Manitou Canyon (22 page)

C
HAPTE
R
41

A
nother hard, cold, interrupted night in the wilderness, and when Cork woke in the morning, there wasn't a place on his whole body that didn't hate him and let him know it. The cut the woman had delivered across his side stung like ants were feasting there. Cork could see that the tall man had risen early. He stood by the fire he'd long ago stoked to flame. The rifle hung from a sling over his shoulder. Cork smelled coffee and saw a pot sitting among the coals. For that alone, he could have called the tall man brother.

Cork was surprised to see that the cloud cover had broken, and its remnants were tinted by the rising sun with a burnt-orange hue. The tops of the pine trees were burnished with sunlight as well. With the clearing of the sky, the temperature overnight had dropped, and Cork could feel the freeze on his face.

The sour woman was coming from the woods, her hands freed from the tape that had bound them the night before. Lindsay Harris was stirring awake in her sleeping bag. Bird didn't move a muscle.

Cork threw his blankets aside. “Mind cutting me free?” He held out his bound wrists.

The tall man cut the tape around his wrists and ankles. Cork slowly stood up, trying not to groan too audibly.

“Not a place for sissies,” the tall man said.

Cork walked to the fire and looked longingly at the pot where the coffee was boiling. “I've done the Boundary Waters all my life. If I'd been on a trip like this before, I would never have made another.”

“My father lived without electricity or running water the
whole of his life,” the tall man said. “The nearest settlement was a two-day paddle. Like ironwood, his muscles and spirit. There's a lot to be said for hardship.”

Mrs. Gray joined them, and cast a scowl toward Bird. “You should wake him up. We need to be gone.”

“There's ice on the lake,” the tall man said. “We'll wait for the sun to rise higher, warm the water some, maybe weaken that ice.”

“More delay,” the woman said. “We should have been out of here a long time ago.”

“Doesn't do us any good, speaking of what should have been,” the tall man said. “We need to be talking possibilities.”

“It's possible we're screwed,” the woman said.

She spun away and went to the lakeshore, probably to judge for herself the truth of what the tall man had said.

Lindsay Harris crawled from her sleeping bag, and the tall man cut her bonds. She reached back inside her bag for her coat and boots, which she quickly put on. She hurried to the fire and stood with the men, her breath crystallizing in white puffs.

“Jesus, it's cold,” she said.

“It will get colder,” the tall man said.

Lindsay looked up where the clouds continued to thin and break and give the sky over to great channels of blue. “Not today.”

The tall man nodded. “But tonight and every night after.”

“Then we need to get out of here,” Lindsay said, in a very practical voice.

“We'll see how the lake responds to the sun. If the ice coating is thin enough, we'll be able to move through without damaging the canoes.”

Bird made a sound, a long, painful release of air. He opened his eyes and said toward the sky, “I need to pee.”

The tall man walked to him and knelt. “Can you stand?”

“I can try.”

He gave Bird a hand, but it was a struggle and Cork stepped in to help. Between them, they got the kid to his feet. They walked him a short way into the woods and held him while he unzipped.

“If it wasn't for this leg, we'd be at White Woman Lake now,” Bird said as he relieved himself. His pee steamed as it hit frozen ground. “It's all my fault.”

“No one's fault,” the tall man said. “Things just happen. You get knocked down. The real question is can you stand back up.”

Bird looked at the hands of the men who held him upright and said bitterly, “Not without help, looks like.”

“You've given it everything you can,” Cork said. “Let it go. We'll make it out of these woods, one way or another.”

“It'll be too late,” Bird said. “All of this for nothing.”

“There's purpose in everything,” the tall man said. “Though we don't always see it.”

Which struck Cork as something he might have heard coming from the lips of Henry Meloux.

“Done,” Bird said and zipped up.

They helped him back to the fire, where he sat warming himself and staring into the flames. The sour woman had begun preparing a breakfast of oatmeal and nuts.

“One more good meal,” she said to no one in particular. “Then we're out of food.”

