“In nature there are
neither rewards nor punishments—there are consequences.”
—Robert Green Ingersoll
Chapter 10: Nature's Light
“Come forth into the
light of things, Let Nature be your teacher.”
—William Wordsworth
The ice break-up was smaller this time, prompting Larry to announce it would
be a warm summer. Ray stood on the embankment on the day Fraser predicted
and listened to the ice creak, groan, and then shudder into pieces. They
stood together silently afterward, Ray with his hands tucked securely in his
pockets, Fraser twisting his cap. Diefenbaker nuzzled Fraser's leg and he
knelt down in the muddy snow to pet him. “It'll only be another month, Dief.
Then the fish will be easier to catch, there'll be game in the traps.”
Dief's coat had several bare patches, and his ribs stood out. He looked no
better than the rest of them. Ray's stomach rumbled, causing Dief's ears to
prick up.
“One morning I'll awake to
find him on top of me, checking my vitals.” Ray laughed. Fraser scratched
behind the wolf's ears and he settled down. He'd been edgy for weeks and
Fraser had stopped letting him wander the village. Even Jason had been told
to leave the wolf alone.
Stragglers made their way
clumsily through the mud. “Amazing so many still came.” Ray looked across
the river and back to the dissipating crowd.
“It's symbolic, Ray.” Fraser
stood effortlessly. He had lost his weight mainly through the hips, Ray
noted critically.
“No, really?” he joked,
trying to keep his face very straight and serious. Fraser glanced away, and
then started back down the muddy path. Falling in step, Ray touched his
shoulder. “Fraser, wait up.” Fraser slowed, still staring at the ground.
It had taken all of Fraser's
skill to bring as many of them alive to this moment as he had. They had
stretched the rations and then stretched them again. They had taken to
drinking gallons of water to deal with the ever‑increasing hunger pains.
He'd smoothed over countless fights and refocused their winter energy into
projects for fuel, food, and power. He deserved to stop worrying, but Ray
knew the worrying was far from over. He looked tired, worn, and threadbare
of spirit.
“Put on your cap,” he said,
reaching for the wool covering. Startled, Fraser allowed Ray to pull it from
his fingers. Leaning forward, Ray anchored it firmly over Fraser's ears and
nearly slipped in the mud. “Well, that's better,” he said, and then
continued on past Fraser, who stood there with the cap covering his eyes.
Ray could have sworn he heard Dief laughing as he walked back to Ilene's
cabin. It wasn't until he stood scraping his shoes that he realized that
Fraser had actually smiled.
Nodin was sitting at the
kitchen table, awash in piles of paper. Ilene looked flustered and had
retreated to the kitchen muttering. Jason was “helping” but had only managed
to make matters worse.
“Oh, hi, Ray. Stopped by
with the plans. Steph and Susan have commandeered the center to lay out the
pipe for the new septic hookup for Ron.”
“Why do they need the
center?” Ray slid on a sheaf of papers that had fallen to the floor.
“'Cause they need to mark
the pipe connections and it's the only place big enough not covered in mud.”
“You know, Nodin, it won't
be until next year that we'll be able to make use of any of this.” Ray
gestured at the ethanol notes.
“Yes, I know. But we don't
know much land to plant in potatoes for ethanol production, so can we
finalize that today?”
“What's the rush?” Ray
asked, pushing Jason over to the sofa and handing him his English book.
Turning, he nearly tripped over Diefenbaker and swore.
“Language,” Ilene shouted
from the kitchen and glared at Dief, who had sneaked in.
“He'll be coming with me
next week,” Fraser said from the doorway, cap once again in hand. “By then
the roads will be drivable and we can try for the boiler.”
Ray's stomach took a
painful, sick turn and he nodded quietly. Of course, they needed the boiler.
He knew he wouldn't be going.
“So who will go with you?
Brian?” His voice loosened a little at the memory of Danny's body lying
beneath the calm, endless snow, the silence lying always beneath the wind.
Their eyes met in a moment
of understanding. “Yes,” Fraser replied, “and I thought I'd ask Ussak. Steph
says there's not much he can do here now that the candles are all gone.
Until we can sweat some tallow or find another fat source. And he can run
errands and operate the winch,” Fraser added gently.
Ray swallowed and nodded.
Fraser had once mentioned to him how some tribes would hold a ceremony when
someone died. It would be a good way for the boy to deal with the loss of
his adoptive father. So many interlocking pieces that fell apart when a man
died. Living in Chicago you
didn't notice, but in a small community every loss hurt.
Which made Fraser's
achievement over the winter that much more remarkable. Not counting Danny,
only six people had died. That was—Ray paused to work out the math—that was
only a loss of ten percent. Much better than they had ever hoped.
Still, Ray's good mood had
vanished, and sensing this, Fraser stayed only a little while longer, until
he left early, explaining to Ilene he wouldn't be staying for dinner. Ilene
was uncharacteristically grumpy too and went to bed early. Washing the
dishes alone in the light of a single candle, Ray felt as though he and
Fraser were moving in a constant dance whose steps he was only beginning to
learn.
Ray refused to take note of
the passing days, but odd memories kept popping into his mind. Once, as he
picked his way across the muddy fields marking the areas they would plant,
he caught the color of light slanting onto stained yellow walls. Sitting up
alone in Ilene's cabin after dark, he thought he could hear the creak of the
wind against a sagging roof. He could even swear he could detect the
unpleasant smell of rotting floorboards and mice droppings while stacking
wood. So when Fraser returned he found himself gathering with the rest of
the men to watch the “boiler team” unload their find with a sense of relief.
“Look out!” Istas shouted as
the boiler came crashing down. Ron swore and hit the winch to take up the
slack. The boiler was huge; it hung over the back of the truck, its dark
metal hull still wet from the morning rain.
Ray held firmly to
Diefenbaker, making certain he didn't try to get too close to the truck. But
Diefenbaker was more interested in Jason, who had followed Ray from the
cabin. Waving him over, he let Dief go and watched the wolf trot over to the
boy. He was moving a bit better—they all were. They'd had a good catch of
fish the week before and could now lay traps further afield.
Istas shouted again, but
this time the boiler did not slip. Brian stomped around the front of the
truck and nodded, satisfied. “We'll leave it here for now. I'll have to
study it for a week or so. It's not like it came with a manual.” He sounded
more excited than irritated by the idea.
Fraser stepped around the
corner, wiping his muddy hands together. His jeans were caked and spatters
trailed up his chest and into his hair. Ray suspected he had had something
to do with the boiler not slipping any further but was glad he hadn't been
able to see it. The boiler looked huge; it was as tall as Fraser and could
have crushed him several times over. Watching Fraser pick his way through
the mud, he wondered how hard it would be to move it again.
