Gone to Ground (4 page)

6

Two sets of wide, terrified green eyes met his as he stood in t
he doorway surveying the room. The woman’s oval face, leached of all color under her summer tan, took on a grayish tint, as though she’d aged twenty years in twenty seconds. The boy beside her flushed, his mouth open as if to protest. The woman’s hand rested on his shoulder, halting his movement and voice.

For one second... two... a thousand, there was silence, then in a soft voice robbed of all color she asked, “Who are you?”

When he didn’t answer her immediately, but stood in the doorway as still as a statue, watching them, gun in hand, she spoke again, this time in a stronger voice, though with no less fear.

“How did you find us?”

“Are you the only two here?” the man asked, even though he was sure he knew the answer. He was curious to see if she would lie and try and convince him that help was only a short distance away, and would be home at any time.

The two plates on the side of the sink, the two glasses beside them, the two coats hanging on nails beside the door, and the two pairs of boots sitting underneath them all spoke of only two people being in residence. There was no indication anywhere in the front room that anyone else was living there.

The woman watched his eyes roam around the room, resting here and there. Her gaze followed his, and apparently she realized that it would be useless to try and prevaricate.

“Yes, there’s just my son and me. What are you going to do with us?”

“Where are your guns?” He’d already seen one rifle on a rack near the door, but surely the woman couldn’t be such a greenhorn that she only had one gun. He saw her drop her head slightly and knew that it was true. Only one gun, and she didn’t even keep it nearby. Unbelievable.

“That’s the only one. There by the door.”

The man relaxed marginally, but didn’t let his guard down completely. Just because she didn’t have a gun didn’t mean she wasn’t dangerous. The proverbs of a mother bear protecting her young were accurate. There was nothing more cunning or more dangerous.

He stepped further into the room and closed the door behind him, shutting out the soft night sounds of crickets and frogs. Again he surveyed the room. Keeping the pair in sight he moved around the living space, turning as he went so that they were never behind his back. As he reached each of the four doors at the back of the main room, he opened them, and using a small pocket flashlight, quickly surveyed the interiors.

These rooms, closer to the actual wall of the canyon and tucked further back underneath the overhang, were windowless, side walls made of the same material as the outer wall of the house, but with a solid rock back wall and ceiling. The first three rooms were bedrooms, two evidently occupied and one used as a storage room, with bundles piled on the two double bunk beds. The fourth door hid a pantry which was pitifully empty, testifying to the hard work the pair was required to go through just to keep themselves fed.

As he moved around the room, the woman and her son swivelled in their seats, keeping him in sight, but they remained silent, the woman’s hand still resting on her son’s shoulder. Finally he returned to his original position near the door and looked directly at them again.

In the wordless stretch while he explored the house the woman had evidently regained some measure of her composure. Her body was still tense, but she met his stare directly. Her face was still ghostly pale but her gaze held a degree of challenge which surprised him. Her hand moved down from her son’s shoulder to the table in front of her. Beside her the boy still looked terrified, his face so much like his mother’s. The same honey gold hair, the same wide bottle green eyes, the same smooth, tanned skin. But where the mother had an oval face, and a long thin neck, the boy showed evidence of a more masculine structure to come with age. His chin was more squarely shaped, neck stockier, his shoulders already beginning to take on the broadness that would come with his future growth.

The pair sat still while the man studied them, tolerating his examination without protest though he could see a rising anger in the woman’s eyes. He was impressed at how quickly she regained command of herself after the surprise of his entrance. She must have thought she was well beyond the reach of the Enforcers, and to have him show up on her doorstep had to have rocked her carefully tended belief that they had escaped.

Finally, when the suspense, fed to ripeness by the silence and menacing appearance of the man, was no longer bearable, the woman spoke.

“I asked who you are.” Soft voice, a little husky. Tremors of fear under control.

“O’Reilly,” said the man, “James O’Reilly,” and he felt an unexpected frisson run though his body at the sound of his own name on his lips. It had been many weeks since he’d thought of himself as “O’Reilly” and even longer since he’d thought of himself by his full name. In many ways his journey to Hideaway had been much more than physical.

He’d thought that Jim O’Reilly had died with Sarah and Kay-Tee, back before the influenza, before the APZs and the secret.
That
O’Reilly had died in a car crash one night in January, four years ago, when a drunk driver lost control of his car and ran the silver Toyota Camry off the road where it plunged over a cliff to explode in flames at the bottom.
That
O’Reilly hadn’t stood a chance, although he’d been sixty miles away at the time of the accident.

At least he’d thought that Jim O’Reilly died. But then there was that band of ghosts up by Oatman.

He’d believed in the governmental line that ghosts were traitors and they needed to be rounded up or terminated. But
that
band of ghosts was just a couple of families, trying to make it on their own. One was a little girl of ten or so. The squad destroyed them nonetheless. That night haunted him.

Then, before he had a chance to repair the cracks in his emotional fortress, he met that girl, Christina, at the Laughlin APZ, where he’d been assigned after balking and defying orders on the night of the “exorcism,” the term the Enforcers gave their anti-ghost operations.

This girl was so smart, so brave. Even though she had brown hair and blue eyes, he saw in her his flame haired, green eyed ten-year-old Kay-Tee, questioning everything, wanting to know how everything worked, and carrying an undying faith in the invincibility of her father. In meeting Christina, the Jim O’Reilly he’d thought dead and buried, and whom he really didn’t want to reincarnate, started to reemerge anyway. Now, back in Hideaway, in the land where he grew up,
that
Jim O’Reilly was ready to take back his life.

