Graham's Resolution Trilogy Bundle: Books 1-3 (36 page)

“Has he taken in fluids in the last twenty-four hours?” Clarisse asked after Tala relayed their concerns over Ennis.

“Yes, he had a glass of water, but not much more. He had a little fish and grits this morning, and biscuits and gravy for dinner last night,” Tala explained.

“Has he used the facilities?” Clarisse asked tactfully.

“Um, he goes in the bathroom, but I don’t think he’s passing much, if any. He’s admitted to being in some pain. We’ve given him antibiotics, but we don’t have the numbing pain meds for this. Do you think there’s some locally?” Tala said.

Asking for pain meds from the preppers would be no use since they probably didn’t have enough to spare. Instead Tala hoped to be able to find them somewhere in town.

“The antibiotics won’t kick in for a few days. The elderly seldom show urinary tract pain symptoms unless the infection is quite severe, so the fact he’s in pain concerns me. He’s admitted to being in pain, he’s running a fever, and is probably holding back. Yes, I believe he needs phenazopyridine and cranberry juice, which will limit the amount of bacteria able to adhere to the bladder wall. You can also give him a hot water bottle to ease the pain. An anti-inflammatory would help a little. If you found the numbing meds, that would be best. I hate for him to suffer from the pain for so long.”

“Clarisse, my grandmother used a tea of sage and bearberry for urinary tract infections. Every time she fed me the stuff as a girl, I’d gag. I never thought I’d revert back to the old days, but do you think the medicinal teas would be safe to use?”

“Both ingredients contain proven scientific antiviral properties, so yes. If you get a hold of clean, dried ingredients, then use them. As time goes on, I believe we’ll need all of your grandmother’s medicinal recipes. Try to remember them, and write them down. All the major med producers are gone these days.” She added, “I wish I could give you the meds, but our supply is very limited, and there are a lot of us here. The rules are, unfortunately, the rules, and I have to abide by them. Graham may need to run into town. I’m sure the meds would be at the old doc’s house. I’m sorry, I wish I could be of more help.”

“I want to do something for him to make him more comfortable. Last night his fever seemed to cause him some delusions, and he warned us trouble was coming to the prepper camp. Of course, he also keeps asking me for banana bread. I wish I could make some for him as a treat.” Tala laughed, but began to cry at the same time.

Clarisse tried to comfort her. “Aw, Tala, you guys gave him a life to live, a life with purpose. At least he hasn’t been wasting away in a nursing facility. Don’t feel bad.”

“I know. It’s just that we’ve all come to love him in such a short time. He’s a part of us here. Even Sam will sit with him for hours, talking on occasion and whittling little animals for Addy. How is she, by the way?”

“She’s better, and with Dalton right now. It breaks my heart that she can’t be with Sam. I’ve got an experimental vaccine in the works, but it’s not tested yet. Unlike all the others before, this one shows some promise. I’ll be able to determine whether or not it will be useful soon, but I don’t want to get her hopes up. I know the separation is hard on Sam, but for a seven-year-old-girl to be indefinitely kept away from her own father has to be worse.”

Tala heard tears clog Clarisse’s voice too.

“Well, for now, she’s loved and cared for, and Sam is doing okay here. We know the situation with the cameras upset Rick, but I think it gave Sam a little release on his anger to take them all down. Seeing him do that, Macy thought he was crazy until he explained to her we were all on camera,” Tala said.

“Yeah, Rick’s that kind of guy. He cares deeply and has a scorched-earth mentality when it comes to those he cares about, but no regard to personal privacy,” Clarisse explained. “He’d rather forgo some liberties to be safe.”

“He sure has Macy trained on the radio,” Tala said, then remembered a personal question she’d meant to ask Clarisse earlier. “Hey, before you go, I wanted your advice on our young romance here.”

“They’re not doing that already, are they?” Clarisse asked.

“Um, I don’t think so, but I want Marcy to be safe when the time comes,” Tala said.

“Well, coupling is perfectly normal for human nature during a crisis. Couples pair up and mate out of a need to procreate. The term is
biological imperative
. But I’d be concerned about the effects of the virus on a fetus. I’m not certain if a pregnancy would carry to term. At birth, will the fetus be born with immunity or a half chance at immunity? Or will the baby be born without any immunity? There are many unanswered questions. So let’s think about putting her on birth control for now as a precaution.”

