Light the Hidden Things (16 page)

The need to flip the cakes broke Crow's reminiscence. His whistling grew lively again. Driving here, paralleling the Strait of Juan de Fuca, he'd bought some farm-made raspberry jam; settling at his table, he slathered it on the pancakes.

It was customary for him to throw in a small treat from his own meal on top of Major’s kibble. He knew it was a foolish notion, but he couldn’t get it out of his mind that if the dog smelled all that good people-food it was downright cruel to make him subsist on something as deadly-dull as that packaged stuff. This morning Major got a sliver of pancake. “No jam,” Crow said sternly.

The meal finished, everything cleaned and put away, the dog posed expectantly, leather leash dangling from his mouth. Crow clipped it to his collar. Outside, he said, "I hope that woman - the one in Lupine - knows how to keep a place squared away. Tackle shop - man, think of that inventory. I bet she's a good fisherman herself; she moves like an athlete and we know she's got a ton of patience."

Major pretended interest before resuming important snuffling. Crow was unaware. Lost in his own thoughts, he remembered how carelessly he'd stolen time from Patricia and Joe to get outdoors, fishing and camping. It simply wasn't fun, Patricia explained after their second wet, cold weekend trip. Joe never took to the notion, either. Sport, to him, involved a ball or, at least, competition with another human. Solitude was something both mother and son avoided.

He concentrated on his present location. It was a slope overlooking the gray-green of the Strait. Well-maintained dirt roads cut it into parcels, each separated from neighbors by a wooded privacy gap. There were only a handful of scattered tents, a trio of pickup-mounted campers, and one other motorhome.

Major’s tours through any such site were a triumphal march. Adults were met with dignified reserve, amended to friendly tail wags after proper introductions. Youngsters infected him with instant puppy-reversion. He licked faces. He pranced in invitation to play. He yanked on his leash like a hooked shark. Not once had he ever bowled over a child, but the sight of all that muscularity, no matter how restrained, wasn't always welcome. Some kids yelled fear. When that happened his hurt was sorrowful to behold.

Crow's stroll took him uphill to the owner’s home overlooking the grounds and out to sea. Inside a low white picket fence that discouraged trespass without offering a real barrier the house was an old-fashioned twin-pillared bungalow. In Seattle it would have fit into any of the older neighborhoods. Here in this rustic setting it should have looked anachronistic. Instead, it faced the Strait with a sureness of worth and purpose. White paint, blue trim, and darkly aged cedar shake roof welcomed.

A few yards distant was a garage workshop. Dull red, it would have been merely another dumpy outbuilding except for the dog-eared tin roof. The two buildings side by side made Crow think of antique photographs of ladies in long white dresses carrying parasols, flanked by brat little brothers in cocked derbies.

Through the open double doors of the garage, Crow saw a man head and shoulders under the hood of a well-used pickup. He rose just as Crow and Major were passing.

Crow said, “’Morning,” and nodded.

The man asked. “Catch anything this morning?”

“Nothing. Did we wake you on our way out?”

“No, no.” The man came forward. “I’m always up early. Amber and I feed the animals before the school bus comes.” Opening the gate, he joined Crow, pointing. “Pasture and a small barn over there, beyond those trees. Sheep, goats, llamas. We sell the wool. Buy and sell some animals. Amber’s got her own goats, some alpacas, some rabbits. I tell her if the campsite business flops we’ll still be able to eat for a while. She half believes me.”

“Amber; pretty little blond. Way too cute. Going to scramble a lot of boy brains in a few years. She was with Mrs. Miles when I checked in.”

“That’s our Amber, sure enough. And my wife’s Sophia.” He came around the truck, hand out. “I remember your name. We haven’t actually met. I’m Jason Miles.”

They shook. “I go by Crow.”

“And this big fella?”

“That’s Major.” Crow was pleased when Jason called the dog by name and let him make the first move. Major acknowledged the courtesy with wag, taking a step forward to be patted. Jason obliged, then jerked a thumb at the garage with a wry smile. "Truck's giving me trouble. Something in the wiring. Comes and goes. Making me crazy. You wouldn’t happen to be a mechanic?”

