Fade to Grey (Book 2): Darkness Ascending (74 page)

Shawn grinned and then cleared his throat. A rather
large volley of tobacco juice sailed over the railing, and then he turned to
face us. “There’s something else. Something that maybe neither of you are
thinkin’ about.”

“What’s that?”

He tilted his head toward Michelle. “Your girlfriend,
with a little help from her father and a defensible position, managed to take
out probably seventy or eighty of these sickos, not to mention about a half
dozen of the fast ones. And that tells me that the right people with the right
equipment and some forward thinking don’t have to just lay down and die.”

He was right, and I nodded in agreement with his
words. Even through the haze of exhaustion and emotional overload, Michelle managed
a slight head bob as well.

“So what now?” Shawn asked.

It was my turn to pace, so I squeezed Michelle against
me and planted a brief kiss on her cheek, and then stood up and walked to the
rail. Every muscle in my back and legs joined a union and voted to strike
against any further movement, but I somehow managed to remain upright despite
the stiffness and soreness. Or maybe because of it. The surface of Devils Lake
had minimal chop, and the sun shone brightly against my face as I looked across
the water. For a moment, I could almost imagine myself flipping a lure into the
depths, searching for the elusive bite of a walleye too big to fit in a frying
pan. That daydream, like so many others of late, was brutally pummeled aside
and kicked into the corner with the reality of our situation.

“Here’s what I’m thinking—feel free to jump in at any
time though.” I started rolling my neck in a gentle circle to stretch out the
kinks as I spoke. “Right here in the middle of the lake is probably one of the
safest places to be. We’re all—everyone of us—beat up and tired. We’ve been
kicked around, chased, scared, and inundated with so many physical, mental, and
emotional challenges in the last few days . . . even weeks . . . that we’re not
going to be able to go much further without some rest. And there’s very few
places that I can think of that are as safe as right here, right now. We can’t
stay here forever though. Theoretically, we have unlimited fresh water by using
my filter. Theoretically again, we have unlimited food by using the fishing
tackle that’s in the bass boat from the cabin.”

“Great,” Shawn laughed, “more fish.”

“Remember I said it was theoretical. As far as I know,
you might starve to death if you had to depend on catching your own a dinner
with a fishing pole.” My smile accompanied the joust, and Shawn’s chest shook
with amusement.

“I might at that,” he replied, “Mack is the one who
was nailing ‘em left and right most of the time.”

Our laughter faded after a moment, and I continued
with my assessment. “So as I was saying, in theory we could spend a substantial
amount of time catching our breath and regaining our sanity, but that’s where
theory begins to clash with reality. Mack’s leg can’t wait forever, and like it
or not, we can’t just stay here while other people are holding down the fort
without us.”

“What are you thinking?” It came from Shawn, but was
echoed almost in unison by Michelle.

“We spend the rest of the day and the tonight anchored
right here. I’m tired, but at least I got a little bit of a shuteye when I was
fading in and out last night, so I’m good with the first watch. Neither of you
two have slept at all, and believe me, it’s showing. Anyhow, we use today and
tonight to rest in safety, and then tomorrow morning we move to Silver Lake and
get ready for the final run up the creek to the farmhouse. Once we’re there, we
head north to the marina.”

Both of them nodded in agreement, and then Shawn
pointed at the tow line that trailed behind the patrol boat. “I’ve been
thinking about what you said earlier, and I’ve got a suggestion that might help
out.”

“We’ll take any suggestions we can get,” Michelle
replied.

“From what you told me about your trip downstream from
the farmhouse, I think it would be in our best interest to swap motors on the
two bass boats. Yours is bigger, but only has a twenty-five horse engine. The
boat from the cabin is two feet shorter, and it’s got a sixty horse motor. If
you swap ‘em out, both of ‘em should give you a better run upstream.”

“That’s a darn fine suggestion,” Michelle voiced.

I turned to face her with my eyebrows arched in a
combination of curiosity and amusement. “Did I just hear you say ‘darn’ instead
of one of your other typically elegant expressions?”

