|
“Every
generation thinks it has the answers, and every generation is humbled by
nature.”
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Chapter 4: The Strangers
“There is no security on
this earth, there is only opportunity.”
—General Douglas MacArthur
****************************************************************************************
The
afternoon air hung hazy between the trees, its light sifting through the
limbs. The sound of a chain saw struggled against the afternoon somnolence
before sputtering silent. Larry could feel a knob of wood pinching his
back and rolled over, blinking in the light. His eyes seemed constantly
bleary. Must be allergies, he thought, and took another slug from his
favorite bottle.
He inched himself upward to rest against a tree. Nothing but trees
around him. And silence. The way he liked it. Much better this way. Not
crammed full of people—outsiders—trying to boss him around. “Larry,
go cut some wood. Larry, go shovel some shit.” He was twice their age,
knew more about these woods than they did. Certainly more than that damn
Mountie and cop. One gone soft, the other born and bred that way.
He scratched his stubble and grinned. Soft, all right. Letting him
take the afternoon watch. Too stupid to guess he'd been stashing Danny's
castoff moonshine all over the perimeter. So no matter when they sent him
off he'd be ready. Yeah, almost perfect.
He heard the faint sound of movement and rolled to the ground. He
kept his bottle clutched in his hand and tried to quiet his breathing.
They were close, very close. Voices floated through the hazy air.
“...Small community, mainly Canadian. Goodly portion is urbanized
natives.”
“Good.” Larry heard another, deeper voice and squinted to see
how many there were. They were still too far away and the trees shadowed
them. “The more of a mix the better, overall. We've always supported
ethnic diversity. No need to stop now.”
The other man murmured something and the deeper voice replied
sharply, “That's enough. It was that kind of thinking that led us to
where we are today. It will not be tolerated.”
The speakers moved into view. Two men, one in front and the other
lagging behind. They were armed, their rifles clasped loosely in their
arms. Larry dug deeper into the ground, hoping they would pass him by.
The first man spoke again. “And what if they won't agree right
off? How much debate can we afford?”
The deeper voice replied calmly, “As much as it takes to
survive.”
Larry yelped as a hand fell on his shoulder. Gasping, he struggled
to his feet, knocking his bottle into the dirt. “God damn fucking
idiots!” he shouted, whirling to face his attacker. It was a woman, her
brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, her rifle carefully pointed away
from him. He flushed red. He hadn't heard her approaching.
The woman backed off a few feet. Larry whirled around to face the
approaching men; his feet tangled and he nearly fell. He felt her arm
steady him. Larry squinted in the dim light. The men were both
clean‑shaven. Not like him. And they probably smelled better than he
did. He pulled away from the woman, hugging his arms to his chest.
“Leave off,
Cam
,
he's drunk.” The taller man moved forward and held out his hand. “My
name is Dennis O'Reilly. We're representatives of the Canadian government.
Are you American?” His was the deeper voice.
Larry bristled at the suggestion. “I may be drunk but I'm no God-damned
American.” He didn't realize he was shouting until the first birds fled
into the nearby trees. He could feel his face flushing.
“No,” the man replied, assessing Larry. “Of course you're
not. Are you all right?” The voice was calm, non‑judgmental. Larry
looked at their faces and saw no condemnation. Only concern. He shifted
his stance and nodded.
“Good. I'm sorry, I didn't get your name?”
“Larry. Larry Dene.”
“And you live here by yourself?”
Larry blinked again, trying to process the question. “Of course
I'm not. You said you had scouted—” He stopped, his head making a
painful turn. He looked around wildly to escape, but could only see faces.
Strange faces. He started to shake.
“Easy, Larry.” Dennis moved forward and patted his shoulder.
“Like I said. No need to be afraid. We're here to help out.” The woman
came around his other side and smiled. He nodded hesitantly back at her.
“The reason I asked,” Dennis continued, his hand pressing
gently into Larry's shoulder, “was to confirm our scouts' reports. You
can't be too careful nowadays.” Larry kept his mouth shut, but his heart
slowed its frantic pace.
“We left
Yellowknife
several months ago and have been looking for survivors. Most of the time
we've used the main roads, but when we came across
Sandy
at Nelson Station, he mentioned there was a good‑sized group over
this way and we decided to stop by. Do you need any help?”
Larry shook his head.
“I thought so.” Dennis turned and waved one of the men over.
“Jim, you want to help Larry here? After all, it must have been quite a
shock finding us like he did. He's still shaking!”
