POCKET CHANGE 3: HIDE and SEEK
by Sharon R.

Chapter Sixteen

By the time Carter was halfway up Skate Creek Road, his Italian Peron Calzolai shoes were covered in reddish sandy dirt. It was just a narrow dirt road bordered on each side by an overgrowth of trees, some new, some old, a lot of them dead and rotting in various states of pose. He had no idea how far up this cabin was and stopped, wondering if he had gotten lost. Closing his eyes to sigh out the nerves that had crept in, the beauty and tranquility of the forest was replaced by a freight train of raw fear as the critters in the trees, crunching leaves and twigs under foot and wind whistling through the tree tops were amplified ten times. He shook his head with the next breath that tickled his nose with the smells of the humid jungle spiced with fragrant wild flowers and ripe fruit fighting against decomposing insect filled wood, decaying corpses, and oil used to clean machete blades. When he opened his eyes he found his hands curled into fists and his neck instinctively tensed in a defensive pose - the smells only in his head.

"This is crazy," he whispered to himself as he forced his feet to move forward.

It felt ten degrees cooler in the shady spots which were getting more numerous as the forest thickened and green canopy overhead spread wider over the road. Carter found himself kicking stones, clapping his hands in front of him in cadence with his stride and even clearing his throat unnecessarily just to make the journey less unknown and more controlled. The clearing to the right as he came around a curve in the road held a simple one-seater outhouse snuggly between two trees to the rear of a parking area large enough just for one car. To the side, Carter followed a simple path a few yards to the edge of the camp consisting of the cabin, a pond and small bridge disguised as a beaver dam.

If Luka was there, he was keeping to himself awfully well. Carter hesitated when he got to the door of the cabin - not for long, only a few seconds, his knuckles just inches from the aged wood planks not really wanting to knock. As he swallowed and took in a breath, he finally gave the rickety door a few raps then took a couple steps back to allow the door to be opened, but it never did. Hoping it was the right cabin, Carter decided to take the initiative to walk in, but when he grabbed the handle he was disappointed to find it locked.

Now what? The last time he heard such silence was when he and Luka were taken to Bob's compound after that night where the only thing to be heard was their own heartbeat. At the water's edge, Carter stooped over and picked up a couple of smooth stones and nervously clacked them together in his hand as he looked around the camp area hoping to see signs of Luka. The dissonant calm tweaked his usually well managed being and made him turn around sharply and look back at the cabin. No reason. Just… something.

Tossing the stones into the stagnant pond to break the tension, he watched as the resulting ripples disrupted the brown tinged scum along the edges and took his eyes to the dilapidated crossing that he hoped might take him to the other side of the pond. He squeezed his feet across what was left of the rickety exposed foot bridge to get to the compact beaver house that loomed over what should have been a spillway for the water, the last few feet of the crossing long since decayed into the water. No Luka in sight. He thought about calling out to him, but Carter found himself needing to maintain his security, to hide his presence, yet he couldn't help being curious about the dam. He didn't like not knowing what it was and used a long stick to poke away some of the twigs covering the opening near the surface of the water before jabbing it once, twice, right inside.

Dumping the stick in the water to become part of the dam by default, Carter stood up but startled when a furry critter scurried into the woods causing him to wobble quickly off the foot bridge back to the bank of the pond, his left foot securely buried in pond scum. He leaned on one arm braced against a tree and took the expensive shoe off shaking the water from it. Large black flies attracted by the pond water buzzed his face, a couple biting him hard on the back of the neck, before Carter waved them away with his shoe, the mud and dirty water spraying his face. Mushing his foot back into the ruined shoe, he caught sight of the yellow plastic sign tacked on the tree under his hand:

POSTED

PRIVATE PROPERTY
HUNTING, FISHING, TRAPPING OR
TRESPASSING FOR ANY PURPOSE
IS STRICTLY FORBIDDEN

VIOLATORS WILL BE PROSECUTED
RS Taggart and sons

"Yikes." The Deliverance Banjo made an unwelcome visit in Carter's head as he read that. "At least I'm at the right house, or shack… hunting cab…, whatever." He stood there by the tree, the pond and cabin in front of him feeling eerily not alone.