“Shade-tree tinker.” Remembering the problems that entangled him in Lupine roiled his breakfast.

Jason brightened. “Take a look. Maybe you can see something I don’t,” and led the way. Refusal died on Crow’s lips. After rolling up his sleeves and looping Major’s leash over a hook set in the wall, Crow bent over the engine. He fiddled with wires. A few moments later, he said, “Try it now.”

Jason got behind the wheel. The starter motor wheezed uselessly. Crow straightened. “You got a voltmeter?” Jason shook his head. Crow dove back inside. For several seconds he squirmed, then gestured for Jason to turn the key again.

Crow yelped like a coyote and flew backward. The Stetson spiraled away. His feet tangled. He lurched toward the wall. At full tilt, he slammed into the garage’s wooden slats beside Major. The startled dog promptly yanked the restraining hook out of the wood. Between that jolt and Crow’s impact, the entire building rattled. Shelves emptied onto the floor. Dust rose like fog.

Major frisked and barked, enjoying this new game. Jason tumbled out of the cab and came to where Crow was shaking his hand and mumbling under his breath. Jason said, “Are you all right?”

For one pregnant instant, Crow’s eyes blazed. His jaw tightened. Jason blinked. Rising and brushing himself off, Crow said dryly, “I found your short. I’m just guessing here, but I think we proved your battery's still charged.” To the still excited Major, he said, “We’re not playing, doofus.”

From the garage door, a woman’s voice said, “What happened? Is someone hurt?”

While Jason explained, Amber rushed up to stand beside her mother, wide-eyed and silent. The girl had her mother’s features, but where the child was fair, the mother was darker and her hair black as night. When Jason finished, Sophia took a nervous step toward Crow. “Are you sure you’re all right? We have insurance.”

He waved that off. “No problem, ma’am. More surprise than hurt.”

Amber pointed at Major. “He didn’t get hurt, did he?” Major whined and twitched in his need to make friends.

Crow laughed. “Not hardly. Old Major thought it was pretty funny.”

The girl looked at Crow with shy disapproval. “He wouldn’t think it was funny if he knew you were hurt.”

Sophia was scandalized. “Amber.”

Crow said, “She’s right, Mrs. Miles. Major knew it wasn’t a big deal.”

Still shy, but pleased nonetheless, Amber looked to her mother. “I knew when Mr. Crow checked in. They love each other.”

Jason said, “Sometimes I think she can talk to animals. I know she thinks so.”

Coloring, the girl defended herself. “I don’t either. But I really do understand. Sometimes.”

Crow said, “You understood Major. He’d like to get better acquainted.” He looked to Sophia for approval. Her smile answered for her and Crow released the dog to go shower affection on the child and her mother. To Jason, he said, “I knocked down a lot of stuff. I’ll clean it up.”

Jason said, “Forget that. You were helping. Never mind the mess. I’ll get it after I fix the truck.”

“It's just worn insulation. I'll drive you into town for new wiring.”

Jason said, “You don’t have to do that.”

Crow turned away. "I know. Be just a minute. We get back, clean up, and I'll check out."

All the way to town and back he indulged Jason’s small talk, silently telling himself Major had all the best of it, riding in the truck bed.

Home again, Crow noted Sophia had replaced everything in the garage. Equipment benched in a far corner caught his eye. Jason saw and said, “My reloading tools. The only way I can afford ammunition. Can’t afford it anyhow, to be honest. I saw your Marine decal; you do any shooting?”

“I own a gun. That’s about it.” Then, feeling a bit guilty for his extended curtness, Crow added, “Nobody can afford anything anymore.”

From opposite sides of the engine, the men attacked the truck’s compromised wiring. Deeper into the building, Amber had rigged her father’s trouble light so they could see better and she was bouncing a ball off the rear wall for Major.

Jason stepped back with a confident thumb’s up. “Got ‘er done, I believe,” he said and stepped into the cab.