“Finding you?” Larry looked around for
Cam
but she had moved away.
“You're a hero, Larry. We'd have been wandering for some time if
you hadn't shown us the way back to the encampment. Once we'd gone off the
main road—well, you know how all trees look alike.”
The men laughed and Larry reflexively joined in. Jim slung a
friendly arm around his shoulder. He felt steadier already. As they passed
the tree where he had spent his watch, he saw
Cam
kicking his bottle under the roots and needles. He flushed again and
smiled gratefully at her.
Diefenbaker was the first to greet them, growling deeply before
running back along the muddy path. Ilene came out from her cabin, saw the
guns, and ran back inside. Within seconds, Ray and Fraser had appeared,
signaling to Danny and Nodin to keep themselves ready and out of sight.
Ray felt his breath come hard. He'd been working on the water pump
with Fraser. They'd seen strangers before. But not with what amounted to a
hostage. And the
Fairbanks
broadcast had caused the villagers to increase their normal precautions.
Ray still thought they were overreacting, but he didn't take strangers at
face value and proceeded with care. He looked over at Fraser and signaled
his readiness. He kept his revolver cocked behind his back.
“Good day. My name is Benton Fraser of the RMCP. May we help
you?”
A thin gray‑haired man handed his rifle to Larry and stepped
forward. “Glad to meet you. My name is Dennis O'Reilly,” he said,
reaching out to shake Fraser's hand “We're representatives of the
Canadian government. Can we be of assistance?” His hand hung in the air
expectantly. It was smooth and uncalloused but he carried himself with
confidence. His lean frame and angular face had the appearance of
solidity.
Ray saw Fraser narrow his eyes and then move forward to shake the
other man's hand. “Yes, we'd be glad for any help. How many are you? And
where are you from?” Ray relaxed slightly and lowered his revolver.
Dennis replied quickly, “Well, before you get your hopes up too
much, this is all we were able to pull together on short notice. We're
from
Yellowknife
.
We've been surveying the area looking for survivors, trying to bring
limited relief.”
“I am sorry,” Fraser said. “I didn't catch all of your
names.” Ray mentally gave the point to Fraser.
“I'd be happy to introduce us. Gather around.” A few more
villagers had moved cautiously forward. Ray tensed. Fraser shook his head
and Ray relaxed again.
“As I said.” Dennis raised his voice so he could be heard
clearly. “We're government representatives from the
Northwest
Territories
. My name is Dennis O'Reilly. I
am acting superintendent for health and services. This is Cam Gundelfinger.
She joins us from
Fort
Providence
,
where she served as a city supervisor. The other gentleman is Jim Kardach.
He is a paramedic from
Jean
Marie
River
.”
Several people murmured approvingly at the mention of medical
training. Fraser nodded shortly. “Well, won't you please come in. I
think we can offer some refreshments and you can tell us what you know.”
“Yeah, like how you all happened to be traveling together, happen
to all be public officials, and what you're doing out here?” Ray raised
his gun and deliberately slid it into his shoulder holster. Dennis's eyes
flashed at the movement and he looked inquiringly at Fraser.
“Oh, I am sorry.” Fraser spoke quickly. “Detective Ray
Vecchio.
Chicago
police department.” Dennis nodded again and then swept past Ray without
comment. Ray ignored him back and waved Nodin off to one side. “Can you
walk the perimeter,” he asked quietly, “while we start the I-Am-The-Government
love fest inside?” Nodin grinned back. “No problem, Ray. Save me some
of whatever they're serving inside.”
“Sure.” Ray scanned the square before entering the visitor's
center. Whatever the “officials” had to say, he hoped it wouldn't slow
down his efforts to get Fraser back home.
The center was crammed with too many people to fit comfortably now.
Ray stood in the back, keeping his distance. Glancing at Fraser, he
noticed the man's tight shoulders and watchful air, and allowed himself to
relax. Polite Fraser might be, but he wasn't dumb. Surveying the hopeful
faces, he nodded to Ilene. The town wasn't dumb either. Just too damn
desperate. If bug‑eyed aliens had arrived claiming to be
“government representatives” they'd invite them in and serve them tea.
Fraser nodded and then stood. The room quieted. Dennis rose to
stand near Fraser, facing the crowd.
“Well, let's begin. I understand from Constable Fraser here that
you've managed quite well over the winter.” Several heads near the front
nodded.
“Excuse me.” Elu stood, spilling her dark hair over her
shoulder. “Can we talk about the¼the¼” She paused, fumbling for words.