Tala was quiet for a moment, and Clarisse thought perhaps they’d lost the connection. But then Tala said, with some concern, “She’s only fifteen.”

“Yes, precisely. In fact, both girls are fifteen. They’re at a young but reproductive age, which means if they, by chance, run into the wrong fellow, the consequences would be terrible for them. I’d like to recommend you pull the pill packets out of the med kit we sent back with you. I added several, enough for you and the girls for at least three years. I also included quite a few pregnancy test kits. Hopefully we will not need those for a while. Good luck getting Macy to take them. She seems like my kind of gal.” Clarisse chuckled.

Inadvertently Clarisse had already answered one of Tala’s pressing questions. She was relieved she didn’t have to try and weasel a fake question for her deepest concern.

“Yeah, but I think if I explained the consequences to her, she might be willing to take them. She’s a sensible sort,” Tala said.

“Well, you’ve got your hands full, that’s for sure. I’ve just had a sweet seven-year-old girl fall into my lap, and I’m loving every minute of the time she’s with me. She’s given me a greater purpose.”

“The twins can be a challenge at times, but more than anything the bickering between them bugs us,” Tala said.

“Yes. That is them, pulling away from one another and becoming individuals. That’s normal at this age. The behavior will pass in time. Just make sure they don’t get physically combative with one another.” Clarisse chuckled again.

“There are days . . .” Tala said, now laughing. She was about to come clean with her friend, right there, but was too reticent to admit her suspicion out loud just yet. Instead, she let the conversation end and said, “Well, I’ve got to run now. Good luck with Addy.”

“Oh, thank you. Let me know how the pill goes with the girls. I’ll call in next week and see how the introduction went. Bye for now; Clarisse out.”

“Tala out.”

Tala sat there, a bit stunned, knowing the thing she had to do and afraid of the confrontation. The unknown and possible risks to an unborn child lingered in her mind. She stared out the window of the bunkroom, watching the way the snow blew from one direction to another. The trees were swaying in a heavier breeze than before, and she knew what Ennis warned was true: there was a storm coming.

Sam pulled the Scout into a draw between the snow-loaded trees on an old logging road. The condition of the cypress boughs indicated the path hadn’t been used in recent years. He crept along so slowly he’d lose the race to a slug, then came to a stop and put the truck noiselessly into park. To quiet the innocuous jingle of keys as he turned off the ignition, he cupped them in this fist. This would be the first spot they’d try for a few hours, and then later, farther down the snow-covered highway if they found nothing here. He and Graham had had good luck in this area the last time they’d tried. He told Mark and Marcy to disembark without a sound, and they made less than a click closing their doors. Sam did everything mute.

              Going to the back of the truck, he lifted the gate, which used to have a little hydraulic hinge. He’d dismantled that on an earlier trip because it made a sound he didn’t want scaring off the game. One by one, he pulled out the rifles—a bolt action .30-06, a seven-millimeter magnum with thirty inch barrels of various brands, scavenged at various times in the past months. The two teens were giggling at the side of the truck. Before they had an opportunity to get louder, Sam admonished them in a deep, hushed warning. “Knock it off, or you’ll scare them all away. They’re listening to you. They’re keener than you, and you’ll starve; and your babies will starve too unless you learn to be more clever than them.”

That got their attention.

Sam handed them their gear and repeated, “Remember the rules—don’t get smelled; make sure you’re downwind at all times. Don’t get heard; take ten-second steps. Always keep the wind in your face, Marcy. Got it?” He directed his question mostly at her, since he had already taught Mark much of the hunting lore.

“Wind in the face, check.” Marcy repeated in a whisper, “but the ten-second steps look pretty stupid.”

“If you want to eat, ten-second steps are worth it,” Mark reminded her.

