False Dawn (16 page)

The slope grew steeper. Evan shoved Thea, yelling, “Roll!” and threw himself sideways onto the snow.

Two more shots cracked, one coming quite close, as they tumbled helplessly down the hill. Arms and legs flailed, churning their wake into gouges and pockets of cold. Ahead in the dim moonlight Evan saw planks reaching up above the snow, as dangerous as rocky shoals, ready to rip them, break them as they slid away from the range of Margaret Cornelia’s rifle. There were incoherent cries mingling with the echoes of the shots, and something hurtled by them in a bouncing welter of ice and snow. Evan could not make out what it was, but knew it had to be heavy from the sound it made and the way it moved. Desperately he shifted his legs forward, praying that they would not catch and break before he could absorb his momentum. His feet came solidly against the hidden wall, his knees forced hard against his chest as he reached out for Thea. To his amazement, he not only grabbed her but held her as well, keeping her from rolling farther down into the snowbound ravine.

For several minutes they lay together, panting in the moon-bright snow while Margaret Cornelia’s screams faded away. When all was silent and they breathed normally once more, Evan turned to Thea, releasing his grip on her arm. “Put your snowshoes on,” he said gently. “We have a long way to go.”

They made little progress that night, climbing to the ridge east of Oddle Bar, before throwing themselves, exhausted, onto a few cut branches flung down in the lea of an outcropping of boulders. By sunrise they were underway again; the day took them along the drifted slopes to OnionValley. They went quickly eastward, stopping the following night on North MacRae Ridge, in the full force of the wind, coming now with an illusive, furtive promise of spring. Evan cut branches while Thea built a fire, shielding it with a clumsy lean-to. There they huddled, engulfed in cold and the vast emptiness of the mountains while the trees writhed in their distress, shedding snow as the wind buffeted them. Occasionally there was a sound like gunfire, and another tree would fall, broken, a sacrifice to the poison that waited to claim them all.

The wind continued to blow the next day as they made their way around the shoulder of the mountains to Johnsville.

“What’s that?” Thea asked as they saw the ruined buildings clinging to the mountains, high on the side of the slope.

“It says Johnsville.” Evan pointed out a badly weathered sign. “Johnsville. Humm. Johnsville…” he said to himself, as the name triggered a memory.

“What about it?” Thea asked. She was grateful for the chance to stop. Her hip was still sore and she had limped the last three miles.

“I think this was the mining town the British owned. They were Cornishmen, the miners. Here for the golden glory of Her Britannic Majesty, Alexandrina Victoria.” He chuckled. “I’d almost forgot about it. The place was a ghost town for a century, then the Second Gold Rush, in ‘81 put the town back in business. Before that, all it had was a hotel, and, I think, a restaurant. One of those out-of-the-way places with a reputation for excellent service and privacy. I remember reading about it, a long time ago. There was something about the town never being properly admitted to the state, and so it was not legally part of the Union. The things we used to worry about…”

“Is there anyone left?” Thea asked as they came into the hollow with its pathetic trimmings of dilapidated houses.

“Not for a long time, now,” Evan said quietly, hoping it was so. Oddle Bar had been a ghost town, officially, and he would not make the same error twice. He went a few steps into the town, all his senses alert. He turned to Thea. “Keep your crossbow ready. And wait here.”

“But, Evan…If there’s an ambush— “she protested as she fitted a quarrel into the groove.

“I need you to cover me.” He turned once more to the buildings hidden like strange dark mushrooms under the snow. Only the wind moved here, teasing the snow into fantastic shapes. Fallen trees had wrecked two houses, and the spire of the church leaned crazily, threatening to topple the whole building. The afternoon shadows were slanting across the town, long areas of purple and blue that made the snow much shinier in contrast. Evan was grateful for the shadow, and welcomed its relief. His eyes were sore, his head ached, and he was lightheaded with hunger and exhaustion. He stood in the silent town, slowly lowering his crossbow. After a moment he gestured to Thea, and waited as she came through the snow to his side.

“I think it’s sad,” she said as she came up to him.

Evan studied her. “Sad? How do you mean, Thea?”

“I don’t know. It just feels like it should have people in it, and it’s lonely for them to be so empty.”