“The recent disorder? I am sorry. Of course, I should have
started with that first. You must forgive us, but we're quite excited.
Stewart Junction is the largest group we've found so far.”
The crowd murmured. If they were the largest group, it must be bad.
Ray leaned back against the wall. This could take a long time. Danny got
up and joined him at the back of the room.
Susan's hand shot up. “What towns have you passed through? How
many survivors have you found?”
Dennis cleared his throat. “I started in
Yellowknife
.
We stopped in
Fort
Providence
,
Jean
Marie
River
,
and
Fort
Nelson
. So far, I would say we've assisted another eighty
people in all. Roughly speaking, that is.”
The murmurs grew. The population of the
Yukon
had reached 100,000 in the peak tourist summer months. When the plague hit
in late fall, there should have been at least 30,000 in the Territory.
Dennis continued. “We know very little about how it started. But
whatever it was, it seems to have burned out. I trust you've seen no new
cases since last November?” Heads shook. Dennis looked relieved.
“Good. Then the worst is behind us.”
Greg Nelson arrived huffing, out of breath. He elbowed his way to
the front and sat down.
Dennis nodded to him and continued. “We've seen scatterings of
small groups between here and
Yellowknife
.
This area had always been somewhat sparsely settled and we think that has
helped keep our mortality rate down. The towns fared worst. The disorder
spread so fast that most were not able to isolate themselves or put
effective quarantines in place.”
“Not that would have helped any,” Danny muttered cynically
under his breath. Ray nodded in agreement.
“So far we've rendered some basic first aid, helped clear some
roads, and set up a staging area. I have a small team of another six
following us a day behind. They should arrive by tomorrow morning. We're
recommending that survivors gather in
Whitehorse
on August 15.”
“Wait, I thought you said the towns were hit hardest. And what
about the disease—I mean disorder—won't it come back? Is it safe to go
back to the towns? And what about
Fairbanks
?
Have you seen anyone from
Fairbanks
?”
Greg's agitation was evident as he shifted in his seat.
“Please, please. Give me a moment. As I said, it has burned
itself out. No one we've met has reported any new cases since November.
And if it weren't safe to gather—well, wouldn't you have noticed it
first? You're the largest group we've met till now and I understand you
haven't had any problems?”
Relieved murmurs swept through the crowd. Dennis raised his hand
for quiet. “So don't worry. We wouldn't be recommending this if we
didn't think it was safe. And as for Fairbanks—well, I'm sure you've
picked up the same broadcast as we did. Something seems to be interfering
with the radio signals from the rest of the country. But rest assured,
we're looking into the
Fairbanks
question.” He paused to cough and Fraser signaled Jason, at the back of
the room, to fetch a glass of water. Dennis smiled in thanks and took a
deep breath. “But as I started to explain, we're here primarily to see
what type of assistance you might need. Do you have an action
committee?”
Ray snorted. “Here it comes. Put two bureaucrats in a room and
what do you get?” Danny grinned back. “A bunch of baby bureaucrats?''
Ray elbowed him sharply and turned his attention to the front.
Fraser was nodding and various hands were being raised. Now for the
really boring part. He turned to Danny. “Want to help me with the water
pump? Fraser seems to have them under control. And if they're going to
hand out projects, I'd like to get the pump fixed before they start having
us fill out forms to use the outhouse.”
“God, you're so cynical.” Danny laughed as he followed Ray into
the town square.
“No, just practical. We're not alone. And that means—”
“Coffee. Hot running water. Good beer.” Danny stepped around a
mud hole and caught up with Ray.
“I was thinking more of mortgages, taxes, and annoying bosses.
But I'll start with your suggestions and work my way up.” He glanced up
at the light. “We'd better hurry or we won't have any water. Let alone
hot.” They picked up their pace, both lost in their thoughts.
He didn't hear Fraser come in until late in the night. Rolling
over, he saw Fraser kneeling to undo his boots before entering the cabin.
“'Verything okay?” he mumbled.
“Yes, it went well. We've drawn up a complete list and we'll
start discussing it tomorrow.” Fraser sat down on the bed and began to
unbutton his shirt.
Ray yawned. “Well, good. Glad someone is taking charge of this
crowd. They need to get moving.”
“We haven't been sitting around idly these last months.” Fraser
kept his voice quiet and soft.
“Of course not, Benny. Didn't mean that. It's just that—” He
yawned again. “It's just that they haven't really been focused on what
needs to get done to get everyone moving again. You know, back to
normal.” His eyes started to feel heavy and he closed them.