Sam pulled out several sets of snowshoes that he and Graham had made; they were a necessity in this terrain. He’d always used the commercial aluminum-framed variety, available at any sporting goods store, but as they’d learned time and again, tricks and crafts long forgotten now needed to be relearned. One day there would be no foraging for things like snowshoes; they’d all be gone. Graham’s father had taught him the art of willow drying and weaving the pliable strips into snowshoe form when he was a boy. Sam and Graham had spent many evenings by the fire this winter weaving and teaching the kids this lost craft. Now Sam, Marcy, and Mark pulled the straps over their hiking boots and took a few steps to make sure the snowshoes were on tight.

Next, Sam checked the wind direction by lifting the end of his gun barrel into the air. The thread tied to the end of his gun floated up and slightly behind them.
Perfect
, he thought, and hoped the breeze would maintain that direction. They’d make their way down a narrow valley surrounded by tall Chuckanut sandstone cliffs.

For Marcy, walking with snowshoes took some getting used to; she found the waddling gait awkward, but she soon got used to the longer and wider steps needed to keep balance and move efficiently. With her rifle slung over her shoulder and her pistol strapped to her chest she was ready for action.

She’d hoped to get a deer to prove to Mark she was capable of hunting and helping him in the event that someday they started off on their own; she wanted to prove she was strong enough to live alone with him. So far, of the two girls Macy had proven herself the stronger hunter, the better defender, and more worthy at almost everything. She would not be outdone by her twin.

Sam broke into her thoughts. “Let’s not waste time, guys. I’ll lead in. Marcy, you stay between me and Mark. Remember, no noise, and follow my lead once we get into the clearing. I’ll signal for you two to head out separately. Remember each other’s location. I do not want any accidents. Long, slow, ten-second steps, then stillness; be observant. If the coast is clear, keep your eyes peeled, and wait for a clean shot. Once you shoot they’ll scatter, and that will be the end of the hunt here for the rest of us. Any questions before we start?”

Marcy and Mark shook their heads. Marcy’s excitement level grew.
Let the hunt begin.

They made their way down the draw with the wind in their faces and slowly crept into the clearing of a snow-covered valley where spiked sprigs of native grasses held bravest and strong through many layers of snow. This is where the deer would come: their hunger would bring them to these few remaining grasses.

Sam turned and motioned with his left hand to his chin, up and down. Marcy remembered that meant for each of them to move at a different angle. This way the three of them each took a separate route into the valley. In their camouflage gear they headed forward at a slow, careful pace. So as not to alert the deer’s sense of movement, never did two of them take their ten-second pace at the same time. All three moved forward with the keenly heightened sense of a hunter.

The snow made the hush of the valley nearly unbearable to Marcy. Her breath vaporized in front of her and then trailed backward. She perceived most strongly the beat of her own heart pounding in her chest. Her steps were clean and guided. She looked to Mark, a few yards away, for encouragement; he nodded gently in approval as she finished bringing her foot down slowly and without a sound. Next it was his turn to move. Her eyes scanned the valley, the hidden dark brush against the contrasting white, looking for any hint of brown or movement of a tail or twitch of an ear.

Getting used to wearing the gear was difficult; Marcy thought Sam had gone a little too far with his requirements for hunting. She wasn’t allowed to use scented soaps, deodorant, or anything even remotely perfumed; even lip balm and lotion were forbidden. Not only that, but Sam claimed the deer could detect the color blue, so she was forced to wear brown canvas pants. They weren’t nearly as soft as her worn denim jeans, and her left upper thigh itched terribly as she stood still, resisting the urge to scratch. She didn’t want to be the cause of a lost hunt by triggering the prey to scatter.

In her peripheral vision, Marcy saw Sam make this careful move. Mark nodded slightly again, signaling her to begin her next step. She’d already planned to maneuver around a clump of desiccated brush that would separate her farther from the group. As she began the careful process of lifting her right leg, she saw a twitch far out to her left side and froze.

Macy’s heart began to pound even faster. She knew this was it. Turning her head very slightly toward Mark she could see that his mouth was a tight thin line, and he tipped his head down to encourage her to take the shot.

Both terrified and intent, she glided her eyes ever so slightly toward her target. A doe with warm brown eyes stood with her head down, munching her way through the sparse grass, and her breath snorted out in little whips about her. The doe was beautiful, yet Marcy knew what she must do.

