The Raven's Gift - Don Rearden [88]
“The hunter,” Red said, in a half statement, half question.
John rested his head in his hands. “She kept talking about some man she thought she saw. Someone in all white, travelling downriver.”
“Not an outcast. Someone else,” the girl added. “Tell him about the hunter, John.”
“It’s probably nothing. We cut some ski tracks at the mouth of the Johnson River.”
“Ski tracks? Like cross-country skis?” Red bit at his lip and stood up. He turned to the teapot and pressed his hand against the metal to see if the water was still warm. He turned the burner on and sat back down. “I don’t like that news. Not one bit,” he said. “Ski tracks? Are you sure? Not a dogsled or something?”
John nodded and took a drink of water and then reached over and took Rayna’s right hand. He opened her fingers and slid the spoon between them. He lifted her hand and guided the spoon into the curry broth. She didn’t resist as he brought her hand to her lips. She opened, and sipped the warm curry. He let go and she slowly dipped her spoon and began feeding herself.
“I want to check out what’s here in town. See if I can salvage anything that will help us head upriver. Something to make travel a little easier.”
“To help us find my cousins and the other kids,” Rayna said. “And Maggie,” she added.
“What cousins are you looking for?” Red asked.
“In Kuigpak, most of the kids disappeared. My cousins. I think they are still alive somewhere. I’m going to find them.”
Red looked at John and John lifted a finger to his lips so that Red knew the girl didn’t understand there were no cousins, no survivors.
“We’re going for help first,” John said. “We need to get help.”
“Well, I can help you with that conundrum. There’s nothing worth salvaging in this town. And no reason to head upriver.”
“What do you mean?”
“Bethel’s been picked clean. You’ve got more food on that sled than you’ll find in this whole region. As far as fuel, snow machines— whatever you’re hoping to find for transport, you’ve got to be crazy to think you’re the first one to have looked. I can tell you that first hand. And then there’s the others. Two groups of them so far as I can tell. Not sure how they’re getting by, not sure I want to know. Bethel’s version of her outcasts. They pretty much took over town, month or so after the bug hit bad, but I don’t know what’s become of them. Bad has a way of burning itself out.”
“What about heading upriver? Seems like the only way to go.”
“Way to go? Boy, I’ll say.” Red stood up and collected John’s bowl. “Way to die, maybe.” He went to the pot and divvied up the remaining chicken and curry and handed his bowl back. He poured a scoop into Rayna’s dish.
“There’s chicken in there—you can use your hands for that leg,” he said to her. “It’s on the right side of your bowl.”
“Thanks,” she said. “It’s yummy. It’s really good, Red. I never thought I would eat real food again.”
Red sat back down and sipped a spoonful and then licked his lips.
“You’re talking about travelling a helluva long ways, through some damned unforgiving land, for what? To find out if the rest of the world went to shit, too? Let me guess. Your plan is to make it to McGrath, then cut across the Iditarod Trail and head east through the mountains to Anchorage, the cradle of civili-fargin-zation. How long has it taken you to get this far? What, thirty or forty miles?”
“A while.”
Red nodded. “A while, right. How long do you think it will take you to just get to McGrath, five hundred some miles? And with that heavy food supply and no skis or snowshoes? No trail? Not to mention the snow gets deeper and the ice gets thinner each step that direction. Best bet is to stick here with me. If there is a hunter out there, you’re safest here, with me.”
The strange man stared across the table at him. John shifted in his chair and turned his eyes toward what was left in his bowl. He could feel Red’s gaze still on him.
“I don’t mean to take away your hope, John,” Red said. “But your plan ain’t in the least bit realistic—especially not when you’re already