Chapter Eighty-One: Epilogue

I stood at the border between the US and Canada, twenty feet from the degraded fence that divided the First Nation Reservation lands of British Columbia from US soil. Three days of playing hide-and-seek with Chase’s men had worn me to a thin shadow. I’d barely had time to eat or drink, hadn’t slept more than 15 minutes snatched wherever or whenever I could take it.

Along the way, I’d found signs left by other natives---rock cairns laid in subtle shapes of Abenaki lore, feathers left in places where that species did not live. I heard the calls of marmots and coyotes where their feet did not tread and knew some other Native American shadowed me.

The sound of something large rustling in the trees brought my senses and weapon up. I leveled the bow on the spot, lowering it when a large equine head popped out of the bushes, followed by the rest of a paint horse. A bay paint gelding upon which a boy rode. A youth from the First Nation as the Canadians called their native population.

He wore old, faded jeans, a t-shirt under a ratty old army jacket with the name TSING’ILLI’ on it. His hair was cut short, black and spiked over his ears and topknot. His eyes were the black of a snapping turtle and I noted with weary amusement that he held the horse between his knees so that his hands were busy with a .30-30 Winchester rifle. What my Great Grandfather called a bush gun. He spoke in harsh gutturals and I automatically translated as he asked me who I was.

I told him my secret warrior name and he responded in kind, telling me that the others were waiting for me.

“Others?”

He nodded. “Little Bear. DeCarlos, the woman, and her brother. The white men that you sent ahead.”

“Little Bear? I was told that he drowned.” I was glad but surprised. He tucked the rifle into a saddle scabbard on the left side of the horse and offered me his hand. I jumped up, nearly missed because I was so tired, settled my rump behind the cantle of what was an old Sears center-fire saddle.

“The border has been patrolled by many white men with guns, infra-red and search helicopters,” he said, the curiosity evident in his bland voice. He was asking who I was that had elicited such a vast response from the government. “They say you are one of the old gods walking the earth. A great Healer sent from Wakan.”

I snorted. “What I am is a tired dude in need of food, toileting and bed. In that order. I can promise if it doesn't happen soon, I’m going to have a tantrum.”

It was his turn to snicker as he kicked the paint and it reared straight up into the air. I slid off to land on my ass in the middle of a patch of briar canes, tearing at my arms and face.

“Oops,” he said, not at all apologetic.

 I leaned back on my elbows. “What’s your name?”

“Nathan Onadauga.”

“I apologize, Nathan Onadauga. My name is Lakan Strongbow.” He leaned over and gave me his hand, pulling me up and onto the horse’s rump once more. This time, I held on as he nudged the paint into a trot through the brush.

Twenty minutes later, we emerged on a hill leading down to a valley that was beautiful, white foamed streams, grassy meadows, and housing that was both practical and blended into the environment. It wasn't the typical poor Indian village. He rode up to a double wide on a cement foundation and around back to a small four stall stables where he told me to dismount. I slid off and he followed, leading the paint inside. There were other animals in stalls, equally as fine as the paint. Only when he was done with the horse's care did he tell me to follow him to the house.

We went in through the back door, into the kitchen. It was spotlessly clean. Around the square pecan table was seated six people I thought I would never see again. Leon, George, Mike, Robin and Maiara all leaped to their feet and hugged me. From another room, the Jacobis and the Senator joined us. In fact, everyone who had helped me was there. Except for Rachel and my great-grandfather but I could feel them too.

Marshal Muir came out of the back bedroom and said hello, but it was the Senator who told me what was up to date. He had carried in a laptop, open to a page with impressive seals and dire warnings on top secret clearances. He set the laptop down on the kitchen bar counter.

“Lakan, it’s good to see you and in relatively good condition,” he started and I held up my hand.

“Hold that thought. I gotta use the facilities or I’m gonna die.” I ran to the bathroom and sat, letting myself sink into that stage that preceded sleep. In fact, it was the banging on the door from several disgruntled people that woke me. I nearly fell off the pot and called out that I was almost finished, they were determined not to let me have any sleep before they learned what had occurred in the last week.

I washed my hands, sloshed cold water on my face but it didn’t help the bags underneath or the tiredness that dragged at my entire body. The door swung open and almost took out the lot of them, even Maiara was hanging onto the jamb.