“Okay, Mr. O’Reilly,” said the woman, now completely in control of herself. Afraid, yes, but unbelievably in control. A flush stained her cheek and her green eyes glittered in defiance, head held rigidly upright on her slender neck. “It’s obvious that you’re an Enforcer, unless you attacked one and stole his shirt and weapon. Are you here to take us in to the APZ? I warn you, we worked too hard to get here. Unless you have a lot more help out there than it appears, you’ll have trouble getting us to leave with you.

“Really,” the woman continued, “It would make much more sense to leave us here. After all, the APZs are crowded, supplies are short, and we’re not interfering with anyone out here. What does it matter if we’re living here on our own.” Her words began to speed up as if to fill in the vacuum left by his silence.

Suddenly, he made his decision, set his rifle on the table next to the door, walked over and pulled out a chair at the table across from the pair. Seated, he placed both hands on the table and looked both the woman, who’d grown silent when he made his move, and the boy in the eyes, one at a time.

“You have nothing to worry about. I don’t intend to do anything with you.”

“Oh, yeah?” replied the woman, looking quickly at her son then back at O’Reilly, eyes narrowed. “Then may I ask why you were standing in my doorway a moment ago, holding a gun and looking as though you were about to call the wrath of the so-called government down upon our heads?”

“No, I know how it looks, but I’m not an Enforcer any longer. I’ve left that life and I want nothing more than to be left in peace.”

“Well, don’t let us stop you,” she replied acerbically. “Enjoy your trip to wherever it was you were heading. It was a pleasure meeting you... and your gun.” There was a snort of strangled laughter from the boy, which earned him a glare from his mother. The man took his eyes from the woman’s face for a second and glanced at the boy whose features had taken on a redder hue. He’d clapped his hand over his mouth as though trying to hold in either more laughter, or an additional comment.

“Actually,” O’Reilly said, attempting a smile that felt foreign to his face, “this was where I was heading. Hideaway Camp. What I’d like to know is who are you and how did you and your son find this place? It’s not exactly in the guidebooks of five star resorts in Arizona.”

There was a brief silence as the woman pondered the wisdom of revealing their names, which was interrupted by the boy.

“I’m Mark Langton.”

“Mark ...,” the woman started.

“And this is my mother Maggie Langton. She writes stories for magazines and stuff and learned...”

“Mark!”

“What, Mom?”

“I’m not sure how much I trust Mr. O’Reilly, or how much we should be telling him about ourselves,” the woman, whose name was apparently Maggie, stated, looking over O’Reilly again, obviously appraising the expression she found on his face and trying to decide whether or not he was telling the truth.

“I can assure you that I’m being honest to you when I say that I’m not here to cause you any trouble. But I’m not just passing through,” he asserted quietly, in that soft gravely voice that drew so much attention.

“Wait just a minute...,” Maggie started to bluster.

“I was brought up around here. I spent a great deal of time in this camp as a child, and I headed here with the intention of making it my home.” He smiled again at her and the boy.

“When I saw that someone was already here, I had to rethink my plan a bit, since I figured I’d be out here on my own, but I’d guess that there’s room for three. It might even make things easier, sharing the work and all.”

He could see Maggie gritting her teeth, as though the taste of what he said was bitter beyond belief. He waited for her next shot, figuring that she wouldn’t give in that easily.

“Mark,” the woman finally said, “Would you please go out and check on Jenny and Lizzie.”

“But...”

“Mark, I need to talk to Mr. O’Reilly alone for awhile and I’d like you to go out and make sure that Jenny and Lizzie are okay. Just hang out in the barn until I call you.”

“Alright, I guess,” Mark hesitated, then started to get up from his seat and head for the door.

“Mark,” O’Reilly said.

Mark turned back, “Yeah?”

“My horses are over behind the barn, tied to the hitching rail. Would you be so good as to take them in, unsaddle them and turn them into that side pen with water while you’re out there?” Then a “Wait” to the woman as she started to interrupt.

Mark hesitated, looked at his mother, and then as she subsided into her seat, face grim, he nodded. “Okay, Mr. O’Reilly. Wha... what should I do with your stuff?”

“Just leave it in the barn, I’ll come out and get it later.”

With another look at his mother, and a whistle to the dogs, Mark opened the door and headed out into the moonlit night.

Once Mark was gone, and the door was shut behind him, O’Reilly turned back to the woman. “What was it that you wanted to say without the boy?”

“I’m going to be straight with you,” Maggie said, eyes unflinching and chin uplifted, giving her whole face a defiant demeanor. “It has been hard here. Mark and I don’t have a lot of experience in this ‘living off the land’ thing, but if you think you’re going to move in here and take advantage of the work we’ve done, and collect some fringe benefits on the side, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“The fact is, lady...” he could see her start to rise again to the bait of his sarcastic use of the word “lady.”

“The fact is, lady, it’s perfectly obvious, even in the short time I’ve been watching, that you and the boy don’t have the foggiest idea how to make a living out here.” He paused, looking on as Maggie struggled with her temper.

“Your animals are fed adequately for now, but you’re putting too many cows in a pasture that won’t hold them for long. The horses’ feet are in desperate need of attention. You can’t just put shoes on a horse and leave them, so I’m guessing that you took those animals from someone who was dead, and brought them out here, not realizing that the shoes aren’t a permanent addition.

“I’ve watched you ride for several days, now, and how you’ve managed to avoid being killed, I’ll never know. Hell, I figure even if you make it through the summer down here, the winter will put an end to that. You’ve got very little food in your pantry...”

“We’ll have the beef from the cows! And the milk! And the garden!” she interrupted sharply.

“Yeah, there’s the garden, and you actually might be one of those women who knows how to put up food without creating a botulism farm. And, you’ve got the beef, if you actually know how to use that gun, and to dress out the meat. But as far as milk goes, were you aware that cow of yours needs to be bred again and have a calf to keep milking? No? I didn’t think so,” he said seeing the look of surprise on her face.