Tales of Downfall and Rebirth (13 page)

“Where did you find it?”

Mitch smiled. “Now, you know I can't tell you that.”

Dixon knew the rules, knew that too many questions and Mitch would just go to the next buyer on his list. But Dixon was always a touch too suspicious of just how Mitch managed to procure the range of items he had for trade. Mitch billed himself as a go-between for a larger crew, negotiating trades and drop-off points for goods if they were too numerous to carry inland between the three of them.

It kept things simple. But as he met Dixon's gaze across the table, nothing was ever simple.

Dixon snorted. “Trade secrets? Bullshit. We've been working hard to ally ourselves with other communities. Imagine my position if I learn this wood came from one of them. So you tell your boss we need answers.”

Mitch forced back a frown. Most communities rolled out the red carpet when he came—desperate enough not to question the origin of the goods he brought with him. But the Homer Cooperative was doing better than most, and could afford to be . . . ethical? No. Careful, cautious.

Some of the folks here thought Dixon was a visionary. Mitch didn't know about all that, but he did know the Cooperative was the first community to request glass, the real stuff, or if not that then Plexiglas, to build greenhouses. For a diet that went beyond fish and elk and wild berries. They were thinking of the future when so many other communities could afford only to take things one day at a time.

Mitch raised his hands. “I can try, but they'll just say if you're being difficult to take it to New Whittier or Soldatna.”

He let that sink in, pleased to see the slight panic that crept into the other man's eyes. Dixon was a tough SOB—forest ranger from before—but a terrible poker player. Mitch shrugged.

“I hear they have an influx of refugees from Anchorage and nowhere to house them.”

Dixon frowned, suddenly looking tired. “The city's still smoking, if the rumors can be trusted.”

In those first few weeks right after, Mitch and the kids sailed up and down the coast, watching everything burn. And while they waited it out, Mitch had to find a way for them to survive.

He'd even considered sailing across the gulf to the mainland, but by then stories of the West Coast going up in flames had reached Alaska. He thought of Kathy in her swanky loft in Seattle—the absolute opposite of their life together in Valdez. She probably never had a chance before the fires found her. Not that he'd tell the kids that.

Dixon finally set the wood sample away from him with a soft snap against the table. For a brief moment Mitch could see the large “H” branded to the inside of his wrist before Dixon's sleeve covered it once more. Every member of the Cooperative had one.

“Winter's not too far off. Folks are wising up, realizing they can't do it all on their own. It's beautiful, really, watching people come together to rebuild.”

Mitch raised a brow. “Alaskans working together?”

“This is bigger than you or me. What about your kids?”

“What about them?”

Dixon's eyes widened slightly at Mitch's tone. That was rule number one. No one laid a hand on Danielle or Edward. So far, no one had tested him on that.

“I'm just saying life as traders must be hard on them.”

True enough. The kids always brightened when they came to Homer to trade. Mitch tried not to get defensive when they'd dash off without a word to him and tag after the other children their age they'd gotten to know on past trips. Some sort of weird kid radar that must short out when you got older. He might keep them safe and well fed, but in the end he was still Dad.

Mitch shook his head. “Life's hard period. Get to your point.”

“Look, we want good people here.” Dixon licked his lips and leaned forward. “You've always dealt fairly with us, even if you leave out more details than I'd like. We could use someone like you.”

“Sorry, not interested.” He slowly got to his feet. “You want the wood or not?”

Dixon nodded without hesitation.

“Then we're done here.” He turned to leave, but Dixon stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Word's getting around, Mitch. People are starting to wonder. One of these days . . .” He shrugged.

“Is that a threat?” Mitch forced out.

“A warning. You'll have to throw in one day. And I hope it'll be with us.”

*   *   *

“Geez, Dad. Did we have to get so much?” Eddie struggled with the straps of his bulging pack. Danielle's shoulders bowed under the extra weight, but she hadn't complained since they left the Cooperative and hiked into the forest to the southeast. A cold drizzle trickled down through the trees, liberally soaking them before the moss cushioning their steps absorbed the rest.

