Journal Page 3

  Anna continued to be unsociable toward me. She seldom looked in my direction, kept her distance in little ways, and was generally uncommunicative. All the questions you would expect one stranger to ask another in similar circumstances, “Where are you from? Where are you going? What did you do before things went bad?” were left unasked. Earlier, I attempted to engage her in conversation, but it was cold shouldered, so following that I just didn’t try anymore.

  After eating a small meal in relative silence, I told them that we’d take turns keeping watch throughout the night. Anna would take the first watch, my turn would be next, and Gabriel would take the last couple of hours. I was worried that Eric and his crew were behind us and might try to sneak up in the darkness. I was so exhausted, I went right to sleep.

  ____________

  In the early morning of April third, when it was my time to stand watch, she woke me up with a stick. Yeah that’s right, she jabbed me in the ribs with the end of a four-foot stick without even saying anything. Now I can only imagine what I looked like after several battery operated radio with t days wearing the same clothes, unshaven, and wet. God knows how bad I smelled, too. But to jab me with a stick like I was a snake in her path, come on. I’ll just be glad when I’m on my own again. They can keep their secrets and she her bad attitude.

  I was so worked up from thinking about Anna, I decided to let the kid sleep through his turn at watch.

  When morning came, and just before I woke them to start our day, I took the last of some dry oatmeal I’d scavenged from a house near where I found this journal, mixed it with rain water to soften it up, and split it three ways. At least Gabriel thanked me.

  This second day of the three of us together was more of the same, lots of tough walking. This time no rain, though, just an oppressively gray sky with little promise of better days. I knew we were still on track when we angled ourselves between two mountain peaks, one at 7000 feet and the other over 8000. But that’s when we hit our first real obstacle: a river too wide to wade across and too fast to swim. So we turned west, going upstream where I hoped we would have a better chance of finding a place to cross. We stayed on the south side of the river, and in the late afternoon we encountered the ruins of a hunting blind or maybe a small shelter that hunters had used during the season.

  It wasn’t anymore than maybe twelve by ten feet with stones for one wall and logs for the others. The roof was made of poles and had been covered with shingles, but these were for the most part missing, except for on one corner. There was no door, but inside it was fairly dry, and just as important, some of the original shingles were there on the ground and were burnable. We’d be able to use them to build a small fire.

  We used the tarp again to give us more of a roof and got the fire started. I can’t begin to tell you how good a fire feels when, in my case, you’ve been wet and cold for three days. I really wanted to sit there for a few minutes, I surely did, but I had other things on my mind. We were going to need food soon because we were burning a lot of calories moving the way we were. I didn’t have much left, and I doubted that Anna had much either. So I thought I’d try my hand at fishing. It wasn’t happening, though. Maybe I just didn’t have the patience for it.

  I ended up using a soft carrot, half of my last piece of dried meat, and a piece of potato that Anna contributed, to make a soup that we all shared. Afterwards, I concocted some tea out of pine needles and boiled river water. With that and the fire, I finally felt warm.

  I’m tired of writing now, so I’ll finish catching up tomorrow, maybe. There’s just one more thing I want to mention because it helps explain why I have to get away from this woman as soon as I can. As I sat there by the fire, drinking my tea, I took the time to wipe down my rifle and pistol. I couldn’t afford to let them get rusty. After I was finished, I offered to clean Anna’s pistol as well. She looked at me like I’d just asked her for her left kidney or something and told me, “No way. I’ll do it myself.” Why do I get the feeling that she doesn’t trust me? I just don’t get her attitude.

  April 7, 2054 –

  There are a lot of things that have happened since I last wrote, three or four days ago — crazy things. I’ll do my best to tell them in the order they occurred and in the detail that they deserve.

  __________

  On the morning of April fourth, so that would be the beginning of our third day together, we walked west for another mile and finally found a place where we could get across the river and turned north once again. At this point, I was starting to feel pretty confident that we were safe from our pursuers. We had traveled on foot for over two full days, passed through several areas where it would be hard for someone to follow our tracks, and crossed a good sized river. My worries now concerned food more than Mr. Ponytail and company. So I determined that if by evening we still hadn’t spotted anyone following us, I would try to find a deer or some other wild game to kill.

  The walking that day was still pretty tough. Nothing was flat. In the distance, I could see two peaks that I figured, by my map, were Gardner Mountain on the east and Mt. Logan on the west, so we angled between them. It wasn’t raining, thank God, but the air was still damp and cold. It also seemed that each mile we went, I felt weaker and weaker from lack of food. Anna and Gabriel looked just as exhausted as I was, walking a little bit slower and taking a little longer to get over or around obstacles.

  We took a break at mid-day, and I heated some water for pine needle tea. While we were drinking it, Gabriel sat next to me and asked about the journals. I told him the story of finding them and my thoughts of continuing on with them. He seemed interested and asked several questions, so I read him a couple of the entries written by Claire Huston.

  “It has become my habit each and every day to do something, anything, however small, that will make a better tomorrow.” Then, “The thing is, if we are to matter at all, we can’t permit what might go wrong or what others may think to give us pause. We must recognize these things for what they are and shake free of their grip and do our best, without hesitation, at every turn.”

