False Dawn (32 page)

It would have been so easy to stop there, to sleep, trusting to the sun to wake them before the Pirates came back. Evan took a moment to ready himself for the hike ahead: he had rigged a kind of harness made with the leather straps to draw the sledge, but found it was harder to do than he had thought it would be. With a little help from Thea the harness was adjusted, the runners balanced, and the sled moved off into the night, Evan bending under the weight, Thea walking unsteadily beside it.

11

Morning was near when Thea realized that they were being followed. She had stayed on her feet, moving mechanically, making no sound to betray the intensity of the pain that shot through her with every shifting of her weight. Occasionally she would look back, as an automatic precaution. Concentration blended with hurt on her face, and this expression deepened as they went. Finally she said, “There’s something back there.”

“Mackley’s men?” Evan asked, panting. The wound in his leg had opened an hour before and was bleeding with a slow persistence that sapped his energy and reduced his speed to almost nothing.

“No: dogs.” As if to confirm this there rose a low wail, a soft cry from far down the slope, rising as the mountains rose.

“Shit!” Evan stopped, sagging against the straps. They had passed the fire line over an hour ago, and pulling the sledge through the tangled scrub was more than he had bargained for.

“There aren’t any trees,” she said, looking around. “And I don’t think we can outrun the pack. Not out here, with the sledge.”

“Not bloody likely,” he agreed, puffing his hands into the straps to ease their cutting pressure on his shoulders. “Where’s the fire? Still behind us?”

“To the north. Still burning some. Not a lot. The smoke’s been thinning out.” She frowned. “I guess the stuff they sprayed the forest with keeps it from burning.”

The sound of the dogs was louder now, and there was an urgency in their cry.

“Evan…I—”

“What?” he snapped. His leg hurt, his head hurt, and his throat felt scoured. He knew defeat was near, and the taste of it was gall-bitter in his mouth.

“Could we turn the sledge over? We can fit under it, can’t we? And we can pile the supplies around the outside…They couldn’t get us then, could they? There wouldn’t be any way…”

He was about to give her a sharp answer, but some of her logic penetrated his resentment. “You’re right,” he allowed. “It would protect us. It will work.” He struggled out of the harness and began to unload the breakables, setting them in a heap around the sledge. At last he had them all prepared, and though the sounds of the dogs were now much nearer, he was ready to turn the sledge over on its side and climb under it. “Sit down,” he told Thea, pointing to the center of the bundles, and when she did, he centered the sledge above her.“We’re going to have a tight fit,” he remarked as he squatted down next to her and edged his way under the sledge.

“But we’ll be safe,” she said, knowing that was all that mattered.

So while the dogs snapped and howled outside, pushing their noses against the slatted sides, Thea and Evan lay wrapped tightly together, asleep.

When they awoke the dogs were gone and it was raining. The ground under them had turned mushy and it was late in the morning. In the cramped space, Thea tried to stretch and found that she couldn’t. Her shoulder hurt, but in a distant, selfless way, as if it belonged to someone else. She had difficulty thinking and her vision wobbled.

“Is that rain?” Evan asked, trying to clear his head. His body throbbed like a drum and his regenerated arm was stiff, more like an oar than an arm. When he tried to move his leg he felt it protest, and there was an acidic burn where the bullet had left its mark.

“It’s rain,” she confirmed, twisting unsuccessfully, and stifling a cry as she rolled onto her right arm. “I must have needed the rest more than I thought. It’s such a relief…”A gasp ended this as pain flared again.

He reached across her inexpertly, his hand brushing her face as he stretched to touch the edge of the sledge. “God, Thea. You’re burning up.”

“You don’t have to look like that; as if you’ve been eating sour fruit,” she said testily. “I’m fine. It’s just that I’m a little sore.”

“You have a fever, Thea, and that shoulder of yours needs looking at. I should change your bandages.” He started to lift the sledge but she stopped him.

“Are you sure the dogs are gone?” She was frightened now, and could not control the trembling that seized her.

“They’re gone,” he promised and raised the sledge.

The rain hit them then, coming down in sooty drops from a tattered gray sky. The wind blew along the ridge, ruffling the scrub and chilling the air. Evan reached for the tarpaulin, working with frightful slowness to rig a lean-to with the sledge.

“What are you doing?” Thea asked, trying to crawl out from under the tarpaulin.

