Monsters (24 page)

A row of winning felt pennants, predating the Fall—Middlefield Junior High, track and field, five years running lined the back wall. They probably didn't have anything to do with this particular family, being collector's items rather than a personal achievement.

James suspected neither the old man nor his sons knew quite what the pennants depicted. Their value today was in representing successive, sequential years being displayed from before the Fall. That they were only for a local high school, probably hundreds of miles from here, was irrelevant. They'd been traded as items of value and had accumulated perceived value over the decades. In the years to come, they'd increase in value. They were an investment beyond anything they originally represented.

A computer circuit board had been tacked in place beside the front door. Its black integrated circuits and thin metal lines hinted at a level of complexity lost in the mist of time. His father would have loved this place.

“And you?” James asked.

“Old man Winters,” came the reply. “These are my boys, Wilbur and Jonathan, and my wife Amelia.”

From the loft above, a face poked over the edge. Brown hair fell curiously forward.

“And Wilbur's wife, Jane.”

Jane waved. She mounted a ladder and came down to help Amelia. For so many people in what appeared from the outside to be such a small cabin, the room was surprisingly large.

Amelia and Jane looked at Lisa's leg, bathing her wounds in warm water. The skin on her leg looked pale, like that of dead flesh. The red tinge around the cuts had faded. In the soft light of the fire, Lisa's wounds looked better than they had that morning.

“And what about you, young Lisa? What is your story? Where are you from? How did you come to be up in the mountains?” old man Winters asked.

Lisa hid behind her cup of chicory, sipping it slowly. All eyes settled on her, including James. Up until this point, he'd been so focused on surviving he hadn't wondered why she was in the mountains in the first place, so it was a good question. What was Lisa doing crossing the pass alone, well away from trade routes? And where were her supplies? Who would venture across the mountains without supplies? Such a journey could be done in a couple of days, but only with a fair weather. Only a fool would risk crossing without supplies, a fool or someone driven to desperation. She had to be running from someone, but who? And why?

“Ah,” she began. “I'm from Greensburg, just outside of Pittsburgh.”

So much for Little Bayless, thought James, and he wondered which location was a lie. Perhaps they both were. That she would lie so quickly and so convincingly troubled him. It said something fundamental about her, undermining his attitude toward her.

“What are you doing this far south?” the old man asked. “Where are your companions?”

“We were set upon by bandits,” she replied. “I ran. I was separated from the main party. I became lost in the mountains and got caught in that bear trap.”

She was lying. James had found her on the western slope of the peak, well away from the main trade route. And the route was heavily traveled, especially in early spring, with traders wanting to get through before the floods came. Bandits favored the lesser roads, and with good reason. If they were caught they'd be hung.

“Your party must have gone on to Manitou,” the old man said. “They'll think you're dead. We'll send word in the morning, let them know you've survived.”

Lisa's eyes dropped slightly as she smiled politely. “Thank you.”

Liar, thought James. But why? Why would she mislead them? What did she stand to gain from deceit?

Amelia dished up some lentil soup and James forgot about his concerns as he chatted with the men about hunting and fishing. The old lady put some salve on his burns and changed the bandage on his hand.

The two boys wanted to hear about the wolves. James became quite animated, reenacting the encounter, starting with his initial preparation, setting the trap and carving barbs into a makeshift spear. As the fire crackled in the background he described the attack to the rapt attention of the family. Gesturing with his hands, he relived the battle, twisting and turning as he described the fight.

“Oh, yeah,” Lisa said, trying not to laugh at his bravado. “Don't forget the part where you tried to commit suicide by diving into the fire.”

“I slipped,” James protested, a look of horror on his face. “I lost my footing.”

“I think they ran off because they were so confused,” Lisa replied, tormenting him.

“That's not fair,” he protested, forgetting his audience.

“The sight of you rolling around on fire surely scared them to death,” Lisa cried. “They didn't know whether they preferred you raw, medium or well-done.”

Old man Winters laughed, as did the women. The young men, though, sided with James and clearly considered him heroic.

