Stronger than Bone (4 page)

(Twelve years ago: 225 Cycles into the Light)

Curly was as men as they came. That’s what everyone said. “Cross him and you’ll lose,” they said. That was good news for the barrel-chested man sitting in the shade as the boat came in. He had been in this business a long time, and in this business a reputation is often your most valuable asset. Curly waited until the boat had tied up and his men were unloading the booty from today’s enterprise before he stepped off the porch out into the sunlight and walked toward the dock. He put on quite a show of being shocked at how his men had captured and mistreated those poor people. Even his crew seemed to believe it. He had a chuckle at that.

When all the prisoners were locked away, and the last of the guards was leaving the dock, Curly said “Not you precious.” Blocking the man’s way with his arm. “I want to know why there are only five prisoners,” he said quietly. “And I want to know why there aren’t any valuables laid out in front of me.”

The man, one of the bigger two, dropped his gaze and said, “Sorry Curly. We screwed it up.” He looked into Curly’s eyes with a pitiful look and pleaded “I sunk the boat Curly! It was an honest mistake! I’m not too good with the Boom-N-Crash thing you gave us to use. It’s awfully hard to aim!”

Curly looked past the man’s shoulder at the boat and the three inch cannon barrel sticking out just above the bow. His men had begged him to let them use it after stealing it from another boat weeks before. Try as they might, not a damn one of them was any good at shooting it. Curly agreed to letting them use it when they said it was only to fire a warning shot. They argued it was perfect that they couldn’t hit anything because a warning shot was just that, a warning.

Curly put his hand on the big man’s shoulder and began to laugh. The sailor wasn’t sure what to do, so he cautiously chuckled along with his boss. This made Curly laugh even harder, and so the big man relaxed and laughed out loud with him. Suddenly the big man jolted and his face turned from raucous joviality to one of confusion and pain. He looked down at his gut where his hands grasped Curly’s forearm. Curly’s hand was holding the hilt of a dagger. He looked into Curly’s face and understood why everyone said he was as mean as they came. Curly was still smiling as the world went black and the big man slumped to the ground.

(Twelve years ago: 225 Cycles into the Light)

The girl’s name was Gretchen. She was 13. Over the past few weeks Guy learned that she was alone, just as he was. Her entire family had been on the merchant boat and none survived the attack.

Guy and Gretchen were the last of the prisoners. The woman was ransomed by a wealthy family member two weeks after they had arrived. One of the men tried to run and was quickly cut down by one of the guards. The other tried to make a deal with Curly to trade carpentry work for his freedom. He sold Curly on the idea that he could build him anything, but he was apparently a better salesman than a carpenter. It didn’t take long before Curly lost patience with his incompetence. He dragged him off into the woods one afternoon and they never saw the man again.

Guy wondered if he would ever see his brother again.

It was unlikely. Chase would have been turned out and left to fend for himself on the streets without his mother to care for him. It would likely be weeks before his uncle even knew that his sister, the boys’ mother, had been lost. There was not much hope that a little boy would survive like that alone. He tried his best not to think about it.

He looked at Gretchen as she swept the wooden floor again, humming a light-hearted tune. They both knew that keeping the room clean was vitally important to avoid one of Curly’s tantrums. They took turns sweeping and straightening up whenever it needed doing. He saw this softer side of her at times, but came to understand the hard edge she usually showed as well. She didn’t talk much, so most of it was speculation, but Guy guessed her father was as evil as the men who held them now. He could tell she was no stranger to the type of room situated at the back of the building. She suggested as much on more than one occasion, after one of the men took her back there: “I’m used to it,” she said. “At least they just do it and leave.”

Guy became angry each time one of the men got drunk and came looking for Gretchen. Sometimes he would try to stand up to them. They would punch him hard and knock him down. Sometimes they would kick him or keep hitting him, but Gretchen would pull them away and go willingly to the back, making Guy even more angry and hurt. The only one who never took Gretchen to the back was Curly. He wouldn’t stop his men from doing it, but he never hurt her with his own hands.

(Six months ago: 237 Cycles into the Light)

“What happened?” She gasped as the other men brought Guy into the house.

“Shut up and clear off the table!” growled Curly’s second. He was struggling with Guy’s upper half while the unlucky new guy managed the good leg and what was left of the other. Gretchen turned immediately and tried desperately to not cry as she swept everything off the table and onto the floor. Curly rushed in behind the others and kicked the dining room chairs out of the way. Guy was unconscious and his bloodless face was ghost white as they swung him up onto the table.

