his boots, wiping his feet on the Welcome mat before entering the house. "Back end in the ditch. Half buried in snow. She wasn't there, though. I called for a tow truck." He handed Henry the scarf. "This was tied to the antenna. Smart. Emergency and fog lights were switched on. Battery's dead. Someone must have come by. Got her. No word?"
Henry pressed his lips together and shook his head. "Cell phone reception was out last night. I have made some calls, but I do not want to raise an alarm just yet. Julia is a survivor. Wherever she is, I am sure she is fine." He tried to reassure himself. "I just wish I knew for certain."
Walt tipped his head, thinking. Julia wasn't used to this kind of weather. Surely, she wouldn't have left the safety of the truck during a storm. She had to be somewhere. He hated to ask but…
"Have you called the hospital? Just in case someone brought her in?"
Henry nodded. He had called early in the morning but no one matching Julia's description had been admitted. He supposed he should be thankful for that. He turned and began a hobbled pace toward the kitchen.
"I feel helpless. I want to be out there looking for her." He threw his hands into the air.
"It's best if you stay here. Just in case. When she comes back, you call and let me know. If you're not here and she returns, then we're both out there wasting time and energy. Worrying for nothing."
Henry, hands on hips, reluctantly nodded. "I still feel helpless."
"We'll find her." Walt scratched Sugar's patient head and swung out into the mid-morning sun.
The storm had passed somewhere before dawn leaving the earth coated in twenty inches of fresh snow. Some wind-swept piles were as high as five feet. The beaming sun bounced off the ice crystals creating a glaring bright sparkle that could only be compared to Tiffany's diamond counter at Christmas.
Henry flopped onto the sofa, head in his hands. He needed to do something.
xxxxxxx
They say that hearing is the last sense to go when losing consciousness. Something I can attest to as this had not been my first time down this particular dark tunnel. First, vision blurs then narrows: black walls closing to a pinpoint of light in the distance until eventually even that disappears. Then, smell. Strong scents tend to linger longer. But, the normal, everyday smells that we have grown nose blind to fade to nothing. But, it's hearing that stays with us until it no longer can. Our body's defence system trying to keep us alert while every other sense is crashing around it.
Funny thing, though. The first sense to come back isn't hearing. It's smell. Drawing us out of whatever lifeless state our body has fallen into. Another alert system, I suppose. Camphor – a powerful smelling plant whose extract is found in mothballs, is often used to revive people. You know. Those little capsules in first aid kits that you break and put under someone's nose. Shocking the system back.
But, it wasn't camphor this time.
I sniffed, wrinkling my nose at the bitter smell of old coffee and burnt toast. Struggling to open my eyes against the bright light from the window, I quickly did a mental check. I wasn't hurt. Nor was I bound. I lay on a narrow, single bed, fully clothed with my knapsack by my side on the floor within reach. My coat was hung on a metal hook by an empty door frame, boots on the floor beneath. I shifted, moving my feet, legs, hips, arms, back. Stiff in the usual spot, but nothing to indicate a new injury. I had a head ache and my mouth tasted sour. Then, I remembered having to turn on the ignition in the truck to stay warm. I sighed. Robbing Peter to pay Paul, as the saying goes. The exhaust pipe had obviously been buried. I'd nearly killed myself from carbon monoxide poisoning to save myself from freezing to death. Idiot.
Hoisting onto my elbows, I carefully shifted my legs out of the bed and unsteadily stood in my stocking feet. Wooziness blurred my vision again, but quickly cleared.
The room was simple. 8x8… maybe. And, that would have been a stretch. Clean, white sheet rock walls ready to be plastered. Plywood floor. A door frame with no door. A three foot, double-paned window with no curtains. A single, exposed, light bulb hanging from the center of the ceiling. The bed was a mattress on a headless frame. An old, wooden crate on its end served as a night stand. Sun beamed through the window. The storm had clearly passed.