“Ray, I was wondering if you
had time later tonight to discuss the ethanol project?” Ray nodded, brushing
some of the mud from Fraser's arm before giving it up as a lost cause.
“Sure, Fraser. Not much has changed since you left. Although Nodin has had
another idea—”
Istas called out to Fraser,
interrupting them. Crouched next to the boiler fittings, he and Brian had
discovered something. “Later, then?” Fraser called over his shoulder before
sliding his way back to them. Frowning, Ray watched him go. He'd hoped that
with the spring things would lighten up—that Fraser wouldn't be in a
constant race from problem to problem.
After dinner, Ray and Fraser
headed over to the sled dog camp to feed the huskies. Fraser had volunteered
to take Evan Snyder's turn when Evan twisted his ankle that afternoon.
The dog run had been too
small to house their growing collection of huskies. Since buildings were in
short supply, they built makeshift dog houses by nailing two sheets of
plywood together and then packing dirt between the boards for extra
insulation. The dogs were tethered on long chains, and as the two men
approached the pack came piling out, baying in eagerness.
Tossing dried salmon into
the fray, Ray tried to bring the subject of Fraser's overwork up. “You know,
I've been thinking. You really should have a second-in-command. Or someone
delegated to handle some of the minor things. This committee stuff is only
good for the big-ticket items, not day-to-day managing.”
Fraser nodded, pulled off
his gloves, and pushed his way through the pack to kneel down and check the
paw of a red‑gold husky. “I've been giving that some thought,” he began.
“Whoever it is will have to be good at handling personalities.”
“Well,” Ray snorted, “that
pretty much eliminates most of us besides you, Fraser. If you haven't
noticed, we've all been pretty cranky with each other.”
“That's seasonal. It'll pass
as the weather and food situation improve.” Fraser released the dog and she
whined until he patted her head.
“Will it? Improve?” Ray
asked, lowering his voice. “The food situation?” They moved on to the next
stand of dog houses and started parceling out the salmon. He was always
amazed that the dogs never tangled their chains. A fight broke out as the
pack leader nipped loudly at a smaller white dog edging in on his fish.
“Elu and Larry think it
will.” Fraser kicked the two dogs apart. “The seeds we pulled from the
garden store at Keno will help.”
Ray wondered how bad it had
been at Keno. Then he decided he didn't want to wonder—his imagination was
apt to fill in too much.
“Okay, so he won't need your
saintly patience. But he'll need to be—you know—woods‑wise and know his way
around.” He finally noticed that Fraser's bare fingers were raw and red from
the cold and took them in his palms, absently rubbing them warm.
Fraser shook his head.
“That'll come in time. A leader doesn't need to know how to do everything.
He needs to lead. To be someone they trust. And respect.”
And fear; the thought
flashed across Ray's mind. It must have shown on his face because Fraser's
eyes darkened and he pulled away to bury himself in adjusting a dog's
collar. Stop it, Vecchio, he thought angrily to himself. Let it
lie.
Feet pounding up the path
interrupted them and they both turned, relieved. Fraser reached for his
rifle.
“We've got a problem.”
Istas's voice came low and deep as he emerged from the darkness. His hair
was untied and his cotton shirt hung loose over his jeans.
Trying to disentangle
himself from the dogs, Ray caught only the end of the conversation. “...he
wasn't certain how many, but they've split into two groups. They know enough
to keep the fires small and Makah thought they were armed.” His voice was
strained and tight.
“It was only a matter of
time before the warm weather allowed more movement. And we're not the only
ones who are having it rough.” Fraser gripped Istas's shoulder, steadying
him. Ray felt a surge of annoyance.
“Shit, Fraser. They have no
right to be here.” Istas was past fear now and edging into anger.
“Let's find out what they're
up to. Ray,” Fraser called without moving his head. Ray stepped closer and
waited. “Start rounding everyone up. Quietly. Have them meet us at the civic
center with their personal firearms.”
“I'll unlock the extras. Not
everyone has a rifle or shotgun.” He didn't like the thought of handing out
guns to people who barely knew how to use them, but it wasn't like they
could call out the National Guard here.
“Let's go, then,” Fraser
said, and he and Istas faded abruptly into the dark. Ray's last glimpse was
of Istas reaching back to bind his hair. The flick of the ponytail reminded
him of a wolf's tail slicing through the air as it hunted its prey.
It took all his crowd skills
to keep people calm until Istas and Fraser returned. Larry turned out to be
a great help, making certain everyone's weapon had its safety on. Naomi sat
quietly at the table. Her rifle looked like something out of a movie; it was
an old Winchester repeating
rifle. It had been carefully cleaned and was well oiled.
Steph had volunteered to
take charge of the kids at her place. Ilene had joined her, leaving every
other able‑bodied man and woman to fill the room. Since there weren't enough
chairs to hold them all, some chose to lean against the wall or perch on
tables. Counting, Ray came up with only thirty-five—most them untrained and
all of them afraid. Makah and Nodin were the only two who had a clue what
might be going on and they stubbornly refused to talk. Tempers were boiling.
The room fell silent when
Fraser and Istas entered. They made their way through the crowd, and Ray
noted that even then Fraser still took time to greet people as he passed.
The tension dropped a notch and turned into watchful anticipation.
“Earlier this evening,”
Fraser began without preamble, “Makah came across a large group of men
camped three miles east. He circled around them and found tracks leading
west which led to another group of men.”
“Who are they?” Evan Snyder
shouted as people started to murmur.
Fraser raised his hand and
the group quieted. “Istas and I scouted and confirmed Makah's report. The
first group consists of twenty men. The second group—camped four miles
west—has seventeen men.” He paused and Ray knew from the way his eyes
flicked over to him that there was something more coming. “The second group
is led by Dennis.”
A puzzled silence fell as
people struggled to make sense. “Fraser.” Rita raised her hand. Her shirt
was inside out and her feet were bare. She must have dressed in a hurry.
“Fraser, are they together?”
“We believe they are. Greg
Nelson is in the first group.”
More murmurs, flooding the
room like a soft wave. Ray kept silent, knowing Fraser would tell them what
they needed to know. He knew it meant nothing good.
“We don't know what they
want or need. In the morning, Istas and I will visit them and discuss it
with them.” The crowd couldn't tell if this was a good thing, and a few
people shifted on their feet. Out of the corner of his eye, Ray thought he
saw Naomi nod solemnly as if she were confirming something.
“But until then, we're going
to split into three groups. Istas and I will each take some of you and
position ourselves between one of the camps and us. The rest of you will set
up a perimeter around the village with Makah. Stay where you are and Istas
and I will assign you to your spots.”
The talking grew louder.
Listening carefully, Ray thought the general consensus was that Dennis and
Greg were up to nothing good—but whether they were here to steal supplies or
just take over the town was an even bet. Ray kept his mouth shut. He didn't
know and he wasn't about to speculate.
