Prophecy (9 page)

Isely paused, wondering whether or not to tell them. “There is no rescue team any more.”

Rob and Maggie exchanged a glance of confusion.

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“I don’t understand,” Rob said.

“Three men and two dogs went in there. Only one dog came out. He showed up at a ranger’s station; no sign of the people who brought him in there.”

“What happened to them?”

Isely shook his head. “Guess they got lost, too.”

“A rescue team?” Maggie asked. “Is that possible?”

Isely had gotten himself into it now, and there was no getting out. He gestured Rob and Maggie to the side. “We’re being honest with each other here, so I’ll tell you the truth. This particular forest isn’t too safe right now. That’s why 1 thought I’d better take you in.”

“Why is that?” Rob asked.

“The Indians are angry in there. They’re trying to keep the lumber company out any way they can.”

Rob and Maggie listened intently, uneasy with what they were hearing.

“There’s no need for you people to worry. They wouldn’t mess with people from the government. This is sort of a family matter that’s going on here.”

“You’re saying the Indians did something to those people?” Rob asked.

“That’s awful hard to prove. There’s no evidence. Things with the Indians are real sensitive right now.”

“Have you questioned them?”

“The sheriff has.”

“And what do they say?”

“They say they don’t know anything about it. They say those people were taken by Katahdin.”

“What’s Katahdin?” Rob asked.

Isely shook his head with grim amusement. “One of their legends. They call it Katahdin.”

“Like a ‘Big Foot,’ you mean?” Maggie asked.

“Yeah, except this one’s a little uglier. The size of a dragon, the eyes of a cat, they’ve got everything thrown in except the kitchen sink. Speakin’ of the kitchen sink, my wife baked you a pie. I got it in the car.”

He walked around to the driver’s door and got in

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the car. Rob and Maggie exchanged a long look before they did the same.

“The idea of Katahdin,” Isely continued as he closed his door, “is to frighten the lumberjacks out. They’re almost as superstitious as the Opies.”

“Opies?” Rob asked.

“O.P.‘s. Original People. That’s what they call themselves. The Ashinabegs, Masaquoddy, Wampanoag, Yurok-they’ve all joined together now and call themselves the Opies.”

He put his keys in the ignition and started the motor.

“But what about those people?” Maggie asked with concern. “The ones who disappeared?”

“I can only tell you, if it had been up to me, I wouldn’t have sent a search party in. I’d have sent a posse.”

“So you’re convinced the Indians did it.”

Isely looked across Maggie, into Rob’s eyes.

“They stagger around drunk half the time in there, Mr. Vern. It’s a damn sad thing, but it’s true. My men have seen them bumping into trees in that forest. We heard that one Indian man ran right into the lake and drowned. Another man showed up at the hospital with knife wounds all up and down him, from being attacked by his own brother.”

Rob and Maggie sat in silence.

“I’m afraid the only explanation is booze.”

“Where do they get the booze?” Rob asked.

“We don’t know. Since the craziness started, nobody in town is allowed to sell it to them.”

Maggie turned to Isely with apprehensive eyes.

“So what you’re saying is … that those people disappeared because the Indians did something to them.”

“A rescue party doesn’t get lost, Mrs. Vern. Neither do my lumberjacks.”

He shifted gears; the two cars moved slowly out of the airport.

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The drive from the airport took them through the town of Manatee; its one business street looked as if it were created for a postcard. There were three churches, two stores, a post office, a library, a jail; all were lined up side by side. But there was also a quality of loneliness. Few people were on the streets; the branches of the trees were still bare, the wind vocalizing as it swept through them.

Four miles beyond the town, they turned onto a dirt road, the car behind them following close, engulfed in their dust as they rumbled into the wilderness. Isely explained that the road they were traveling on disappeared every winter and had to be cut fresh with bulldozers each spring. It was an imperfect job; Isely held tight to the steering wheel, which lurched in response to boulders deeply imbedded in the narrow corridor that stretched through the endless expanse of trees.

The talk had tamed to the subject of lumbering. Rob was impressed by Isely’s knowledge; there wasn’t much he didn’t know, including the EPA standards and regulations concerning pulping procedures.

