False Dawn Read online

  “Get some branches. We have to have kindling.”

  He nodded and broke of a small branch, then held it close to the remaining matches in her hands.

  The second match sputtered, flared, then winked out.

  “Shit.”

  “What if none of them light?” Thea asked as she tried the third match.

  “I guess we’ll run for it.” Evan held the branch nearer.

  The third match lit, then died as the wind touched it.

  “It’s got to work,” Thea muttered. “Put that branch closer.”

  He obeyed and held his breath; the branch brushed his face and her arms.

  The first scrape left only same red track the others had, and Thea felt defeat and fear wash through her. “No.”

  “Try the other side,” Evan said. “Quickly.”

  She nodded, her teeth clenched. Carefully she pulled the match over the trails of the others. It did not light.

  “Again,” Evan urged.

  Thea shrugged, thinking they would have to bolt very soon. She scraped it again and was rewarded with a tiny stain of blue as the match caught. Making a small cry she cupped her hands around it, sheltering the promise of fire. “Give it the branch,” she whispered, almost afraid that sound would kill it.

  “Here.” Evan thrust the branch into her hands. The needles blackened and peeled back from the tiny flame.

  “There’s almost no match left,” Thea said angrily.

  “It’ll catch,” Evan insisted and held the branch steady. The needles continued to shrivel, only a minuscule, mocking wink of red to show any promise of fire.

  “Come on, come on,” she muttered, all the time fearing that the rotten forest could not burn, that the branch would smolder and die.

  Now the branch was charring, blackened for half its length, and it burned Evan’s fingers. He slipped his hand back.

  “Well?” Thea asked uncertainly.

  “I don’t know. We’d better run for it.”

  She nodded, hearing the dogs coming nearer. The sounds had changed now, and in the howls there were yelps of anticipation.

  Evan shoved the branch into the walls of their shelter. “Maybe it’ll take,” he said, then turned to Thea. “What do you think?”

  “We’re better off in the clear-cut than in the woods. The woods will slow us down too much. Particularly if there is a fire.”

  He nodded his agreement. “Save your strength.”

  “Maybe we will find a cabin again,” she said, not believing it.

  “Maybe.” He said this as he pushed his way out of the shelter, the branches breaking before him, showering him with dust.

  “How far away would you say they are?” she asked, looking anxiously down the slope.

  “Half a mile. Or less.” He listened. “They’re tired. That’s something.”

  Slowly at first, then more rapidly, they made their way up the mountain away from the dogs. Their makeshift shelter faded into the dark behind them.

  “What about the rope?” Thea asked as they went. “Is there time to make a trap?”

  Evan tugged at the rope, considering. “No.”

  They went on in silence, trying not to listen to the sounds pressing nearer. Ahead of them loomed another tower, as dilapidated as the one they had left behind.

  “Can we stop?” It was not really a question. Their strength was being sapped by hunger and fatigue. They could not continue much farther. Evan did not bother to answer her as he stopped to unreel the rope from his chest.

  Then a strange red flower blossomed in the night as their shelter erupted in flame, and the scent of burning things wafted up the clear-cut. The keening of the dogs changed to frightened barking as the fire broke out around them. One dog that ventured too near the shelter ran in panic, his coat singed, his ragged tail burning.

  A fresh gust of wind fed the flames, and the fire sent out runners toward the trees. As if greedy for warmth the nearest boughs sucked up the burgeoning fire, holding it like a treasure in the long needles.

  Evan’s eyes narrowed as the forest began to burn. “Cox might still be down there.”

  Thea watched the fire impassively. “He’ll think we’re dead.”

  “Maybe,” Evan said. He turned away and half his face showed the warm glow of the fire. The other half was hidden in the night, making his expression unreadable. “Come on. It’s late,” he said to Thea; he turned abruptly, his heel grinding on the earth. He pointed up the hill. “We’ll see if there’s a linemen’s shelter at the crest.”