“Lakan, this can wait until you get some rest,” she said and steered me towards one of the bedrooms. I followed her blindly and let her push me onto a queen sized bed with a soft rose Indian blanket where she pulled off my jeans and tucked the covers over my head. Then, I was vaguely aware that she guarded the door, refusing to let anyone in the room. I slept for over eighteen hours, not even the hunger pangs of the last two days woke me.

It was, however, the smell of frying onions and garlic that teased my nose and stomach enough to roll over and peer blearily out at the closed door of a bedroom I couldn’t quite remember. The walls were tan, painted and the ceiling an off-white with throw rugs made from rag strips. They were colorful and soft on my bare feet. I looked, someone had stripped me down to my underwear. I hoped that it wasn’t Maiara that had seen me naked but then, I wasn’t too upset if she had. I would rather have seen her in that condition, I would rather have had her all to myself, alone and loving. But, like everything else in my life, that would have to wait until I wasn’t afraid for her life and mine.

Getting up required almost more energy than I could muster but I managed. Seems like that was all I did lately, manage.

There were clean clothes in the closet and a neatly folded set atop the pine dresser. It had a mirror behind it on the wall and I stared at myself, not recognizing the raccoon faced scarecrow that stared back at me.

The scared determined look in those eyes haunted me. I was still afraid, still worried that I really hadn’t escaped from Chase, Cameron or the US government.

Slowly, I pulled on the clean clothes, smoothed down the t-shirt over my scars. It still hurt to bend over but someone had thoughtfully provided me with slip-on deck shoes. Everything in my size so that they should have fit perfectly but I had lost weight in the week-long chase through the National Forest.

The kitchen was busy, with Mairy behind the stove in an old flowered apron tied in front. She was cooking burgers, bacon, fried potatoes for an army while Senator Lourdes was tearing up lettuce leaves, George was shredding carrots and Mike was smashing garlic bulbs.

Robin looked up and tossed me a beer, Sam Adams Boston Lager. I found a can opener in the silverware drawer, popped the cap and took a healthy swallow. It tasted as good as I remembered. Just about the time that I’d swallowed half of it, Mairy called for everyone to sit down and eat. We traipsed into the dining room and sat wherever at the large oval maple table covered with real linen tablecloth and china plates.

 The table was heaped with food---mashed potatoes, gravy, French fries, bacon cheeseburgers on potato bread buns. Homemade coleslaw, potato salad and a huge garden salad. Ice tea, beer, and coffee went round the table. No one sat next to anyone in particular but just grabbed a spot on the long benches in lieu of chairs while Robin and Mike took the opposite head and foot of the table.

Mairy raised her beer and all of us gave her our undivided and eager attention. “I want to thank all of you for helping Lakan and my brother and me in escaping from the Government. Without your help, Lakan would be imprisoned and we would most likely have been terminated to prevent him from escaping again.

“Some of us have given their lives or given up their life to be here. You are not forgotten, your sacrifice will be remembered and celebrated for all our lives. And yet, we are still not safe. Chase and Cameron have made Lakan’s capture a prize worth more than anything in recorded history, more than anything in this world.

“Everyone will be suspect; everyone could be tempted to turn him in for the reward.” She held the bottle up. “To those who perished and suffered so that we could be free.”

All of us drank to those gone but not forgotten and then, dug into the feast. I took some of everything, ate all of it and went back for seconds. After filling my plate, I was aware of a strained silence and looked up to see the entire assemblage staring at me with open mouths.

“What?” I asked around a huge mouthful of mashed potatoes and gravy.

“No one’s ever seen anyone eat quite like that, Lakan,” Mairy said smiling.

“Yeah? Well, I’ve got to replace protein every time I repair something,” I retorted.

“You haven’t healed yet?” Mairy asked, worried. “I thought everything was done.”

“Mostly,” I chewed and swallowed. “Just some residual internal soreness.”

George spoke up. “When you’re done eating, if ever, Lakan, we need to get moving.

“Moving where?” Deliberately, I took another cheeseburger even though that was pushing it. My stomach almost felt too full.

“The Tribal Council wants to meet with us and determine the best place and scenario to hide you,” he answered me. I pushed the plate away and stood up.

“I’m ready.” Mairy moved towards my side and George shook his head.