Around them the wind picked up, making a shriek like an outraged cat. It was a demented, abandoned cry.

When the eerie feeling had left him, Evan said, “Well, tonight we’ll be indoors. And we can probably find a bed or two if we look carefully.” Now that the long walk was almost over, Evan felt his body thrum. He thought fleetingly that he was getting old, and remembered with some surprise that be was forty-seven. A generation ago that had been considered the hale part of middle age, but in the last twenty years, it had become the edge of ancientness. “I don’t know about you, Thea,” he said softly, “but I’ll be glad for the rest.”

She turned a wan face to him. “We’ve come a long way,” she said as she unstrapped her crossbow. “I guess we’ll get to Gold Lake, soon, tough, and it will all be over.” She added then, so wistfully that Evan was touched, “It’s near here. It’s not far. We’ll check the map Hobart gave us as soon as we’re settled. We’ll work out how to get there.”

It was the ruined restaurant that gave them the space and the warmth they wanted. The couches in the lounge were so large and barge-like that they promised to be excellent beds. There was a soft, fungus-flavored air to the place, and the ancient flocked wallpaper was muzzy with dust. Some of the old lamps tilted precariously in their sconces, their fuel discolored scum in the glass reservoirs. Other lamps were still on the tables, thick coats of dust and spiderwebs robbing them of their sheen.

“You know, Thea, if this weren’t so close to Graeagle, it might almost be worth staying here,” Evan remarked as he stoked the stove. There were still stacks of wood in the kitchen, as well as several boxes of candles. He had fixed up three or four candelabra, and now the main room glowed with warm hospitality, and the fire in the Franklin stove was making a little headway against the cold.

“I don’t like being so close to the Pirates, even here. They could be up here in half an hour, if they wanted to.”

“Not at this time of year,” Evan reminded her. “Not with their vans. They can’t get through the snow.”

“We’re too close to them,” she insisted, hut added, “It is nice here. I can see why you want to stay.” She pulled two changes of clothes from her pack and went toward the kitchen and its large sinks.

Evan tossed her two thick wool shirts. “While you’re at it. I’m going to check around, in case there’s anything we can take with us to Gold Lake besides bandages, matches, and candles.”

“Knives,” she said practically as she opened drawers looking for soap.

“That’s a thought.” He had discovered the door to the cellar, and taking one of the branches of candles, he disappeared into the basement.

Thea was startled to hear him let out a whoop a few minutes later. Dropping her wash, she reached for her crossbow and went fearfully to the stairs, calling down, “Evan?” She waited—”Evan? Are you all right?”—and cocked the crossbow as she waited.

“I’m fine,” he called back happily. “There’s tons of canned food down here, dried food, too, and Thea, there’s a wine cellar.”

Shortly afterward he appeared, clutching cans and dusty bottles; there were cobwebs caught in his hair.

“What did you find?” She had unstrapped the crossbow and was once again busy with washing.

“Look at this.” He held out a bottle to her, making a useless attempt to wipe the label clean. “Stag’s Leap Cabernet ‘86.”

To his amazement, she said, “The ‘78 is better.” Then, seeing the incredulity in his face, she laughed. “My father was a virologist, specializing in vines. He developed the virus-resistant root stocks that were grafted all over the Napa Valley. I’d almost forgotten about the wines. We didn’t have them at Camminsky Creek. I haven’t seen wine—real wine—in years.” She reached out and touched the bottle. “To think that was picked the year I was born: eighty-six.”

“You never mentioned your father…what he did.” He stopped, not wanting to think about what other things she had not mentioned.

“I don’t think of it much, any more,” she said apologetically. “It was a long time ago, Evan. A lot’s happened since then.”

He knew this was so. He changed the subject. “Tell you what: you leave me to do the cooking and you get yourself washed up. We’ll celebrate tonight. It’s Gold Lake tomorrow, or the next day and the worst will be over. If the community is operating—”

“If…? Why if?” she asked, becoming defensive.

He made a self-deprecating gesture. “Don’t mind me, Thea. I’ve seen so many things go wrong, I can’t believe the way you do. I keep waiting for a catch to come.”

“You don’t think…” She let the words trail off and did not dare to say more, as if putting her own doubt into words would somehow give them reality.