Fraser stepped around Larry
and said something to him as he passed. Larry moved over to where Istas was
gathering his group. From what Ray could tell, Fraser had picked only a few
people, men and women who knew how to handle a weapon and not shoot someone
accidentally. The village was going to be defended by those with little
experience. Ray shut his eyes and opened them to find Fraser standing only a
few feet away. They both knew what this meant. Dennis was going to attack
that night, or more likely in the early-morning light. And if Fraser and
Istas didn't stop him earlier there really wouldn't be much the rest of the
town could do.
“Ray, go with Istas.” The
words came out harshly. A dark smear of mud traced Fraser's jaw,
highlighting a small tic that had appeared. He pressed his lips together and
walked away quickly to tap Susan on the shoulder. Ray knew then it was going
to be bad. He wanted to run after Fraser, touch him like he had touched
Istas, and tell him it'd be all right. They'd made it through so much. But
he knew it'd be a lie, and he and Fraser could only speak truth to each
other. So much had been stripped from their lives, bit by bit, that
sometimes the only way to survive the next crisis was to say nothing at all.
Brian, Larry, Ron, and Nodin
were waiting for him and they checked their weapons. He took a shotgun,
declining the rifle. He felt more comfortable with his service revolver and
figured he could do enough damage with the shotgun. They loaded up on extra
ammunition and grabbed some water and dried jerky.
Istas took point, leading
surely through the dark. Stumbling, Ray heard Brian trip behind him and was
relieved he wasn't the only one who couldn't walk through pitch‑black woods
and not fall on his face. Ron was hardly better. Larry, on the other hand,
walked so surefootedly that he kept treading on them both as he brought up
the rear.
Istas raised his hand and
they stopped. He angled them off the path and crouched down. They formed a
circle and, keeping his voice low, Istas explained his plan. They would
circle the campsite twenty‑five yards out and wait. If the strangers started
arming themselves or looked like they were going to try to enter the town,
they would attack first. The first one to spot movement would fire a shot to
alert the others. Given their small numbers, their best chance was to fire
directly into the crowded camp. While they would be hidden in the dark, the
fire would blind any shooter trying to return fire.
“Shoot to kill,” Istas said,
and he heard Ron shift uncomfortably. “If a man is down, move on to the next
one. If he tries to get up or moves, shoot him again. Take your time and
reload. And stay in your position no matter what happens.”
As plans went it was
probably the best they could do with so few. But something nagged at Ray.
“Istas, won't they have posted watchers?”
“You mean sentries?” Ray
flushed, glad the dark hid his embarrassment. He nodded, then remembered it
was too dark to see and said yes.
“Fraser and I didn't see any
when were scouting ourselves.”
Ray still felt uneasy but
decided to not press the issue.
He heard Larry shift and
speak. “I think we should post one of us closer to the camp. Possibly with a
clearer view of the fire. It'll backlight their movements and we can maybe
hear what they're saying.”
Istas seemed to like the
idea. “Brian, go up the path thirty yards, you'll find a small turn-off. Use
it to approach the camp from the north. There's a large group of boulders
that should give you cover.”
Brian moved abruptly as if
to protest. Ray put out a hand and bumped into him. He squeezed his arm
warningly. “Istas, maybe we should send someone with more woods skills.
It'll be awfully close.”
He could almost see Istas's
dismissive hand wave. “Brian will do just fine. We should be in position in
about ten minutes.”
The team hung back and then
Ron muttered, “Christ, Istas, it's not like we're all interchangeable. Brian
knows a hell of a lot about boilers and electricity but you don't see Fraser
assigning Larry to build a hydroelectric plant. No offense, Larry,” he said.
“None taken, Ron,” Larry's
disembodied voice replied calmly. It was disconcerting speaking to one
another without being able to see body language or facial expressions.
“I really don't see what the
fuss is all about. Let's get into our positions and remember to keep your
voices down.” Fraser had picked Istas, so the team hesitated only a moment
longer and then obeyed.
Larry and Ray traveled a
short way together. Ray tried to match Larry's movements and found it helped
to reduce the noise. He knew that Ron had been right; Brian was the wrong
man for the job. And Istas really couldn't see it. It wasn't as if Istas
didn't care—it was just that he never could relate to people as individuals.
Only Fraser was a real person to him.
Tapping Larry's shoulder, he
got him to slow down. Pressing close to Larry's ear he mouthed, “Do you
think you can get closer?”
Larry nodded. Taking a deep
breath, Ray picked up his hand. Startled, Larry almost jerked it away but
Ray held firm. He traced two points, then tapped his and Larry's chests.
These were their positions. He then circled one of the positions to the far
left. It would move Larry away from his assigned position, put him closer to
the campfire, and provide covering fire for Brian if needed. It would also
mean Ray would have to cover more area on his own.
Larry considered, and then
nodded again. Ray dropped his hand and they traveled a few more yards before
they separated.
Hunching beneath a spruce
tree, Ray positioned himself so he could use it for cover. The campsite was
just in his range. He settled down for a long wait, unpacking his ammunition
and moving it to his coat pockets where he could reach it more easily. He
had barely taken off his safety when he heard shouts from the campfire.
Squinting, he tried to make
out what was happening, but the figures were too dim. He hoped Larry had
been able to get closer to see what was going on. Then he saw a man fall to
the ground like a dead weight. Seconds later a shot rang out, another man
fell, and he grabbed his shotgun and began firing into the camp. Flashes of
gunfire came from the other side of the camp as Istas and Ron joined in.
It wasn't quite a massacre,
but it came awfully close to the real thing. Ray remembered standing at one
point, dropping his shotgun and advancing on a survivor who had fled into
the woods. His revolver bucked harshly in his hand, the muzzle flash
illuminating the man's twisted face as he tried to run back to the camp.
Nothing that happened after that made sense. Or rather, it made perfect
sense, but only within itself. They were all in a bubble of space where
killing and dying happened and disappeared. He saw terrible things, had a
constant nagging feeling he was doing some of them. He had to stop once to
wipe blood off his face. He didn't know where it had come from; that
disturbed him more than the blood itself.
Istas's men emerged
carefully, calling out their names, afraid they'd be mistakenly shot. They
gathered together by the embers of the campfire.
Ron panted and looked like
he was hyperventilating. Larry looked drained. Istas's braid had come loose
again and his hair was stuck to his forehead with sweat. Ray looked down at
his hands and saw he was still clutching the revolver. He slid on the safety
and returned it to his shoulder holster. He couldn't remember where he had
lost the shotgun.
“How did we do?” Ron asked,
between gasps of breath. Larry was kneeling next to one of the bodies,
gently rolling it to face the sky. It was Brian, his wide eyes gaping at the
night air in hurt surprise. A long‑handled knife was still sticking in his
chest. Puzzled, Ray stepped over a body and knelt next to Larry.