With no sight of Luka, Carter decided to go back to the main house and see if he had somehow gone back there, but by the time he had reached the corner of the cabin, his wet shoe was gummed up inside and out with the gritty earth and he settled his backside on the step in front of the screen porch. The shoe leather was weepy - he regretted having spent the money on the shoes and, even more so, his rush to leave Chicago without an extra pair. Once he got the mess out and had plied the shoe in enough directions that he was sure it was going to stay on his foot, he leaned back and brought his knee up, slipping his wet socked foot inside. The crude screen door latched with an eye hook from the inside popped open from the force of Carter's backside causing him to fall backwards into the porch, his sore hip from the morning's collision with the nightstand not enjoying the contact with the old uneven planks of the floor.

As if it couldn't get any worse, the loosely framed door bounced back on its hinges and rudely smacked Carter on the side of the head as he attempted to right himself. So far, he assessed as he pulled himself to his feet scratching the growing black fly bites on the back of his neck, this back woods adventure wasn't going very well. Now he had to explain breaking and entering.

Standing and bending over to brush the dirt from the knees of his khakis, Carter heard a slight shuffling inside the door leading to the small living room of the cabin and had a vision of being attacked by a crazed, rabid, wild animal. Who knew New York State was so… primitive, he thought. Giving wide berth to the field mouse that scurried over his shoe towards the chewed through screen panel, Carter chuckled to himself at his touchy nerves as he walked into the cozy cabin.

The musty smell would take getting used to, but Carter didn't plan on sticking around long enough for that to happen. Just inside the door he turned the corner into a small room with a large made bed. On the small bureau sat a bowl he assumed had been used as a crude sink, and a stack of towels. Instinctively he smelled one before he used it to wipe his face of the splattered mud he put there earlier, then after he rolled up his shirt sleeves and finished wiping down the dirt and sweat, he went back into the living area.

"You need some water?" a voice asked him from the shadows in the far corner between the wall and the fireplace.

Carter was startled at first, but knew it was Luka, his voice stilted slightly by his unmistakable Croatian accent.

"Yeah. Got a little dirty out there." Moving closer to Luka, letting the orange hew of the setting sun illuminate his half of the room, Carter stopped short when he saw the glint of the machete blade sitting across Luka's lap. "You have plans for that?" he asked, nodding towards the weapon.

"Not at this moment." Luka sat motionless, each knee topped by a hand. "Sam call you?"

"No."

"What are you doing here?"

Carter shrugged. "Had nothing better to do. Thought I'd check out your digs - get back to nature." He tried to inject some humor, tried to appear to be relaxed, but Carter was edgy and ill at ease as Luka maintained his statue-like position in the chair. "You, ah, want to talk about it?" He nervously played with his watch but didn't move any closer to Luka whose eyes continued in a dark, unblinking downward stare. "Hey… Luka?"

"What do you want?" His words were a flat monotone, as flat as his facial expression.

"Sam's worried about you."

"I told her -"

"- I know."

"I didn't want to hurt her. I'm afraid I've lost her -"

"- No, you haven't."

Carter knew from experience, both with patients as well as himself, not to ask too many questions. He needed to get Luka's trust, wherever his mind was at the time. But he also needed to get that machete away from him. He finally moved from the spot he was in, off to Luka's side out of the glaring late day sun. Parking himself on a step stool left by the fireplace, Carter looked up into Luka's eyes.

"What can I do for you, Luka?"

Even if his body remained frozen in place, Luka's eyes finally moved almost scoping out the room, where in fact they were darting back and forth, a result of his splintered thinking and inability to string together fluid thoughts.

Carter leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees. "How much sleep have you had?" he asked quietly. "Dreams?"

"It's not like that -"

"- Nightmares?"

"Nothing to talk about -"

"- Flashbacks?"

"You wouldn't understand." Luka finally tipped his head up straight and looked at Carter, his face dark with anger.

"Yeah, I would." The calm in his voice drastically countered Luka's defensive tone. "Spent a week or more seriously sleep deprived, couldn't think straight but in my mind there was nothing wrong with me. I haven't been handling this very well," he admitted. "Went on a drinking binge last week that landed me in our own ER with Pratt as my treating physician. What a joy that was. Started seeing DeRaad…"

Luka snorted disgust. "Why don't you just get out? Leave me alone."

"I know you've had differences of opinion with him in the past," Carter said, ignoring Luka's self pity, "but he's a decent guy."

