Novel 1986 - Last Of The Breed (v5.0) (18 page)

M
ILES AWAY TO the south and east a heavy truck rolled through the night. The road was bad, filled with potholes and unexpected swells or breaks in the surfacing. Permafrost made the building of roads difficult, their maintenance even harder.

It was dark in the cab, only the faint light from the instrument panel picking up highlights on their faces and throwing cheeks and eyes into black shadows.

“I can only take you to Zavitinsk this time,” the driver was saying, “and I can pick you up in six days’ time when I am on my way back.”

“That will be all right,” Zhikarev said. “I will pay as usual. Half when you let me off in Zavitinsk and half when you get me back to Aldan.”

“Fine! I got the same from Potanin when I took him to Yakutsk.”

Zhikarev thought he would faint. His heart seemed to miss a beat, and it was a moment before he caught his breath. “Potanin? You took Lieutenant Potanin to Yakutsk?”

“First leave he’s had in two years. He needed rest. That border watch is hard, hard! No telling what those Chinese will do.” The driver looked around at him. “Hey! Are you all right?”

“I’m all right.” Zhikarev drew a slow, hopeless breath. “Who took his place?”

“Lieutenant Baransky. No nonsense about him! He’s a cold fish! Goes by the book!” The driver glanced at Zhikarev. “If you have any idea of dealing across the river, forget it.”

Zhikarev leaned back against the seat. His heart beat slowly, heavily. He had come all this way! And back in Aldan—

Chapter 18

H
UDDLED OVER HIS fire, Joe Mack took out the map he had stolen in the railroad camp. It was far too general for day-to-day use, but enabled him to get the large picture of what he was attempting.

His problem was one that must be faced each morning, and as his grandfather used to say, “sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.” Each day must be approached as a unit; each day must be lived with care; and if this was done, the procession of days would turn out all right.

Tomorrow must be a shadow at the back of his thinking, something of which he must think while living out today.

He must try to get other, more detailed maps. He must try to think out his route while being ready to adapt to any change of plan. He must smoke and dry meat so he could move rapidly once on the way.

Before he left here, he must have a series of goals in mind, each one to be mentally checked off when he reached it. Above all, he must be prepared to move on the instant, from here or from anywhere he stopped. He could not afford to become emotionally involved…now why did he think of that?

He shook his head to clear the thought. He was not involved, and it was not likely he would be. Not here, not in Siberia.

He knew they were searching for him, and he knew they were thorough. He knew that at first the search had been quick but haphazard, for in the beginning there had been no doubt he would be recaptured at once. Those first few days had seen them sweeping the area where he should have been. He had not been there because he had traveled too fast and had then taken to the river. Above all, he had stayed in wild country. Now the search would be slow, painstaking and would use every possible angle.

He believed he was now in an area where he would not be expected to be. He did not believe they had any idea where he was and hoped they did not. Yet there was doubt. Suppose they did know? That he must consider.

Each day he hunted; each night he dried meat. He delivered meat to the village and kept them living better than ever before. Constantly, he was told that, and because of that most of them wanted him to stay, at least until spring.

Again and again he went to the house of Stephan Baronas, and each night he learned a little Russian. He could ask simple questions now and was beginning to form sentences. His knowledge was increasing, and it was possible even now that he could get along, for there were many ethnic groups in Siberia, many of whom had little if any Russian. Each had its own tongue, and they spoke Russian, if at all, only as a foreign language.

He now had more than fifty pounds of meat, dried and smoked, and in the intense cold there was no question but that it would keep.

His plan was to follow down the Gonam River to where it met the Uchur, cross that river and head across country to the Maya and then to the Udoma, and follow it upstream and then cross the mountains to the Kolyma. It was but a general plan, and the chances of keeping to it were slight, yet it was that route or something akin to it that he must follow.

The distance he must cover was incredible, but if he was lucky, part of it could be done floating on rivers. That was an outside chance and a risk. There was something else he must consider, yet he shied from it. He might have to spend another winter before he could escape.