“Like
Fairbanks
?”
Benny's voice came from the window that he had just shut. Ray felt a wave
of annoyance wash through him. Trust Fraser to remind him and ruin a
perfectly good night of sleep.
“I'm not going to argue with you about that, Fraser. But not
everyone who shows up is some crazed Nazi freak pushed over the
apocalyptic edge. Dennis seems all right. And I am sure they need us as
much as we need them.” Sleep was dragging him down and he could feel the
lead creeping into his thinking.
“I am sure you're quite correct, Ray.” There was a pause, as if
Fraser wanted to continue. “Good night, Fraser,” Ray mumbled pointedly
and turned on his side. With a sigh, Fraser leaned over the small table
that served as their eating table and blew out the light. “Good night,
Ray.”
Fraser left the next morning before Ray woke. Skimping on
breakfast, Ray went in search. He found Fraser in the visitor's center,
the “Committee” and Dennis in attendance. Ray scraped his boots on the
metal bars and entered. As he walked up to the table he heard Nelson blurt
out, “But if we do that we won't have enough—” He was hushed by
Dennis. All heads turned to look at Ray.
Ray kept walking, refusing to be intimidated. He eyed Fraser—his
shirtsleeves were open and he had not shaved. That was unusual. He
certainly had risen early enough.
“Hi, Greg. Hi, Fraser. Is that coffee I smell?” He moved
forward, the familiar aroma spreading gently into the air.
Dennis's face went smooth and then he smiled. “Yes. We found a
small cache over at
Sandy
's
Station and thought to put it to good use for the Committee. Being that
we've been up since five making plans.”
Ray smiled back, willing to forgive even Dennis for a coffee, and
waited expectantly. The faces turned back to the table. Curious, he moved
forward and leaned over Greg Nelson's shoulder. “Ah,
Whitehorse
.
How many days do you think it'll take?”
Greg shifted uncomfortably and then moved his chair back, bumping
Ray in the shin. He winced and sauntered around to Fraser's side.
“Well, don't all answer me all at once,” he commented into the
silence. “And when is someone going to offer me some coffee?” Everyone
seemed to have a full cup. Except Fraser. And Ray.
Fraser took him gently by the arm. “Dennis feels, and the
Committee agrees, that it is better to present the plan to the community
in its entirety rather than piecemeal.”
Ray shifted his gaze irritatedly to Dennis and opened his mouth to
speak. He felt Fraser's hand squeeze his arm gently and looked back at his
friend. Circles appeared under his eyes and his mouth was firmly lined.
Fraser's fingers felt clammy and he tried to pull away, but Fraser only
gripped tighter. Ray shook off the feeling that Fraser was asking for
help. So Dennis was a prima donna. Let Fraser keep an eye on the
Committee. They'd straighten this out at the next meeting.
“Sure. Makes sense. But there'll be rumors flying either way.
Just thought I'd mention that Fraser and I will be leaving, ourselves.”
Dennis's head shot up, his full attention on Ray. “Then you'll
understand the care we need to take to plan the evacuation properly.
Constable Fraser is being of great assistance in our plans. But you can
tell the community that we'll be making an announcement this evening at
six p.m.
”
Ray nodded and turned to leave. Fraser still had not released his
arm and he paused in surprise. Covering, Fraser quickly addressed the
table: “I have a few things I need to discuss with Ray. The water
pump.” Puzzled, Ray allowed himself to be led out the front door.
Fraser pushed them both along until they were well out of earshot
of the visitor center's doors. Ray felt the porch railing press against
his back and braced himself against going over. “What's going on?” he
asked his brows rising. “We finished with the pump last night. Don't
tell me it's broken again?” He kept his voice low.
“No, that's not it.” Fraser looked back starkly. “But Istas
told me that when he stopped by Alain's last night, he became agitated.
Can you check on him this morning? He responds to you.”
Ray sighed. “Sure, Fraser. But when are you going to stop trying
to do it all? When are you going to let these people learn to help
themselves? Look, they're already on their way—you've even got another
set of busybodies to help out.”
Fraser shook his head, his face shifting oddly, and for yet another
moment Ray felt he didn't know him at all.
“Fine, fine.” Ray sighed. “I don't mind checking on Alain.
The poor guy's so scrambled he'd make an omelet look like it had its act
together. But those others...” He trailed off and opened the door. As he
turned to close it, he saw Fraser turn and slowly walk back to the table.
his back stiff and unyielding. So Fraser hadn't told Dennis they were
leaving. And who would blame him, he
thought, looking at Dennis waving his arms energetically, cutting off
Dunlap again in mid‑utterance. Prick
hadn't even offered Fraser coffee.