Whether the man was shaking
with rage or shock, Ray couldn't tell. His fists were clenched and his rifle
cradled on his knees. Soothingly Ray put his arm around Larry's shoulders.
“I saw it.” Larry choked on the words. “God fucking damn, why didn't I do
anything quicker? I could've saved him.”
“What do you mean?” Istas
asked flatly. Ray shook his head, not understanding. He had been too far
away and there'd been too much confusion.
“I could have saved him!”
Larry shouted, wiping his arm across his face. With a shock Ray saw it was
covered in blood too. “I saw them drag him into the camp. They asked him a
few questions and then—that one—” He pointed to a red‑haired man lying next
to Brian. “—pulled a knife and stuck him. With no warning, they just killed
him.”
Ray finally understood and
jerked Larry around to face him. “Larry. Larry!” he repeated sharply. “It
was a good bet they'd question him, maybe tie him up. Killing him made no
sense. There was no way you could've known.”
“I didn't see any of this
happen.” Istas moved closer, peering down at the knife and the red‑haired
attacker. He did not seem to notice Brian's wide open gaze or the blood
still trickling from his mouth.
“I did. I was over there,”
Larry mumbled softly, pointing vaguely behind him. “I got as close as I
could, like you said, Ray. I think Brian must have stumbled or something,
'cause I heard a loud crash just before they dragged him back in.”
Istas looked irritated, but
whether it was because Larry had changed position or because Brian had been
killed wasn't clear. He started counting bodies. Ray stared before realizing
it was really a practical idea; they needed to see whether anyone had
escaped and they would have to look for survivors. Ray hoped there would be
none, and that if any had escaped they would run as far as they could and
never come back.
He closed Brian's eyes and
pulled off his jacket, covering the obscenely open face. Larry had stopped
shaking but it was Ron he was still worried about. “What am I going to do?
What are we going to do?” he kept moaning. “I don't know anything about
boilers. Or electricity. Or hydro—hydro—” He broke down crying.
Istas ignored him and kept
counting bodies. “Thirteen. That leaves four unaccounted for. We should
start looking for them.” Ron and Larry looked up at him in shock. Quickly,
Ray intervened.
“Istas, we should send two
of us back to Fraser and report what's happened. They must have heard our
gunfire and maybe they've had to engage as well. I'll stay and help you
look.”
Istas nodded and began
stripping the bodies of weapons. Ron and Larry looked at Istas uncertainly
and Ray waved them on. “Go slowly and make certain Larry leads. Don't want
you two shot by mistake.” They left quickly, leaving him alone with Istas,
fourteen dead men, and a deep desire to slink off into the woods, lie down,
and howl into the night sky.
They found one survivor,
gut‑shot, lying along the path back to the highway. He was still trying to
crawl, the earth dark and wet behind him. Ray did the best he could to stop
the bleeding but knew it was hopeless. The man rambled, kept slipping in and
out of consciousness. He had been picked up by Dennis, wandering alone. They
had tried to go south past Whitehorse
. Something bad had happened and they
came back north, picking up stragglers along the way.
What they wanted in the
village he couldn't say. Dennis would only laugh, say he had a “killer of a
plan” and that each man would get his share. Looking at the emaciated body,
hollow cheeks, and sunken eyes, Ray figured they'd've done anything Dennis
had asked for a mouthful of food. When the man finally died, Ray wiped his
hands on spruce needles and returned to looking.
They found no one else alive
and no sign of the three missing men. A few hours later, as the light
changed from black to gray, they headed back to Fraser's position. They were
intercepted by Makah, who informed them it was all over and they should head
back to the center. Fraser had had to open fire when Dennis and his men
responded to the sounds of gunfire. Most of Dennis's men were dead, as well
as Dennis himself, Makah added with a satisfied note to his voice. The rest
had vanished into the wild. One had left his weapon behind. “He won't get
far,” Istas commented dryly.
Ray felt both relieved and
disturbed by the conversation. Makah stared at him as he passed and he knew
he still had blood on his face. He desperately wanted to stop and wash it
off, but he was worried about Fraser, and followed the two men back. He
didn't ask the names of those who had died and Istas did not mention Brian.
The center was full again,
the mood somber and shaky. Ray swept the room and saw Fraser talking quietly
to Larry and Ron. His legs trembled as the full impact of the evening
threatened to pull him to his knees. He sat down heavily in a chair and did
not even look up when someone thrust a cup of hot liquid into his hand.
“Thanks,” he breathed into the mug and closed his eyes.
He knew it was Fraser's hand
resting on his shoulder but did not move. It trembled and then steadied,
holding Ray very gently, as if he were grasping something very elusive,
intangible, that was beginning to shape itself under his hands. Ray breathed
in one deep comforting breath, keeping his eyes closed, reveling in his
touch. Fingers smoothed the nape of his neck as Fraser's second hand settled
on his shoulder, completing the circuit. Ray felt a tingle between his
shoulder blades travel up the base of his head and flush across his face. It
was warmth, slowly returning to his body, flowing from Fraser's hands. He
heard boots creaking across the worn floorboards and finally opened his
eyes. Istas nodded at Fraser and put his rifle on the table in front of Ray.
“Fourteen, plus Brian,” was all he said. Behind him he could feel Fraser
straighten slightly, then a slight squeeze on his shoulder telling him to
relax. “Thanks, Istas. I know you did your best.”
Istas nodded again, then
picked up his rifle and left the center. Larry and Ron watched him go,
unhappily silent. Looking straight ahead, Ray spoke: “They tell you what
happened?”
“Yes.” For a moment there
was a sound of barely expressed anger in Fraser's voice.
“He did do the best he
could,” Ray said, feeling a sudden need to defend Istas.
“I know he did,” Fraser said
softly, kneading Ray's shoulders. “I am glad you're safe, Ray.” Fraser's
voice shifted into an odd tonelessness and he abruptly pulled his hands
away. Ray rose out of the chair, needing to see Fraser's face, but Fraser
was walking away, his head bowed, his dark hair sticking up sad and
restless. He had lost his hat, Ray realized, sometime in the night. Watching
Fraser go, he knew he would never allow anyone to disappoint Fraser again.
They found new ways to miss
Brian every day. Ron did his best with the boiler and Ray and Nodin
abandoned the ethanol project to pitch in. Ray learned more than he had ever
wanted to about steam power. It all seemed so effortless back in Chicago
. There you flicked the switch and the
light magically appeared. Steam was something that curled from underneath
sidewalks and into the winter streets. Here he learned that fifty years ago,
small steam engines had been part of everyday life. That the theory and
practice of reciprocating steam engines were no longer taught to engineering
students, and few mechanics could repair them. That it would take them years
to master the principles of steam power, from basic thermodynamics through
to the mechanical details of pistons, cylinders, and valves, without someone
like Brian. They had only one spring.