“Just Lakan and I.” Mairy looked unsettled.

I haven’t had him to myself for more than five minutes!” she complained.

“After Lakan sees the Elders, Maiara, you can have him all to yourself for days,” he promised. He looked everyone in the eye and nodded again as he picked up keys left on the spotless counters.

Mairy kissed me and I felt her hand slip something into my back pocket. Or it could be that she was fondling my butt cheeks, or checking what was inside them. Her eyes misted as she pushed herself away.

“I love you, Lakan Strongbow. Come back to me.”

Frowning, I followed George Little Bear out to a shiny new Dodge Ram pickup and slid into the passenger seat. George told me to put on my seat belt and I obeyed him.

He pulled out and drove past the collection of neat double wides and trailers. All of them had barns with livestock, mostly horses, and cattle. In fact, it looked no different than any village on the rez back home. Except maybe cleaner and more prosperous.

“How far is it?” I asked.

“Not far. About 15 miles down the road. There’s the Tribal Council House, Medical Clinic, and other assorted government buildings. They run things about the same here, except the Council allows the RCMPs to have jurisdiction on Reservation land.”

“That means that they can arrest me?”

He nodded. “But they won’t extradite you if they did arrest you. Especially knowing the circumstances.”

I looked at him. “They know about me?”

He stared straight ahead and there was a pregnant pause before he spoke. “I told the Elders and they went to the Captain of the station. He agreed to listen to you before he made a decision.”

“George---.”

“Lakan, the only way for you to survive is to have some kind of protection from a governmental agency. Canada is the least likely to screw you over.” His gaze softened. “It’s for the best, Lakan. You’d have a chance which is more than Rachel had.”

“George, I tried to go back for her---.”

“I know you did. Both Roan Horse and Leon told me that you tried but she was already gone before Mike got you out of there.”

The truck rolled smoothly down the well-paved road, tires humming as he cruised at 70 mph so it wasn’t long before we’d done the fifteen miles.

Coming into the complex was just like driving into any government bureaucracy center. Even the buildings had that sterile boxy look that Federal designers favored.

The truck drove up to one that was slightly less ugly than the rest and George shut off the ignition, opened the door and hopped out onto dusty gravel.

I did the same, noting that the busy parking lot was filled with both rental vehicles and Canadian government sedans. The rez plates were different than the regional BC plates, kind of unique and looked like the ones on Wyoming cars with an Indian chief in a headdress in the center of the license plate.

We walked up to the front doors, smoked glass so that we could not see inside but they were operated by laser sensors and opened as we approached them. There was a sudden pop as the pressurized air inside displaced with the influx of outside air.

The inside was a surprise. It was filled with Native art from more than one tribe. I saw medicine bags and cradleboards from the Cheyenne next to scrimshaw walrus tusks from the Inuit and Tlingit tribes as well as pottery from the Navajo and Hopi and textiles from Incan and Mayan. In the center of the reception hall soared a genuine Lakota teepee, made of lodgepole pines and painted buffalo hides. Painted with victory scenes from the Battle of Little Big Horn.

A woman waited for us, dressed in a neat pair of skintight jeans and smartly tailored blouse with a western motif. She was clearly of First Nation ancestry with black hair and deep brown eyes.

“I am Linda Ponyboy, Mohawk,” she greeted in a soft Canadian accent. “Mr. Little Bear, Mr. Strongbow. Please follow me.”

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the incredible artifacts and artworks as we marched down a hallway done in subtle gray and sandstone red, the walls covered with paintings and wool rugs that were priceless. She stopped at a door painted gray to match the walls and pushed it open to reveal a conference room, a large table at which a group of 12 men sat waiting.

“Thank you, Ms. Ponyboy,” the one at the head spoke as he rose and came around to hold out to hands to George. They introduced each other and then the rest stood as George said my name and the name of my ancestors, stopping as he reached Great-Grandfather’s name.

“Please sit. George, you can wait in the next room and Ms. Ponyboy will bring you coffee,” the elder who had introduced himself as Nathaniel One Sock said. I asked them to repeat all their names again so that I could remember who was whom.

He started first as George went through the door that I hadn’t seen recessed into the wall next to a row of large windows that looked out on the complex and surrounding woods which surprisingly, was closer than I had suspected.

