Authors: Sharon Sala
* * *
The bear had managed to kill a small doe that morning, which had given it a brief burst of strength that had carried it nearly two miles farther down the creek. But the wound in its hip was like a sore tooth—the pain never went away. And it was hungry again. By the time it was dark, the bear had stopped.
As it sat, the water was just deep enough to wash over the infected wound and work a bit of medicinal magic. The cold, swiftly moving water both numbed the pain and flushed the running pus from the still-open flesh.
An owl hooted from a nearby tree.
The bear uttered a soft woof.
The owl took flight.
The bear sniffed the air, sensing a change in the weather.
Clouds were gathering to the southwest. A storm would blow through before morning. Minutes passed as the forest came alive with the creatures of the night.
Somewhere off in the distance, a dog howled. The bear lifted its head and sniffed the air again—anxiously this time. Nearby, a calf had become separated from its mother and bawled in a long, plaintive cry. Moments later, the cow answered back.
The bear’s belly was empty. The calf was near. Without hesitation, it stood up, waded to the creek bank and, grunting in pain as it climbed up and out, disappeared into the dark.
The calf was still bawling for its mother cow.
Then, all of a sudden, a roar ripped through the night, sending small animals scurrying into hiding and the night birds into flight. The calf’s crying shifted from plaintive to an indescribable sound of terror and pain.
Nearby, a dog began to bark.
The mama cow was bawling as she ran, but there was no longer an answer from her baby.
The bear was already dragging the calf’s carcass into the woods. It would gorge, then find a place to sleep off its meal.
The clouds continued to gather. A couple of hours later the storm moved in. Lightning could be seen in the distance, followed by the distant sound of thunder.
The bear didn’t care. It was holed up in a small niche on the side of the mountain just large enough to shelter it from the storm, asleep with a full belly and a rising fever.
* * *
Mariah’s sleep had been fitful at best, and when the sound of thunder suddenly blasted over the cabin, she woke up screaming. She rolled out of bed, bumped her lip on the floor and tasted blood, which just added to the delusion that they were being bombed.
“Incoming! Incoming! Get down! Get down!” she shouted, crawling on her belly, trying to find her gun.
The shaft of lightning that tore through the darkness was the flash as the shell exploded. The rush of wind as the storm front hit was the blast of impact. Corporal Conrad was under attack without a gun.
* * *
Quinn had been awake for nearly half an hour. He’d heard the storm coming long before it hit and had been lying in bed, frustrated by the fact that whatever bear sign might have been left behind was going to be washed away by the oncoming rain. It felt as if the weather and the mountain were conspiring against them.
Even though he’d known the storm was coming, he jumped when the first blast of thunder rattled the windows. The moment he heard Mariah scream, he knew what was happening, but before he could get the light on in the loft and get downstairs, she was already on her belly, crawling across the living room floor.
Quinn turned on the lights, calling her name as he ran.
“Mariah! I’m here, I’m here.”
She was halfway under the sofa bed when he reached her. But in her mind the hand on her leg belonged to an insurgent. Despite her injured leg, she kicked and fought with all the strength she had, certain she was about to be captured.
Quinn rolled sideways just before her foot caught him on the chin and then stopped. Fighting with her wasn’t going to pull her out of this. Instead he grabbed the remote and turned on the television, frantically searching for something that was the opposite of what was going on inside her head. He landed on the channel carrying classic TV reruns and found
I Love Lucy.
He upped the volume until the laugh track and Lucy’s antics drowned out the sound of thunder and lightning, then settled back against the wall with his heart in his throat, waiting for her sanity to return.
* * *
Mariah would have been screaming, but she was shaking so hard she couldn’t breathe. In her mind she’d gone from hiding to being trapped under debris, just like she’d been when she was injured. The pain in her head was as real as it had been the day she was wounded, and she could feel the blood running down her leg and soaking into her uniform.
And then she heard laughing.
It didn’t fit the scenario. She pushed frantically against the weight on her back, trying to get herself free.