“Bring those blankets, NOW!” Thundered Curly.

He stared at the tattered limb for a long minute while Gretchen tore strips of blanket.

“Hold him down,” he said soberly.

Curly checked the belt that was tied tightly around the damaged leg, high above the wound. It slowed the bleeding. He knew Guy would be dead without it.

He took one of the strips of old blanket and wiped the blood and gore away from the wound as best he could. When he had the wound exposed and clear of most of the bone fragments he stopped. Taking his knife Curly began cutting above the shredded portion of Guys leg, through the skin and muscle down to the bone. He cut completely around the leg, leaving a flap of skin on the bottom side about four inches longer than on the top.

One of the men rushed in with a saw and gave it to Curly. He took it and frowned at the dull teeth on the ancient blade. He cut through Guy’s femur with much difficulty. Holding the leg still to make smooth strokes was nearly impossible.

When he was finally through, Curly used his knife to bevel the edges of the bone, dulling it so it was less likely to wear through the skin as it healed. He wiped away all of the blood and bone debris from the stump, and after trying sail-thread unsuccessfully, he used pieces of Gretchen’s hair to sew the seeping artery closed.

Gretchen watched closely as Curly used sail thread to sew the flap of skin closed over the stump, leaving a hole in one corner for drainage. When he was done, he exhaled heavily, dropped his tools, and walked out the door. The other men left as well, locking Gretchen and Guy inside.

Gretchen untied the belt that restricted the blood to Guy’s leg and watched closely for signs that the artery suture had not held. Satisfied that it had, she began looking to his comfort. She didn’t notice or care what was going on around her as she gently lifted his head and placed a blanket beneath. She picked up an unused strip of blanket and dipped it in the cool, but bloody water. She wrung it out and began cleaning the blood and dirt from his body. Slowly moving around the table she nearly wretched as her bare foot stepped on his severed leg. Steeling herself, she picked it up and dropped it in the refuse bucket. All of the bits and pieces of skin, flesh, and bone that Curly had cut off also went in the bucket.

Gretchen soaked her hands in the water basin and wiped them as best she could on the skirt of her tattered dress. Moving back to Guy’s head, she placed a cool cloth on his forehead. He was so pale she worried that he was too far gone.

Over the next several days and nights, she seldom left his side. She spoke to him softly, washed his body gently, and changed his bandages regularly. At times he would wake briefly, and she was there, smiling down on him like an angel. She stroked his face, and kissed his forehead. Once, she kissed him gently on the lips and her tears streamed down onto his face. She gently wiped them away as he drifted back to sleep.

Then one night, almost a week after the amputation, his fever broke, and he began to recover. As Guy gained his strength, things began to change on the island as well. Gretchen no longer gave in to Curly’s men, and that became a problem. Curly was fiercely protective of Guy, and no one dared use him as leverage to get Gretchen to obey. Instead they beat her. They tried at any rate. More than one of them learned the hard way that she was no longer a little girl. She was a woman with strength and a will to be with whom she chose, and she bit, cut, and stabbed those who didn’t respect that.

Like before, Curly kept out of it. He neither stood up for her nor punished her. To him, she was there as a commodity only, not a person. Whether she was there to buy Guy’s loyalty, or to entertain his flunkies, he did not seem to care. It was only after one of his men beat her to death in a drunken rage that Curly took a stand. It was the wrong one.

If Guy had a say in the matter, it was one he would forever regret.

Guy was finally getting used to making his way around with his wooden leg when Gretchen was murdered. He was out hunting with Curly when it happened. The two had grown very close, to the point that Curly was talking about making guy his partner. Guy would remember those days as the most retched, hated days of his existence. Those were the days that he considered the worst of his betrayal of Gretchen.

When they returned, they found Gretchen’s broken body locked in the back room. Guy exploded into a terrible rage. He hated himself every bit as much as he hated the men who had hurt her. How could he have ignored the things they had done to her all those years? How could he have befriended those animals? Curly tried to calm him down, and ordered him to forget about it. He said there were plenty of other girls to be had, and he forbade Guy to seek revenge.

The order was impossible: unforgivable. Guy could never forget, and the men who hurt Gretchen must pay. Nothing else mattered.