The tall man pulled cups from his pack and poured coffee for Bird, and then some for Mrs. Gray. He filled a cup for Lindsay. There was a single cup left.

“I don't mind sharing,” he said, offering it to Cork.

The sun broke through the limbs of the pines, and they sat around the fire in dappled, gold light and ate.

“I hate aluminum canoes,” the tall man said. “But I wish I had them now. They'd cut across that lake without a problem.”

“Why the birch bark?” Cork asked. “They're beautiful, but a lot of trouble, seems to me. Especially considering the circumstances.”

“See?” Mrs. Gray said to the tall man. She looked to Cork with satisfaction. “I told him the same thing. Bring the damn Grummans.”

“They're brothers to me. Brothers with wings,” the tall man said. “They fly on water. And they've worked well enough before.”

“Before?” Lindsay looked up from her oatmeal. “You mean with my grandfather?”

“He was easy,” the woman said. “Not like you. Not like this.” She glared at Bird. “And he wasn't with us.”

The kid's head dropped and he stared at the ground.

“That's enough talk,” the tall man said.

Cork had finished his meal. He stood and walked to the edge of the lake. The sun was high above the eastern shoreline, which lay dark along the horizon. Close in, the ice was a thin, white plating, but farther out, where the lake was deep, it was like lacquer over wood and the dark water showed clearly beneath. Cork thought that if they could get beyond the ice along the lakeshore, the canoes could probably move without a lot of worry about damage.

He heard the commotion behind him and turned to find Bird standing with the rifle gripped in his hands. The barrel was pointed at the tall man on the other side of the fire. The sour woman and Lindsay sat wide-eyed, looking on.

“Put the rifle down,” the tall man said.

“No. You stay where you are, Uncle Aaron. I don't want to hurt you. You'll all be better off without me. You can get out faster. You can still save the Manitou.”

“What? You're going to kill yourself?” the sour woman said. It was clear she was fully on board with the idea.

“It's the only way,” Bird said.

The tall man began to walk around the campfire. His eyes never left his nephew's face. “You're not going to shoot me or yourself or anyone. That's not our way.”

“Stay back.”

“Shoot yourself, for God's sake,” Mrs. Gray said. “Get it over with.”

Bird snugged the rifle against his shoulder. The crack of the round he pulled off brought the tall man to a halt.

“I mean it, Uncle Aaron. This is the only way.”

Bird's attention was fully on the tall man, and he didn't see Lindsay Harris stand silently and ease herself toward him.

Mrs. Gray said, “Sit down, you little bitch.”

The kid swung his eyes toward Lindsay and shifted the rifle barrel her way. “Stay back!” His voice was desperate, and Cork wasn't at all certain that in his feverish state, the kid might not kill the woman they'd come all this way to secure.

“Bird,” the tall man snapped.

The kid's eyes bounced between the tall man and Lindsay Harris. His breathing was rapid. He teetered on his feet. Panic was all over his face now, and Cork understood that he was probably capable of anything.

Then he heard it, a low, distant thrum. He said to the kid, “Wait, Bird. Listen.”

They all stood stone-still, and in a few moments, they heard it, too.

The tall man spoke quietly to Bird.

“A plane,” he said.

C
HAPTE
R
42

R
ose didn't go with the rest of the O'Connor clan to see the floatplane off that morning at first light. She stayed behind to take care of Waaboo and to have breakfast ready when they returned. This was such a familiar feeling for her, moving about the kitchen, seeing to the needs of others. It was what she'd done before she met Mal. She loved her husband and loved her life with him, but she missed this being part of an energy that was fluid, changing, always in motion. That's what children brought to a life. She and Mal wanted a family of their own, but they were still childless. She recalled Stephen's epiphany in the desert. Everybody hurts. That was her pain, wanting children so very much and being denied. She was almost fifty years old, on the threshold of that age when her body would naturally end any hope. So these days she didn't pray for pregnancy. She prayed instead for acceptance if it wasn't to be.