The laughter persisted, along with the sound of a woman’s voice. Maybe help was at hand.
“I’m here! Help me!” she cried.
The moment Quinn heard that, he was on his feet. He grabbed the end of the pullout bed and flipped it up, folding it back into the sofa, then lifted Mariah off the floor and into his arms.
“Honey, it’s me. It’s Quinn. You’re okay. Look at me, look at me.”
The desert morphed into the interior of Quinn’s cabin, the artillery fire into thunder and lightning. She touched her head, then moaned. All she could feel was the scar.
“Oh, my God,” she mumbled, and then pulled out of his arms and staggered to the chair where she curled up into a ball and, still shaking, hid her face against her knees.
Quinn sighed. He knew just how she felt. Disoriented. Crazy. Lost. All of the above.
He turned the sofa back into a bed and straightened the covers, then took off one blanket and draped it over her without saying a word.
Mariah felt the weight of the blanket and pulled it close, but she wouldn’t look up—
couldn’t
look up. The laughter was still rolling through the room, and it made no sense. None of this was funny.
Quinn turned off the television. The wind was blowing rain against the windows and hammering it onto the deck. Lightning flashed. The sky belched thunder.
“Mariah?”
She shook her head, denying him an answer.
It didn’t stop Quinn from saying what he needed to say. “This happened to me at least twice a day for the first year after I came back. I still have my moments. I think I always will, although it’s getting easier to rein it in.”
She shuddered. He’d been out over three years and this was still going on? She wanted to die.
“Talk to me, honey,” he said softly.
Mariah pulled the blanket all the way over her head.
Quinn sighed. He wasn’t a shrink. He didn’t know what else to say or do.
Lightning struck, lighting up the meadow in a flash of white so bright it was momentarily blinding. The thunder was so loud he could feel it in his bones. He’d grown up on the mountain. He knew what storms were like here. But Mariah was a city girl. Granted, she was tough and street-smart, but it took more than guts to face what sounded like the wrath of God.
He turned the television back on but lowered the sound so that it was playing in the background, then stretched out on the bed near her chair—just in case.
The faint scent of her shampoo was on the pillow beneath his head. He bunched it up so that he would have a better view of the chair where she’d taken refuge and remembered being in the same frame of mind. Nothing any of his family could do had helped, even though they’d been desperate to make things better. He had to remember that. She had withdrawn to recover, not to reject him. And if she was anything like he’d been, she would not want to be reminded of this later.
Time passed, as did the storm. Within an hour the cabin was quiet except for the gentle sound of rain still falling.
Quinn had fallen asleep on the bed with the lights in his eyes and the television playing.
Mariah had made herself as small a target as she could and was still curled up in the chair. She’d pulled the blanket from her head but had been unable to sleep. Instead she’d watched Quinn lie there with one arm flung out on the bed beside him and the other over his head, and wished she’d never come. The humiliation of coming undone like this was hard to get past. It had happened in the hospital, but there she hadn’t been the only one having flashbacks.
Here, there were no nurses running interference with sedation, or shrinks trying to help you get through it by “sharing your feelings.” Still, she knew that if they’d released her from Fort Campbell with nowhere to go and she’d freaked like this on a city street somewhere, the authorities would have arrested her, the courts would have sent her to a loony bin and she would never have seen the light of day again.
What she couldn’t get past was thinking this was hell at its finest. Just because she hadn’t died in Afghanistan it didn’t mean she’d escaped the war. It had simply followed her home.
As she sat there feeling sorry for herself, Quinn suddenly jerked and then moaned. Her attention immediately shifted from feeling sorry for herself to what was happening to him. She sat without moving, watching the play of emotions across his face.
He moaned again, and then kicked before rolling over onto his side.
That was all she could take. She threw the blanket off her shoulders and tried to stand, but her leg was numb from having been in one position for so long, and she nearly took a header.
“Damn it,” she muttered, then made her way across the floor to where Quinn lay sleeping, dragging her blanket and stumbling as she went.
