Solomon's Decision (25 page)

"I'll do what I have to do," was all Erik would promise. The important thing was
getting the children out.

"I'll send Steve out, then. He's got some EMT training."

Surprised at the sheriff's capitulation, Erik went aft to check out the hoist. He
wanted to be ready when they got to Wounded Bear Meadow. There wasn't any doubt in
his mind that the children were there.

* * * *

Madeline reached the gate to the corral as Steve Lindholm walked out to the
helicopter. "I'm going with them," she said.

"Now, Linnie," Wally said, "don't start that again. You don't have any training.
You'd only get in the way."

"And you're not their mother, Wally Blanchett," she snarled. "It's not open to
debate. I'm going." Jerking her arm free of his hold, she ran across the corral. There was
plenty of room for her. And she
had
taken the advanced Red Cross First Aid
course. The small duffel in her hand was filled with everything she could think of that
might be needed once they found the children.

She grabbed the door just as Steve was pulling it closed. Quickly she climbed in,
pushing past him to take a seat.

"What do you think you're doing?"

The familiar voice came from behind her. "Erik?" Madeline dropped the seat
harness and turned around. "Erik? What are you doing here?"

"That's what I asked you. Hold it," he yelled as the aircraft lifted.

"Don't you start. Those are
my
children out there and I'm as qualified as
you to be here."

"They're mine, too,"

His face held a grim resolve that Madeline had never seen before. She ignored it.
"Are we going to sit here and bicker," she asked, knowing she could never win if she
argued with him so she was willing to resort to emotional blackmail, "or are we going to
rescue the children?"

Erik stared at her a moment, then gave the pilot a thumbs-up.

The helicopter lifted and she breathed a secret sigh of relief.

The radio crackled several times as they skimmed close to treetops and ridges.
Madeline couldn't understand one word in three, but Erik evidently did. "The trail up to the
meadow's blocked from the Z-Bar-Z too. It'll probably be tomorrow before they can get in
on horseback," he said. He turned his back and continued whatever he was doing just
behind the wide door.

Madeline was left alone with her thoughts.
Please, God, let my babies be all
right!

* * * *

Abby was crying again. Kyle still managed to swallow his own tears, but it was
getting harder all the time.

If only the horses hadn't run away. They could have gone across the creek, no
matter how high it was, on Smoke and Taffy. But when they came back from exploring the
meadow, the only two left were the ponies, Cooter and Sneaky. Jace said Dumbo and the
horses had probably been spooked by the lightning and thunder that had been so close.

At least the creek hadn't come much higher. For a while there, after the logs had
come thundering down and stuck in the bend, Kyle had been afraid he and Abby would
have to climb a tree to stay out of the water.

"I want to go home," Abby said, for about the millionth time.

"Me too," he admitted. "Do you s'pose they're gonna find a way across the creek?"
he said. He wished he knew where they'd gone after Jace had gestured that he and Ginger
and Denny were going to try to find another way across the creek that had suddenly turned
into a raging river.

That had been yesterday, close to dark. Kyle and Abby had waited for a long time,
until it got too dark to see. Then they'd crawled under the tarp and huddled together, slowly
growing warmer as their clothes began to dry. But sometime in the night he'd gone to sleep
and their feeble fire had gone out. He hadn't been able to build a new one, because they'd
used all the dry wood.

Sometime after it got light, he and Abby had opened and eaten a can of beef stew.
It still sat in his tummy like a cold lump of ice. "I want my mother," he whispered, not
wanting Abby to hear.

"Listen!" Abby's chin came up. "What's that noise?"

Kyle listened. It sounded like an airplane. He crawled out from under the tarp and
looked all around the sky. Clouds still sat on the hills surrounding the meadow and
everywhere he looked, he could see nothing but water.

The sound grew louder. Not an airplane. A helicopter!

* * * *

Erik didn't know what to say to Madeline. He wanted to reassure her that they
would find the children safe and sound, but he couldn't. He knew how fragile life was, and
how easy it was for a child to make the wrong choice and pay for it with his life. Hell, he'd
known adults who'd paid for mistakes with life or limb.

