Chapter Eight
An owl woke me. In our culture, an owl was a harbinger of death although I wasn’t sure if I adhered to the idea – no owl had warned me when Grandpop had passed. It sounded almost as if the bird was sitting on the wall of the tent where I slept. I wanted to go outside and check but I didn’t want to wake the pair.
I needn’t have worried, both men were still up, one tending the fire and the other reading by battery powered lantern.
“What time is it, Pete?” I asked.
“3:15 AM,” he answered. “Hungry? We saved you something.”
My stomach growled on cue and the dogs made a sleepy protest as I sat up eagerly. He handed me a wrapped parcel and I unfolded it carefully to find cold lasagna, green beans, and a chocolate brownie. I dove in with greed not caring that he watched me in open-mouthed admiration.
“I don’t think I’ve since ever seen anyone go at MREs with such reckless abandonment,” he laughed. “You must be starving.”
I heard Klingemann call out and the dogs began barking, leaping out from under me to run for the open tent flap. “Hey!” Klingemann yelled.
There was a funny burp noise and then silence. My hand froze midway to my mouth. I grabbed a knife that came with the meal and swiped at the back wall of the tent as Zig and Zag yelped in distress.
I headed to the tent and that’s when I saw Grandfather. Dressed in his ceremonial buckskins of pale fawn tunic embroidered with beads, porcupine quills and sun disc, his hair in eagle feathered braids. He looked awesome. And scary.
He pointed back towards the woods and away from the fire and the fallen body of Klingemann.
“No, Lakan. Boy Who Thinks.” He called me by my spirit name so I would know he was serious. “These men who helped you are dead. Flee.”
“But Zig and Zag, Tango and Cash!” I protested swallowing the lump in my throat.
“The dogs will find you. Hurry, before they see you.”
I ran into the trees, following Grandpop’s ghostly form as he led me through thick stands of aspen, warning me of downed trunks and rock piles that might trip an unwary fleeing child. Off to the side, I could see the vague flitting shadows of the Blue Heelers as they flanked me.
We twisted, turned and at one point, I could swear we were headed back in a circle towards the campsite. Only a few branches slapped me, their leaves heavy with dew. In another week, the temperature this high would drop and make for chilly and dangerous traveling.
As I ran, I wondered what had happened to the two men who had taken me in. Most of all, I wanted to go back and do something. All my gear and survival stuff was back there, I didn’t even have a pocket knife, just the slim blade that came with the MRE meal.
Grandpop’s form stepped in front of me and he hunkered down on his knees as if listening. I wanted to hug him but knew better. I did not want to bind his spirit to this world when he deserved to go on.
“You can rest, Lakan,” he said. “This spot is one of those where the veil between two worlds touch and are thin. No one can find you here.”
I stopped running and caught my breath, the dogs coming close to my side and whining softly. I patted both and touched a bloody furrow on Zag’s side. He yelped and licked my hand.
“He’s been shot! This is a bullet crease! Someone shot him?” I yelled.
“What do you think killed those two men? Spirit arrows?” he asked.
“What happened back there? Who were those shooters? Are they after me?”
“Those are the men who work for the white doctor, the one who ordered your mother killed and was the cause of your accident, Lakan. He has a thread on you and even now, he reels it in to find you.”
“What should I do now, Grandpa?” I called him by the name I had used as a baby, I was that scared.
“Run,” he said. “RUN!”
I bolted forward and didn’t realize that there wasn’t ground under my feet until the second stride. Flailing arms in a parody of flight I fell, unable to see anything but I could hear the rushing of fast water.
When I finally hit, it was still a shock - the water was frigid and moving faster than expected. Had I been an adult, I would have broken either my back or legs but because I was only 12 and short, I just barely grazed the bottom. Turbulence made the water frothy and I could not see but my body instinctively went for the brightest light I could see. My scrabbling hands broke the surface first, and then I popped my head out to stare at the moon as the river carried me downstream.