That night, just before dawn, Guy murdered every man in Curly’s camp, save Curly himself. He wanted to. Oh how terribly he wanted to. But he knew that taking everything from Curly would be even worse.

After creeping among the bunks and slitting the throats of every sleeping crewman, Guy stood over Curly, sleeping body. The big man was sleeping on his side and snoring loudly like always. Guy’s lip curled cruelly and he brutally stabbed his dagger, hilt deep, into Curly’s left leg. It was the same leg that Guy had lost when Curly’s idiot of a henchman had fired the cannon at just the wrong moment.

Curly woke with a bellow and tried to sit up, just as the wooden bat in Guy’s other hand came crashing down on his head. Curly fell back senseless, not to wake up for hours. When he did finally wake, he found his own dagger still buried in his leg, and all of his most prized possessions burned to coals on the beach. His boat was burned and sunk while still tied to the dock. Guy and the smaller two-man boat that was usually tied up on the other side of the dock were no where to be found.

“12 years,”
Guy thought as he pulled the oars in strong steady strokes. He had a little farther to go before he could unfurl the sail and let the wind do the work.
“12 long years.”

His maimed leg ached as it always did, stoking memories of Gretchen, then bitterness and anger. As he pulled at the oars and watched the shoreline that had been his prison for so long fade slowly away, he thought of her face. He had vivid images of her looking down on him as he had lain feverish and slipped in and out of consciousness. As the sea air blew through his hair, he remembered the taste of her salty tears as she kissed his lips.

(Present Day: 237 Cycles into the Light)

Lynn swung the axe high above his head and swiftly down, splitting another log for the fireplace. He set another on end in its place and repeated the process. He had been at it since daybreak and fatigue was finally chipping away at his focus. Every few swings he missed his mark, and from time to time the blade glanced off the log and nearly hit the ground. Without hesitation, he swung the axe high above his head again and put his body into bringing it crashing down on its target. He welcomed the burn he felt in his muscles and the sheen of sweat that covered his body. In the past few days since arriving at Seth’s recluse cabin, he had been working hard to regain his strength and endurance. His hard edge had slowly worn down while raising his daughter, but now, more than ever he knew he was going to need it.

“Supper’s ready Lynn.” said Seth from behind. “Holy crap…where the hell are we going to put all of that?”

“I was kind of thinking it might go into the fireplace. You know, one or two at a time.” Lynn said over his shoulder as he knocked the newly split pieces aside and leaned the axe against the stump.

“You know what I mean smart ass.”

Lynn chuckled and winked at the Sergeant Major as he pulled his shirt on over his head and followed him inside.

After dinner the three of them worked together to stack the split logs in the shed where they would dry over the next few weeks. It was dark when they finished so Lynn sent Charity and her puppy to bed while he and Seth sat up talking. They talked about the weather and then about the crops Seth considered planting.

The conversation eventually slowed and quiet settled in, Lynn asked, “Seth, what kind of…preparations have you made for unwelcome visitors?”

The Sergeant Major turned from looking at the fire and stared straight into Lynn’s eyes. He didn’t speak at first, but Lynn could tell he was thinking hard on something. Finally, he said, “It’s not enough to stop ‘em Lynn, but I’ve got a few goodies locked away that will slow ‘em down or make it hurt anyway.”

A few days later, Charity ran as fast as she could and scrambled around the corner of the house. A black puppy with white markings trailed behind, trying in vain to keep up. As the puppy ran toward the corner Charity jumped out, startling the puppy so much that it fell over trying to change direction. She laughed apologetically and scooped up the puppy in a warm hug, immediately sorry for scaring her friend.

Charity put Cuddles back down and the two of them continued playing. She somehow managed to get her chores done along the way. Their bond was already growing. The puppy followed Charity everywhere and worried after her when they were separated.

Lynn watched his daughter playing from higher up on the hillside. From where he stood he could look down on the small farm and see the high valley stretching out beyond. The valley ended at the top of a false pass that led up from below. This haven was remote enough to keep all but the most determined men from finding them. The first crew of men to come to their village along the North River had caught him completely by surprise. It was a miracle that he and Charity were able to escape. He didn’t understand their motive, but he knew if someone wanted him dead, there would be others following. He prayed this peaceful retreat would not come to an end soon.