Waaboo had finished his pancakes and was on his knees on the kitchen floor rolling a Tonka truck across the linoleum, making engine sounds. Trixie stood back, alert, because Waaboo often sent his wheeled toys suddenly careening in the dog's direction. Through the kitchen windows, Rose saw Jenny's Forester pull into the drive.

“Your mommy's home,” Rose said.

Waaboo abandoned his truck and leaped to his feet.

Stephen came through the door first, with Jenny right behind him. Waaboo wove around his uncle and hit his mother, when she
entered, at a dead run. She was used to this wholehearted form of welcome and had braced herself. Waaboo threw his arms around her waist and said,
“Nimaama,”
which was Ojibwe for mother. Jenny wanted her son to speak the language of his Anishinaabe heritage, and she was learning it with him.

“Ingozis,”
she said in exuberant reply. My son.

She and Stephen shed their coats, leaving the cold of the morning on the wall pegs.

“Coffee?” Rose offered.

“I'd kill for some, Aunt Rose,” Stephen said.

“Let me get an arm free, then count me in.” Jenny disentangled herself from Waaboo's embrace, knelt, and looked seriously into his face. “Time to get ready for preschool.”

“I want to stay home today,” he said, with a little pout.

“You know who's going to be there? Bennie Degerstrom.”

“Bennie!” Waaboo said, brightening in an instant.

Jenny said, “Keep the coffee hot,” and went with her son to help him get ready.

“What's that delicious aroma?” Stephen drifted to the stove and peeked into the oven. “Egg bake! I love you, Aunt Rose.”

“A love so easily bought isn't worth much,” Rose said.

Stephen filled coffee mugs and carried them to the table. He sat down with his aunt.

“The floatplane got off okay?” Rose asked.

“Took off at sunrise. Four CIRT members.”

“CIRT?”

“Critical incident response team. You know, like SWAT.”

That was an acronym Rose understood. “The sheriff was with them?”

“She stayed here in Aurora to pick up Ben Trudeau when the time comes.” Stephen sipped from his mug. “Should be a good day for an air search. Bud Bowers said visibility is excellent. Marsha promised to let us know as soon as they've located Dad and Lindsay Harris and have them safely on their way home.”

Henry, Leah, Rainy, and Daniel had all stayed the night on
Crow Point with Trevor Harris, who adamantly refused to leave what he thought of as sanctuary. Jenny had called Daniel on her cell before they left for the marina and had promised to keep them updated as word came in from Dross.

Rose heard the television come on in the living room, and a few moments later, Jenny joined them.

“I promised him a little SpongeBob before I take him to school.” She sat down in front of the mug Stephen had set for her on the table and took a sip. “Ah, nectar.”

“I feel bad,” Rose said. “We should be focused on you and Daniel and your wedding.”

“Like we could do that with Dad lost out there,” Jenny said.

“Still, this should be your time,” Rose said and reached out and gently touched Jenny's cheek. “A special time.”

“If something wasn't threatening us, we wouldn't be O'Connors,” Jenny said.

The telephone on the kitchen counter rang. Jenny left the table to answer it. Rose watched the light dim in her niece's eyes as she listened.

“Thanks, Kathy,” Jenny said. She put the receiver back in its cradle.

“What is it?” Rose asked.

Jenny stood near the sink, her hand to her lips as if to keep herself from saying something terrible.

“What is it, Sis?” Stephen said.

“That was Kathy Engesser, from the sheriff's office. About Dad.” Jenny looked at them, and when she spoke again her words came in a lifeless whisper. “There's a problem.”

C
HAPTE
R
43

T
he plane came at them directly out of the sun, dropping toward the lake, while Cork and the others stood watching. Yellow sunlight painted the undersides of the wings and the belly and the two pontoons. It was a de Havilland Beaver, Cork could see, the kind the Forest Service employed in many ways, including the search for those lost in the Boundary Waters.