“Setting us up a camp,” he answered, wrestling with a knot in the cord at one corner of the tarp.

“But why? I can go on. Give me some credit, Evan. You don’t have to do this. We can go miles by sundown.”

Rather than argue with her, or let her see his worry, he said, “Maybe you can, but I can’t. That sledge is heavy and my leg is sore.” There, he had the tarpaulin tied down. The next thing to do was to weight the other side. He looked about for usable rocks and found a few medium-sized ones which he lugged to the tarpaulin for its corner weights. Then he moved back to take stock of his work. It wasn’t much, he knew, but it was the best he could manage. Carefully he hunkered down and crawled back inside.

“Is it raining hard?” Thea watched him with overly bright eyes, eyes that shone with the glaze of fever. Her face was flushed and dry.

“Not very. It doesn’t seem like much of a storm,” he said, touching her face again. “Let me have a look at your shoulder. You’ll want the dressings changed, at least,” he recommended gently, pushing her back into the mound of their goods.

“Oh, I think it’s all right. You don’t have to bother,” she said dreamily.

“Humor me, Thea.” He was less gentle now, and the steely cast had come back into his eyes. She sighed and resigned herself to his ministrations. She made no protest when he began to unwrap her bandages, but as he lifted the packing away, her face grew drawn, her breath hissed through her clenched teeth, and her brittle assurances vanished.

Evan clenched his teeth when he saw her wound. The flesh around it was inflamed and the exposed tissues were a deep angry purple. The tissues smelled of decayed meat. Frantically Evan ran through the extent of their first aid supplies, then made a rapid search for the kit, finding it at last under a box of food. One of the foil-sealed packets informed him,
Lacerations: for topical applications to a clean wound. In case of infection or fever, consult a physician
.
Discard after July, 2016.
Evan held back a bitter laugh and tore the packet open, sprinkling the powder over the wound and into it. He hoped that the medicine was still potent enough to stop the spreading infection. Then, carefully, he repacked the wound with the last of their fresh gauze and bandaged it again.

“Now let me see your leg,” Thea demanded when he was through. “I should let you check me?’ Evan sensed that behind her banter there was fear, and with it, a realization that her wound was dangerous. He stripped off his pants and let her see the long red furrow down his thigh.

“It’s only on the surface,” he said. “Hurts like stink, but not very serious. I’ll put some medication on it, if you like. To be on the safe side.” He had every intention of doing so anyway.

“It isn’t bleeding any more,” she announced after peering at it for a moment, getting his wound into focus. “It looks pretty clean, too.”‘ Her hot, dry fingers touching his skin made him wish for a thermometer, to determine the heat of her fever, but they had none. They had found only one in the time they had traveled together, and that one had been broken.

“There’s some medicine here,” he said, handing her a tube. “Will you put it on for me?” He waited while she worked the cap, then inexpertly squeezed the white paste over the wound.

“I’m sorry,” she said as she worked. “I don’t seem to be doing this very well.” When she was through she fell back once more, breathing in irregular gulps. The little effort she had made had tired her out. Her eyes were distant and glazed and she did not truly see him when she looked at him. At last she brought him back into her thoughts, a frown of concentration showing between her brows as she stared at him. “Evan,” she said, enunciating with painful precision, “I think I’m really hurt. Really.”

That night she was fairly quiet, her sleep never deep, her dreams anxious, her hot flesh restless. But she did not waken or cry out and by morning her fever seemed to have dropped. Evan rigged a bed for her in the sledge and then started south, the rain beating on them from the west and slowing their progress through the rocky high country. Now the high lakes had taken on the slate color of Tahoe as the clouds returned their contaminants to the earth.

Toward the third evening as they neared Echo Summit, the rain let up, showing a sunset of spectacular colors, the sun shining an improbable green through its golden halo. The volcano to the north of them had been busy while the rain fell. Around them, in the burned-over desolation, Evan could see the crenellations of the crest of the Sierra Nevada, the vertebrae of granite that marked the highest ridge of the range. He knew that there had to be shelter for them somewhere on this imposing, rocky face. He thought desperately, trying to remember what he had seen on the maps at Squaw Valley. Surely he could recall the maps; he had studied them so carefully. As he set up the lean-to again for the night, he forced his mind back, seeking for details that had seemed so unimportant when the maps were in front of him.

“Evan,” Thea spoke in a cracked voice as he settled her in the lean-to. “I’m thirsty, Evan. I’m hot. Something’s wrong.”