Alain was not in his cabin. Ray walked around the back and headed
for the treeline. Alain sometimes hid in the undergrowth, watching the
cabin with a pair of old binoculars. He said he was lying in ambush for
the plague.
Ray stomped loudly a few times and walked up the deer trail. After
all, he didn't want to make the poor man more paranoid. He heard a soft
rustle to his left and turned to face a large dogwood bush.
“Hello, Alain.” Five years of partnering with Fraser had eased
his embarrassment at addressing trees and other forms of vegetation.
“Are you clean?” Alain's voice whispered back. Ray peered again
and caught a faint outline against the dark leaves.
“Yes, and how about you?”
“I've been careful. But I don't think It's been around for a few
days. The woods have been quiet.” Leaves rustled vigorously and Alain
crawled out from under the brush and onto the narrow trail. Dirt and
broken twigs covered the front of his jeans and sweater. He looked like he
hadn't slept in days.
“Well,” Ray said in greeting. “That's good news. So what's
up?”
Alain slipped the binoculars under his arm and rummaged in his
front jeans pockets. “Is it true they're from the government?” he
asked, fishing out a handkerchief.
Ray cocked his head to one side and watched with fascination as
Alain proceeded to form a facemask with the cloth. The man was clearly a
nut. Harmless, but a nut.
“Who?” he asked, watching Alain struggle to tie the ends of the
handkerchief in place.
“The strangers. Istas said they were from the government.”
“Well, that's what they say.” Alain raised his head, the mask
crookedly in place over his mouth and nose. He looked like a street person
pretending to be Lawrence of Arabia. His eyes, once clear with
intelligence and awareness, now seemed perpetually clouded and frightened.
“Did you have them wash?” The mask fluttered as he spoke.
“Yes, Alain, we did.” Ray looked back down the path
impatiently. He really had better things to do.
“But I thought the pump was broken.” Alain's voice sharpened,
drawing Ray's attention.
“Alain, have you been in town again? I thought we agreed—”
“No, I haven't forgotten.” Alain shook his head angrily. “I
said, Istas told me. I remember what we agreed.” He fell silent, his
eyes brimming with hurt.
Ray sighed and patted him gently on the arm. “I know. I know.
Look, do you need anything?”
“No. Like I said, Istas came yesterday.”
Ray smiled gently and turned to go. “Ray,” Alain called, and he
stopped to look back. “If something happens, I am supposed to call
you?”
“Right, Alain. Use the flare and Fraser and I will come.”
Alain adjusted his mask and coughed. “If I need help...”
“Right. See you. Okay?” He waited a few seconds, until Alain
had raised his hand in acknowledgment, and headed back to town.
He spent the rest of the day scanning on the radio, helping Ilene
move some firewood, and listening to the rumors. Everything from “the
government will send in relief troops next month” to “complete
evacuation by morning.”
The last bit had been offered by Larry. Ever since he had
“rescued” Dennis in the woods, he'd been boasting. He spent most of
his time glued to
Cam
's
side, unless he was running errands for Dennis's crew, checking on the
state of their supplies or making lists of the inhabitants. At least it
kept him from drinking.
Ray had to admit Dennis's little group was very efficient. Dennis's
second team had arrived on schedule: a few of them were long time
residents of the Territories and had joined Dennis between
Watson
Lake
and the Carmacks. The newcomers had spent the day meeting almost everyone
in Stewart Junction. Pitching in without being asked, and offering helpful
suggestions. The paramedic was a godsend. Without any real medical care,
numerous little ailments had been self‑treated or left untreated. It
had been particularly hard on the tourists, who had no experience in
self‑treatment.
He grabbed a bite at Ilene's and headed back to the visitor center.
This time he angled his way to the front to get a good view of the
proceedings. And to be ready to help Fraser straighten Dennis out when the
time came.
Surveying the crowd, he saw they had turned out again in full
force. He nodded to Makah, Istas's father and one of the few elders born
in the area. He had handled the influx of survivors into “his” village
with grace. But his family held the crucial votes. Them and Fraser.
He leaned against the wall and had just started munching when Istas
appeared at his elbow. “I found Alain,” he said and pointed to the
front of the room. Alain sat scrunched in his chair, a heavy coat wrapped
over his knees. His eyes darted back and forth, before settling nervously
on Dennis.