Following a radio voice, I tiptoed down the hall toward the sound. It was Burns I saw last night, wasn't it? Was I a prisoner?
"You just gonna stand there." Burns didn't even look up from his seat at the scared, round table in the sparse kitchen, newspaper spread in front of him as I silently stood in the doorway. "Coffee on the stove if you want." His head tipped in the direction of an ancient, Maytag four-burner range.
"Thank you, but could I just have a glass of water?" I ran my tongue over the goo on my teeth.
He gave a sharp nod. "Glasses in the cupboard by the sink."
I shuffled across the kitchen and opened the right-hand cupboard, amusement curling my lips. There were a couple of odd plates, two bowls, and four glasses on the shelf: two Looney Tunes gas station glasses – Tweety and Elmer Fudd, a glass that looked like it had once been a jelly jar – grapes emblazoned one side, and a standard, bar-style beer mug. I couldn't resist. Smiling, I took Tweety and filled it with water from the tap.
"Dare I?" I asked holding the cloudy water up for inspection. Burn's finally lifted his head. "I mean with the ongoing fracking issue." I referred to the drilling that Newett Energy had been accused of that caused methane gas to leak into the water table.
Straight-faced, he raised a single brow. "It's safe. Air bubbles. Happens in the cold."
"Want me to top that off?" I nodded to the colourful coffee mug at his elbow – something else that seemed amusingly incongruent. It was covered with bright, child-like, abstract flowers. Without expression, he held it up and I took it. "Thank you for rescuing me last night." I poured the thick, slug-like brew into the mug. "Surely, you would have recognized Henry's truck."
He scowled. "You think I would leave someone stranded?"
"I don't know. All I know about you is what I've experienced, and let's be honest, humanitarian wasn't on your list of attributes." I placed the mug on the table near the newspaper.
He snorted, amused. "I could have left you there." He tapped a cigarette from the pack and put it between his lips. Striking a match, he lit it, inhaling deeply, blowing the blue smoke to the ceiling. "But, I didn't."
"No, you didn't, and I'm grateful." I smiled amiably. "Where's your friend? I seem to recall two people last night."
He jerked his head to the back door. "Shovelling. We're snowed in."
"Looks nice out there." I went to the back window.
"Cold. There's another storm coming."
My heart sank. Another one?
"Do you have a phone?"
"Not installed yet."
I had checked for my cell phone in my coat pocket, where it was usually kept, but it wasn't there. I was afraid it had been lost in the rescue.
He glared at me, then tossed my phone across the table. "You're not a prisoner here, if that's what you're thinking. There was no reception last night and your bars were low, so I turned it off."
I took the phone and turned it on. He was right. It was precariously close to red.
"People are probably worried about you. You should call them." He folded the paper and stood, taking his now-empty mug to the sink.
I tipped my head sideways. Compassion?
Without another word, he pulled on his coat and boots and went outside to help his friend shovel. I watched from the back door. Darius Burns was a violent man. The research I had done in the summer provided enough evidence to support that. But, him? here? – helping me, the Looney Tunes glasses, the subdued demeanor, saving the battery on my phone… I didn't get it.
I thought for a moment then dialed.
"Sheriff's office."
"Hi Ruby. It's Julia. I don't have a lot of time. Is Ferg there?"
"Yes, he is. Are you alright? People are out looking for you. They found Henry's truck in a ditch." She began a worried ramble.
"I'm fine but my phone is almost dead. I need Ferg."
Within a second, Ferg was on the line, anxious. I briefly told him my situation and that I was going to call Henry next, but I needed him to triangulate my location by using the cell phone's GPS. He told me to call Henry and he'd back-trace my cell using Henry's line. That way Henry and I could have our conversation before the battery was gone.
Smart man. Technology was not my language so I trusted him and dialed Henry.
"You are with who?" Henry's jaw tightened as he placed the wooden spoon on the counter and stared at the contents of the frying pan. "Are you hurt?"