"You told him about me."

"Not entirely, no."

"Who have you been telling then?"

"Nobody. I haven't been able to talk about it any more than you have." Carter shifted on the stool as he looked inside himself. "But I've taken the steps to recognize that I'm not the same - that what happened, from being held by Jules, the "Romano" guy and what he did to me, Colleen, to Sean's death - has made me, well, unhealthy I guess. And that not talking about it just buries it deeper inside making me sicker."

"You saying I'm in denial?"

"I'm saying that we both are."

"I know exactly what I did, who I killed and who I hurt."

Carter sighed and unconsciously rubbed his eyes as the realization set in that Luka was just as stubborn in the throes of depression as he was in the ER. "Look, I want to help you -hell, I need help myself - but not with that thing between us," he said pointing to the machete. "Can I just…?" Carter slowly stood and reached for the handle of the machete, taking a signal from Luka who finally sat back in the chair. With great care, Carter put the over sized blade up on the fireplace mantle well out of easy reach. "Luka, you need to talk about it. We both do."

"We've talked about it with each other -"

" -No," Carter corrected him, "we've exchanged looks. Nodded in agreement as our thoughts each went there. A word here or there, but we've never talked about what happened and what it's done to us."

"What's the point? We were both there. We know what happened."

"I know what I saw and it was very different than your experience."

"You saw me kill Colleen."

"I saw you point the gun at me and pull the trigger. I didn't even know Colleen was behind me."

"What does it matter?"

Carter angrily got up from his seat and let a frustrated groan escape. "It matters because I thought you were going to kill me. ME." Carter thumped his fist on his chest as if to make his point that much more obvious. "You had this look in your eyes," he said as he turned away from Luka and walked to the other end of the small room, "that was so dark and determined. How do I know that your aim just wasn't off? Huh? I mean, you hated me for what happened with Colleen. You hated me for bringing the truth about her into the open. How am I supposed to believe that you didn't really mean for me to get the bullet?"

"I knew what I was doing."

"How? You were sleep deprived, just like now. My head was a mess, I can't imagine that yours was any better."

"I knew."

Carter was on a tangent, pacing from a chair to the little kitchen area. "Jules was… the things he said… and then when I saw you, you had this look of pure rage. When you raised that gun your hand was so steady, I knew that you had made up your mind. I knew you were about to kill me -"

"- I knew what I was doing," he shouted, startling Carter who flinched. "I … had to… kill her." Luka stood and leaned his hands against the mantle just below the resting machete, his head hanging down between his arms. "I'm a trained combat sharpshooter. If I had wanted to kill you, I would have."

Well, thought Carter, that's a comforting new piece of information.

They each turned their heads in the direction of what sounded like a motor in the distance getting closer and closer until it idled for a few seconds, then switched off. Luka grabbed the machete from the mantle and quietly walked over to the picture window near the front door and peered out around the edge with his back against the door to avoid being seen. "Someone's here."

"You sure?" Carter asked. "Anybody could drive up this road."

"George doesn't. Nobody's been down these roads since we've been here."

"George?"

"Shhh." Luka pulled his head back and nearly pasted himself to the wood door, beads of sweat slowly trickling down his face. "He's coming."

"I'll go talk to him. Just…" The machete blade in the hands of a currently emotionally drained and not quite rational Luka was not something Carter wanted to take outside to introduce to the neighbors, who may be playing banjos and carrying guns. "Just stay put," he cautioned as he went back outside through the screened porch.

"Hello." Carter spoke up hoping to get the guy to come around back away from the front door and Luka. "Back here."

A very tall, well built man appeared wearing a dark green uniform and sporting a sidearm, handcuffs, what looked like pepper spray and Carter's old friend - Mr. Taser. "What's your business here?" he asked Carter who maintained a safe distance next to the porch.

"Ah, just … ah, enjoying the mountains."

"Folks don't take kindly to squatters up here."

Carter was eager to agree with him and shook his head. "Not at all. It's a… it's a shame, really."

"You're bleeding."

"What?"

"Your head. It's bleeding."

Carter reached up to the sore spot he'd almost forgotten about and put his fingers in the small trace of blood the man had seen. "Oh, shit. Sorry - I clocked my head on, um… on that outhouse. Guess I'm not cut out for this."