They topped the last ridge and Wounded Bear Meadow opened before them. It
was a lake! Only the copse of trees where he and Madeline had eaten their lunches was
visible above the swirling, churning muddy waters. As they headed that way, his eyes
swept over the entire valley. A few patches of willow also seemed to be above water, but
he saw nothing that might indicate there were children here.

Had they been erroneously pinning their hopes on a few indistinct tracks and an
injured man's almost incoherent account of a trail seen before he was thrown?

He saw Steve gesture. As the helicopter rotated, he lost sight of the copse, but was
able to see several other small, isolated islands still standing above the flood.

"There!" Madeline's joyous cry brought him to her side. She was pointing. "I see
two of them."

The pilot nodded his comprehension. Steve called the ranch while Erik went aft to
rig the hoist. They'd already agreed he would be the one to go down if they couldn't
land.

Where in hell were the other three?

Hell? Erik stared out over the valley. This was the wettest hell he'd ever seen. The
water seemed to be backing up from the outlet through the ridge, probably dammed by
debris where the creek cut a steep gorge through the narrow limestone outcrop. It would be
days before the meadow drained enough that a helicopter could set down.

It was a good thing he'd done this before, he thought as he checked the line he
would descend on. Rappelling down a swaying cable wasn't something that came naturally.
He'd spent a long afternoon learning just what he could and couldn't do, before his
instructor had let him down into that canyon in Montana to collect the stream gaging
instruments. At the time, he'd sworn he'd never again play spider monkey.

As he hesitated at the door, Madeline caught at his arm. He looked at her, seeing
fear. And something else.

She said something to him, but her words were drowned out by the roar of the
helicopter's engine through the open door. He shook his head.

She pulled at him, and he bent. Her lips touched his ear briefly, and her words
penetrated the roar. "Bring them back, please, Erik. Bring our children back safely."

He nodded. He'd do his damnedest.

Before he could think about it again, he let himself slide from the door and dangle
on the cable.

The helicopter inched closer to the trees, setting Erik spinning slowly. He
watched, knowing it would be a near thing whether he was able to find solid footing or
would have to swing across the water and drop, like Tarzan from a vine.

As he drew nearer the island, he saw the children clearly. One of them was his
son!

Kyle was safe. But the other was not his daughter. For the first time he realized the
icy knot of fear beneath his breastbone was for all the children, not just Kyle. In that
moment, he believed he could love Ginger as she should be loved.

The cable began to swing and he let himself slip lower. Soon he was passing over
the edge of the wooded island every few seconds. He dropped lower yet, until he had to
pull his feet up to keep them dry. One more swing, and he let himself fall, tumbling onto
the narrow strip of wet grass between the creek and the trees.

Quickly he removed the blankets he'd wrapped around his upper body. The girl
first. She clung to him, making it more difficult to enclose her in the warm wool. He
handed Kyle a second blanket, telling him to wrap it around himself.

"We've got sort of a tent back in the trees," Kyle said, his voice trembling.

"Good. Can you show me?" He held the girl in one arm and grabbed the rest of the
blankets with the other hand. Two steps and his feet were soaked. For a moment he
regretted not taking time to change. Surely someone at the ranch would have had
something more suitable for swamp stomping than tasseled loafers.

At least one of the kids had some woodscraft, he realized when he saw the sturdy
canvas lean-to. A patch of ashes at one side showed that they'd had a fire, for a while at
least. He set the little girl down and slipped out of his knapsack. Quickly he inventoried its
contents. "Where are the others?" he said as he began carving thin splinters from the
underside of the fallen log.

"I don't know," Kyle said, sounding close to tears.

He told Erik how the older boys had held hands across the flooding creek, letting
him and Abby cling to them as they half-floated, half-climbed across the human bridge.
Then Kyle had seen the logs coming and Jace had barely gotten back to the other side
before they tumbled by and stuck in the bend, just below the island. After that the water
had risen swiftly and Jace had gestured that they were going upstream to see if they could
find another crossing. Kyle had walked clear up to the end of the island on his side, and
had watched them pass out of sight, still seeking a way across.