  It was morning before they found shelter in an old caboose where the rusted rail tracks crossed the power line cut, heading along toward the riverbank. It sat in solitary grandeur, the color of old bricks where the paint had not flaked away. Its wheels had long since fused with the ribbons of steel it had ridden many years before. It listed badly and showed a break in the roof. Around it the brush grew as if trying to protect it from malicious and prying eyes.

  “Is it safe?” Thea whispered to Evan as they crouched, watching, in the brush.

  He shrugged, not taking his eyes from the hulk. “We can rush it now, and find out,” he suggested, unwinding the rope from his body once again.

  But Thea hesitated. “No. Not yet.” Scooping a handful of gravel from the edge of the old railroad bed, she threw it at the caboose, letting the bits of rock spatter against the side of the old car. “Now, we’ll see. If anything’s inside, we’ll find out.”

  They waited together, but there was no sound, no rustlings inside the caboose, no fluttering alarms outside. Cautiously they moved closer.

  “Who takes the door?” Evan asked as they came up beside the caboose.

  “I do,” she said, daring him to contradict her.

  “Okay. Here. You might want this.” He handed her several feet of rope with a knot in one end. It was heavy, solid. “Just swing that at anything that moves. It’ll give a good clout. Remember to give yourself enough room to—”

  “I know.” She took the rope, swung it, testing it, then with a sprint she rushed for the door.

  The wood crumbled under her hand, the rusted latch coming away as she grabbed at it. The air of the caboose that sighed out at her made her retch, and for a moment she swayed on the narrow metal platform that served as a porch. Holding her breath, she pressed resolutely into the car, her face protected by the flap of her jacket she held over her nose and mouth, the rope clutched in her other hand.

  Whoever the three were, they had been dead for a long time. Their flesh had mummified, for the air was dry and hot. They lay sprawled as they had died, in desiccated pools of excrement, declaring even now the cause of their deaths. Amoebic dysentery had been common, ten years ago, and these bodies had been dead at least that long. Their clothes and blankets, once soaked with sweat and other things, had rotted, leaving a few threads clinging to the corpses, pitiful against the wrecked bodies. Watching them, Thea felt her body dry in sympathy.

  “Any luck?” Evan called from outside. There was an edge in his voice, a not quite concealed fear.

  She did not answer him. Instead she moved around the little room, looking at all the things left behind by the three unfortunates, wondering what use she could make of them. She and Evan needed so much they could not afford to overlook anything.

  “Thea”

  Carefully she backed out of the caboose.

  “Well?” Evan masked his relief with anger.

  “There are three bodies in there, real old. I guess dysentery got them—it sure looks like it did. I don’t think we should stay in the car. But we can stay under it. There’s room under the caboose,” she said beseechingly. “I saw some canvas in there. We could make a kind of tent. We could rig it around those braces… She stopped talking abruptly.

  “Is there anything else worth salvaging?”

  “The canvas. I told you about that. There’s no blankets we can use. There is a little rope, not as heavy as this”—she swung the rope he had given her—”but bette
r for tying and carrying. There’s three boxes of matches. And there’s a few books.”

  “What about knives?” he demanded, staring at the caboose intently, as if he wanted to decipher it, read its secrets. “Anything we can use as weapons? Sharp forks, cleavers, anything?”

  She scowled. “The knives are rusted. We can’t use them. But I saw a couple files. We could sharpen them.”

  Evan nodded, approval showing in his face. Absently he rubbed at the stump of his arm. “We’ll make the tent, then. And we’ll sharpen the files. And we’ll pack up the matches. And the books…”

  Seeing Evan touch his mutilated arm filled Thea with dread. “Does it hurt?”

  “Itches.” Embarrassed, he stopped. After a moment he asked, “Did you really say there were books?”

  “About a dozen,” she nodded.

  Dreamily he said, “A dozen. When I was a kid I collected books. I had hundreds of them. First editions only. All kinds of books. I had a complete set of first edition Oz books; that was my special treasure. I wish I knew what became of them.” He shook his head as if just waking. “Bring them out. Maybe we’ll have time to read a couple of them.”