He began interposing himself
between Fraser and the rest of the community. Handling little things, like
the daily schedule of who worked where and the periodic gripes and
complaints. To his surprise, most people didn't push back too hard as long
as he kept it to the little things.
“Elu, hold up.” He sprinted
across the yard. She and Larry were carrying several baskets full of
seedlings to the town center. Ray had left the boiler team a few hours ago
to get an update on the septic project from Susan and was on his way back.
“Hi, Ray.” Larry put down
the baskets and wiped his face. The early morning sun was high and he had
been in the field at first light.
“They look good.” Ray
pointed to the seedlings. “But why aren't they in the ground?”
“Oh, that's my idea,” Elu
interjected. “We pulled a few samples to have Fraser look at them. We want
to know if we should add more nitrogen.”
“Or potassium. I think we
should add more potassium.” Larry's face was dripping with sweat and Ray's
own face flushed in sympathy. “I think the yellow means it needs more
potassium.”
Ray sighed. This was the
kind of thing they shouldn't be bothering Fraser with. But he had no idea
what type of fertilizer each plant needed. Kneeling down, he bought himself
some time.
“So this is, what—spinach,
right?” Larry nodded at him with an amused expression crossing his face. Elu
looked impatiently at the civic center.
He fingered the seedling,
hoping he projected the right air of competency, then brought one up to his
face and held it against the light. “Hhhm,” he said, and then picked up
another one. Elu stopped staring at the center and began to look interested.
He went through the same process with a few more and then wiped his hands on
his jeans and stood up.
“Right. Did you take the
plants from the same field or different ones?”
Elu looked startled and then
said, “The same field.”
“So why don't you treat one
part with more nitrogen, one with more potassium. And one with a combination
of both.”
Elu wrinkled her nose at the
idea at first. “Gee, Ray, that sounds like a lot of work.”
“I know.” He kept his voice
calm. “But there's a lot of reasons plants can yellow.” He remembered his
sister talking about her houseplants and how they kept dying no matter what
she tried. He also had been listening to the two of them for months
discussing plant yields and illnesses. “So the only way to know for sure is
to try to isolate the problem before you can apply the solution.”
“Could work.” Larry tapped
Elu on her arm. “But let's keep the test areas small. We should see results
in about a week and try fine-tuning from there.”
Elu knelt down and picked up
her basket, handing Larry his, and they started off together, chatting about
proportions and fertilizer mixes.
The sky was warming
considerably and Ray stepped into the cool building with relief. The bright
light fell across the room, leaving white streaks on the worn floorboards.
Fraser had stripped down to
his t-shirt and was standing next to the blackboard. Ron had covered it with
scribbles and diagrams that Ray was slowly learning to understand. The
boiler would be ready for testing tomorrow. Wood would burn, water would
boil into steam, steam would be channeled through valves into a chamber to
drive a piston. As the piston moved it would generate electricity that would
power the water pumps.
As Ray approached, he noted
that chalk dust had settled in Fraser's hair, graying it in places. He
rubbed his balding head somewhat self-consciously. At least when Fraser grew
old he'd still have hair.
“...maybe one day we can use
our septic waste to fuel the boiler.” Ron was still harping on the idea. He
had read a month before that you could burn almost any material in a
generator. The Saskatchewan
generators had burned medical waste and even garbage. Fraser had decided to
keep it simple and they went with wood instead.
“Hi, Fraser, Ron. Ron, you
done here?” Ron had grown a lot in the last few months. With the weight of
the boiler project resting solely on his shoulders, he had a lot to be
responsible for. Fraser was really proud of him.
“Sure, Ray, just going over
the last set of plans.”
Ray laughed and grabbed
Fraser by the elbow. “Ron, I still think you're sleeping with those plans.
It just ain't natural.” Fraser smiled and allowed himself to be pulled away.
“So, I spoke to Susan and
she's almost done repairing the septic lines. I told her to run one more
check of the water lines so we'll be ready to start the water pump as soon
as it's ready.”
“Thanks, Ray.” Fraser neatly
stacked a pile of papers into a folder and put them into a battered drawer.
His eyes no longer had bags beneath them and he had regained some of the
muscle he'd lost over the winter. He looked more rested and alert. The
thought comforted Ray.
“So I thought I'd station
myself with Susan tomorrow and keep an eye on the well pump when you light
the boiler?”
Fraser shook his head, the
light from the window crisscrossing the back of his head. “I'd rather have
you there at the boiler. You worked as hard as any of us. Maybe harder.” He
looked squarely at Ray, and Ray flushed a little. Trust Fraser to notice all
the little things he'd been handling. And not make a big deal out of it
“Sure. But let's keep it to
just the four of us?” They didn't want a repeat of the radio broadcast.
Keeping expectations in check was key to the community's survival.
“That's why I thought we
should do it very early. Before it's fully light. It'll either be up or not
by the time most people wake.”
“Okay, stay the night,
then?” The words slipped out before he could think. “I mean, assuming it's
okay with Ilene. We can leave together and round up the others.”
“I doubt Ron will need to be
rounded up. He'll probably be awake all night, planning.” They both turned
to look at Ron, who was once again scribbling on the blackboard. His
shirttail had come loose and he stared, swaying at the board in deep
thought.
“Right,” Ray said and shook
his head. “If that board was a woman, this would be positively indecent.”
“Stranger things have been
known to happen in the Yukon ,”
Fraser deadpanned. His eyes crinkled only a little.
“That's it.” Ray grinned
back. “I am outta here. I want to put some time in the field before it gets
too hot. See you at Ilene's for dinner.” As he left Fraser rubbed him softly
on the shoulder. The feel of his touch stayed with Ray as he sweated in the
fields, weeding and hoeing.
That night they ate well.
Ilene had combined some of the fresh baby greens with rabbit and the food
smelled and tasted heavenly. She had a softer look now that the hollows in
her face had filled. She chatted through most of the evening, discussing the
clothing she was sewing and how her herbs were doing. Jason was filled with
excitement about the boiler and kept asking questions about how steam
worked.
The evening was warm, and
for once the mosquitoes were off sucking blood somewhere else. Feeling
restless, Ray invited Fraser to go for a walk. Surprisingly, Fraser
accepted.
As they stepped outside,
Fraser said, “Wait one moment,” and headed back into the cabin. He came out
carrying an old blanket Ilene had given to Fraser for Dief to lie on.
“What do you want with that?
Dief isn't coming, is he?” Ray asked, looking around for the wolf.
“No, he's staying with
Jason. This is for something else.” His eyes were lit with anticipation, and
Ray tried to suppress his curiosity. He disliked surprises, even good ones.
Still, he followed Fraser.