Without knowing what he was reliving, she knew better than to curl up behind him. Instead she got in bed, then scooted as close to him as she could get without invading his space, pulled the blanket over both of them and took his hand.
His fingers twitched, then curled within her grasp. She held her breath, waiting to see what happened. When he twitched again, then moaned, she tightened her grip and spoke his name.
“Quinn.”
He sat up with a jerk. “What’s happening?”
“You were dreaming.”
That was when he realized she was in bed with him. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen. She’d been crying beneath that damned blanket. It hurt his heart.
“Thanks,” he said.
The empathy in his eyes was her undoing.
He saw her chin quiver. “Damn it,” he said softly, and pulled her close, tucking her beneath his arm so that they were lying face-to-face with his chin resting at the top of her head. Every muscle in her body was tense, and he felt it. “We’re just sleeping here,” he said.
“Okay.”
He took a deep breath and then closed his eyes. Despite the fact that every light in the house was on, they slept.
Seven
L
onnie Farrell was a man on a mission, and everything was coming together. Right after Sylvia Dixon had agreed to sell him the mine, he’d sent the money and papers by overnight express with a request for her to sign, fax him a copy then mail the originals back. When the fax came through with her signature on it, he knew it was the time to pick up the phone. It had been a good while since he’d called home, but he hadn’t lost touch with his roots or with his mama.
They’d had a special relationship when he was growing up as the man of the family, and, right or wrong, those memories were part of who he was. Right after he’d begun making the big money, he’d bought her a fancy double-wide trailer, and had a new water well drilled at the old home place and the septic tank replaced. Compared to a lot of her neighbors, Gertie Farrell was living high on the hog, and she never missed an opportunity to brag about her son, the successful Chicago businessman.
There weren’t many on Rebel Ridge who swallowed the story that whatever Lonnie Farrell was doing was legal, but money was money, and he funneled it to her on a regular basis.
What he needed now was local labor, and he knew exactly who to call to spread the word. His sister, Portia, and her lazy-ass husband, Buell, along with all three of their kids, lived with his mama now. He knew Buell was inclined to drink too much, but he wasn’t stupid, and Lonnie was about to give him the first steady job he’d held in over five years.
It was after dinner when he made the call, and Portia was the one who answered.
“It’s your nickel. Start talkin’,” she drawled, her version of hello.
“Hello, Portia. It’s me, Lonnie.”
“Well, hey, Lonnie. How’s the big city treatin’ you?”
“Fine. Just fine. Is Mama around?”
“Yeah, but hang on. I think she’s on the pot.”
Lonnie frowned. It had been a long time since he’d been around people who spoke as crudely as his family. This was a blunt reminder of the world he was about to reinhabit.
He heard Portia shouting, and then heard Buell in the background telling her to shut the hell up because he couldn’t hear the TV. A few moments later he heard his mother’s voice. She sounded a little breathless, as if she’d been hurrying, but there was also joy in her greeting.
“Hey, son!”
“Hello, Mama. How have you been?”
“Why, I’ve been just fine, thanks to you. I hadn’t heard from you in a while and was beginning to worry.”
“You don’t ever have to worry about me, Mama. I know how to take care of myself.”
Gertie couldn’t quit smiling. “Yes, yes, that you do.”
“I have some good news,” he said. “I’m coming home for a visit.”
At that point she squealed. She actually sounded like a little girl, and there was a moment when Lonnie felt real regret for not going home sooner. He could hear her relating the news to Portia and Buell, and then heard a door slam and the sound of kids screaming and talking all at once. Portia’s kids didn’t even know him, but they obviously knew
of
him as the man who sheltered and fed them, so that was enough.
“You got a special reason for coming?” Gertie asked, still giggling as she talked.
“I do. I’m coming to Rebel Ridge because I’m starting up a new business not far from the house, and I’m going to need some local labor to clear brush and trees, and fix some roads.”
“Oh, my word! That’s wonderful, Lonnie! You don’t know what that will mean to the folks around here.”
“Yes, I do know, Mama. I used to be one of them, remember?”
“You were barely a man when you left here.”