  We talked about it a little bit more, and since I had Gabriel’s attention (and since Anna was well out of earshot), I asked him where he and his mom were living before they were kidnapped. I hoped that it would lead to other subjects.

  It was a simple question, or at least I thought it was, but he took some time to answer it. Eventually he said, “Well, um, she hasn’t always been my mom.” He went on to explain that his real mom, along with his father, two brothers, and a sister, died when he was ten. He said, “She kind of saved me,” and “just sort of took care of me” from then on. They were all that each other had and that’s why he called her his mom.

  At first I felt deceived to make surewot. But given the context of his story, I decided he probably really did feel she was his mother now. I have to admit, I would probably feel the same if it were me.

  His answer though didn’t come close to my question. So after a while I changed the words around and asked again where he and Anna were when they were kidnapped. He simply said they were in a field gathering food. As his words tailed off, he stood, mentioned he wanted to see if his mom needed his help, and walked over to her, leaving me with the feeling that there was more to his answer than he granted me.

  I should say that I like Gabriel a lot and feel he is an unusually sensitive and intelligent kid. But at that point, it seemed there was a struggle going on inside his head. There obviously were things he wasn’t telling me. My guess was he wanted to talk to me about them but that Anna had convinced him not to, at least for now anyway.

  As to Anna, she doesn’t trust me. That much is clear. Yes, that is annoying but I guess somewhat understandable given what has happened to her. Still, it leaves me without answers to some very important questions: How deep is her mistrust of me? Can she be trusted not to slit my throat when she doesn’t need me anymore? If Mr. Ponytail killed everyone he crossed paths with, why didn’t he kill her, too? And wh
at’s so damn important about them that they want to hide it? Does the answer to that put me in danger somehow? I don’t like all this secrecy stuff at all. Soon, though, we’ll split up, and I won’t have to deal with it anymore.

  We spent the rest of the day walking, and, in the late afternoon, I chanced a shot at a small doe we had surprised in a meadow of no more than an acre in size. I only wounded it on my first shot, and it took a second to finally kill it. I hoped nobody heard my shots.

  While I went about the business of gutting and skinning it, Gabriel and Anna took some time to explore the area to try to determine by landmarks exactly where we were. About a half hour later, they returned and Gabriel told me that there was a road not a half mile walk from where we were. By the map, I figured it was Highway 20, and by following it east we could hit Highway 153 and beyond that 97 or even 155.

  It was perfect timing, I thought. We could eat that night, split the leftover meat in the morning, and go our separate ways. I decided then and there that I would bypass the 153 to reach the 97 in order to have a better chance of avoiding a confrontation with Mr. Ponytail, when I turned back south.

  After stuffing ourselves with venison and sheep sorrel greens, Anna said she was tired and asked if I would take the first watch. She and Gabriel would take the last two. Now, since that was just about the first thing she’d said to me all day, I guess I should have been a little suspicious of it, but I wasn’t, and I agreed to the arrangement. While she was standing there, I considered telling them of my plan to go my separate way, but instead I decided to put it off until morning. My avoidance of anything even remotely confrontational was at work again I guess.

  After my watch, I woke Anna, who as usual didn’t say anything to me. As soon as my head settled down onto mWhile so engagedwoty rolled-up poncho, which I was using as a makeshift pillow, I was out.

  ___________

  I must have slept straight through because I awoke on the morning of April fifth feeling pretty good. However, when I looked over to see if Anna was still sleeping, I discovered that both she and Gabriel, and their blankets, were gone. A search of our little camp revealed that all their gear was gone as well as all but a little of the meat.

  At first I was angry. They snuck off in the dark without saying, “Hasta la vista baby,” “It’s been nice but not that nice,” or even, “We have plans and they don’t include you.” They just took off. It was like they were afraid I would try to stop them or something. Who does that sort of thing? But the more I thought about it, the more I calmed down, finally telling myself, what difference did it make? I wanted to be on my own anyway. Who cares?

  My newfound attitude changed again, a few minutes later, when I discovered the meat wasn’t the only thing that was missing. This was missing; this very journal I’m writing in, as well as another one in Claire Huston’s hand. And that made me angry all over again. How’s the saying go? “No good turn goes unpunished.” I helped them, and they stole from me. I wanted the journals back. I don’t know why, but they were important to me.

  Almost immediately an entirely different thought settled in on me. I remember thinking that taking the journals had to be Gabriel’s doing. Anna would never have done such a thing. She’d never shown any interest in them at all, and practical ole’ Anna wouldn’t want to lug them around either. No, it was Gabriel all right, and I told myself he took them not because he wanted them for himself, but because he wanted me to follow him and get them back. Maybe that’s what they had been arguing about. She wanted to sneak off and he didn’t. This was his way of not directly defying his mother but still doing what he thought was best — sneaky. But as much as I may have admired his cleverness, it still made me mad. I was damn sure going to get the journals back, tell them what I thought of them, and strike off on my own after.