No use to worry about that. He must face immediate problems. He needed clothing.

He needed Russian clothing of the kind worn in Siberia. His present condition would immediately attract attention, something he did not want. Sooner or later a time was sure to come when he would have to mingle with people, and he must look as they did. His dark skin was not unusual here. The Yakuts, the Tungus, the Golds, and the Buriats were all as dark as he and some darker.

Meanwhile he prepared a way in case of flight. Hiking through the dense forest he found a way that was relatively free of obstacles, one he could run over if need be. In his mind he charted every move, every turn, every step he might take. The chance that he might have to escape over this route was slight. No one could guess where he might be when flight became necessary, but if it happened close to the village or at night from his hideout, he would have the route clearly in mind.

Many miles away, near the head of the Ningam River, he prepared an emergency hideout. The region was isolated, and there was much game which he did not hunt. He might need it at a later time. He found a place where several blown-down trees had lodged in the branches of their neighbors. One, a great spruce, had heavy branches that swept the ground. Under it grew a smaller spruce with a skirt of branches that touched the ground also. Other trees had fallen in such a way that any approach was difficult and it looked like just what it was, a tangle of brush and fallen trees.

Under it he prepared a hideout that was perfectly concealed. Here, too, he planned a way in and another way out, if need be. Heavy growth overhead and the recently fallen spruce provided perfect cover. He gathered fuel and stacked it around in sheltered places, but in such a way that it could have fallen where it lay.

If he had to escape suddenly with nothing but what he wore, he could find shelter here. When time came for him to leave on his escape, he could stop the first night in this place.

That night in the Baronas cabin he said, “I must have some clothing. Is there anyone here who can make it?”

“All of us, after a fashion,” Baronas said, “but not the things you need. They will have to be purchased.”

“You have connections?”

“Of course, but you are larger than any of us but Peshkov, and he is broader in the body than you.” He paused, sipping tea. “You must realize that those who are willing to supply us secretly would be immediately alert if they suspected you had come among us. We are considered Russian even if fugitives. You would be an enemy.”

“Clothing is not easily obtained. It means standing in line, waiting,” Natalya said. “That would be impossible. It is hard enough for any citizens to buy the clothes they need. There is never enough.”

She looked at him thoughtfully. “I could make you a shirt.”

“It would help,” Joe Mack said. “Clothing I can make, but not to pass in a town or city. The clothing I make is for the forest. In a city it would be noticed at once.”

“Not so much as you might think,” Baronas said. “In Siberia, people wear whatever they have. You dress like some of the Ostyaks. The Ostyaks,” he added, “are hunters, too. And along the rivers they are fishermen.”

“I will make you a shirt,” Natalya repeated. “I have some cloth.” She left the room.

Baronas looked up at him, smiling faintly. “Do you realize what that means, my friend? Such material is difficult to obtain.”

“She must not do it,” Joe Mack said. “I can get along.”

“Perhaps. You do not realize how fortunate you have been. You have not been seen. If you were seen, you would be recognized at once for what you are, a stranger and a fugitive. There are spies everywhere, but in your case everyone is a spy.

“To report you or to capture you would put one in a position to ask favors. Your friend Colonel Zamatev, for example, could arrange many benefits for someone who led them to your capture, so it would not only be a duty to turn you in, it could be profitable.

“The shirt,” he added, “would help. It would make you look more Russian.”

“I must find a way to get clothing,” Joe Mack said. “Before spring comes I must have a coat and pants.”

Baronas shook his head. “Impossible! And,” he added, “even those who look to you for meat would be fiercely jealous if you obtained clothing they cannot get.”

“Nevertheless—”

“I know.” Baronas shrugged. “We would help you all we can. But we all need clothing. Natalya needs clothing, as do I. It is hard for anyone, but for us who live in the forest it is almost impossible. Is it so easy, then, to have clothing in America?”