The man gathered a good amount of saliva and phlegm in his mouth and spit it out between his somewhat widely spread front teeth. "George know you're here?" he asked, his hand instinctively resting on his hip very close to his holstered gun.

"George? Oh… yeah. We're all set, thank you."

The man looked Carter up and down, more than once, tilting his head sporting a crooked nose as his keen eyes picked out that which was out of place. "Dressed awful nice for gallivantin' around in the back woods."

Carter looked at his button down Oxford shirt, khakis and Italian shoes half water logged. "Well, Sam didn't say where we were going. Didn't really dress for it."

"Sam? Sam Taggert?"

"Hmm? Yes, Sam Taggert. She loves surprises."

"She up at the house with the kids?"

"Yep. On vacation."

"You that foreign doc she's been dating then?"

Carter thought for a moment about what had been implicated, but at that point felt that a little white lie to someone he'd never see again was a lot easier than explaining Dark-Brooding-and-Maybe Suicidal inside with a guilty conscience over a murder he had committed, holding a very large knife. "Yes. That's me. Doctor Luka Kovac."

"Don't sound foreign."

"Uh, yeah, see…" Oh, how to explain that one. "I took diction lessons. Accent freaked out the patients. Bad for business." Carter raised up on his toes a bit as he pulled the next bit from his hat. "Jebac majke."

"Yeah, suppose it would be. Okay," the man said, spitting again, "name's Oscar Ackley, New York State DEC, Law Enforcement Division. I come up here couple times a month and make my rounds on my four-wheeler for three days at a time. Grew up with the people here, know the land, and know who's a squatter."

"Have a lot of problems with that?"

"Yeah, kids like to come over from Gouverneur or Tupper Lake. Rabble rousers. Usually looking for places to go drinking. I know all the spots so I try to look out for the land owners up here." Carter fidgeted but focused on looking totally interested in what the man had to say. "For most, the land has been in the family for a hundred years or more. Next generation has moved on and what's here is kind of melting back into the earth. Only people left in this area any more are just too old to take care of what's theirs."

"So you live here?" The man talked too much, but Carter figured if he kept asking the right questions, the guy would talk about himself enough to take his mind off what might be inside the cabin.

"Stationed out of Cranberry Lake, region six," he said, adjusting the waistband of his pants with inflated pride, "but this part of the park is my jurisdiction as well."

"Park?"

"Adirondack State Park. You're from the city, aren't you?"

"Chicago, er... now, at least."

"Six million acres, the size of Vermont. The land is private, but it resides within the park and is regulated as such since 1892. Poor old George can't light a match to cover his own farts without me giving him written permission. But what are you gonna do?"

"Yeah," Carter agreed trying to look and sound sympathetic, "what are you gonna do?"

He had moved to the back wall. Luka was breathing hard and fast, the machete close to his chest as he kept his shoulders squarely against the wall and one eye out the back window on Carter and the stranger. He couldn't see much past the bright haze of the setting sun as it stabbed through the trees, in through the back window and out the front. Closing one eye and squinting the other he managed to see only Carter who looked to be nodding his head and maintaining some normal mannerisms, yet fiddled with his watch and rubbed the back of his neck. Luka knew Carter was barely keeping his nerves together, but he also knew the guy couldn't tell. Carter had been able to keep his composure while being tortured by psychopathic rebels. This was a piece of cake.

Assured that Carter had the stranger in hand, Luka let himself retreat from the insanity and slid down the wall, his head falling forward in exhaustion to his knees, the machete still held tightly by his side, the blade resting on the floor. It was so easy… so easy to drift into the nether zone of sleep, into that halfway point between awake and REM where consciousness plays tricks with the mind in a blur of reality. He couldn't see through the burlap sack over his head, but he could smell them. He could smell their body odor and rancid breath, the smell of food having just been eaten, and on better days a rare washing with soap, no doubt stolen from relief workers begging for their lives.

"Well, I guess I'll head back," Ackley said, giving Carter a good-old-boy's whack on the back, too hard, but maybe that was his intention. "You have any questions, I'm sure George can answer them for ya. Have him call me if you need anything. I'll be here until Wednesday night staying over to my sister's in Edwards." Walking back to his four-wheeler parked by the outhouse, Oscar gave Carter a wave. "Good to see George hasn't blown the shit out of that beaver dam. Would hate to have to write him up again. Don't let him talk you into target shooting with the beavers. Ya hear?"