Lonnie’s voice hardened. “I was the
only
man of our family, and you know exactly what I mean. I took care of you then, and I’m still taking care of you. That’s what a man does.”
A fleeting memory of the time from before he left —something she’d long since put behind her—hit without warning. She heard his anger and quickly made her amends.
“You’re right. I didn’t mean no disrespect. So what kind of business are you planning to start up?”
“I’ll tell you about it when I get there. In the meantime, put Buell on the phone. I’m about to put your lazy-ass son-in-law to work.”
Gertie gasped. “Are you sure? I mean—”
“Don’t worry, Mama. I know what I’m doing.”
“I know you do. Hang on just a minute while I hand him the phone. Buell, Lonnie wants to talk to you.”
The look on Buell Smith’s face said it all. Lonnie didn’t like him, and he knew it. Whatever this was about, it couldn’t be good. His voice was a little shaky as he took the phone.
“Yeah, I’m here. How you been, brother?”
Lonnie swallowed the retort on the tip of his tongue. He didn’t have any brothers, and if he had the urge to claim one, Buell Smith would not be in the running.
“I have a job that needs to be done up the road a bit from Mama’s, and I need you to find at least two dozen men who are willing to work.” His disgust came through in his voice as he added, “I’m not talking about any of your drinking buddies. I need people who will work their asses off. The money will be fair. Depending on what I think of their work ethic, they could be hired on permanent. I’m going to put you in charge, but if you fuck up, not only will you not get paid, but I will personally beat the living shit out of you. Are we clear?”
Buell thought about his own little side business and how this might impact it, but he didn’t have the guts to tell Lonnie no.
“Yes, yes, we’re clear as glass. What’s the job about? What are we gonna be doing?”
“Initially, clearing trees and brush, and repairing a road. I’ll tell you more after I get there. Can you do what I’m asking?”
“Yes, hell yes, I can do that. So these men you want are going to ask me questions, like when will the job start, you know, and assurance that this is for sure gonna happen, so if they turn down another job offer they aren’t gonna lose out.”
Lonnie’s voice softened threateningly. “Here’s the deal, Buell. That’s the last time you get to question my word or my authority. Do you understand me?”
Buell had sense enough to be scared and was nodding anxiously until he realized Lonnie couldn’t see him.
“Yes, I understand,” he said quickly.
“You tell the men to be at the entrance to the old Foley Brothers Mine day after tomorrow at 1:00 p.m.”
“I’ll do that. You can count on me,” Buell said, but he was already frantic.
He was expected to find two dozen men in less than forty-eight hours for that kind of work. He didn’t have a good personal relationship with any men who were inclined to break a sweat. But he was more afraid of Lonnie than he was of approaching men he knew did not hold him in high regard.
“Now let me talk to Mama again,” Lonnie said.
Buell handed the phone back to Gertie. “He wants to talk to you again.”
Gertie was still smiling. “I’m here, son.”
“I’m going to need a place to stay while I’m there. Do you have a spare bed I can use for one night?”
“Absolutely,” Gertie said. “I had a pig butchered a month ago, so I got pork in the freezer. I’ll fry you up a pork chop and make a dried apple pie. Does that sound good to you?”
Lonnie thought of the Cordon Bleu dining to which he’d become accustomed and sighed. He was so far removed from fried pork chops it wasn’t funny, but he could endure whatever it took for at least one night.
“That sounds real good, Mama. I’ll be there day after tomorrow.”
“I can’t wait. I love you, son.”
“I love you, too, Mama,” Lonnie said, and hung up.
All things considered, he felt like his work for the day was done. Within six hours of receiving the bill of sale, he was already assembling a local crew who would be clearing the main road to the mine. It was going to be a trick to pull this off, but he’d faced bigger challenges for less reward. Growing the mushrooms was going to be a front for the drug business he intended to start.
His chemists were on notice, and he had already ordered the material needed to restructure the abandoned mine into an operation for growing mushrooms. That would be set up first so that the drug operation could hide beneath the cover of the legal operation.