“Now, this stuff about the paper companies ruining the forest is pure myth,” Isely said as they penetrated deeper into the forest. “We’ve been operating a small-scale pulp operation upriver on the Espee here for twenty years now. We plant seeds every time we harvest, and that land is more stable today than it was when God himself made it.”

Rob took this with a grain of salt. He knew from his own research that it took a hundred years to regrow a black spruce just to the thickness of a man’s leg. Isely glanced over at him and read his skepticism.

“To give him his due,” Isely added, “God didn’t have modem science to help him. He didn’t have hydroponics, silvaculture techniques, and chemical analysis procedures to determine soil erosion.”

“Oh, I think he did pretty well under the circumstances,” Rob said.

“What with his limited education,” Maggie added.

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Isely laughed. It was his special talent to join the laughter when he himself was the joke.

“Where you people from? Born in Washington?”

“New York,” Rob answered. “How ‘bout yourself?”

“Right here.”

“You have a Southern accent.”

“Damn! I thought I’d lost it. I was just testin’ to see if you could tell.”

Rob chuckled. There was something endearing about the man.

“I’m from Atlanta. Lived there all my life. That’s how I tied into this job. I started doing public relations for the Pitney company there.”

“Why Atlanta?” Rob asked.

“That’s where the head offices are.”

“The Pitney Paper Mill is based in Georgia?”

“Oh, yeah. All the lumber companies are from out of state. But we own over half the land in Maine, so to us it’s just like home. It’s our own back yard and, believe me, we’re going to tend it.”

To Rob, this particular piece of information was chilling. The forests of Maine were owned by absentee landlords. It was the same situation that existed in the tenements. The lumber companies, with the protection of distance, could be as ruthless as the slumlords. They didn’t have to look at, or live with, the misery that their actions might cause.

The car suddenly slowed; Isely breathed a sigh that sounded like fatigue. Ahead of them on the road, a ragtag group of Indians had materialized from the surrounding foliage, clearly intending to block the car. They were dressed much like the lumberjacks, in plaid shirts, boots, and blue jeans; they stood tall and firm, shoulder to shoulder. They were plainly ready to do battle.

“What’s happening?” Rob asked as Isely stopped the car.

“Something against the law is what’s happening.”

“Who are they?” Maggie asked.

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“The O.P.‘s I was telling you about.”

“What do they want?”

“We’ll find out.”

One among them stepped forward. He was tall and fine-featured; his clothing was fresher than the rest. His buckskin jacket had fringes on the shoulders; his belt buckle was shiny and new. Rob’s powers of deduction told him that the man was new to this forest. He approached their car, sauntering with the kind of take-your-time authority an arresting officer on the Washington Causeway would. He paused at Isley’s window, putting his hand on the sill. Rob noticed that his fingernails were clean. He wondered if he was an Indian at all.

“Mr. Hawks?” Isely asked.

“That’s right,” Hawks replied.

“Heard you were headin’ our way … nice to see you.”

The man leaned down, studying each of their faces. “Who are you?” he asked Isely.

“My name is Bethel Isely.”

“So you’re Isely,” Hawks said. It was plain he didn’t like the name.

“This is Mr. Vern and Ms wife,” Isely explained. “They’re from the Environmental Protection Agency. I’d appreciate being let through.”

Hawks’s eyes fastened onto Rob. The power within them was frightening. Maggie averted her gaze, looking out through the windshield. She saw that one of the Indians was a woman. The two had found each other’s eyes. Romona glared at her intently.

“I was told you were coming here to work independently,” Hawks said to Rob. “That’s what the Senators said.”

“I am working independently,” Rob replied. He was surprised at the sound of his own voice. It seemed weak and uncertain compared with the Indian’s.

“Why are you in this car?” Hawks challenged.

Rob gritted his teeth. He had known it would be a mistake.

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“He’s in this car because I persuaded him, Mr. Hawks,” Isely replied. “I met him at the airport and I brought him here because I was afraid that something like this might happen.”

“You made a bad choice,” Hawks said. “No car from the lumber company gets through.”

Isely responded with a snort of amazement. He looked at Rob, then back to Hawks.

“This is against the law, Mr. Hawks,” he warned.