"Wouldn't think of it."

And blood - it only had a smell when exposed to heat and humidity - blood dried on a machete blade, the elements mingling with the metal composition and oils to form an eerie pattern that resembled a spider web. If his feed sack was not down all the way Luka could see the rebels' feet and the blades they carried everywhere with them. The shinier ones with kids. The more 'webs', the older and more experienced the rebel. The younger ones were eager to earn their web marks - Luka prayed that the blades that came to get Carter weren't shiny.

Carter followed the officer back out to the parking area and his four-wheeler, not the kind he'd expect with official markings. This one had a total camouflage paint job and a matching gas can strapped to the back. As Ackley revved the engine and peeled out up Skate Creek towards the fork with the driveway and Browns Falls Road, Carter finally took a nervous deep breath and walked back to the cabin's front door.

Through the bottom of the sack, Luka could see the tell tale signs of sunset as the dark streaks of late day sun pierced through the boards of the hut and traveled over to the locked door, the straight lines curving as the light bent over what he was holding in his hand. How the machete got there, he didn't know. He could hear truck engines revving outside the hut. Must be Jules. Jules is the only one worthy of such fine modes of transportation. The door opened and footsteps shuffled into the hut.

Carter opened the door slowly hoping not to startle Luka, but was relieved to see him on the opposite side of the cabin sitting on the floor, his knees drawn up propping his head. Didn't know why, but he laughed a little as he saw him sleeping like a baby, machete in hand, under a framed picture of a man skinning a Black Bear.

He knew that laugh and hoped that he could pretend to be asleep through his fury until Jules got close enough - until he could feel his repulsive breath on him as he spoke.

Squatting down to slowly wake him, Carter gently stepped on the blade so as to keep it where it was. "Hey Luka, wake up. Talk to me…"

"… why don't you want to talk to me, Luka? Huh? I give you food, water..."

"Aren't you hungry?"

"Surely, you jest…"

"I just want to get out of here."

"…Where is the third man that was with you?"

"That man is gone. Come on, my friend. Do this for me…"

"You see, my friend, I can make anyone do just about anything for me."

Without warning, Luka lunged at Carter but the blade of the machete anchored to the floor by Carter's foot kept Luka back long enough for Carter to scramble back awkwardly on his hands, his stray foot knocking the machete clear of Luka's hand, but Carter was at a disadvantage both physically and mentally.

His eyes were glassy and red - the wild look Sam had talked about. Half awake, maybe fully awake, Carter didn't know or care as he used all his power to get off his back and on his feet. Unfortunately, the almost forgotten tragedy of his past came back to haunt him as his lower back, never quite what it had been prior to the stabbing, could not support him as he staggered in his 'crab walk' exodus from Luka's alternate world.

He grabbed first at Jules' right leg, then the left forcing him to the ground on his back. Luka took full advantage of his bigger size and the element of surprise he had created as he scurried to the vial man's upper body, his goal to pin his shoulders down and sink the machete through his neck, hopefully all the way to the vertebrae.

"Luka…" Carter was frantic, vying with Luka to be the first to reach the orphaned machete, winner take all. Luka was bigger, heavier and in his state of mind he was certainly more powerful. This was not lost on Carter as he knew it would take everything he could give to survive.

Jules was panicking, he was just where Luka wanted him. "I... hope… you suffer," he told the rebel with as much hate in his voice as he could muster. Their fingers were reaching, taking every ounce of energy from them as the tiny bones stretched inhumanely towards the machete handle.

His body ached from the pressure above him, his grunts and groans unheeded. Carter took swings at Luka with his left hand before catching sight of the machete way off to his side and, abandoning the failed punches for the real prize, walked his fingers the last few inches to the handle, his right hand grabbing Luka's face - grabbing at anything, his ears, his jaw, his hair and neck - but even Luka's over-running saliva prevented Carter from getting a firm enough grip to cause real pain. The handle was right there, right at his fingertips…

…if he could just get his fingers on the handle, and his face away from Jules' distracting hand, Luka knew he could get away. He sat on top of Jules now, the man taking every chance to flail his arms and legs at Luka, weak attempts to throw Luka off.