Damn but he did love it when a plan came together.
* * *
The cold rain was a boon to the bear. Its belly was full, and the creek was swollen with the runoff from the storm. The chill of the night and the rain that continued to fall worked as well at cooling its fever as the creek. Instead of holing up somewhere to sleep, the bear took to solid ground and continued to move downstream. Once it would have had a den it returned to at night, and a territory in which it lived and fed. But its injury had changed every instinct it had but the one to survive.
Tomorrow the scent of its passing would have washed away in the storm and it would already have taken a stream less traveled. By the time the Doolens and the search teams gathered and began moving upstream, the bear would already have reached the juncture where three creeks met and moved on.
As the residents of Rebel Ridge slept, the bear was heading east along a lesser creek. As fate would have it, by the time the sun rose, it was sleeping in a cave less than a half mile above Quinn Walker’s cabin.
* * *
Quinn woke up before daybreak, surprised to find Mariah asleep in his arms with her head pillowed on his chest. It would have been difficult for him to express the emotions that hit him, but it was fair to say that she was insinuating herself ever deeper into his heart.
After the episode she’d had last night it was obvious they had a long way to go, but he would consider himself blessed if they took that road together. How to approach the issue with her would be the trick. He sensed her reluctance to ask for help and even understood it. PTSD was as emotionally wounding as any IED could ever be. Flesh would heal, but the mind…that was an entirely different story.
He glanced at the clock. It was just after five o’clock. He needed to get up, but dear God, he hated to move.
As if sensing his quandary, Mariah opened her eyes, realized where she was and abruptly rolled off him. When she realized he was watching her, she felt her face flush.
“Sorry about that,” she said.
“I’m not,” he said. “I hate to get up and leave you in the bed alone, but we have a big hunt scheduled this morning, and we’re meeting early.”
“Don’t worry about me,” she said. “You know I’ll be fine.” The moment she said it, she thought of the flashback she’d suffered last night and knew how silly her words must have sounded. When Quinn didn’t call her on it, she wanted to hug him.
“I know you will,” he said. Instead of kissing her, he ruffled her hair and rolled out of bed.
Mariah sighed. She would have preferred a kiss instead of a pat on the head, but she wasn’t ready to go where the kissing would lead. She got up, as well, and, after standing for a few moments to get her balance, went to the downstairs bathroom as Quinn ran upstairs to the loft to shower and get ready for work.
As soon as she came out, she began to make coffee, then got a box of cereal, some bowls and spoons, and sat down to wait for the coffee to be ready. It wasn’t on a level with real cooking, but it was the best she had in her this morning.
When the coffee was done, she poured a cup and then took it out the back door to the deck overlooking the meadow. The air was chilly, the fog just beginning to lift. It was the half-light between night and sunrise that always made her believe there could be such a thing as magic.
In the woods, dark shadows morphed into one thing until she blinked, which turned them into another. A large bird took flight from the roof above her head and headed toward the trees. It looked like an owl, but she couldn’t be sure.
She took a sip of the coffee, savoring the flavor and the warmth as it slid down her throat, then moved a few steps for a better view to the east, waiting for that moment when a new day was born. A hinge on the back door squeaked. Quinn emerged from the house with his own cup of coffee.
“I’m here,” she said, waving from her end of the deck.
Out of habit, he gave the tree line a slow searching gaze, looking for anything out of place, but he saw nothing to cause him alarm.
“What do you think?” he asked, as he walked up beside her.
“About this place? It’s beautiful.”
A slow smile spread across his face. He was pleased that she felt the same way he did, but his smile quickly faded.
“It
is
beautiful, but you have to remember, like everything else, there are always hidden dangers. I know you’re more capable of taking care of yourself than most women, but you’re at a disadvantage here just by not knowing the territory.”
“You’re right. I know cities and, thanks to the army, I know the desert and the Taliban, but I do not know this world.”
“When you get a little more mobile, I’ll be glad to teach you.”
She nodded. “If you don’t get sick of babysitting a nut job, I’ll take you up on that.”