“Please, Lakan. Sit down,” One Sock said courteously but I heard the implied order in his voice. He gestured to the last empty chair and I hesitated. Number thirteen.

The chair was hideously uncomfortable. Something under the leather pricked me through the stiff cushion and no matter how I shifted, I couldn’t get off it. None of the others seemed to mind their seats as they settled back into the plush black leather.

All of them looked like natives, all were dressed casually with no one in a business suit. With the exception of the spokesman, One Sock, they were all around 30-35, fit and generically the same demeanor which struck me as odd.

“Is it warm in here?” I muttered and ran my fingers around my collar, suddenly sweaty and tight. I swallowed, my throat felt as if I had chewed on chalk, dry and pasty; when I lifted my hand to rub at the lump, it refused to obey my command to rise.

Tingles of heat spread from my back, up my spine to resonate at the nape of my neck. Sudden ice cold numbed my head and I could not hold it up so I did not see the entire table of men stand until they were all gathered around me. My chair flew backward under one’s hand and 12 men circled me. I heard the door open and struggled to rise, to call George to help but nothing I could do or say came to pass under my control. Someone grasped me by the hair and jerked my head off my chest where it had fallen.

Looking into the brown eyes of the man who held me, I was aware that the face belonged to someone vaguely familiar. One of Aiken’s men. Named Andrews or something. He spoke over his shoulder and stepped aside to gather my wrists together, placing me in federal handcuffs.

Cameron’s blue eyes smiled back at me and over his shoulder, Chase and George Little Bear waited patiently for my eyes to focus and acknowledge them.

“George?” I gasped and nearly choked as he stepped aside to show me a woman standing behind him. I knew that face, that slender body but the last time I’d seen her, she was a spirit. “Rachel? I don’t understand?”

“They promised me her life if I brought you in, Lakan. I’m sorry but that and the $50 million will go a long way towards providing care and hope to the people of Wind River.” He picked up Rachel’s hand and he led her away. She went without a backward glance to me.

“I take it these aren’t Tribal Elders?” I asked past the growing constriction in my throat.

“Agents culled from both our agencies and the Canadian government,” Chase told me. “I have looked forward to this day for years.” Taking out a device from his pocket, he jammed a Taser into my belly, letting the voltage seer my muscles until I could no longer keep my brain active.

“Welcome back to your real world, Lakan,” Chase said and Cameron’s laugh was the last thing I heard before I saw Rachel and George’s departing backs.

The movement made me aware that I was still alive and it brought astonishment with that idea, still alive and with some sense of my surroundings. I knew that I was being transported via helicopter back to the states and from there, into a military transport plane where efficient medics and Cameron kept me drugged and totally immobile. It wasn’t until I was fully conscious that I recognized my last destination as a room done in washable tile so that the blood could be hosed off, bars across the open wall that looked out over an observation deck, no creature comforts at all.

The drugs wore off as Cameron supervised my unloading into a sterile operating suite, slid my unresisting body onto a steel table locking my wrists to restraints at the ends of cross-like arms while my ankles were pulled as far apart as possible.

All my joints ached. I rattled the cuffs and they were more than plastic, leather, more than good old fashioned American steel. These were vanadium steel, hardened tougher than the steel used in the Titan rockets and unless I possessed a laser cutting device, I wasn’t getting out of them anytime soon.

Cameron cut off all my clothes, attached my IVs to a pole welded to the side of the steel autopsy table and looked down at me. “Well, Lakan. We call this the ‘Screaming Room’. Want to know why? After all, you are the star attraction that this place was built to accommodate. I expect that you’ll be providing us with quite the show for the next few years.”

He was right. I christened the room with my agony, blood, vomit, body fluids and curses until my mind broke. But that didn’t stop him or Chase for as long as my body supplied them with medical miracles or genetic anomalies for I was his research. His Guinea pig. Those who used me never gave me the opportunity to escape nor did they ever remove me from the restraints or the prison cell. In time, my tortured screams became part of the ‘Screaming Room’s’ legend.

I was more animal than human, existing in a world encompassed by the four walls of the cell and the two torturers in the name of Science and Greed, a sadistic doctor’s plaything and source of income for my body’s unique blood and cells. I was the ‘Screamer’ of the ‘Screaming Room’, lost and forgotten to all the world but most important of all, to myself.

The End.