“Hey,” James replied. “I saved your life, remember?”

“Oh, I remember it well,” Lisa joked.

“Ah,” Winters said, patting James on the shoulder. “Don't take her jests seriously. You were indeed a hero, my friend, and we all know it.”

Lisa was smiling. James felt his ego deflate. His grand story of conquest and adventure did seem a little awkward when he thought about it.

“James was very brave,” Lisa said, balancing things out. “With one wolf caught in the bear trap, he dispatched it quickly and ruthlessly. The rest of the pack stood up on the hill, watching as their fellow died at his hands. They did not bother us again.”

“So it's true?” Wilbur asked. “You really fought off a pack of wolves by yourself?”

James tried to say something, but Lisa beat him to it.

“Yes. It's true. Every detail. Right down to rolling around in the fire.”

At that, everyone laughed, including James. He had to admit that it did sound funny.

Wilbur, Jane and Jonathan turned in for the night, climbing up into the loft.

Amelia placed a rug for them on the floor, a few feet from the fire, before she retired for the night and went to sleep on a bed at the back of the cabin. Winters rubbed his hand through James' hair, in much the same way his father would, and then patted him on the back, bidding him a good night's sleep, then he hobbled off to bed, his wooden leg making a dull thud on the floorboards.

James and Lisa lay on the rug, enjoying the warmth of the fire. James propped himself up on his elbows, whispering as he spoke.

“You really thought that was funny?”

“Well, not at the time,” Lisa replied. “But now, in hindsight, yes, it was quite funny.”

“But–”

“Oh, don't let it bother you. You don't need stories of courage and bravery to define you. You're better than that.”

She leaned over and kissed him on the lips, immediately defusing any tension between them. He liked that. He would have been happy to continue kissing her, but she rocked back on her elbows, looking deep into his eyes. In the flickering light, she looked beautiful. Her long hair was matted and straggly, but it didn't matter.

“And what about you?” he asked. “There were no bandits, were there?”

Her body straightened. Her expression went flat as she responded curtly.

“No.”

She wasn't going to say any more, that much was clear, but he had an admission from her, and that was a start. Now, though, it was his turn to play the role of tormentor.

“You know,” he began. “I saw something quite funny on that mountain too.”

“Oh, really,” she replied, curiosity hanging on her words.

“Yes. I seem to remember someone straddling two rocks.”

“You wouldn't dare,” she said, trying not to speak too loudly.

She reached out and punched him lightly on the shoulder. Dropping her head and staring at him with narrow eyes, Lisa made it clear this was not a subject to be broached in public.

James smiled. He leaned in, determined to keep the upper hand as long as he could. Kissing her on the cheek, he added, “Sweet dreams.”

James spread a blanket over the two of them and lay back on the rug. Scrunching up a jacket to use as a pillow, he turned away from her.

“James?” Lisa whispered, her hand resting on his neck, her fingers playing with his hair.

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

James woke to find Amelia moving quietly around the cabin in the early morning light. Old man Winters was awake. He was grumpy with Amelia. James didn't think too much of it, hoping he and Lisa weren't the object of his annoyance. Winters hobbled around the cabin, favoring his good leg, grumbling under his breath.

Lisa had cuddled up next to James, her head resting on his chest. Gently, he repositioned her and got up. Before he left for the out-house, James pulled back the blanket covering her leg and gently lifted the edge of the bandage below her knee. Her wound looked angry, and needed to be treated, but his bladder was bursting and Lisa was still asleep so James slipped outside.

On returning, James saw Amelia tending to Lisa, wiping her brow.

“She has a fever.”

“I'm just a little hot,” Lisa replied.

Winters knelt down, looking at her leg. He peeled back the bandages, his fingers pushed gently at the sides of her raw wound. Pus oozed out. The torn edges of her skin looked red, marking where the teeth of the steel trap had sunk into her leg.

“Her leg is infected. She is diseased.”

Lisa leaned forward, trying to get a good look herself.

“Get her up on the table,” the old man said.