“You want to eat for the next four months?”

The words came out sharper than Mitch intended. He'd been on edge as he and the kids packed up the supplies they'd negotiated for and gave Dixon the coordinates for the cache of paneling—in the opposite direction of the route they'd take back to the
Windfall
—that they set up before even approaching the Cooperative.

Eddie sucked in his cheeks. “Does this mean we'll take a break from salvage for a while?”

Mitch frowned. They probably could afford a break, considering all they carried and the cold feeling in the pit of his stomach that Dixon's parting words had created. Maybe they should lie low for a while, let the curiosity die down.

“I guess we could spend a week at camp once we stow everything in the cave.”

Eddie beamed at him. “You promise?”

“I don't see why not. But remember, we're like ants. We work hard spring, summer, and fall so we can survive the winter. We can't afford a grasshopper mentality for too long.”

Dani rolled her eyes but for once did not make a snide comment.

They pushed through the forest of spruce trees. The fresh evergreen smell had a way of calming the mind, but Mitch fought it, his head on constant swivel. After all, a healthy dose of suspicion had kept them alive. As a bonus, all his precautions kept the kids on their toes.

They had maybe two hours of daylight to find a defensible camp. He made a point never to stay the night in any community they traded in, always camping out of range and keeping watch to ensure they weren't being followed.

Like they were right now. It took a half mile to be sure. Mitch had to swallow his first impulse to tell the kids. But they needed the practice.

It was Kathy's fault they were so far behind. Years lived in Alaska mattered; if you could trace your residency back a generation or more, even better. Mitch had learned that early on when he was subjected to all kinds of questions related to his parents' retirement home on the Prince William Sound, the summers he spent in Alaska growing up, learning her secrets. He liked to think his experiences were enough for most of those born and raised here—the grizzled types at the bar or the marina who were always on the lookout for folks from “back east.”

Kathy, on the other hand . . . Too many people took him aside and told him it was only a matter of time before she hightailed it back to the lower forty-eight. He didn't believe them, of course. But she couldn't handle the eternalness of winter, the isolation that forced you to look deep inside yourself, or the way life and death were separated by the sharpest of knife-edges here. A land constantly in negotiation with its extremes.

She took the kids with her. He got them summers and two weeks every March. And since that fateful spring break he had promised them a fishing trip they'd never forget, Dani and Eddie were catching up—learning the land, the sea, growing more confident in the nature around them, and more respectful of it at the same time.

The back of his neck prickled. Mitch just hoped it'd be enough.

Eddie glanced back the way they came, a small frown on his face. He kept walking, holding his pack's straps to rest his arms. Dani faced forward, her steps precise and controlled, despite the fatigue that left smudges under her eyes. Then she cocked her head the same time Eddie shot another look over his shoulder. Mitch held his breath, willing them to make the connection.

“We're being followed, aren't we?” Dani asked.

Mitch nodded, his shoulder relaxing slightly under the weight of his pack. He was nearly at the point where'd he have to cut the experiment short.

“You two keep going. I'll see if I can get behind him, see what we're up against.”

He scanned the trees. This was as good a place as any. Shot through with the occasional aspen, spruce surrounded them. But bark beetles had kept the trees from thriving. Resulting in less cover, but more space for a confrontation.

“But—”

“I mean it, Dani.”

That they figured it out was enough of a lesson for today. He'd handle the rest. He had to.

“Take your brother, and go on ahead. I'll be right behind you.”

A brief flicker of fear passed over her face, then she nodded. Eddie opened his mouth to protest, but Dani pushed him ahead of her.

“Come on.”

You can take the man out of the wilderness, but you can't take the wilderness out of the man.

That was something Kathy said to him right before the divorce. She hadn't intended for it to be a compliment, but he thanked God the kids had been with him when everything changed. Otherwise . . .

He wouldn't think of that. A stick snapped somewhere behind him, loud despite the constant drip of water. Then a muffled curse. One person for sure, but Dixon would be a fool to send only one person after them.