"No," I replied looking out the back window watching the men work. "Henry, listen. Darius and his friend saved my life. I'm pretty sure we're somewhere on the Rez. It's a small house, under construction, but there are no other houses around it. No trees. Just flat. No landmarks. We're stuck here because we're snowed in. I called Ferg first and he's tracing this call. My battery is almost dead, and there's no other phone. Are you okay? How's Sugar?"
Henry covered his face with his hand. She is worried about us? "We are fine. Concerned about you. Walt was here this morning. He found the Rezdawg."
"Good. Sorry about it. I hope there's not much damage."
He snorted. "I do not care about the pick-up. I care about you. You need to be careful."
"I will. Henry? I love… " The phone went dead before I could finish, and I looked at it in my hand, feeling pressure well behind my eyes. I hope Ferg got my location.
xxxxxxx
By noon, the skies had darkened to grey, heavy clouds moving in again, the first thick flakes falling straight down. No wind this time. At least, not yet.
The men played cards while I sat in the sparse living room on an ancient, flowered couch reading my book – a James Patterson detective mystery. I chuckled at the humorous antics of New York City Detective Michael Bennett and his troupe of ten adopted kids, Irish nanny, and priest grandfather. By mid-afternoon, the snow was heavy again and the cold seeped down the chimney and into the half-built house. I closed my book as Darius tossed his cards down, his friend laughing as he scooped the matchsticks into a pile.
"I'm getting a fire going," the bulky Indian sullenly said lumbering into the living room. "Didn't expect to be here this long. Don't have much food," he stated crumpling the morning's paper and placing it on the hearth, piling kindling on top. No one had really eaten that day except for a bit of toast.
"I have experience rationing and cooking with little supplies. Would you like me to make something?"
"I hear you lived in Africa." He didn't look up from his task.
"Yes. Some days there wasn't enough for more than one meal. Most of the time though, we'd manage two. Morning and evening."
His brows rose as he looked over his broad shoulder at me. Then, he tipped his head toward the kitchen. "Have at it."
I smiled. Yay! Something to do.
Exploring the possibilities, I came up with a few options. There was ketchup, mustard, three eggs, a crust of cheddar cheese, and a small, white onion in the fridge. A tin of vegetable soup, a tin of tomato soup, half a box of crackers, half a bag of dry pasta, a few odd spices, and peanut butter in the cupboard. A small package of ground beef and a nearly empty bottle of vodka were in the freezer. And, he said he didn't have much… He had plenty.
By the time it was dark, Darius had a fire roaring and the smell for dinner was seeping through the small house. I had portioned the supplies so that we would have enough for breakfast and possibly lunch the next day. But, the meat, tomato soup, spices and pasta made a hearty enough dinner. The soup wouldn't have been my first choice for a sauce base, but hey, you use what you have. I hoped that Ferg had relayed my location and by tomorrow afternoon, at the latest, Walt would send a plow to dig us out.
While I cooked, Jeb, the friend, and I had a great conversation. He was easy going and we laughed, drawing a scowl from Darius.
"It's the company he keeps," Jeb joked jutting his chin at the grumpy Indian who had plunked down at the table.
"We are judged by the company we keep." I smiled pouring a hot, red-brown liquid into the flowered mug. "Here, try this." I handed it to Darius.
He sniffed the contents, then took a tentative sip, brows knitting together. "What is it?"
"Good, huh?" his friend smiled broadly. "Julia had it in her knapsack."
"You always carry tea around?"
"Gee, don't you?" I joked leaning my backside against the counter. "It's a rooibos. From South Africa. Can't get it here, so, yes, I carry it around." I served the pasta with meat sauce and joined them at the table.
As we ate, Darius' watched me closely, eyes dark and piercing.
"What? Did I get spaghetti whiplash?" I wiped my mouth and chin with my hand.
"No. What do you think this is?" He motioned his fork toward his plate. I could see mischief twinkle ever so slightly at my blank expression. "Buffalo." He smirked expecting a flinch.