They walked deep into the
woods along one of the trapping trails, then Fraser split off from it,
following a smaller path. Ray slowed. The night was dark but clear and there
was no moon. He didn't see the clearing at first, so intent was he on
watching his footing.
He blinked and then
clambered up on the smooth flat boulder next to Fraser. It was huge, almost
oval, sticking up from the earth like a stepping stone. The blanket had been
spread, cushioning the hard surface. Standing, he looked around the clearing
but saw nothing.
“Okay, I don't get it.
What's so special about here?”
Solemnly Fraser pointed up
and Ray craned his neck to look. The clearing was a perfect circle, the tall
trees molding the stars into a bowl of light. He'd seen the northern sky
many times, but tonight the velvet blue sky hung so low, laden with golden
stars, that it almost merged with the trees.
“Come,” Fraser said, sitting
and patting the blanket next to him. “You can see more comfortably if you
are lying on your back.”
The stone was cool but not
unpleasant through the rough blanket. He could smell the spruces, the woods
beyond, and a faint trace of smoke.
Overhead, the sky turned
slowly, inching moment by moment. A thick band crossed the center of the sky
and Ray recognized it immediately as the Milky Way. Blue stars, small fiery
red ones, and thousands and thousands of warm yellow stars flickered and
danced. Some stars overlapped each other, turning space into balls of color
and flame. He tried to find a place for himself among them and felt lost,
adrift. For a moment he felt so small and insignificant, trembling on the
edge of mortality.
Fraser's voice pulled him
free of his dark thoughts.
“Each culture has its own
story about stars. Each is trying to find space for them in our lives.”
Ray shifted, uncomfortably
aware of how close Fraser had come to his own line of thinking.
“I never really thought much
about stars. City lights drown them out. But these—” Ray waved one hand.
“—these kind of grab you and won't let you go.”
“There's a lot of things out
here you can't ignore,” Fraser pointed out. “This happens to be one of the
nicer ones. But even so, many Indian legends recognize that while the stars
are part of us, we are the ones who are always reaching out for them.”
“What do you mean?” Ray felt
his eyes grow sleepy. He had had a hard day and tomorrow would be long.
“Long ago, in an earlier
sacred time,” Fraser began quietly. Ray opened his eyes and listened. “In a
settlement near the great river, many families worked together gathering
forest and garden foods during late summer. Eight boys became very close
friends and went off together each evening after their work was done to
dance and drum. They had grown up together and were almost like brothers in
their passion for sharing time with one another.”
Fraser's voice intensified,
taking on an almost singsong cadence. It stirred something deep inside Ray
and he found he was holding his breath to listen.
“Winter set in and most
evenings the boys continued to meet together. Rations were slim and no food
could be spared beyond one meal a day. They decided to hold a sacred
ceremony to ask the gods for more food. They gathered and drummed and sang
and danced. But the rations grew fewer and fewer each day.”
Ray winced, the memories of
their own cold winter still too fresh in his mind. But Fraser's voice pulled
him back into the story, sweeping him along.
“One cold, clear winter
night they decided they would dance through the dark and into the morning.
They stole away and danced and sang with growing strength, although they
grew increasingly slim and light. The sound of their music grew so powerful
it reached the village, and the people became alarmed. Their parents and
others from the village made their way to the distant campfire on the hill
where the music was throbbing. They were amazed to see the boys dancing
skyward, high above the flames of their campfire, circling and climbing even
higher into the Sky World.”
Ray forgot he was sitting on
a rock, forgot he was listening to Fraser's voice. The image spun in front
of him. He could see the light trailing after each boy as they swirled up to
the heavens.
“The parents called out to
them, but the boys could not hear them. Just as they were reaching the top
of the sky, the smallest boy paused to look back and saw his parents, and he
became a shooting star. The remaining seven boys danced even higher into the
sky, where they continue to dance today, circling the Sky World. And from
time to time, they come to visit their parents, dropping like a spear of
light to earth.”
Abruptly Fraser's voice
ended, leaving Ray staring at a starlit sky. The boulder had grown colder
during the telling and it dug painfully into his back. The only warmth came
from Fraser's body, lying motionless at his side.
His chest was tight and the
pressure forced him to speak. He said the first thing that came to mind:
“You must have missed your parents growing up.” Breathlessly he waited for
Fraser to change the subject or get up and leave.
Fraser's breathing stilled
and he moved slightly, edging closer to Ray. “I missed my mom. My father was
rarely there. But I had my grandparents.” His voice was faint but clear. His
hip rested pleasantly against Ray, a welcome warmth on the cooling stone.
The tightness in Ray's chest
increased, until it felt as though the stone he was lying on were pressing
into his chest. It coerced words from him. “Did you ever want to—find some
place where you could belong? Find someone to belong to?”
“Surprisingly, I never felt
alone when I was younger. It wasn't until I came to Chicago
that I realized that the feelings I had
were those of loneliness.” The stilted phrasing disoriented Ray, and his
confusion allowed him to push past the vise inside his chest.
“I've always `belonged,'”
Ray said slowly. “But never where I wanted to, to what felt right for me.
Family, famiglia, neighborhood, the police, I made myself fit in or they
made me, but it was never right. It always cramped me somehow, even though I
needed it, to belong somewhere. Here, that's all gone. It's wide enough,
but...” He waved his arm, watching it sweep across the stars like a dark
band, and fumbled for words.
“You're not an outsider,
Ray.” Fraser's voice had grown even softer, the words dropping from his lips
like small pebbles. “You do belong.”
Ray's body began to shiver.
But who do I belong to? he thought. To you? His chest hammered
at the thought. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to do with
the wave of sensation flooding through him. He felt that if he made one
small movement he would break loose and fly into the sky.
Silence. Only the movement
of the air, the rustle of the woods, and their breathing. The moment
stretched, grew thin, and then snapped, leaving Ray confused and trembling.
His head cleared and his chest stopped hurting. Blinking, he looked up again
and saw only stars.
“Well,” he said into the
night, clearing his throat. “Which one do you think is Franny?” He pointed
at a thick globular cluster hanging right above a tree. “The one that's
brightest and loudest, I'd guess.”
“Yes, that looks like
Franny. And look, she's not alone. She's surrounded by others.” Fraser's arm
rose and he pointed at a blue and red star twinkling by its side. Ray
squinted, trying to follow the arm to the star. Fraser rolled toward Ray,
his face brushing close until his arm was aligned with Ray's line of sight.
Heart hammering, Ray nodded. “That one is my mother. And, next to her, my
father.” Fraser pointed at another star and Ray could almost see the
starlight travel down Fraser's arm and leap across the space to him. “And
there—” Fraser pointed further to the left, at two white stars hanging thick
and low. “There—those are my grandparents.” Fraser's reach brought him
almost to the point where he was half resting on his side, pressed close to
Ray. His weight was a comfortable certainty, pushing Ray down against the
rock. It was like being held, surrounded.