Just as Carter thought he had it, had it with two of his fingers, Luka's longer arms gave the man the advantage - and the machete. Carter's only chance now was to pummel him, push his body off of his hips with all his might, and to try to bring him back to reality.

Luka raised the machete high over his head, turning the blade horizontal to Jules' throat, and let out a guttural cry of both victory and torment as he took one last look into the man's eyes…

He felt a defeat of proportion that could not be measured as his friend, one who had previously saved his life twice, now was in a position to kill him- a decapitation they had witnessed in all stages in Africa. Carter knew he couldn't win, and finally dropped his hands to his side, Luka's frightening scream and trembling head looming over him, his left hand pushing Carter's torso into the floor, the right with the blade gripped in Luka's white knuckled fist squarely above his neck. He pleaded with his eyes.

…the man's eyes…

"Oh God, Luka… please… no. Don't do this," Carter said as Luka's spittle strung down from his mouth, his fiery eyes finally making contact with Carter's. "Please!"

Luka froze, then with another gripping cry brought the machete down with brute force, the tip of the blade turned downward, finally driven three inches into the wood floor above Carter's shoulder. Luka's hands immediately flew to his own head and held it like a vice as though squeezing the madness from his brain.

With the blade free from Luka, Carter inched his way out from under him, scrambled as fast as he could to the door. He tried twice to get to his feet, his shaking legs forcing him to crawl and reach for the door handle, but even the old fashioned latch was too high for him to get to. Once again he was left to fend for himself with his back against the wall.

"Carter…," Luka cried with his eyes closed as though to force the image of the person before him.

He was exhausted - drained. Unable to move, Carter remained pushing his back up against the door, no where to go. "Luka… this isn't what you think," he pleaded. "Look at me."

On his knees, almost obscenely reverent, Luka finally took his hands away from his face and looked at Carter, his eyes tired and weak, his body weary - mind and spirit shattered. "What have I done?" he asked, his head tilting to the side, his body wanting nothing more than to curl up into a ball and escape.

"It's not you, Luka. You are physically exhausted, you need sleep." Carter draped his arm over his raised knees and finally allowed himself to relax, his head falling forward like a dead weight.

"I thought I was dreaming, maybe I wasn't."

"It's like when Sam walked into my dream and I thought it was Colleen." Carter got to his feet but remained next to the door, not quite convinced - not totally convinced of his safety. "You're in a shitty place. This is too much like the jungle. These are the sense memories Carl was talking about and you have to get away from them."

"I didn't want Sam to find out, not this way. And the children… Am I dangerous?" Luka stood and walked towards Carter. "I didn't mean what happened, John. I thought you were… I couldn't…" As he reached out to put a hand on his friend's shoulder, Carter flinched and stepped to the side. A reflex or precaution. "I could never do… that to you."

Carter nodded unconvincingly, his face drawn down.

"What do I do?"

"You need to trust Sam," Carter said, his voice still unsteady. "You need her - she needs you. And you need to talk about what is inside your head. And eventually, we'll straighten things out with each other."

Luka dropped himself down into the one living room chair Carter had originally found him in, and let himself sink into it, his head resting on the back, his eyes closed. "Who was that guy? What did he want?"

"A park ranger, or DEC cop or something. Seems to know Sam and her family. He watches over the land up here, looks out for squatters."

"What else did he say?"

Carter allowed himself to move away from the security of the door and sat on the sofa opposite Luka. "Just a lot of chest pumping. Wanted to know if Sam was at the house with the kids. Luka, we've gotta get you out of here. They know where we are, or at least they're on the right track. I think we've got a couple days on them. Tomorrow first thing we leave."

Luka nodded and took a deep breath as he thought about Sam and Alex, what they had and what he had hoped they would have. Then as his brain settled down and took measure of what had just happened, his eyes flew open. "You said he asked about Sam and the kids."

"Yeah, wanted to know if they were up at the house."

"He said kids? Plural?"

Carter nodded as he, too, sat up straight. "He did. But Sam only has Alex. How would he know there was more than one? And that four wheeler… I didn't like the way it looked…"

Their hearts suddenly felt heavy as the unmistakable sound of a shotgun blast east of the cabin, in the direction of the main house, coursed through their ears.