Nestling between the brittle evergreen boughs, he hid against the trunk of a sick spruce and peeked out for a count of three before returning to cover. Two men hiked through the undergrowth. Loggers, oil-riggers, fishermen . . . it didn't really matter what they did before. The result was the same: broad shoulders, toned arms and legs well accustomed to work, and the single-mindedness of a job needing done.

Talk and trinkets wouldn't send these two back home. Damn Dixon to hell.

He shrugged out of his pack and partially buried it under moss and needles carpeting the forest floor. His fingers caught on a branch with the diameter of a rolling pin about the length of his forearm. That and his knife would have to do. His breath squeezed his chest as he waited for the men to pass by. One, two . . . Then he snapped his wrist forward, clobbering the first in the head with the tree branch.

Not giving himself a moment to hesitate, he tackled the second to the ground. The man's shoulder dug the air out of his lungs with an agonizing wheeze. Mitch scrambled to his feet, desperately clutching the handle of his knife. Six inches of sharpened steel. He hoped it'd be enough.

The man who got a face full of spruce groaned and careened toward him. Mitch brandished his knife, but the other man was fearless as he launched toward him and knocked him back against a tree trunk. Pain lanced up Mitch's spine and sparked behind his eyes.
Son of a—

He still had hold of his knife. Right. He slashed out, catching the man across the shoulder. The man screamed, surprisingly high-pitched, and clutched at the red leaking out.

Mitch brought the knife handle down on his head, and the man collapsed in a boneless heap. Still bleeding. He would have to do something about that. But first . . .

He spun around, searching for the second man. He was where Mitch left him, moaning into the spruce needles. He gripped him by the hair and pressed the knife to his throat.

“You tell Dixon: never again.”

“Don't know . . .” he gasped out, “what you're talking about.”

Unbelievable.
Mitch snarled, tightening his grip on the man's hair.

“Dad, he's telling the truth. Just look at him.”

Dani. Where'd she come from? Behind him, she held up the wrist of the other attacker. No “H” branding all members of the Cooperative.

“You sure?”

She nodded.

He eased up on the man. Up close, he could see the hollowed cheeks and hungry eyes. Must've been driven into the forest to survive. That explained the stink coming off both of them.

“What do you want from us?”

“Food, supplies . . . anything. We're desperate.”

Dani slowly backed away, coming to a stop next to Eddie.

Mitch shook his head. “I can't help you.”

And he wouldn't have these two following them back to the
Windfall
.

Or worse. “If you have a skill or don't mind hard labor, I suggest you beg the folks in Homer to take you in.”

Mitch knocked the man out and pushed off the ground. Blood plummeted from his head, taking whatever adrenaline he had leftover with it. His knife slipped and thudded to the forest floor. Wiping his hands on his pants, he cast about, mind and heart racing.

“Dad?”

His gaze snapped to Dani and Eddie, whey-faced and wide-eyed a few yards away.

He lurched toward them. “It's . . . okay. Everything's going to be okay.”

*   *   *

G
ULF
OF
A
LASKA
, S
OUTH
C
ENTRAL
A
LASKA
N
OVEMBER
3, C
HANGE
Y
EAR
0/1998 AD

The cruise ship glimmered on the horizon like a mirage. The
Ice King
was picture perfect with the distant Wrangell Mountains in the backdrop, looking as though they'd been recently dusted with powdered sugar. Mitch took one last lingering look, then passed the binoculars to Dani. Her brow furrowed as she scanned the ship, the logo
CRUISE ALASKA
emblazoned on its side. It was smaller than the vessels used by global cruise lines, but it still eclipsed the
Windfall
.

Since leaving the Cooperative, they'd come across an abandoned motorboat that had already been cleaned out. A new set of charts, a forgotten packet of boat rations, and the glass of the windshield was all they could scavenge. All in all, rather disappointing. Especially for Eddie, since it was his turn to assist.