  “I haven’t read a book in a long time,” Thea said, recalling her youth at Camminsky Creek that had come to an end so abruptly eleven years before. “Jack Thompson made sure everyone did a lot of reading.”

  “What?” He was startled.

  “Nothing. Anyway, it’s over.” She looked apprehensively at the caboose. “I think we better take the stuff we can use and get away from here. This thing is awful conspicuous.” Now that the sun was hitting the old rail car, the faded red paint that flaked from its sides grew brighter, a strong contrast to the pale-leaves brushing it. Thea sensed its vulnerability, dislike for the location growing out of her fear.

  Evan felt it, too, for he said, “You’re right, of course. We’d be a target if we stayed here more than a night.”

  Away in the brush a snake slithered; the dry leaves crackled as it went. The sound was absurdly loud, making them jump.

  “Come on,” Thea said quickly. “We can take what we need and sleep under the caboose. But we can’t stay here beyond tomorrow.”

  “No,” he agreed, and followed her into the old rail car.

  “But why did you take that hook?” Thea asked him as Evan idly turned the pages. It was cool under the caboose and the canvas held them in its shadow, hidden from the world.

  “I haven’t seen one in a long time,” he answered rather distantly. He was realizing how much he had forgotten.

  “But we can’t use a cookbook. We don’t even have stuff to eat. How can you look at it?” She flung herself onto her side, away from him.

  He paid no attention. “Look: veal and eggplant in Marsala. Turbot stuffed with chopped prawns. Sweetbreads Milanese. I had that once, in Parma.” He riffled the pages, then set the book aside.

  For some time Thea said nothing. “What’s sweetbreads Milanese?”

  Evan lay back, looking up at the rotting undercarriage of the caboose. “It’s sweetbreads—that’s organ meat. The membranes are removed and the meat is cooked in heavy cream with white wine, fine herbs, and mushrooms—” He broke off, his tone changing as he said, “It doesn’t matter. It’s in the past. No one eats like that any more.” He turned heavily prone, his chin supported in the crook of his arm. “We’d better get some sleep. It’ll be dark soon.”

  Thea sat up, laced fingers and head on her knees. Slowly she reached out to touch the cookbook uneasily. After a while she opened it and began to read, trying to imagine what the strange dishes tasted like. Finally she said, “My mother used to put orange slices inside chickens when she roasted them, sometimes. She rubbed the outside with butter and honey.” If Evan had said anything then, Thea would have wept.

  Evan was asleep.

  The next day as they climbed, following the rusted towers, they saw a band of lepers making their way slowly along the crest of the mountain to the north of them.

  “They’re carrying the flag,” Thea said, shading her eyes. In the distance she saw the yellow cross against the red. “There’s about twenty of them. No children, by the look of them.”

  “Must be a camp around here,” Evan allowed, glad for the chance to shift the bundle tied to his back. With only one arm, he quickly lost balance as the load settled, and he was forced to stop frequently to adjust it.

  “What about food? Do you think they know where food is?” Thea asked urgently as she tightened the cords of her own pack; she had scavenged it from the storage area of the caboose.

  “It doesn’t matter. If they do have food, we can’t use it,” he said grimly. There was too much danger from the lepers, both from their disease and the people themselves: he knew they dared not risk dealing with the terrible outcasts. “They can’t share anything with us, Thea.”

  Around them the desolate peaks rose up. The forest had retreated farther into the mountains and now only rock and brush covered the steep slopes. Where the sun struck them the rocks glistened as if they were sweating from the heat; in the shadows dust touched them, moving restlessly whenever the wind blew.

  “They might know about Gold Lake,” Thea said wistfully, watching the line of figures growing smaller in the distant haze.

  “You know better than that,” Evan snapped, “If they knew about Gold Lake, if they’d been there, we certainly couldn’t go there. Could we.”

  Slowly she shook her head. “Is that what it’s going to be like? Are we all going to be lepers or Pirates before we die?” She turned to him, seeking an answer but he had none for her.