He looked down at her ravaged face and wiped the short hair off her forehead. “I know, Thea.” He wanted to hold her, to make her well by wishing, but instead he began the horrible, necessary job of cleaning her wound.

This time, he thought with relief, the infection was no worse. It was also no better. The color was still bad and Thea moaned when the air touched it. As gently as he could, Evan probed it, fearing that the infection might be getting deeper. Thea cried out at this, trying feebly to pull away from him, from the nauseating pain he was giving her.

“No, Thea, no. Let me finish. Let me clean it. You’ll be better then, I promise.”

She quieted somewhat, leaning against the crook of his arm, hut flinching whenever she moved, and wailing thinly as he tied on clean bandages, taken now from their stores of torn sheets they had brought with them from the lookout station. He hoped the healing would start soon. There was no more gauze and now he was almost out of torn sheets.

Her fever rose that night, and the next day he did not try to move her, keeping her warmly wrapped in the lean-to while he bathed her face with their dwindling supply of water.

“What’s that?” she screamed, when, in the morning, the ground began to shake. Evan was awake and on his knees in a moment, looking wildly about as the earth tremor continued. With a sense of foreboding he crawled around the lean-to and looked north. There, rolling against the sky, was another, greater cloud, dark and bright at once, laced with lightning and the plume of clouds lit from below.

Thea was weeping, her jaw set and her hands moving nervously when Evan came back to her. She beat her left hand against the ground, as if trying to make the shaking stop. When she saw him, she tried to beat him off, fighting against the blankets and sleeping bag that engulfed her. She struck out at his face, but the blows were weak, hardly more than pats.

Tenderly he took her hand, speaking in a low, calm voice. “Thea. Thea. It’s me. It’s Evan. It’s Evan, Thea. Evan.”

Slowly her thrashing abated and some degree of recognition returned to her face. “Oh. Evan,” she said. “What was that? Did I dream it? The ground was moving. It moved. It moved. And it rumbled…”

“No. It wasn’t just the ground.” He sought for words, chafing the hand that lay in his. “One of the volcanoes has gone off,” he explained with difficulty. “Perhaps all the way off.”

She tried to keep her attention on what he was saying, watching his lips with a muzzy intensity that hurt him more than the welt on his leg. “That’s bad…I think you said…it was bad.”

“Yes, it’s bad.” He bent to kiss the palm of her hand, and felt the dry heat on his lips. “I’m sorry, Thea. I know it isn’t wise, but we have to move on. It isn’t going to be safe up here, not for a while.”

She made an effort to rise. “I’ll help you pack,” she began, then gasped and fell back. “I can’t…I can’t…why…”

Carefully he hushed her, then set about preparing the sledge to travel once again. Now he was worried about rock slides, and the deeper fear that the cold would be on them again sooner than he thought, and the air would be more harmful than it had been only a few days ago.

When they climbed over the rubble of Echo Summit, Thea was delirious. Between her fever and the garish colors in the air, Evan paid little attention to what was going on around them.

And because if these things, it was quite by accident that two days later, Evan found the road to Lake Kirkwood. It was almost dark, and the faint afterglow shone blue and yellow-green in the west. The road, which he had found earlier that day, had been in poor repair for nearly two decades and now had cracked into uneven chunks, destroyed by the earth tremor. Evan hated it and only took it because not even the sturdiest of the Pirates’ vans could drive on it without mishap. The weight of the sled had become intolerable to him, and he moved drunkenly as he hauled this burden over the ruined road. Lack of sleep and food had taken a fearsome toll of him. He did not think clearly, his eyes sometimes played tricks on him, and his muscles felt as if they were trying to unhook themselves from his tendons and bones.

Then there was another road, just off the side on the right, a badly tarred strip leading down the side of the mountain into a pocket tucked away in the granite front of the Sierra. He stopped walking and looked at it stupidly, his mind hardly working. He knew they had to find protection. Through the cotton batting of exhaustion, he drove that thought home. They had to find protection. There was another road, more broken than the one he had chosen, and he took almost an hour to make up his mind about it. At last he decided that the worst that would happen would he that they would be trapped in the place at the bottom of the road. This no longer worried him, for the concealment it offered was more attractive than the risk of being trapped in the stone basin. With a lurch he dragged the sledge off the crumbling two-lane way, onto the old side road.