Amelia cleared the rough-hewn wooden table as the two teenage boys lifted Lisa up and lay her gently on the wooden plank surface. Lisa clenched her teeth. Amelia brought a pillow over for her head.

Winters mumbled something and Amelia rummaged around in one of the drawers, pulling out an old leather belt.

“I'm sorry,” he said, taking Lisa's hand. “Really, I am. But this is the only way.”

He slid the belt under her knee, moving it up on her thigh, but leaving it flat on the table.

“A tourniquet,” James stuttered, in shock at what was unfolding. Things were moving too quick, he had to slow this down. “Wait a minute. You're taking things too far, too fast.”

For her part, Lisa was struggling to sit up and see what was going on. She grimaced with pain at the slightest movement.

“She's going to be OK,” James said. “Her body needs time to heal.”

Winters looked up at him with grim determination. He turned to Amelia.

“We're going to need clean bandages and plenty of boiled water.”

“No,” cried Lisa. She panicked, thrashing with her hands. “Get away from me. Get away.”

Jonathan and Wilbur stood behind her, holding the crook of her arm back, keeping her still on the table.

“Let go of me!”

“You can't do this,” James protested. “There must be something else we can do. This is crazy. Madness.”

The boys held her fast, but their heads were slightly bowed, so they could avoid looking him in the eye. They wanted no part of this, of that James was sure, but must have thought there was no other way, so they reluctantly and silently backed up their father.

James looked at Amelia. She was silent. Tears sat in her eyes.

Winters placed a wood saw in the fire. Sparks drifted up the chimney.

“She either loses the leg or she loses her life. Which is it going to be?”

“I don't want to lose my leg,” cried Lisa. She was appealing to James, not Winters, as though the decision was his. “Please, don't let him take my leg.”

“You must be strong,” Winters said, but he too was talking to James. “She is in no position to make this decision for herself. She needs you to be strong for her.”

“You're overreacting,” James said, trying to calm things down. He held out his hands, moving them slowly, as though that physical act would result in calming the situation.

Winters stirred the coals in the fire. The tip of a fire-iron glowed red. In his mind, James could already smell the sweet scent of cauterized flesh. He'd seen this before, they all had at one point or another, either when branding an animal or sealing a wound.

“Oh, please, please, please,” Lisa moaned.

James found his mind racing. What options were there? Winters thought he was doing what was right. James could force the issue with violence, but where would that end? And Lisa was in no state for a hasty exit. He had to talk the old man down and make him see reason.

“I understand,” James said in a calm voice. “I know what happened.”

The change of tone caught everyone off-guard. Winters looked at him warily.

“You've been there,” James continued. “You've been the one lying there on the table. You must know the terror she feels, but this isn't Bracken Ridge.”

The old man's eyes cast down, but not in shame. James could see he was looking at the stump of his knee resting on his wooden leg.

“Hard decisions had to be made,” Winters said.

“They saved your life,” James added. He was standing beside Lisa as she lay there on the table. She seemed to sense what he was doing and relaxed a little. She held his hand, her fingers barely touching his, and yet he knew he had her support.

“If the infection spreads, she dies,” Winters replied coldly. “It's a harsh law, but it is the natural law. You can no more fight it than you can spread your wings and fly.”

“And yet man once flew among the stars,” James pleaded.

“Wishful thinking,” Winters said with a hint of scorn in his voice. “Time is of the essence. We have to act now and save her life before it is too late.”

“We need to clean the wound,” James said. “Give her body a chance.”

“Look,” Winters said, pointing at the stitching on her leg. “The wound is red. The infection is spreading, if we act now we can save the thigh. If we wait, she'll lose even that, if not her life.

“Are you willing to risk her life? You look at me like I'm evil, like I'm the bad guy, but you would wait and put her life in jeopardy? Are you honestly that foolish?”

James was silent. He swallowed the lump in his throat. Winters changed his tone. He was sympathetic in his comments, his voice conveyed compassion, not anger. He must have found this as difficult as they did, but felt compelled to act.