A shooting star flashed
across the sky, brushing overhead. “And that is someone taking the long way
home,” Fraser whispered in his ear, and Ray shut his eyes. Then Fraser moved
away, slipping off of him like water flowing around, over, and under stone.
Ray blinked drowsily and felt himself start to slide into the night haze. He
barely remembered the walk back to Ilene's cabin and climbing alone into the
bed. All he could see was the stars, and all he could feel was the heat of
Fraser as he slept on the floor beside him.
Fraser's internal clock
dragged him out well before the first spring light. The days were getting
longer; by summer there'd be almost no night left. Stumbling after Fraser in
the dark, Ray decided more light was just fine by him.
Ron looked like he hadn't
slept, but he was alert and focused. Nodin kept rubbing sleep from his eyes
and muttered when spoken to.
They worked quietly; the
wood had been loaded the night before. Fraser started the fire burning, Ron
double‑checked the valve positions, and then the boiler door was swung shut.
A small gauge—they had salvaged it from a smelting company in Keno—slowly
inched higher. From time to time, Ron would open or close the valve. The
pressure began to climb and then halted. They waited for it to unstick and
continue its rise, but it began an agonizingly slow descent.
“Shit!” Ron swore and pulled
open the boiler door. The fire was blazing hot. “It's not the heat source.
There must be a leak somewhere. I'll check the valves on the back.”
Fraser nodded. “I'll check
the connections to the piston.” Ray and Nodin stayed to keep loading wood on
the fire. The morning was dark, damp, and cold. Ray's eyes began to droop as
the minutes ticked by. He kept glancing at the gauge; it had stopped falling
but still wasn't rising.
A scream shattered the
morning and terror raked a claw across Ray's heart before he could find a
word for what he feared. He shouted, “Fraser!” and ran without thought
toward the cry. A higher‑pitched second scream wailed and as he turned the
corner he realized that Fraser was still screaming.
A large swath of smoke and
steam boiled out near the piston generator. He kept moving and felt
something scald him, forcing him back. He tripped and fell over Ron, who was
moaning. He rolled and looked for the source of the steam—the piston
connector had exploded and Fraser must have been caught in the scalding
water. He jumped up and ran the other way, colliding with Nodin. “Stay
back!” he shouted, shoving Nodin in front of him. His feet couldn't seem to
get enough traction and each step seemed slower than the last. He reached
for the release valve on the other side of the boiler and whacked it open.
It stuck and he threw himself at it again. It turned and the pressure
suddenly dropped.
The way back seemed shorter
and by the time he made it back the steam was dissipating. Ron was sitting
up, looking shocked. His face was lightly red but he was breathing.
He tapped Nodin, who
reappeared by his side. “Look after Ron!” he yelled and stepped into the
fading remnants of wet heat that wafted across his path. It clung to him,
sticky and moist, robbed of its deadly heat and pressure. Fraser was lying
face down, his arms stretched over his head. His hands were bright red and
had begun to mottle. His thin long‑sleeve shirt couldn't have given him much
protection.
Numbly, he knelt next to
Fraser and reached out to touch his shoulder. The moans almost made him
sick. He swallowed and rolled Fraser onto his side. “Airway. Breathing.
Circulation,” he repeated to himself. Fraser's body was heavy, limp, and
heat radiated from his skin. He smelled something singed and realized that
Fraser's hair was gone from one side of his head.
Then he saw something blond
and small lying beneath Fraser. It was Jason, his face dry and pale. Small
swellings had begun to appear and his mouth was open. He was breathing,
harsh gasps racking his small frame. Ray had never seen anything like this.
Fraser tried to move and this time his voice had more of an animal sound.
One eye opened and flashed wildly.
“Stay put, Fraser. You've
been burned.” Swallowing, he reached out to check his pulse, grimly ignoring
the guttural moans. The pulse was thin and thready. Fraser's breathing was
steady.
Jason was another matter.
When he looked back he could see Jason's skin had changed color. The
swellings had begun to turn red, grow larger, marking his face.
He jerked around and yelled
at Nodin to get Kardach. This was beyond anything he knew how to treat. He
distantly heard the sound of running feet and Ron's retching. He focused on
keeping Jason breathing and trying to ignore the sight of Fraser's fingers
clutching convulsively at the empty air. And the constant sound of Fraser's
moans.
They moved Fraser to
Steph's, since it was closest. He stayed with Fraser all the way, talking to
him until his throat threatened to close. No one told him to shut up. Jason
they took somewhere else. The boy had not made any sound. Thankfully, Fraser
had passed out by the time he reached Steph's.
Jim began pouring cold water
over Fraser's hands and head. The shirt was stuck to his back and he simply
left it on. He talked calmly as he worked. “He's lucky. Second degree in
places but mainly first degree. If it had been third degree, he wouldn't be
feeling any pain; his nerve endings would be burned away.”
“So that's good, then? That
it hurts?” Ray dimly heard someone say.
Jim nodded as he placed
sterile gauze over the exposed skin. “We'll need to give him plenty of
fluids—steam burns are the worst because of the heat transfer.” He looked
up, his eyes grim, searching the room. Naomi stood in the doorway. Jim
hesitated and then looked over at Ray. “There will be an infection. He'll
need antibiotics.” He shut his medical bag and stood up abruptly. “I'll be
back.”
Ray sat, his head bowed. He
couldn't feel anything; did that mean he had been burned too? He looked at
his hands and touched his face. It felt fine. He felt a hand on his shoulder
and Naomi led him into the kitchen. He was handed a glass and told to drink.
He did. It was whiskey.
The room was silent and it
took a while to realize people were watching him. He thought he might be
crying and sat up straight. His face was dry. They kept looking at him,
their faces solemn and sad.
“Ray,” Naomi began. Her gray
hair was loose and hung down her back. She looked almost beautiful in her
nightdress, her brown coat, and her bare feet. He waited for her to
continue.
“We have to make a
decision.” He blinked uncomprehendingly. Fraser was lying there dying and
they wanted him to decide on work schedules. A dark fury threatened to choke
him and he swallowed more of the whiskey.
Naomi glanced away and then
sighed. “It's Jason,” she finally said. He stared at her, still waiting for
her to make sense. “His burns are much more severe.”
Which is why he didn't
scream. He had no pain, Ray thought thinly.
“And Jim thinks his airways
have been compromised.” Naomi's voice ached with sadness. He shook his head
disbelievingly.
“How could—” he began. “How
could he? Fraser pulled him out and his burns are less severe.”
Ron's voice came from the
back of the room. He had been lightly burned and was splashing his hands and
face with water. “Jason had been in the steam longer. Fraser only had to
dash in and pull him out. Fraser's speed probably saved him from greater
injury,” Ron offered.