From the corner of his eye Crow absently watched Amber throw the ball. Major leaped. Jaws snapped an instant late. The deflected ball struck the trouble light on the workshelf. The bulb made a soft pop. Sparks danced and sputtered.

There was a loud explosion.

Crow felt himself falling.
Grenade.

Impossible. Not here.

Major. Yelping. Biting at his side.

Another explosion, much louder. Fire in two, three - innumerable - places. Unbelievably, the whole rear of the building was engulfed. More explosions. Smaller, an evil rain spraying through the larger thunder of other blasts.

Gunfire. Screaming.

Amber.

God, no; not the child.

Jason was running toward her, toward the inferno.

Amber fell, terribly still. No more screams. Major, biting at his own side continuously, ran to Crow. Jason took one more step before the giant's hand of yet another explosion smashed him to the floor.

Crouched, Crow scrambled past him. He fought forward, fell flat beside Amber, grabbed her neck. There was a weak, rapid pulse.

Smoke blinded him. Heat drew a dry, crisp smell from his clothes. Flat on the floor, he got his hands into Amber’s armpits and inched backward. The smaller explosions multiplied. He imagined a beast snarling as it saw its prey stolen.

Firefight.

No, that was then. Concentrate.

Fire. The red dreams.

No dream now.

After so much, You’d have me die like this? And the child? How did she offend You? Where are You now? You and Your infinite mercy?

Major’s frantic barking was faint. Crow knew instantly, proudly, his dog, injury and all, was summoning help.

His foot struck something yielding. There was a groan and Crow realized the contact was Jason. Crow found his shirt, gripped it. Sticky wetness slimed his grip.

Other scenes, other times and places shrieked at him to remember.

Red. Scenes.

No
.

One hand for the girl. One hand for the father. Crawl. Pull.

Inches. Fire and smoke.

Don’t remember. Don't think. Do what needs done.

Leave no wounded. No dead.

He rose to his knees, straining for extra purchase. Intensified heat roared triumph. Thicker smoke burrowed into his eyes, his throat.

I can do this. After what You did, did You think I’d beg You for help?.

Crow heard, rather than felt, something strike his head. Then came incredible pain, blinding color.

Red.

His mind split, half still determined to drag Amber and her father clear of the fire, the other half flickering in and out of panic. Through the noise pounding him he heard himself bellow defiance. And despair. He pitched forward, his body sprawled protectively atop the child.

Explosions continued to crack in stuttering succession. Ricochets screamed.

Something yanked his ankle. His head slipped off Amber, struck the floor. The lightning-bolt pain surprised him; he couldn’t believe he could hurt even more. This new injustice energized him. Fury clamped his grip tighter on both his charges.

Major yelped and the tug on Crow’s ankle stopped, then started again. An eternity later, someone grabbed his other ankle. Twin pulls skidded him backward. After eternity, his face was grated across gravel and dirt instead of smooth concrete. The scourging heat and choking smoke diminished. Agony remained constant.

Clean air, rich as honey, gushed into his chest.

I told You. I'm still here.

Major's sloppy tongue dragged across Crow’s cheek. He let go of Amber and her father. He tried to reach out to Major but failed. The dog pressed his nose, hot and dry, to Crow’s ear before resting his head against his master’s. Then he whined. Rasping, the sound ended as a broken moan.

Crow cried out. His struggles to touch his dog were a mere stirring, hopeless against a power that stole him, whirled him down into dark, consuming mystery. At the last, he was content to accept it. He'd share it with his comrade.

Lila considered people who zing out of bed alert terminally maladjusted. She loathed the clang or buzz or chirp of an alarm clock and positively dreaded the non-stop natter of caffeine-marinated disc jockeys. Her routine wake-up call was Zasu’s gentle paw and soft whine. It always came too early, but the technique was far superior. A reluctant butterfly, Lila inched from under the warm covers..

Zasu leaped down and into her gotta-go circle. Lila winced at the rude energy. Her expression soured further as her feet hit the bare wooden floor. Cruelly, the boards had soaked up every bit of cold in the world and delivered it directly to her naked feet.