“How do you select which laws can be broken?”

“I’m not going to sit here and argue with you. The Supreme Court issued a restraining order against this blockade.”

“The Supreme Court never ratified Treaty Nine. This land is ours. We have a right to stand here.”

The Indian woman was approaching now. She came and stood directly beside Hawks, as if to support him in case he might be weakening.

“Hello, Romona,” Isely said coldly.

“Mr. Isely,” she replied in kind.

“You a part of this, too, Roraona?”

Her mouth tightened. “By birth, Mr. Isely.”

“You’re gonna get yourself in a heap of trouble,” Isley said.

“That’s a fact, Mr. Isely,” she replied.

Her eyes met Maggie’s again. Maggie was withered by her glance.

Isely emitted a long sigh, turning his eyes forward.

“Can we walk in?” Rob asked Isely.

“Ten miles?”

“Isn’t there some other road?”

“I’m afraid there isn’t.”

“Let’s back up,” Rob said.

But Isely ignored him, turning to Hawks.

“John, I want to tell you something,” he said.

“Mr. Hawks,” Hawks corrected.

“Mr. Hawks … You’ve got one minute to tell your friends to get out of the way.”

“I’ll do it right now, Mr. Isely.” Turning to his men, he gave them a signal to move aside. They did,

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revealing a heavy metal chain, strung, and padlocked, between two trees at either side of the narrow forest road.

Isely flushed, his entire body bristling. “I guess it won’t do any good for me to tell you to unlock that chain, will it?”

“Try it,” Hawks said.

“Will you please unlock that chain?”

“No.”

Isely quickly stepped out of the car. “Kelso?” he called to the car behind him. “Cut down those two trees, please.”

Inside the car Rob and Maggie exchanged a frightened glance. Behind them, the sound of a motor suddenly broke the silence. One of the lumberjacks, the biggest among them, got out of the car with a portable chain saw already buzzing in his hand.

Suddenly there was movement everywhere. The Indians backed away, the lumberjacks stepped forward, Hawks raced to the chain, where he picked up a long-handled ax, holding it up as a warning.

“Now, John-” Isely began, but he was interrupted by Hawks.

“I’m Mr. Hawks!” Hawks shouted over the din of the buzz saw.

“Mr. Hawks, this is downright silly!”

“You’re not going through!”

Hawks’s eyes were wild, and there was fear in them now. Rob scrambled out of the car, grabbing Isely by the arm.

“I said I don’t want to go through there.”

“I do.”

“I don’t see the point.”

“The point is not to be intimidated.”

“Look …”

“If we turn away, we’ll have one hell of a mess on our hands. They’ll go back and tell their people they won, and next time there’ll be three times as many standing here. This is going to get snubbed out right now.”

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“If anyone is hurt here…”

“No one’s going to get hurt here-they’re bluffing.” He turned to his men. “Kelso! Take ‘em down!”

The lumberjack with the buzz saw moved forward. Rob could see from the expression on his face that he was eager to do battle. He was bigger than Hawks and outweighed him, and he was out for blood. He was literally smiling, his tobacco-stained teeth showing in a menacing grin as a small, eager sound, like a child’s giggle, climbed upward from bis gut.

Romona stood beside Hawks, her fists clenched at her sides, her jaw rigid, as though braced for a blow. Hawks reached out and gently pushed her aside, standing his ground as the lumberjack bore slowly down on him.

“Rob!” Maggie cried from the car.

“Don’t let this happen, Isely!” Rob shouted.

“Will you move aside, Hawks?” Isely called out.

Hawks raised the ax, holding it angularly across his chest. “You’ll cut my head off before you cut these trees!”

“Have it your own way!” Isely replied. “Kelso. Hit that tree!”

“Wait a minute!” Rob cried. But his voice was drowned out by the sound of the buzz saw hitting bark.

What happened next was a blur. As the chain saw hit bark, Hawks knocked it upward with the handle of his ax; for a moment the two men stood as gladiators. Then their weapons collided. Sparks flew as metal hit metal.

“Stop!” Maggie screamed.

But it was too late. The men were locked in cornbat, circling, feintmg with their weapons, the onlookers running forward, all crying out at once.