He turned, expecting to see the tall man and the sour woman making for the cover of the pines, but they stood still, their faces upturned as the plane neared. Lindsay Harris took a step forward, as if moving to greet it. Bird lowered the rifle and stared with his mouth agape. Cork spun back and watched the floatplane speeding in, less than a hundred feet above the water. It shot directly for the island, and he was afraid that the pilot wouldn't be able to pull the nose up in time, and the craft would plow right into the trees. But at the last moment, the Beaver lifted and flew above them, clearing the lofty pines and banking in a long curl that brought it around again into the sun. It slowed and dropped, and the pontoons touched the lake, sending up a white spray. It taxied across the water toward the island. By then, Cork knew why the others hadn't run for cover. The plane wasn't from the Forest Service.

Behind him, he heard the woman shout, “Cheval!”

The engine cut out, and the plane eased toward the rocky shoreline. A man exited, a man whose French name fit him admirably, a great draft horse of a man. He was Native, with long black hair, a broad, smiling face, and a nose that look flattened
less by nature than by brawling. He stood on the pontoon with a rope in hand. Mrs. Gray ran to the edge of the water, and the man tossed the rope. She grabbed the line and pulled until the pontoons touched the rocks, then the man jumped ashore.

“A little late, but here I am,” he said with a big grin. He opened his arms as if he expected the woman to hug him. If that was the case, he was disappointed.

“You son of a bitch,” she said. “Because of you we almost died out here. You and your booze.”

“A man has his pleasures, Mrs. Gray. Otherwise, life's not much worth living, eh?”

The tall man came forward and shook the pilot's hand. “Glad you could join us, Andre.”

Cheval looked past the tall man. “Where's Mr. Gray?”

“We lost him.” The tall man didn't elaborate.

A passenger climbed from the plane onto a pontoon. He was Native, maybe thirty, dressed in clean jeans, a plaid wool mackinaw, and new-looking boots.

“Who's that?” the tall man said.

“Calls himself Indigo,” the pilot replied.

“Where'd he come from?”

Cheval shrugged. “Just showed up. Fox said we're gonna work with him.”

The man leaped ashore.
“Boozhoo.”
He smiled and held up a hand.

“Boozhoo,”
the tall man replied, but not with a smile. “Understand you're going to work with us.”

“That's right. Fox sent me.”

“Why?”

“You'll have to ask him that.” He nodded toward Cork. “I see you didn't kill him.”

“Should have,” Mrs. Gray said.

“He's more valuable to us this way,” Indigo said. He turned his almond eyes to Lindsay Harris. “So you're the one all the fuss is about.”

“How's my grandfather?” she asked.

“Alive when we left this morning. Whether he stays that way is going to be up to you.”

“What do you want from me?”

“You'll find out soon enough.” Indigo looked at the tall man. “We need to go.”

“As soon as I've hidden the canoes.”

“Leave them. Leave everything.”

“I don't want anyone finding my canoes. I'll come back for them later.”

“The law sent a plane out this morning to look for these two,” Indigo said. “If we don't get out of here now, we could be spotted.”

“I'm not leaving my canoes for someone else to find.”

“All right. Stay with them. The rest of us are flying out now.”

Bird said, “We're not going out until my uncle says so.” He leveled the rifle barrel on Indigo's chest.

Indigo held up his hands in placation. “Easy, kid. We're on the same side here. We're all in this together. If you want to save your precious river, we should go now.”

“We do what my uncle says we do.”

“We hide the canoes,” the tall man said.

“I'll give you a hand,” Cork offered.

While Cork and the tall man carried the canoes well into the pines and covered them with brush, the others loaded the gear into the plane. The pilot and Lindsay Harris helped Bird aboard. The tall man extinguished the fire and covered the ash and char with dirt. He stood back and studied their night's camp.

“From the air, it'll be impossible to tell that anyone was ever here,” he said, satisfied. “Now we fly.”

Indigo held a roll of silver duct tape. “Your hands,” he said to Cork.

Cork looked at the tall man, who said nothing. He held out his hands, wrists together, and Indigo bound him.

“Now you,” Indigo said to Lindsay Harris, and he bound her, too.

