He looked over and saw the woman staring down into the dying embers of the tiny fire, the light orange-red on her face. Her scar was in deep shadow, and though she had bags under her eyes, she looked very young, very vulnerable.
“Can’t sleep?” he asked.
“I’m on the run,” she blurted out,
It took him a moment to realize she had never left the conversation they had been having hours earlier. His sleep muddled mind worked on that briefly before he replied, “You are? Who you runnin’ from?”
“I am fleeing the Clan of the Hawk,” she said, as if he should know what that meant.
“okay, I.. think…hill people? North of the Yakamas, right? They’re your enemies?”
She looked at the tiny fire, “They were my family.”
“Oh.” He noted the past tense. He waited for more but she simply stared at the fire. “So then, since we haven’t been formally introduced, my name is Eli. Eli Five.”
“Five? That’s an odd name.”
“It has significance. And you are….”
She hesitated, but after a moment, in a very quiet voice she said. “Ghost Wind. My name is Ghost Wind.”
“What a wonderful name! Native American then?”
“The Clan of the Hawk is not a first nation group, but my father was of the Nez Perce.” She paused. “And it is not such a wonderful name anymore. It is a name of shame and sadness.”
“How so?”
“What part of banished did you not understand?” she snapped at him.
“Hoooookay, sorry.”
“Since you are awake, you should drink more of this. It will help you regain strength.”
He took the offered canteen cup, noting there seemed to be some kind of meat in the broth, cut fine and several plants, some of which he recognized, some that he didn’t. It was actually quite tasty, particularly to a body that needed a lot of protein while healing.
After a few moments, she rose, pushed aside the poncho covering the door and went outside again. He couldn’t help himself from watching her backside appreciatively as she went.
So young to be in that much pain.
He shook his head.
He’d had his times of pain himself, and not the kind that he had experienced at the hands of Lester and Benny. Speaking of those two, soon he needed to go through their gear, filthy or not, to see if there was anything more to learn about this meeting they had set up in LaPine. He wasn’t hopeful, he wasn’t even sure if his former tormenters could read, much less write anything down, but he still needed to check.
He figured they were meeting with the Red Slavers. He hoped to hell they weren’t meeting with the Road Sharks.
He finished his broth, and set the can aside. That could wait. Right now his biggest needs were sleeping and eating ’til he was back to 100 percent.
Dawn came with varying degrees of pink and gold. Ghost Wind watched as she sat against the shelter, carefully running an abrasive stone over the lawn mower blade Lila’s son had forged into the shape of her old war knife.
The original had been taken from her when she had been banished, but Lila’s son had hammered this shape out without losing the metal’s temper. She had been giving it an edge one stroke at a time ever since. She had a passible edge on the last six inches and the point, but the four inches closest to the hilt had only the barest of bevels.
“That’s kind of a ragged looking chopper ya got there.”
She turned and saw Eli half in and half out of the doorway of the shelter. She had come out to let him sleep and heal.
“What are you doing, you fool?” she yelled. “How are you supposed to heal if you get up and move around! Get back to your bedding!”
“You’re worried about me!” He smiled at her as he stood. “I’m doing pretty good now, just a few fading scars and bruises.”
He was wearing only an old pair of olive drab army pants, and looking at his well-muscled frame, she saw he was right. All of his injuries looked weeks old but it had been only two days and nights since she freed him. It was freakish, and she worriedly wondered if he was one of the old spirits in disguise, playing tricks.
“Pull up your pant leg. I want to see the bear trap wounds.”
The horrific tears on his leg had scabbed over, and were turning to scar tissue also.
“How…” she whispered, astonishment lacing her voice. “Your wounds shouldn’t even be closed yet, much less scarring over. How is this possible?”
He looked down at the ground, somewhat sheepishly, “Well, some folks heal pretty fast. Guess I’m one of that sort.”
“That doesn’t explain anything. People just don’t heal that fast, it’s impossible!” Ghost Wind’s voice rose.
“Empirical evidence points to the contrary of your hypothesis, miss.”