Ray sighed and swallowed more of his sandwich. “Well, tell Nodin
to keep an eye on him.”
Istas frowned and shook his head. “We don't have time for this.
We should send him away.”
Ray sharpened his expression. He knew Istas was tired of
babysitting Alain. He had very little patience with people.
“No,” he replied firmly, taking another bite of his sandwich.
“It takes time to walk him back. And we can't spare anyone right now.
Just keep an eye on him and when we end the meeting you or Elu can walk
him back.” Istas left to whisper Ray's instructions in Nodin's ear.
Ray settled back into the wooden folding chair while Dennis rose to
his feet. He grinned at Fraser, who was sitting with the Committee at the
front. Fraser had found time to shave and had put a clean shirt on.
Although he nodded briefly back in greeting, his face was taut and he
looked away quickly.
Ray sighed and listened.
“I want to thank you all for coming,” Dennis began, gesturing
to the entire room. “We have a lot of ground to cover. As I explained
last night, this region has been very fortunate. You have managed to
regroup nicely, survived the winter with a minimum of casualties, and have
set aside a very impressive store of supplies to tide you over next
winter. I'd like you to take a moment to thank the people who made it
possible. Will the Committee please rise?”
Applause and a few cheers rang out. Ray sat in puzzlement. The
Committee had only been around for one day. Most of the real work had been
done by other people in the center—Ilene, Susan, and Istas. Looking
around at the beaming faces, he chalked it down to short-term memory loss
and joined in the applause.
“Thank you, thank you. But now we're ready to proceed to the next
phase of recovery. We're moving the town into
Whitehorse
to regroup with the rest of the region's survivors. We anticipate that it
will take us fifteen days and have set August 15 as the rendezvous date.
We'll be able to pick up more vehicles once we reach Highway 2. Since gas
will be in short supply, we'll have to take as much as we can carry. We
can also then transport the bulk of your other supplies to
Whitehorse
.”
The crowd erupted. Susan stood and shouted, “Evacuation? You've
got to be kidding.” Another voice called out, “What'll we do for food
supplies in
Whitehorse
?”
More voices interrupted. “What's in
Whitehorse
?
How do you know what's in
Whitehorse
?
No one's been able to make it there this winter.”
Cam
moved toward the front of the crowd. Before Dennis could respond, Fraser
stood and raised his voice. “One at a time. Susan, Greg, please sit
down. One at a time. If you have something to say, raise your hand and
we'll call on you.”
Eventually the crowd settled. Dennis, without waiting for Fraser,
continued. “I know it sounds like a big step. But once we get to
Whitehorse
,
we'll have all the resources we need to start rebuilding.”
More murmurs. Dennis remained at the front of the crowd. Somehow,
during the excitement, he had been flanked by two of his men. Ray's eyes
narrowed and he looked over at Fraser questioningly. Fraser shook his
head, so he sat back in his seat. He's
right. Let them talk them this out.
Makah stood and the murmuring ceased. “Rebuilding from the bones
of a diseased civilization. That is not why we came here. Plague or no
plague, why should we go back?”
Danny nodded in agreement, along with several others. Makah turned
and addressed the crowd. “But if any want to go, we'll be happy to give
you supplies and provisions. We welcomed you into our community and we'll
help you as long as we are able. It is—” he paused and turned back to
Dennis, “—the civilized thing to do.”
His ironic tone caused Dennis to flush red. His mouth tensed and he
moved quickly to the front row.
“You all must understand,” he said, looking aggressively at
Makah. He paused, took a breath, and stepped back. “You must
understand,” he continued in a more reasonable tone, “how important
each and every one of you is. You—we—represent the remainder of our
country. All of us will be needed in the rebuilding. Each of you has
skills and talents that our new community will need to survive.”
Makah said nothing and sat down. A few voices murmured agreement.
Scanning to his left, Ray could see more faces shaking their heads in
disagreement. A wave of annoyance flashed through him. What was wrong with
these people? Staying and hiding here was no answer.
Ilene rose and raised her hand. Fraser nodded encouragingly. “I
think you both have good points. But why do we all have to move now? Can't
we send a small group to
Whitehorse
to get things started? You know, to see if it's safe.” She brushed her
blond hair back nervously.
“Yeah,” Susan called out, “and to clear away all of those
dead bodies.”
Silence fell. An unbidden image of his family flashed though Ray
before he refocused on the discussion.
“...after all, if we do this in stages we can also pick up more
communities along the way.” Ilene was gaining support, her practicality
always an asset to the community.