“I . . . uh . . . kind of maybe promised God that I’d
try and change my ways if He’d get me out of the cabin in one piece.”
Michelle's eyes looked skyward as she spoke.

The smile on my face increased in direct proportion to
the blush on Michelle’s cheeks. “Kind of maybe?”

“Best I could do under the circumstances,” she
replied.

“Well I guess you’re off to a good start then,” I
chuckled. “And speaking of being off, both of you need to be off to bed. I’d
recommend that each of you lay across one of the bench seats. You’ll have to
curl a bit, but it’s the best cushion you’re going to find since all of the
life jackets are currently in use.”

Neither of them gave me any argument, and less than
ten minutes later, I was sitting in a swivel chair at mid deck with a rod in my
hand and a tackle box at my feet. To my left and right, the sounds of snoring—some
soft and childlike, some deep and bear-like—drifted to my ears.

“It’s jiggling again,” Faith laughed musically as the
tip of her fishing pole plunged towards the water. She handed me the rod and I
reeled up another crappie to go with the eight already on the stringer.

“You’ve got to be the luckiest person in the world to
catch so many fish,” I chimed in as I rebaited her hook with a sliver of
walleye skin. “If you’re not careful, you might catch every single one in the entire
lake, and then the whole boat will be filled with fish. We’ll have to sleep on
a pile of floppin’ critters, and even cover ourselves with a blanket made from
fish.”

She giggled again as she sat on my knee and dropped
the line overboard in anticipation of another bite. The sun would be setting in
about an hour, and I yawned for the third time in as many minutes.

“Why don’t you go to bed, Eric?” Lynn whispered from
the chair next to me. “I’m more than capable of scaling a few fish and throwing
them in a pot, especially with my little helper.” She scrubbed her fingers
through Faith’s curly hair with all the authority and pride of someone who
found out they’d been recently promoted to the status of grandmother.

“Maybe I will.” I yawned again as I caught myself in
the process of checking for the time on my missing watch.

“Seriously Eric,” Lynn said, “get some rest. I’ll wake
you if anything comes up that needs your attention.”

“OK, you’ve got yourself a deal. I gave Mack another
dose of antibiotics when he woke up about two hours ago, so he can have two
more pills around midnight. He can also have Tylenol or Advil any time he needs
it since his last dose was this morning. Let Michelle and Shawn sleep as long
as they can, OK? I’d rather you wake me up instead if there’s any problems.”

“OK.”

I lifted Faith off of my leg and spun her around to
face me. “Alright tiger, I’m going to try and get some rest, so you stay out
here with Miss Lynn, and she’ll show you how to clean those fish you just
caught.”

“But they live in the water, so they should already be
clean.” She leaned forward and wrapped her tiny arms around my neck. I returned
the hug, and then set her in the chair. Turning to Lynn, I winked, silently
mouthing “thank you” before walking to the front of the boat. It took me just a
few minutes to arrange the loose life jackets into a cushion. With the addition
of several wool blankets over top of me, my bed was complete. I’m almost
positive I was out before my head touched the orange nylon covering of the life
preserver seat cushion I had chosen as a pillow. At some point during the night
I felt more life jackets being shifted around. The next time I awoke briefly
from my haze, Faith’s snoring form was sandwiched between Michelle and I. All
three of us were covered with an unzipped blanket made from a pickle bag.

I woke again to the same situation several hours
later. It was still dark, and the only sounds were the waves lapping against
the boat. Michelle shivered and mumbled something as I stood, so I covered her
and Faith with several additional blankets that had been tangled up around my
legs. The barest shard of the new moon provided enough light for me to work my
way around the familiar confines of the patrol boat, and I ended up next to one
of the stern bench seats. Mack was still wrapped in a pickle bag, but he was sitting
up on one of the benches. His dad was seated on the opposite bench with his
feet propped next to his son. At my approach he dropped his boots and made room
for me. I took a seat next to Mack and sat quietly, letting the hiss of the low
blue flame of my backpack stove lull me into a familiar sense of relaxation. I
honestly didn’t care for coffee, but right now the aroma wafting upwards from
the pot began to tickle my palette.