“You have only to buy it. There are many shops and tailors as well. If one has the money it is no problem.”

“And the money?”

“Most of us work at something. We have our poor, of course. Our world is changing, as is yours, and new skills are demanded, more training, more education. Trades that once ensured a man of a good living for his family are good no longer.

“When my father was a boy he had a friend who wanted to become a steam engineer. Most of the threshing machines were steam in those days and running them paid well. A few years later, threshing machines were run by gasoline tractors. Now much of that has changed, too.

“Men used to follow the harvest of grain from Texas to Canada, shucking wheat, threshing it. Now combines do it all, and there is no need for all that labor. Once it was not only a way to make a living, but it was an adventure for a young man. All that is gone.”

“Are there many who live by trapping, as you do?”

“Trapping? Very few. Some men who live close to wild country, of course, but mostly it is done by boys earning money for school. Trapping is no longer important in America. Once there were many beaver, and beaver hats were in vogue. The style changed to silk hats, and the price for beaver pelts fell drastically. Trappers had to find another way to make a living.”

“It is the same everywhere,” Baronas commented. “To survive one must adapt.”

Natalya returned to the room and knelt by the fire, adding some sticks. She poured tea for them and sat on the edge of the hearth.

Joe Mack listened to the night. If there were footsteps he would hear them. “They will look for me,” he warned, “and eventually they will find this place. I would not wish to bring trouble to you.”

“We have always known they would find us one day. They have not simply because they have not cared. We have done no harm, we do not wish to do harm.”

“What will they do if they find you?”

Baronas shrugged. “Perhaps to a labor camp. If they think we are trouble enough, to one of the extermination camps, working in uranium mines, cleaning the nozzles of atomic-submarines. They always know what to do.”

“And you?” Natalya asked. “How did you come to be here?”

He glanced at her. “I was a major in the Air Force, but I was flying experimental aircraft. Testing them, if you will. They knew this, of course. They believed I might cooperate and tell what they wished to know. One of the planes I was to test was planned to operate under extreme Arctic conditions, so I was becoming acclimatized. Suddenly, out over the Bering Sea my radio would not work. I was forced down at sea and taken prisoner. Obviously it was neatly planned and carefully orchestrated. The details are not important.”

“And if you return to America?”

He shrugged. “I shall leave the Air Force. What I shall have to do they might understand but could not condone. It is better that I am a free agent.”

She looked at him thoughtfully. He talked easily enough, and he was friendly, but there was something different about him. Often he was quiet for long periods and he smiled rarely. She was drawn to him and yet a little frightened by him.

“I had friends who migrated to America,” Baronas said. “Some went for the greater freedom, some in hopes of becoming wealthy and returning with money. Only one of them ever came back and he only to visit.”

“My home was in the mountains,” Joe Mack said, “very remote. It was a very large house at the end of a meadow and with a magnificent view, but it was built into the mountain and built of rocks found close by. We had huge fireplaces and we burned down-wood, like in the forest around here. There were many Indian rugs.

“My grandfather, who was a Scotsman, built the house with the help of some men he hired. There was no road to the place, only narrow trails. Anything brought from the outside came on packhorses. Later, I flew home several times in a helicopter.

“It was a wild, lovely country and I loved it. I shall go back there again. From our wide porch we could look into the neighboring state of Washington, and off to the north was Canada.”

“It sounds wonderful!” Natalya said. “It would be good to live in a real house again, even one so remote.”

“It did not seem remote to us. It was our world, and only the seasons changed. Not far from our house there was a bunkhouse for those who worked for us. They were Indians.”

“Sioux?”

“No, that was not Sioux country. It had never been. We had anywhere from four to six Indians working for us, and they were usually Kutenai or Nez Percé. After a while my father hired a couple of Basque sheepherders, and they are still with us, as are the Indians.”

“Were there any towns close by? Where there were people?”