  If you’ve read these last three paragraphs, you of course have figured out that I eventually regained possession of the journals. The interesting part is how I got them back. I would never have imagined that a decision I made on April first, an out of character decision, would have led me to the events I’m about to describe.

  Following their trail was easy. They walked straight to Highway 20, if you could call it a highway. It is really just a two lane road cutting through a forest of ninety foot spruce and lodgepole pine, thick, and dark, and towering as far as I could see. After that, it wasn’t so easy. I couldn’t tell if they went east or west.

  Well, what now Einstein? That’s what I was asking myself. If I went the wrong direction, I’d not likely ever find them or the journals again. So I decided to search in both directions; several hundred yards one way and the same the other. Maybe I’d find something=tif. Maybe I’d pick up their track. Nothing, though. There wasn’t a scuffmark, a discarded something or other, and definitely not a footprint. So I just took a chance and went west. I figured she would think I would guess east, so I went the opposite direction, knowing all the time I could be just outsmarting myself.

  A half-hour into it, I heard something I never, ever thought I’d hear again. It was an airplane, one of those little ultra light, one-seater jobs; practically nothing more than a pair of cloth covered wings and an engine but still a plane. It was making tight little circles, about five miles off to the east, hard to tell exactly.

  My first reaction? Run for cover. The months I’ve spent on my own have given me a healthy suspicion of anything out of the ordinary; a noise, a shape, a movement, anything unusual at all has to be interpreted as a threat unless determined otherwise. That is the only way to keep yourself healthy. If you think about it, animals do the exact same thing, right? Dogs nose the air and circle growling at something strange. A deer will bolt at a sudden movement. Birds take flight at a sharp sound. And an airplane circling overhead, when I hadn’t seen one in years, definitely fell into that category.

  Once I was in the trees, I started walking east, peeking out when I thought it safe and wondering how someone could get an airplane like that up and running. Nothing else works. Why that? I felt a sliver of hope that somewhere, somehow, society was making a comeback; that man’s ingenuity was starting to repair all the damage that had been done. I quickly dismissed that thought as too soon and too unlikely with people like Ponytail out there. An ordered society would be needed before real recovery could be achieved.

  It very shortly became my opinion that the explanation was simpler than that. The plane was such a basic machine, it probably didn’t have the same type of sophisticated electronic components that have failed in about every other mechanical thing. That’s the reason my motorcycle carried me so far down roads littered with useless cars and trucks. It was old and simple.

  I next forced my thoughts to more immediate concerns. What had the pilot spotted that had drawn his attention? At this time he’d been up there, essentially in the same place, for a good ten minutes. Why? Then I figured it out, stupid me, and was running.

  At one point, several minutes into it, when I slowed to skirt a fallen tree, with the sounds of my pack banging around and breathing quieted, I could no longer hear the engine noise. So I peeked out, a little at first and soon full out onto the road. Sure enough, it was gone. I didn’t know if that was a good sign or a bad one, though, so I started off again.

  I’d been at it for a good fifteen or twenty minutes more, when I heard a gunshot. I don’t know if it was the first one, or if there had been others and they had just been beyond my hearing, but either way it was not a good thing. So at that point, I pulled my rifle from its place in my pack, without much breaking stride. Another shot followed a few minutes later, but this one had a different sound to it; much louder, a different caliber, too. So there were two guns at least. in both directionstif

  I’d covered maybe another hundred yards or so before I saw the little plane on the road where it had apparently landed. I knew I was close and slowed my pace considerably. The pilot was somewhere nearby and, if I figured things right, so were Gabriel and his mother. I didn’t understand w
hat was going on at that point. There was no plane at the farm where they’d been held, at least as far as I had seen, so all this confused me. Was the pilot associated with Mr. Ponytail, or was he someone entirely unrelated to his gang? If it was Gabriel and his mom out there, as it surely must be, why were all these people after them? Figuring that out, though, was going to have to wait.

  The next thing I heard was a man’s voice. “You may as well throw down that gun and come on out, you hear? You ain’t getting away, that’s for damn sure. If I got to, I’ll just sit and wait ‘til the rest of ‘em catch up.” Silence. ”So what do you say, huh? Is it worth it? Why take the chance on you or your kid getting hurt when it’s just going to end up the same anyway?” Or something like that.

  I spotted him then. He was on the other side of the road and about thirty yards away, standing behind a tree with his back to me. He had what looked like some sort of compact carbine in his hands. That was bad news.

  So I eased back on the hammer of my rifle, slipped the safety on, and quietly as possible moved closer. I should tell you that moving quietly in that type of situation is no easy task. You have to split your attention between the threat on one hand and where your feet are stepping on the other. If I was looking down at the same time the pilot turned around, he could pop me one before I could respond. On the other hand, if I kept my eyes on him the whole time, I easily could trip and fall, or make a noise that would give my presence away before I was ready. So it was a slow process moving closer to him. Eventually, I positioned myself ten or fifteen yards away from him, behind a slight embankment, and next to a good sized spruce that had toppled halfway across the road. In this place, I had an easy shot.