Ray nodded and leaned back
in his chair.
“Ray, I know it is hard to
think about this now. But we have to make a decision.” Naomi persisted and
he raised his head to look at her. Her face, lined and wrinkled, was like
stone. He made a small movement with his head and she continued.
“We don't have many
antibiotics left. And what we have we have to ration carefully.”
This time the fury did rise
and he slammed the whiskey glass on the table. Ron jumped and backed away.
Naomi held his gaze.
“Jim said there'd be an
infection...” she began.
“We'll cross that bridge
when we get there,” Ray said tightly.
“We'll cross it now,” Naomi
replied. “He'll need to start treatment right away. And if Jason won't have
a chance to survive, we need to think about whether to...” She hesitated and
sighed deeply. “We have a few hours. Why don't you go and see Jason?”
He stood, wanting nothing
more than to leave these strangers behind. He hesitated, feeling
unaccountably afraid for Fraser. “I'll keep an eye on him,” he heard Steph
say. Their eyes met and he nodded.
He pushed his way into the
morning light, blinked, and found himself standing at Ilene's door. She was
sobbing at the kitchen table. Her tears eased at the sight of him; at the
trust in her eyes, Ray felt a pang of guilt. He walked past her without a
word and into his room. Jason lay quietly, his face covered in huge, angry
red blisters. Parts of his shoulders were white and his breathing was stiff
and labored. Dief sat whining at his feet.
“You should be with Fraser,”
he said harshly to the wolf, then regretted his words as the wolf lowered
his ears and crouched down in submission. “No, stay.”
He walked out and paused in
front of Ilene. She looked up, her face numb and blank. “He must've have
sneaked out when you left,” she whispered hoarsely. “He wanted to see you
fire up the new boiler.”
“I'll send someone over to
help. Don't worry.” He patted her awkwardly, not knowing what else to say.
At that moment Elu opened
the door and nodded at him. “I'll take it from here,” Elu said simply.
“Naomi is waiting for you.”
Ray felt trapped. He looked
down at Ilene, his heart going out to her and Jason. But something else was
pulling at him, low and deep in the ribs back along the path to Steph's
cabin.
Only Naomi was in the
kitchen when he returned. The rest had cleared out and Nodin had been posted
at the front door to keep the crowd to a minimum. He nodded soberly to Ray
and allowed him to pass. Ray walked straight into the bedroom and saw Jim
hooking up an IV. “It's one of our last,” the medic said without looking up.
“I'll have to resort to oral hydration after this.”
Ray sat down and fiddled
with a book on the nightstand. Basics of Water Pumps. It was well
thumbed.
“So what's this about the
antibiotics?” he finally asked reluctantly.
Jim's face pinched and he
looked unhappy. “I have enough to treat them both if necessary.”
“So what's the fucking
problem?” Ray glowered, his eyes darkening.
Jim shook his head
miserably. “Jason's burns are severe. Even if I give him antibiotics, he may
not recover. His airways have been burned.”
“But he will die without the
antibiotics.”
“Yes.” Jim flipped the flow
regulator and the IV began to drip.
“But you'd treat him if this
were a hospital?” Ray asked as the IV flowed more steadily.
“Christ, of course, Ray.
What do you think I am?” Jim said miserably.
“The point is—” Naomi's
voice came clearly from the other room. “—we don't have a hospital and our
supplies are limited.”
Ray stood, feeling his
stomach lurch. “Last time I checked, Naomi, you weren't a medical doctor. So
back off.”
She fell silent. Ray turned
back to Jim. “What's the shelf life on these antibiotics?” Jim hesitated and
then looked up in relief that Ray finally understood the dilemma. “The shelf
life—probably another two years.”
And that's two years of
accidents and injuries and illnesses, Ray thought. They'd need every
strong and able‑bodied adult to work the fields, hunt, and do heavy labor.
He pushed the thought away
hastily. He really shouldn't be making this decision. He was too close to
both of them. Disgusted with himself, he glanced at Fraser, who was
breathing softly, still unconscious.
Walking back into the
kitchen he saw Naomi following his movement across the room as he poured a
glass of water and drank it. Outside he could hear more voices. He felt like
a man surrounded by a pack of dogs, hopeful and demanding at the same time.
“Where's Istas?” he asked,
surprised to see him absent. “I thought he was part of your council.” The
words came out sarcastically but he didn't care.
“This is something for you
to decide, Ray,” Naomi said bluntly. He leaned over the kitchen sink and
stared blindly into the morning light. He could see people milling around,
could hear the hushed tones of fear and anger. It really shouldn't be
such a surprise, he thought. First you answer their questions about
work schedules, and then building plans. It's just a small step to people's
lives.
But deep inside, he could
feel the cold hard knot of a decision forming. Unwillingly, he turned away
from the window and stared at Naomi and Jim. Naomi did not flinch. Jim stood
in the doorway, his hands empty and open and helpless. They had come to him
because he was the only one who could make the decision. Because he was the
one Fraser had chosen. And he had chosen Fraser and would stand in Fraser's
place. And make the same kind of decision that Fraser would make. They had
both chosen to live and to survive long ago. It had only taken this long for
him to realize it.
His mouth quirked painfully.
“Give Fraser the antibiotics,” he said, putting the glass gently back into
the sink. Jim stepped quickly back into the room. Ray did not stay to watch
the rest; he dismissed Naomi and the crowd outside. He had something more
important to attend to.
Inside Ilene's cabin the day
wore slowly. He heard people coming and going, offering sympathy, help, and
useless words of condolence. Ilene thanked them and talked about how Jason
would be touched when he got better. Ray sat quietly in the rocking chair at
the foot of the bed. He accepted the food and drink handed to him, eating
mechanically without appetite. Halfway through he put the plate on the floor
for Diefenbaker, but the wolf only whined and refused to eat.
The night air passed coolly
across his skin as he waited. Hour after hour he listened to Jason's
breathing grow harsher and more labored. Ilene fell asleep on the couch and
he left the room long enough to cover her with a blanket. The moonlight fell
dimly into the room, tipping her hair silver-white. He turned abruptly and
walked back into the room and sat down. He would miss her easy laughter.
Jason was making soft
choking sounds. He was still unconscious. As the night wore on, faint stars
traveled across the window. And still he waited for something to happen. It
was early morning when it did. He heard Jason wheeze loudly and then his
body shuddered twice. Listening to the boy die, Ray felt overwhelmed. He had
made the decision Fraser would have made. He had made the decision he had
needed to make. And as he saw the light fall onto Jason's cold, still face,
he knew the decision he had made would not haunt him. Because it had not
been made for himself or for Fraser, but for the survival of the community.
And because of that his love for Fraser would survive.
He got up and woke Ilene and held her for as long as she cried. Then he went outside and watched the stars fade one by one into the new dawn.