She stared, until it became evident that he wasn’t going to say more on the subject. She turned back to the knife, and returned to the slow task of putting an edge on it.
“It’s none of my business,” she said. “I guess we all have things we’d rather not talk about.”
“Well, of course I’ll probably need a few days before I’m ready to travel. Thanks again for looking after me, Ghost Wind. I appreciate it.”
She was silent.
“Look, I don’t mean any offense. There are some things that are a bad idea for me to talk about. We’re getting along pretty well, why spoil it?” He said to her back.
“It’s no concern of mine,” she said without turning. “If you’re doing this well, it is probably time for me to pack my things and be on my way. You obviously don’t need any help.”
“Wait, I never said that,” he said, frowning. “I surely can’t hunt for myself yet, and those two cretins ate or defiled most of my foods. I do need your help!”
She looked off the east. “No one needs me.”
She glanced up at him and she noticed his dismayed expression. “Don’t look at me like that. The world has taught me the lesson I needed to learn. It’s simple. We are all on our own; don’t depend on anyone else.”
“Guess that depends on the glass you see through,” he said, “Still, I’d appreciate it if you’d stay and help me. I’ll try not to depend upon you, but I’m stuck ’til I heal up. Shouldn’t be that long…” Eli looked to the east, toward the abandoned farm. “Why’d you set us up here, and not in that old house?”
“If someone comes by, they won’t be looking for a camp out in the sagebrush. A house, even one as hard to see as that one, might still be a place to check out for scavenging. It didn’t look like that place had been broken into. In other words, it has a much higher likelihood of visitors.”
Eli continued to look. “I dunno, we’re a long piece from the main road, and I could use a little exercise. How about we saunter over there and take a look?”
“The scout way is to travel light. I doubt there is anything I really need,” she told him. “Extra ‘treasures’ would just weigh me down.”
He looked at her half-finished knife and ragged moccasins. “Well, I respect that. It’s a good philosophy, but instead of taking extra stuff, you might find some things to ‘trade up’ some of your less than perfect equipment.”
She looked at the farm speculatively. “I… I need a firearm. The Clan of the Hawk took mine when I was banished. I plan on making a bow and arrows, but if someone comes after me with a gun, I would have to be very lucky to survive with archery.”
“Let me get my walking stick then, and we’ll just mosey on over and take a look.”
Ghost Wind watched him crawl back in the shelter, and emerge with a short wooden staff. She had looked it over while he was sleeping. The last section where his hand rested was intricately carved in some sort of braid pattern: the remainder below was smooth.
“That is a pretty staff you have there,” she said as they walked towards the farm.
“A gift from a teacher of mine.”
“What kind of teacher?” she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.
He looked at her, feigning surprise. “What? A personal question?”
“Never mind,” she said, face coloring. “I have no right to ask you anything of your past. Unless one is to count saving your life.”
“Just givin’ you a hard time.” He laughed, “It was a gift from a martial arts teacher. We’ve become friends.”
“My teacher…” she started, then stopped. She noticed he didn’t press her this time which was a blessing. She certainly wasn’t going to discuss Jannelle with someone she had met such a short time ago. “I have had some training in the fighting arts also. All of the scouts are well versed in empty hand and weapons.”
“Good to know, in case I need rescuing again.”
“Eli,” she said, looking at him intently, “you seem to be doing very well for someone who has just been horribly tortured. Were I even to survive something like that, I am sure I would be scarred inside and out for life. Yet you’re able to laugh.”
He looked directly at her, and the wisecracking Eli was gone. “I’ve been around a while, and I have seen some shit and had some shit done to me that would boil your brain. You have the choice of dealing with it as best you can or going mad.”
“It seems you’ve dealt with it.”
“I think it would be in everyone’s best interest if I stayed sane.”
****
The farmhouse was not in the best shape, but it had a metal roof and hopefully some of the contents had survived years of neglect.
Eli always approached such places with a mixture of apprehension and anticipation, worried that someone else had been attracted to the possible scavenging and hoping that no one had been here before. He expected Ghost Wind to move extremely carefully, considering her stealth abilities, but to his surprise, she simply walked up to the farmhouse as if she knew no one was there.