“No. I don’t. Now go get yourself scrubbed. A hot bath is a luxury, and so long as there’s a twenty-gallon soup kettle in the kitchen, we might as well fill it up with snow and stick it on the stove for a bath.”

She nodded, excited. “There’s still soap left, too.”

“Great. If you get the snow, I’ll start to work on our meal.” So saying, he shoved her playfully out of the room, smiling at the cans and pots that waited for him. He wished he could take some of the kitchen appointments with him, for the people at Gold Lake could surely use some extra utensils. And these were the best he had seen in a long time; fine French cookware—even a broad, flat copper crepe pan. At the back of his mind there was another niggling doubt, one that asked why, if Gold Lake were so near, the people hadn’t taken these things out of Johnsville a long time ago. “They don’t want to call attention to themselves,” he answered his doubts aloud as he rummaged through the spice shelf. “They know they have to be cautious.” It didn’t make much sense, but he pretended it did as he turned his attention to their food.

They had dinner by candlelight, Evan recalling the long-vanished days when candles were romantic, glamorous additions to elegant rooms rather than lighting necessities. He had made a kind of lasagna, using some crusty ancient cheese he had found in the cellar with the wine. Instead of fresh meat, he had used canned, and added some chopped sausage to improve the taste. The tomato sauce was thick, and the e canned mushrooms added more texture than flavor. Pearl onions glistened in the sauce, as well, and these were so pungent that they were almost impossible to eat.

Wine was served in fragile glasses of fine crystal. It glowed warm in the outsized glasses, and the glow was reflected in their faces. It was a sweet night, shining with the ghosts of lost graces which Evan had nearly forgotten and Thea had never known.

Their talk was pleasant, lightened by the warmth around them as much as the wine. Toward the end of the evening Evan had trimmed his beard with the poultry shears he found in the kitchen, and decided that the years he had been clean-shaven were wasted. Thea watched him, amusement in her face at odds with the fatigue that pulled her toward sleep.

“What do you think?” he asked when he was satisfied.

“It’s fine.”

“Really?” He turned to regard himself in the long mirror over the bar. “I used to shave every day. I was very particular about that. I never thought I’d look good with a beard. I thought I had too much jaw—you know, too wide.”

“It’s fine,” she repeated, nibbling on some leftover lasagna.

He checked his reflection once more and decided that the beard made him look younger. Youth was no longer a standard of beauty, nourishment was, and health. Not that it mattered. Then he caught sight of the twenty-gallon pot. “You know, someday, I’d like to have a bath in a tub again, a proper bath. It’s been months …”

“Then have one.”

“Don’t you want to have one, too?” He heard something in her voice that surprised him, a note of despair.

Her face clouded. “There are a lot of things I’d like to have. But they’re gone, Evan. They’re all gone.”

Bleary-eyed and sluggish, they started out late in the morning, climbing slowly above the creek, which gurgled happily where the ice had worn away. The way was steep and they went slowly, feeling weighted down by the two large meals and the two bottles of wine they had had.

They had come around to the leeward side of the mountains again, and the snow was harder, and the drifts more treacherous. Between the snow and their food, it was late in the day when they came to the Lakes Basin tucked into the gouges at the crest of the range. The sun hung low on their right, and the rustling in the trees down the mountains promised a rising night wind.

Gold Lake lay at the far end of the Lakes Basin, the largest and most protected of them. As they approached it, Thea said, “I thought there’d be guards before now. They must patrol the place…Do you think they use some kind of monitors?”

Evan firmly slapped down his doubt again. “With the Pirates as near as Graeagle, they’d probably put their guards at the other road,” he said, wanting to reassure her.

“That must be it,” she agreed uncertainly as she strained her eyes to see where the community might be located. “That’s why we haven’t seen any tracks, not even from hunters.”

At last they rounded the bend and Gold Lake lay before them, wreathed in ice, stately in its isolation. There were no signs of fences, of outbuildings, of barns, or greenhouses, or any other structure that would show that people lived there, worked there.

Thea caught her lower lip in her teeth before saying, “Maybe they made earth-houses, and the ground itself is—”

Evan slowed down, squinting into the slanting light. “What—?” he mused aloud. He pointed. “There.”