I wasn’t aware of any rivers large enough to carry a body in this area, but then I wasn’t too familiar with this part of the San Juans like Grandpop had been. I prayed the dogs hadn’t followed me. Heelers were notoriously heavy-boned and poor swimmers. I coughed up water and righted myself onto my back with my feet pointed downstream letting the current carry me.
I was cold. So cold that I was past chattering and knew I would have to get out and dry off before hypothermia killed me. Sleepiness and lethargy took hold of my muscles. I heard Grandpa’s voice in my ear.
“Swim, Lakan. Swim for the shore. There’s a curve in the river up ahead and it has a sandbar.”
I pulled my arms around and paddled feebly making no inroads against the current. Just as I was about to give up, my feet hit the ground that shifted under me and I surged upright wading for the faint pale stretch that denoted the shoreline.
Staggering more than walking, I stumbled ashore using the rocks to pull myself in further. The banks here were gentle but covered in boulders, the trees growing back from the water’s edge. I found a narrow game trail and my fingers felt the tracks of elk and deer, raccoons and coyote.
Now my teeth chattered as I began to shiver. Shivers that racked my slender frame so hard that I could barely crawl.
“Make a fire, Lakan,” Grandpa whispered in my ear. “Here.”
He brought me to a sheltered spot between three huge boulders that formed a small cave. Inside it was a tangle of driftwood, leaves, and cattails. With his encouragement and advice, I managed to start a small hot fire the old way with flint and striker stone.
Blowing with tiny breaths which were all I was capable of, I made the fire live. With clumsy, numb fingers I pulled off my sodden clothes and draped them against the rocks to dry. The moisture steamed inside the small cubbyhole and made breathing easier. Gradually the heat penetrated my bones and made me sleepy and complaisant. I wanted to fall into that state, let everything go and almost had when I heard the sounds of something approaching.
I grabbed one of the larger sticks and raised it in a defensive position, lowering it only when I recognized the dogs. They leaped over me in joy, licking my face and whining. Both of them squeezed into the stone hollow and cuddled next to me. Their coats were dry; they had either run themselves so or shook the wet from their fur. With them on guard, I was able to relax enough to fall asleep.
Every few hours, I woke and kept the flames going. A small fire so that it could not be seen or smelled away from my camp. We waited for dawn before moving. Anyway, I had to wait until my clothes and boots were dry.
Once I was able to pull my things back on, I was warmed both physically and mentally. When the sun came up high enough to poke its way into the hole between the rocks, I was both rested, warm and full of confidence.
Of course, all three of us were starving. Between the dogs’ bellies growling and my own, we could’ve scared away a mountain cat.
“You guys didn’t bring any pork chops or rabbit, did you?” I asked burying my face in their ruffs. They smelled like wet dog but I was never so happy to see and smell their stink.
“Grandpa? Are you here, are you listening?” I cocked my head and Zig licked me. I checked Zag’s wound and it appeared clean and scabbed over.
Rising, I hobbled out onto the rocky beach covered with everything from house-sized boulders down to the fine-grained sand. There were animal footprints all over, obviously, my smell had not chased them off. I saw pine martin, woodchuck, chipmunk, rabbit and foxes along with whitetail, raccoon, and weasel. The weasel had caught a good-sized trout and left nothing but the bare-bones. Still, if he could catch a fish, I knew I could.
The dogs followed my unsteady progress up into the trees where I found a small stand of willows. Using the crude knife from my last meal, I hacked off enough whippy branches to weave a net. The dogs eyed me with interest and Zig even went so far as to gnaw on the lathes. He spat them out making a funny face and rubbed at his tongue with his paws. Willow had a bitter inner bark that could be used for fevers or arthritis.
Once I was satisfied my seine would hold together, I retraced our steps to the river following it upstream until I found a shallow pool in a quiet backwater. Watching for the ripples, I waited for evidence of fish and was not disappointed.
Took me a while but by midmorning, both dogs and I had feasted on trout cooked in the coals of our fire, eaten late-season dewberries and drank our fill.
I knew the water was rife with bacteria from animal feces but I had learned how to dig a hole, let the water fill it and be filtered by passing through the sand. Fed, watered and rested, we were ready to head downstream for help.