All the while Erik was cutting slivers for a fire. When he had a sufficient number,
he pulled the sawdust-and-wax fire starter from the knapsack. Soon tiny flames were
licking at the damp sticks he carefully fed them. When Kyle's account ended, Erik cupped
a hand across his mouth. That had been eighteen hours ago. The trees sheltering Abby and
Kyle were the only dense stand in the valley, other than willow thickets along some
branches of the creek. That meant the other three children had been out in the rain all night
without shelter, without fire, without food.

And the water had been rising all that time.

* * * *

Madeline chewed her knuckle. Erik had disappeared into the woods with the
children. The helicopter was slowly flying in a circle, accomplishing nothing. She knew
hysteria wouldn't help, but she wanted to indulge anyway. God knew, she couldn't do
anything constructive, and a short bout of hysteria might make her feel better.

The radio crackled. Not one word was intelligible, but from the alertness of the
two men in front, she knew they must be hearing something important. Steve unstrapped
his harness and came to kneel beside her seat. "It's two of the little kids down there.
They're okay. Just cold and hungry. But the others--" He shook his head. "We'll keep
lookin'"

She grabbed his arm. "Which ones are...are safe?" She knew it shouldn't matter,
but it did. Oh God, it did.

"Dunno. Erik didn't say." He went back to the door and began preparing to follow
Erik to the ground. Madeline was left to wonder if both her children were safe, or only one.
And which one?

Again they hovered as Steve descended.

With her face pushed against the window, she stared across the almost
unrecognizable meadow. They were pulling away from the copse, the downwash of their
rotor making even the roiling, rushing water flatten and appear calm. As they drew farther
away and climbed higher, she saw Erik emerge from the woods to meet Steve.

He waved, pointed upstream. Steve gestured, shook his head.

"Damn fool!" She heard the pilot clearly. The helicopter tipped in a sharp
turn.

"What are you doing?"

He handed her the headset. As soon as she had it on, he said, "We're goin' to circle
around and see if we can find the other youngsters. Erik says they went up that way." He
pointed toward where the water was a turbulent sheet over what had been a wide meadow
the last time she'd seen it. Only a few brushy clumps marred the new lake's surface. "Last
night."

"But what about...?" Wordlessly she gestured at the trees which concealed the two
children and the deputy.

"They'll be okay with Steve while we take a look around. After we refuel, Wally
and me'll pick 'em up. Erik's gonna see if he can find trace of the other three."

She hadn't thought she could be more frightened.

* * * *

A long, thin log was caught in a tangle of brush and debris at the edge of the
island. Erik measured the distance between him and the shallows beyond the flood
channel. The log just might span it. He went to work.

The water was almost too swift. More than once it tried to tear the log from his
grasp. But he shoved, and guided, and grunted, until finally he had the log wedged into the
muddy streambank on his side. He hoped it was as securely seated on the other end. He
could move it no farther, but that didn't mean it was fixed.

He stared at the log. It was almost completely submerged, the water spilling over
it in a silvery sheet. Turning around, he looked back toward the shelter where Kyle and
Abby were safe. Steve would care for them until the helicopter returned.

Erik had a space blanket and one wool blanket in his knapsack, several high
energy bars, and a liter of water. A first-aid kit. His Buck knife was attached to his belt.
Strips torn off one blanket were wrapped around his feet, better traction than leather-soled
loafers.

One last deep breath and he straddled the log, feeling the icy water soak up along
his legs. It gave when the current caught him, but it didn't break free. Inch by inch, he
crossed, until his legs found a bottom. Then he scrambled onto not-so-solid ground under a
foot of calmer water, no longer in danger of being swept away.

From hummock to hummock, from shrub to thicket, he made his slow way across
the valley. Every few feet he stopped to call, until his throat hurt and his voice was a
scratchy croak. He grew colder, then he no longer noticed. Sometimes he had to go far out
of his way to find a route across wide channels, and once he was swept a quarter-mile
downstream before he could grab a dangling willow and inch his way onto solid
footing.