  “We’ve got to get moving.” He turned away deliberately, refusing to look at the stragglers on the northern ridge.

  “All right.” Reluctantly, she hooked her thumbs in her belt, touching the sharpened file that swung there. The heat made a jacket unnecessary and she felt the sun bruise her darkening skin. Only the raw place where her nipple had been remained unchanged, defying the sun and her desire to forget.

  “We’ll use the tent if we have to tonight,” Evan said, softening toward her. It was easy enough to stretch the canvas over the rope and a couple of poles. “But there might be a cabin up here: who knows?” He found it a pleasant fiction, not truly a lie.

  “And if there isn’t?”

  “The tent will do.”

  “And what about food?” she asked, hunger making her angry.

  “Maybe we’ll find some. There’s still some snakes up here. We can eat them. I saw a rabbit earlier today, I think. There might be more.”

  She shook her head resentfully. “And what if Cox comes along?”

  Evan stopped walking. “What is it, Thea? What’s wrong?”

  His concern was anguish to her. “We could die out here,” she said bluntly, terrified of the gentleness she read in his face. “Maybe we should go separately. Meet up again later, at Gold Lake, maybe.”

  “Are you saying you won’t travel with me?” There was no accusation in this, only a numb kind of dismay.

  “No.” But even as she said it she wondered if it were true.

  He studied her, realizing that she was frightened of more than his body. “You can make it alone, if that’s what you want,” he said. “But I can’t. Not with one arm. I can’t even take off my pack without help. And without it, I’m lost. Stay with me, Thea. Please.”

  “I heard things are better higher up in the mountains,” she said noncommitally.

  “Until we’re well into the mountains, then. When we’re back in the trees, we’ll talk about it again.” He touched her arm, intending companionship, and saw her flinch.

  The wind moved the dust after them as they continued eastward.

  There was water that night, where a creek tumbled down the rocks, and near it, a linemen’s cabin which the telephone company had built long ago. There were three neat rooms and, almost miraculously, kerosene lanterns with fuel still in them packed carefully in an insulated cupboard.

  �
�Perfect,” Evan said, smiling when he had finished inspecting the cabin. “Not even coons got in.”

  Thea dropped her pack on the kitchen table, ignoring the place. “Is there any food? Can we eat?”

  Evan went to the shuttered shelves tucked into the pantry and pulled them open. “Nothing in here.” He tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice. “Wait.” He reached deep into the dark and drew out three small boxes. “Soup. We eat.”

  “Is it any good? It’s been here a long time, hasn’t it?” Thea asked, refusing to be enthusiastic about it.

  “I hope so. We’ll find out.”

  “If it isn’t we’ll die. So it doesn’t matter.” She slumped into the chair beside the table. Her body was sore and there was an ache deep within her that she could not salve. She turned disinterested eyes on Evan, who had busied himself locating cooking pots and investigating the wide-bellied wood-burning stove. “Want me to get some water?” she asked when Evan had completed his search.

  “I’ll get it,” he answered.

  “You might hurt yourself.”

  “So might you.”

  She shrugged as he took the largest of the pots and strode out the door. While he was gone she thought about leaving, just getting up and walking off into the dusk, letting it all end. She clung to her elbows as if the tightness of her grip would give her strength to leave. But, she reminded herself, she would he alone out in the mountains. If Cox or his men found her, she would not have a clean death. There would be the pain again, the invasion— She thought of the woman hanging from the billboard in Chico and her face whitened.

  “What’s the matter?” Evan had come in, unnoticed, filling the doorway, seeming to grow more massive as he came across the room. “You’re pale, Thea.”

  She shook her head, stumbled out of the chair, moving away from him. He was too big, too near. Her pulse hammered behind her eyes.

  He came after her, touching her shoulder. “You can tell me. What is it?” Although the words were gentle, his hand on her made her terror vivid.

  Panic rose in her and she broke free of him and bolted for the door, running awkwardly, for her bones felt both brittle and liquid.