The Raven's Gift - Don Rearden [70]
John replied, “When I was a kid my grandpa told me that in the wilderness people died of shame and guilt. I’m not going to die out here of shame or guilt.”
“I wish I could pretend I didn’t feel bad, too,” she said.
“Pretend? What do you want me to say? Yes, it haunts me. Every breath I take hurts. Every time I blink and I’m still alive, I ask why. Why me? Why this place? Every sunrise seems unfair and wrong. And every night is purgatory revisited. Is that what you wanted me to say?” he asked. “Is it?”
The girl lowered her face to the rifle sitting in her lap. “Well?” he asked again. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“No,” she said softly. “That doesn’t sound like guilt at all.”
“No? What does it sound like, then?” he asked, a flash of anger warming his face.
She looked up at him. Her white eyes staring at him—through him. “Selfish,” she said, her voice sad, but full of defiance, “you sound selfish.”
He reeled around and began pulling, the cold surrounding him, pressing against his skin, chilling his muscles, slowing him, grinding him into the ice beneath his frozen feet.
25
The three of them headed north from the tall radar tower and turned east, skirting the houses at the edge of town. To the north the land flattened out into an unforgiving expanse of frosted tundra and lakes. The unabated wind blew the snow elsewhere, leaving them with hummocks and frozen clumps of moss to contend with. They weren’t leaving tracks, but they made almost no progress until they hit a slight ridge where wind had packed the snow hard.
The old woman had said little since they left the snow cave. He didn’t know if she was worried, or just mad at him. She protested his decision to explore what was left of the town, but since the tower and his mention of the light, he noticed her pace had quickened. She held the 20-gauge out in front of her as if a ptarmigan might fly up in front of them, or worse.
“Where we going to sleep tonight?” the girl asked.
The old woman pointed toward the darkening sky behind them. “We’re going to need somewhere protected,” she said. “Maybe it’s going to get real windy, and bad cold. Least the snow will cover our tracks.”
“How do you know that?” he asked.
“It’s still now. See those high, thin clouds over there? Wind is coming.” She stopped walking and turned to him. “What do you expect to find?” she asked.
He shrugged and looked out over the town. He hoped no one was watching the horizon because he wasn’t doing a very good job of keeping below the skyline.
“We can keep going straight across here,” she said. “The river comes back around and past town. We can shortcut. We’ll camp in the brush by the tall bluffs, and then we won’t have to go into that bum town.”
“Maybe you two should go. I’ll check out town, and then come find you.”
“No,” the girl said. “I don’t want you to leave us.”
He pulled the rope to the sled tight. “Look,” he said to them both, “I need to know what the deal with the light is, maybe see if I can find some snowshoes, skis, or a sled. Anything to make travel easier. If it’s bad in town, we’ll get out. We’ll head that way and meet at the bluffs. Okay? Maybe we can find something out about the kids here.”
“If it’s bad, next time you’ll listen to what I have to say,” the old woman said.
THE DOOR TO THE FIRST BLACKHAWK opened and a man in a Santa Claus suit shouted and waved to the villagers gathered at the edge of the mechanical blizzard settling around the two choppers. The door on the other aircraft slid open and two Anchorage-based news camera crews poured out, followed by unarmed National Guard troops carrying cases of Florida oranges, presents, and of all things, ice cream.
“I love it when Santa brings us fresh fruit,” Carl said with a smile.
“They do this every year?” Anna asked. She stood beside John, her arms folded around Nina, her new constant companion.
Carl nodded. “But I wish this year he was flying with reindeer. I could use some fresh meat.”
“Don’t say that in front of Nina!” Anna shouted over the chopper