She swallowed and slowly brought her rifle down into position. Her hands shook from both the adrenaline rush and the regret racing through her veins. She sighted the deer, aiming for her heart, hoping to end it as painlessly as possible, not wanting to cause her to suffer. She knew Mark was getting impatient with the time she was taking. Before she let too much regret take her over, she pulled the trigger with measured determination. All erupted around her. Unseen birds took flight, and hidden deer startled well before she heard the explosion erupt near her ear, sending it ringing.

In horror, she saw the doe leap with a graceful motion as the bullet hit its side, but then it fell to a heap on the frozen ground. What once was beautiful now was gone, and Marcy fell to her knees, heedless of the idea of cautious motion, profoundly weeping for herself and the doe.

Mark took paces to comfort her. “You did what was needed, Marcy. Remember what Graham says:
don’t regret
.”

Macy nodded, wiping away her tears.

Sam passed by them on his way to the doe, then stooped to survey her kill. “Good girl, Marcy. It’s a clean shot.”

Marcy chalked it up as a lucky first strike. If anything, she hadn’t wanted it to suffer and thus to force her into tracking it down to finish it off; she’d been warned beforehand that might be necessary. This way she’d proved she could do it once, and cleanly.

Feeling the cold sting of snow melting into the knees of her pants, she rose and Mark led her to the downed deer, holding her gently by the hand. She held her other hand over her mouth and nose, hoping to stifle her emotions. Her chest still shook as she breathed in and her throat locked.

The brown doe’s eyes were open as if she were still alive. Marcy wanted the doe to think she had made her free and wished she could believe the doe’s soul was in a peaceful spring green meadow.

She knelt down next to Sam and removed her glove. As a mule deer, the doe was larger than a whitetail, and her ears were so large they looked out of proportion to her head. Underneath her neck was a lighter patch of fur. Marcy ran her fingers from there down her sleek neck, fading to grayish brown. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, tears still streaming.

Sam patted her on the back.

“I’m sorry I’m upset. It’s just harder than I thought,” she tried to explain.

“It shows you’re human, Marcy. A kill should never be wasted. You’ve done a good thing here. You’ve provided meat to stave off hunger for our family this winter.” He patted her again. “Why don’t you stand back this time and watch how to field dress? Mark will do most of it.”

She gladly stepped back several paces, being careful not to trip over her snowshoes while Mark took out a Ziploc bag and a shoestring. He stood over the deer as Marcy watched with her arms crossed over her chest. He seemed to be contemplating something. “Marcy, you’re not going to hold this against me, right?”

“Field dressing the deer? No, of course not.”

Mark blew a sigh of relief. “Okay, I just wanted to make sure before I started.”

Sam chuckled at the exchange.

“Go ahead,” she reassured Mark, wiping her tears away. She wanted him to see she could be strong.

Blood already seeped down from the chest wound into the surrounding snow, turning white to scarlet. A little also trickled out of the doe’s mouth.

Mark readied the tip of his knife, stood on the doe’s leg with his back to her head, and rested the right hoof on his right knee. He bent down and pulled up on the doe’s teat, lifting the fur and skin away from the insides. He slid the tip below the skin and sliced her down through the belly, being extra careful not to nick any of the intestines.

As he came to the rear, he reached in and closed off the bowel with the shoestring. He cut around the anus on the outside, then tipped the guts out of the deer’s cavity by running his hand through the warm mass. Steam rose, and again, Marcy cupped her mouth and nose; nothing smelled, but the bloody sight alarmed her. Mark then separated the liver and the heart and placed them into the Ziploc bag. The rest of the guts would be a treat for any animals nearby—a steaming present for them to enjoy.

He handed the bag off to Marcy, who held it and felt the warmth of the animal through the plastic.

After Mark hoisted the doe over his shoulders, Sam said, “Great job, crew. Let’s move on.”

They headed back to the truck, this time taking fluid steps with the snowshoes on. As the two men headed out in front of her, Marcy stopped before they left the valley and looked back across the snowy meadow where now the pristine whiteness was stained by a scarlet mound in the distance. The cold wind changed direction and blew the grass stalks south, chilling her. She blinked back falling snowflakes. What was once peaceful now seemed foreboding.