She looked toward Dennis expectantly. His face had darkened. He
rested his hands on the back of an empty chair. He raised his head and
took a deep breath.
“You don't understand.” The tautness of his voice quieted the
crowd. “There are no communities left. Yours is the largest gathering
we've seen in three months of travel. With the exception of a few
individuals, we—” he gestured to his companions, “—are the only
survivors of the Northwest and
Yukon territories
.
If we don't start rebuilding right away, there will be no
Canada
left.”
Makah rose again. “Dennis,” he began. “If what you say is
true, then we face a terrible time ahead. The winters will not be any
easier in town. Diseases and contagion may creep back into our lives like
old enemies. Here at least we have a good beginning and enough stores to
last through one more winter. This will give us the time we need to set up
smaller communities. The more we spread, the lighter the burden on the
land. The better the chances of survival. The old paths will not work
again.” He paused and a sad light flooded his eyes. “You are welcome
to join us. And any who wish to leave may do so with our blessing.” He
sat down heavily.
Ray could barely restrain himself. Bad enough to have to listen to
Dennis, but now Makah had to start with the speeches too. Makah really did
look upset, though, and Ray eased up a bit. It wasn't as if Dennis were
ask‑ing them what to do. No, he seemed well equipped to make the
decisions for all of them with no help from anyone else. God, Ray was
surrounded by idiots. He glanced over at Fraser, hoping to share his
resignation, but Fraser was intently focused on crowd control. His pale
skin was flushed, Ray saw; his eyes held a brighter sheen; in the depths,
expression struggled to form.
Dennis raised his voice. “And will you let
Fairbanks
take over the world? I know you have radios. I know you've listened to
their hate and madness. How long do you think we'll survive if you hide
yourselves away in the woods? How long before they come hunting you down?
Killing you and taking what you have?” He paused and took a deeper
breath. “You can't guard against an organized assault force determined
to take what you have. You can't even guard against sabotage. And you
can't stay here and turn back the clock.”
Ilene looked pale and finally sat down. Danny sat with his head
bent forward. Ray touched his arm, but Danny just shook his head. Glaring,
Ray finally stood up and raised his hand.
“I've heard enough.” Dennis's rant stopped abruptly. He seemed
surprised that anyone was still willing to disagree. He
must have been a joy to work with in
Yellowknife
, Ray thought.
No doubt his employees quickly learned how to ignore his big ego and get
on with the job at hand. “Last I heard,” Ray drawled the words
out, “this was a free country. And nothing anyone has said seems to have
changed that.” Ray picked up momentum and swept on. “So I suggest that
instead of trying to move en masse, let's get some more information. Send
a small party over to
Whitehorse
to check it out. This'll take—” he turned to Fraser, “—what—two
weeks at most?” Fraser nodded as if in agreement. “And in the
meantime, we go on doing what we have been doing.” His words had the
desired effect; they shut up Dennis and gave everyone a chance to actually
think. The room broke into smaller groups, animatedly discussing their
options.
Ray pushed his way through the crowd and joined Fraser. He pulled
him away from the knot of people gathering and headed for the nearest
empty table.
“Fraser, what's going on here? Why aren't you leading the
Whitehorse
effort? What's this bullshit about Dennis trying to take charge?”
Fraser shrugged a little; he would not let Ray see his eyes. Words
failed and he wrestled with them while Ray watched impatiently.
The room grew hot under the press of bodies. Sweat trickled under
Ray's shirt, cold as ice water. He sighed and tried again. “Look,
Fraser, there's nothing wrong with the core of Dennis's plan.
Whitehorse
will have more resources, more buildings, and a better infrastructure.
It's the largest city in the area and the logical place to start
rebuilding. But you and I both know—” Ray lowered his voice to a
whisper. “Dennis is the wrong man. You should be leading this.”
Fraser met Ray's gaze then, his tired eyes holding no bitterness or
anger, only an expression of enduring despair, the look of a man who
didn't expect things to ever be good again. “It's the wrong plan,” he
heard Fraser say softly, as if the room held only the two of them.
Ray puzzled over this for only a minute before the meaning sank in.
“Shit. That's just shit,” he said, his voice rising. Heads turned and
he stepped back from Fraser. He snapped his mouth shut and stepped further
back. It was the same old argument and it hurt too much to go over it
again. Fraser shook his head; his mouth tightened.