“Mornin’ sleepy head,” Shawn whispered.

“Good morning . . . I think. What time is it?”

I saw a faint glow as he mashed a button on his
wristwatch. “4:34 AM,” he replied.

I thought back to twenty-four hours ago when I was
preparing my last will and testament in the veterinarian’s office. As I felt
the low swells gently rolling the boat and the cool night air against my skin,
I half wondered if I was still laying on the grooming room floor and dreaming
as I slipped away from life. The not so distant splash of a fish jumping from
the water registered through my fog, and I took a deep breath and focused on
returning to this world.

“That means I’ve been asleep for almost eleven hours.”

Shawn grunted something into his coffee cup, stretched,
and then yawned like a grizzly waking from hibernation. “You’re a sissy. You
call eleven hours sleeping? I’ll have you know that real men can sleep for
almost fifteen, as me and Mack just proved. Don’t be jealous though; it’s a
skill that very few people can obtain until they’ve mastered the finer arts of
Zen and other crap like that.”

I grinned through the murky shadows that were waiting
impatiently for the arrival of the morning sun. “So you’re a crap master?”

Before Shawn could reply, Mack chirped in. “Dad is a
seventh degree black belt in crap.”

“Hey . . .,” Shawn laughed at his son’s poke. “you
better take that back or I’ll make you walk the plank and then keelhaul you.”

Without skipping a beat, Mack leaned forward in the
pickle bag and pointed a comical, accusatory finger at his dad’s nose. “You
don’t have a plank, and this boat isn’t covered in barnacles—and it’s not even
moving—so keelhauling me won’t get you anywhere.”

“Fine then Mr. Smart guy, if I can’t give you the
traditional pirate punishment, I’ll do something even worse . . . if we ever
make it back to North Carolina, I’ll make you take Cindy Manning to your senior
prom.”

“Ewwww!” Mack pulled away from his dad. A moment later
they both began to laugh.

When they finally settled down, we slid Mack out of
the pickle bag and I took another look at his leg. As far as I could tell it
was no different, which was relatively good news. His next round of antibiotics
wasn’t due until about 8:00 AM, and he started to decline the ibuprofen until I
insisted. “I’ll bet your leg is more painful than you’re letting your dad and I
know, so take these pills or your dad will keelhaul both of us.”

Mack frowned at my attempt to replay the jest, but he
opened his hand and accepted the tablets. “Seriously,” I said, “I’m not very
big on medicine myself, but last year my dentist gave me some wonderful advice
after I had chipped tooth wrestling with a wolf. He said ‘pain sucks so take
your medicine.’ And you know what? He was right. Besides, not only will it help
with the pain, but it’ll also make it easier to move fast if you’re ever being
chased by Cindy Manning.”

That brought a smile to his face, and he popped the
pills into his mouth. When he had washed them down with a cup of water, Mack
turned to face me. “I think you’ve got Dad beat in the crap department. Nobody
wrestles with wolves.”

It was my turn to smile and point my finger. “Oh . . .
you just wait young man. When we get back to the marina, we’ll see which one of
us fills our britches when they meet the werewolf.”

“There’s no such thing as a werewolf,” he replied.

“Well then you’ve got nothing to worry about, do you?”
I matched his gaze, and after a moment I detected the slightest waiver of
hesitation.

“OK, back to bed with you,” Shawn said as he stood. A
few minutes later he had escorted Mack up to the front of the boat and returned
to the bench. He refilled his coffee cup and then turned off the burner. “You
should be ashamed of yourself,” Shawn faked sincerity as he sipped the scalding
liquid, “filling the boy’s head with lies like that.”

I thought about Max . . . about the last time I had
been away from him for longer than a few days. Upon my return his “I’m so happy
you’re back-I’m so pissed you left” greeting resulted in a thirty minute
wrestling match that ended with a happy puppy and a chipped tooth.

“Who said I was lying?”