"Cool," I replied with a grin, twirling the long pasta around the fork. "I thought it was a bit gamey. Better than zebra, though." I slurped the food into my mouth.
Jeb snorted loudly into his plate, holding the laugh.
"You confuse me," Darius flatly stated.
"Me? I don't see how. I'm pretty much an open book."
He shook his head. "You have information Strand wants."
"No," I corrected holding my fork up as a pointer. "I gathered information Strand wants. I don't have it, nor do I intend to use it if everything remains copacetic."
He shook his head, again. "Blackmail seems below you."
I nodded, looking him directly in the eye. "I fight fire with fire. What's in your jacket? Intimidation, stalking, racketeering. Come on! You put a tracker in my car this summer." I raised my hands in amused astonishment. "If you guys don't hurt anyone, leave me and mine alone; those files never see the light of day." I sighed. "Darius, I just want to live my life without looking over my shoulder, without having those I love pressured into doing something they don't want to do. I know why Malachi wanted the Red Pony." I ticked off my fingers. "One – to get back at Henry for helping put him in jail. And two – another place to… shall we say… wash out a few bills. I'm not an idiot. Jobs I've had, I've seen the worst of the worst. Malachi doesn't even come close to some of the things I've dealt with." I continued to eat. "Peace. That's all I want."
Jeb just stared at us. I didn't know whether he knew the finer details of the summer's events.
But, Darius nodded ever so slightly. "Understood."
xxxxxxx
Scraping and the sound of a heavy motor gunning through the new mound of snow drew our attention from the cheese omelet with a side order of peanut butter crackers. It was still early but with the power down last night, everyone had turned in when it was too dark to see anymore. I woke before dawn to the sound of someone stirring the fire. And, Darius was surprised to find that my cooking abilities extended to a cast iron frying pan over coals on the hearth.
He rose to look out the front window with a hmph. Hands on his hips, he turned to the rest of us.
"Looks like the Calvary is here," he said with disgust.
I chuckled. "That really does have a different meaning around here, doesn't it?" I joined him at the window. Openly laughing, I put my hands on the sill to watch. He wasn't kidding. The plow was attached to a National Guard Hummer closely followed by the Sheriff's Bronco. "Well, you do have a reputation." I put my hand on his sleeve as I turned.
As the Hummer reached the front of the small house, it cleared a path directly to the door, backed up then cleared behind the black SUV. The Sheriff's truck pulled in behind as the Hummer's passenger door swung open and Aaron jumped out. By now, I had pulled on my boots and coat and went out to greet my rescue party.
"You alright?" Aaron called as he strode forward.
"My hero. Are you home for the holidays?" I grinned closing the distance. "I'm fine. Just having breakfast."
"You're phone's dead," Walt called as he came up behind the young Marine.
"I know. I lost it yesterday when I called Henry." I looked beyond Walt to see Henry climbing out of the Bronco. "The power has been out since last night, too." I announced while moving to the loving, concerned arms of my boyfriend.
"Are you alright?" he quietly whispered into my hair as I wrapped my arms tightly around his waist, burrowing into the front of his jacket.
I nodded feeling my spirit being renewed.
Darius and Jeb were at the door by now, Darius glaring at the men in front of him. "You have permission to be on the Rez?" he asked.
Walt nodded. "Yup. Spoke with Mathias. You ready to go?" He aimed at me.
"Yes." I moved back to the house to gather my things. As I came out, I stopped at the two men and held out my hand. "Thank you." Jeb eagerly shook it, smiling. "You still have the veggie soup and more crackers for lunch, but with the road cleared, you can get to a store. Thank you, too." I held my hand to Darius and he stared at it as if crossing a barrier against Malachi. He finally took it. "Truce?"
He gave a half nod. "Truce."
"What was that all about?" Henry asked as we strode to the Bronco.
"Forming a peace treaty." I grinned happy to be heading home.