Ray walked stiffly away, shoving chairs out of his path. To his
right he saw Dennis had corralled the Nelsons and the other two tourists
and begun earnestly lobbying for his plan. Istas and his father worked the
other half of the room. He looked back and saw Fraser moving gently,
gracefully, giving out spare, brittle smiles, mediating between the two
groups. The center became thick with voices and strategies; words and
accusations flew back and forth. But beneath it all, there was a real
pain, a fear, unspoken, that nothing would ever be normal, nothing would
ever be right again. The fear could overwhelm, rob you of reason and
humanity. He'd seen it before in
Chicago
.
He'd never thought he'd be living the nightmare himself. A cool waft of
air floated inside through the open door and he felt the breeze like silk,
like the hands of the dead on his face, on his wrist. He pushed his way
into the night. It was still a free country and he was going to leave as
long as he had a choice.
He was glad Fraser waited a few hours before finding him. The night
was cool, but not unpleasant. He sat on a felled log in the clearing for
the new cabin. He had remembered to bring his rifle, but he wasn't really
on patrol. The stars, so thick in the night sky, had occupied his
attention. His mind felt curiously empty, almost blank.
He did not turn when Fraser entered the clearing. Staring skyward,
he felt the log shift as Fraser settled next to him.
The night was so still. It soothed the raw places and masked the
pain. He needed its anonymity.
He let his gaze wander unfocused into the darkness. “It's done,
then?”
“Yes. Most have gone home. Istas is watching the rest who decided
to stay and talk.” Fraser's voice fell velvet soft, mirroring the quiet.
Ray clasped his hands. The fingertips felt numb and he realized he
still gripped his rifle. He unclenched his grip and angled the rifle down
next to him.
“You know—” He paused and then cleared his throat. “I knew.
Right after Carey took his life, I knew. But somehow...” He took a deep
breath, looking down at Fraser's feet, and paused again. “Well, somehow,
I couldn't accept it. Does that make sense?”
He sensed Fraser's nod.
Ray drew breath, soundlessly, he thought, but Fraser heard even
that; Ray felt his regard like a touch. “Why it took some loony
bureaucrat to make it clear, I don't know. But when he stood there and
told us that it was a choice between him and Fairbanks it all
became...real?”
“You know, Ray,” Fraser replied, “sometimes the big things
take time to process. Sometimes you can only hold on to what you know
until you have time to really think.”
“Think? Christ, Fraser, it's not thinking that's the problem.”
Ray kept his eyes on the ground. Even in the dark, he didn't want to see
Fraser's expression.
“What do you mean?” Fraser leaned forward, balancing his elbows
on his knees. Ray looked over and then looked away.
He gripped his hands together. They were still numb.
“What kind of man can't cry for his own mother? His sister? You
tell me that, Fraser.” He blinked, a searing pain shooting down his
side. He gasped for air. Numbness. Yes, his hands were still numb.
“There are many ways to cry, Ray. Thirty years later and I still
cry for my mother. And my father.” Fraser stood very still, so still Ray
would have not known he was there but for his voice.
“Yeah, well, with very few exceptions, Fraser, I am not you.”
The pain throbbed. He breathed again and then again.
Fraser stirred slightly. “You know, when my mother died it took
me years to believe it. I used to make a cup of cocoa for her in the
evening before she went to bed. And for years afterwards, I would make it
every night and leave it out for her. Every morning I would find it still
there, undrunk, and it kept hurting me. I think it must have killed my
father every time he saw it. And one night, I just didn't do it
anymore.”
Ray felt Fraser's arm go around his shoulder and he trembled under
its weight. Relax. Breathe. It
would pass.
Slowly his breathing steadied. He smelled the damp spruce trees and
the raw scent of fresh‑cut wood. Rubbing his face, he cleared his
throat and lifted his head. “The stars are bright away from the city.
Have they always been that way?” His voice sounded echoey in the night.
Fraser slowly moved his arm away, reaching down to retrieve Ray's
rifle. “Sometimes they're even brighter. On summer nights they seem so
close you can pick them like apples from the sky.” He stood and moved
away. “Coming, Ray?”
Ray glanced over at his friend and forced a smile. “No, I'd like
to...think a bit more. I'll be in later.”
“Good night, Ray.” He could almost hear Fraser's thoughts, a
high distant keening of wind over a barren world. And underneath the wind,
he caught the undertone of a voice softly whispering his name, full of
fear and anguish. Then he heard Fraser turn for real and walk away,
picking his path among the stones and roots. Amazing how quiet the night
out here could be and how much it could reveal. Or conceal.
On
To Chapter Five
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