“You seem pretty confident that we’re alone here.”
“I’ve spent most of my life learning the ways of the tracker. The only sign that anyone has been here are my own tracks to and from the spring. No one else has been around in a long time, unless you count deer and coyote.”
He looked at the ground. Eli had basic tracking experience, most people these days did to survive, but that was in dirt. The farmhouse was surrounded by tough springy grass and he couldn’t honestly say he even saw her tracks.
Was she that good, or was she just showing off?
“Well, be careful anyway, sometimes the owners of these places put traps around them, if they were die-off survivors,” Eli said. “If you think things are crazy now, at least the people today have some degree of self-reliance. Those who didn’t expire from the bio-plague back in ’35 found themselves in a whole new world of hurt, where everything couldn’t be found in grocery stores.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Most didn’t garden, few could hunt, instead they relied on huge corporations to feed and clothe them. Take that away and the only way many saw to survive was to go after what their neighbors had.”
“Yes, the Crazy Years. The teachers of the Clan of the Hawk do include history in their lessons.”
“Thing of it is, down here, the Crazy years never ended. The only saving grace around these parts is that people are so spread out, it’s more difficult to do harm to each other. Still, you need to be careful.”
“If I can see there are no tracks in this environment, other than animal, I seriously doubt I will miss a hidden bear trap.”
“Ouch. Point taken,” he replied. “Well, just be careful.”
She looked at him, one eyebrow cocked. They moved on.
The house was sealed up. windows were filthy but not broken, garage doors firmly shut, with a wall of vines and grass in front of them. A rusty car sat in the weed-choked driveway. At the front door, Eli pulled out a small set of lock picks and noticed his companion watching intently.
“One of the things one needs for wandering the wastelands,” he told her. “You’d think after this long, every home would have been scavenged, but I find out of the way spots like this on a fairly regular basis, and I prefer to open the lock if I can as opposed to kicking the door down. I might need to crash here someday.”
“It is not a skill I have learned.”
“Schtick wit’ me, kid. I’ll learn ya all sorts of bad habits.” He grinned as he said it, and was gratified to see that ghost of a Ghost Wind smile for a moment.
“I will watch, oh my guru.”
It took him close to eight minutes before he heard the satisfying click of the latches disengaging, but when he pulled, the door didn’t budge. He gingerly gave a few light yanks, standing well clear of the door frame itself. Nothing happened.
“You’re not being forceful enough!” Ghost Wind said, “Here, let me try.” She had just given the door a hard yank when it began to slip in the frame. Eli grabbed her and whirled her to the side of the door as a loud bang sounded from within. A half moon shaped hole appeared, smoking, just above the lock and splinters extended onto the weed strewn porch for several feet. They stared at the new porthole, and Eli saw Ghost Wind looked shocked.
“Never, ever, ever throw a door open out here,” he told her sternly. “That goes double for a house that hasn’t possibly been opened since the Crazy Years. Back then, homeowners often left a weapon rigged at the doors so they could get a night’s sleep without worrying someone was going to break in and murder them. I’m just guessing that if there’s a back door, it’s either barricaded or booby trapped. From the hole, I guessing there’s a twelve gauge shotgun hooked to the door here.”
“After twenty-two years?” She looked horrified at how close she had avoided death. “How…”
“Old stuff lasts pretty well in this climate, particularly in an intact house. Now, let me just take a look… ah. Yep. Remington 12 gauge 2025 autoloader.” He pulled out a worn multi-tool, reached in the door and snipped the trip wire. Looking through the hole in the door, he saw no other traps and gave the knob a hard fast yank. The door swung open with no further protest.
She stepped in after him, and looking around, she observed, “I always find these old homes quite eerie.”
The home had not suffered the indignities that most places had. No scavengers had broken in and ransacked or salvaged everything useful. Except for a thick coating of dust and cobwebs and a few plants growing through the floor, it was all intact.