The tall man helped them both into the plane and secured their seat belts before climbing into the row behind them, along with Mrs. Gray. Bird lay in back, on bedding made from the sleeping bags and blankets. Indigo untied the tether line and climbed in beside Cheval.

When they were airborne, they climbed rapidly. Cork watched the lake below disappear and the vast expanse of the great wilderness open up below him. They continued to ascend until the lakes became like sapphires spilled on green velvet. They headed northeast into a sky that was clear before them.

“Will we be too late?” Bird asked weakly from the back.

“Not too late yet,” the pilot said.

“But in the end, it's going to depend on Harris. Grandfather and granddaughter,” Indigo said over his shoulder. Then added, “And maybe a little bit on O'Connor.”

Mrs. Gray smiled at him. “You don't mind giving up a little
chimook
blood, do you?”

“Use that word one more time, and I'll throw you out of this plane,” the tall man said.

They lapsed into silence then. Cork glanced at Lindsay, whose face was turned away, watching the wilderness glide below. He wondered what she was thinking and if she was afraid. From the beginning, and through all the hardships and the outbursts of violence, fear hadn't been something he'd seen in her. What he'd observed was determination, patience, strength. There was much to admire in the young woman, and he resolved that whatever the outcome for him, he would do his best to see that she survived this ordeal.

* * *

They flew for over an hour. Then the tall man said to the pilot, “Gordonville first.”

“Gordonville?” Indigo said. “No. We go directly to the lodge.”

“My nephew's sick. He needs a doctor.”

“We drop the girl and O'Connor at the lodge, then you can find a doctor.”

The tall man said to the pilot, “What'll it be, Andre? Do you take orders from this Indigo now? Or are we still clan?”

The pilot laughed and glanced at the man sitting next to him. “If Aaron says we fly to Gordonville, we fly to Gordonville.”

“I don't think so.” Indigo reached under his coat and drew out a handgun. Cork could see that it was a Glock.

The pilot looked at the gun and laughed again. “What? You'll shoot me? And we all crash? What a good plan that is.”

The tall man said, “A stop at the clinic in Gordonville will delay us only a little. You told my nephew we're on the same side. I don't know you, Indigo, but if that's true, you'll put the gun away.”

Indigo returned the Glock to the shoulder holster from where he'd pulled it. “We fail,” he said, “it's not on my shoulders.”

“We fail,” the tall man said, “or we succeed, it's only because Kitchimanidoo wills it to be so.”

Cork watched Indigo give his head a little shake as if what he'd just heard was nothing but ignorant claptrap.

They banked to the east, and in a few minutes, Cork saw a small lake materialize. It lay at the mouth of a deep canyon carved by the tumble of a white-water river. The Manitou, Cork was pretty sure. A little town lay on the shore of the lake. There was a sand beach at the edge of the town. Cheval brought the Beaver down onto the water and taxied toward the beach. The tall man got out and stood on the pontoon. As they neared the beach, the tall man leaped onto the sand and used the tether line to draw the plane gently to shore. A sign had been posted on the beach indicating there was no lifeguard on duty, swim at your own risk. The tall man tied the line to the signpost.

“Everybody out, so we can unload Bird,” Cheval said.

Indigo had pulled his Glock from the holster. As Cork and Lindsay disembarked, he cautioned, “You try anything stupid, you're dead. Both of you.”

The tall man and Cheval helped Bird out. The kid could barely walk, and he hung between the two men.

“We'll take him to the clinic,” the tall man told Indigo and Mrs. Gray. “Then we'll be back.”

Before they left, Lindsay put her hand on the kid's arm. “Remember what I told you, Bird?”

He nodded weakly. “Spirit is at the heart of everything.”

“You're going to be fine.” And then she did something surprising. She kissed his cheek.

The tall man and Cheval shuffled down the beach, burdened by the weight of the hobbling Bird.

“Back in the plane,” Indigo ordered.

Cork and Lindsay Harris turned to obey. But Mrs. Gray, sour to the end, stayed on the beach, looking where the tall man, Cheval, and Bird had gone.

“Fools,” she muttered. “Stupid, stupid fools.”