Well Fed - 05 (61 page)

Gus became somber. “During that time, I also asked Marty, with Maggie’s blessing, to head up into the hills and find you… gather up what was left. Like I said, there wasn’t much, but Marty got it. You… you didn’t bite anyone. So rest easy, knowing that. And we’re heading, hopefully, back east. To a safe place. So don’t you worry about anything.”

Gus felt his throat constrict for a moment. He cleared it, flashing his red eyes over to check on Marty. Seeing the coast was clear, Gus exhaled and softly, ever so softly, whispered, “Amazing Grace… how sweet the sound. That saved. A wretch. Like me…”

When he’d finished, he signaled Marty to return, who threw dirt in, covering the little coffin.

They placed a battered helmet on the grave, one that had seen better days, and ringed it with rocks.

On the side, scratched into the surface with a nail, was the name of the man laid to rest.

When Gus returned to the motor home, he walked past the sleeping children camping out on the floor and made his way to the bedroom. He smiled weakly at Maggie, and she gave him a dirty look, knowing he was pushing himself.

Pushing is the name of the game.

He entered the bedroom at the back and closed the door behind himself. Careful not to upset anything, he felt his way to the bed and sat down stiffly. The mattress felt firm and smelled clean, odd since the rig had belonged to Wallace. There wasn’t much of an odor at all.

Gus waited.

“That you?” Collie asked sleepily from where she lay, trussed up in stitches and bandages like a fresh mummy.

“Yeah.”

She didn’t speak then for a while, but that was fine by Gus. Maggie had warned him Collie would be too weak to do much of anything for a few days, until her body replaced the blood it had lost. She would’ve died in the Kat if it hadn’t been for the ER doctor working her magic.

“All done?”

“All done. He’s buried.”

Collie breathed deeply underneath the comforter, and Gus felt her gaze upon him.

“Nowadays, not many… get that…you know.”

Gus knew it.

Her hand slipped out from underneath the covers and touched his fingers, curling around them.

“Thank you,” she whispered, fading.

Gus squeezed her hand back.

And held on perhaps a little longer than he should have.

The motorcade rumbled into a little collection of houses and shop fronts that materialized out of the falling snow like pieces of a dream. They drove past a half-destroyed sign that read “ndford.”
Blandford. Country town.
Modern and old-fashioned homes and oceanside cabins, all well spaced along the road, faced a rocky beach slapped by the sea. The motor home slowed down to stay on the slick, crumbling roads the winter was attempting to hide for a few months.

Gus sighed in relief upon reaching the town. They’d come perilously close to running out of gas. He imagined that, with the way octane levels in the leftover fuel were finally petering out, not too many people would be traveling to this part of Nova Scotia.

Maggie knew the way, knew that town and their destination: Big Tancook. Gus had never been to the island, but that was apparently going to change.

“Almost like nothing ever happened out here.” Melissa was driving the motor home, her eyes just as wide as the children’s looking out at the water. She and most of the kids, even Becky and Chad, had never seen the Atlantic.

“Where do we go?” Gus asked, hunkered over and standing next to Maggie sitting in the passenger seat.

“Look for an old government wharf,” she answered.

Ten minutes later, they found it, a mighty pier jutting out into the sea, built of strong timbers upon white beach rock. A beaten motel, two stories high with an impressive deck, lorded over a deserted parking lot not twenty meters back from the water’s edge. The pier itself looked like a forlorn gangplank, stretching toward a hazy screen of white where reality seemed to end.

Melissa brought the vehicle to a stop in the parking lot.

“Marty, you come with me,” Maggie said.

“I’ll come along too,” Gus said.

Maggie didn’t argue. Nor did she say anything when Marty lifted an assault rifle and hung it off his shoulder. They got out of the motor home and walked a few feet away, looking everywhere at once as a tourist might, unsure of exactly where to turn, where to go.

“This it?” Marty asked.

“I don’t know. But”—Maggie shrugged and nodded at the motel—“we might be able to stay there for a little bit.”

“You think that’s a good idea?” Gus asked.

Maggie regarded him. “Well, it’s the best one I have right now. Giovanni said that Pick saw people gathered along the shore here, so he assumed there was a community.”

“Slick Pick,” Marty scoffed. “A real piece of work. Glad he’s dead.”

“So”—Gus turned back to Maggie—“there might not be anyone around here?”

“Well,”—Maggie looked unsure—“he said they were going to come here, and it was my impression it would happen after they finally got inside Whitecap.”

Water lapped against the shoreline. Fog hugged the coastline on either side of the pier. They waited and watched for a short time before Gus finally turned toward the motel.

The dark figure of a man stood on the building’s upper deck, his arms hanging over the railing. The snow and fog darkened his features.

“Hey, where you guys from?” he called out.

His appearance surprised all three weary travelers. Marty’s hands tightened on his rifle, but Gus cautioned him with a hand.

“The valley, originally,” Maggie said. “But we just came in from Ontario.”

“Valley’s a nice place. Meaning to travel down there sometime. Ontario… not so much. Too ‘Wild West’ out that way. What’cha doing out this way?”

Maggie paused. “Looking for people, to be honest.”

“That so?”

Something familiar about that individual made Gus take a few extra steps, bringing the stranger’s features into focus. A black knee-length winter duster hung off the man’s frame while an impressive stocking cap topped off his head and ended somewhere wrapped around his neck. The beard wasn’t as trimmed as last time Gus had seen it, but it was enough to rattle his memory.

“Hey,” Stocking Cap said, his brow crinkling. “I know you. Met you a few weeks back, right?”

“You did. Noodles and Kraft Dinner.”

Stocking Cap chuckled. “Ha, that’s right. Appreciated that. You were, let’s see now… you were looking for some kids or something.”

“Yeah, I was. You didn’t get down to the valley?”

Stocking Cap shook his head. “No, plans changed. Won’t get down there now. Not until spring. Decided to just take it easy for the winter. Dig in and do some thinking.”

“Just yourself?”

“Well”—Stocking Cap shrugged—“there are others. But I gotta get away from them sometimes. I’m more of a loner, y’know?”

Gus knew. He knew both worlds and preferred the one with people.

“Can we come in?” Gus finally asked.

“Oh, sure! How many are you?”

“Nineteen.” Maggie stepped up beside Gus. “Including fourteen children.”

“Kids? Jesus! Yes, come on in. I’ll get a fire going. We can talk more.”

He straightened and sized up the vehicles and people below. “Bet you got a few things to trade…”

They went into the motel, where a huge fireplace dominated the lobby. Comfortable chairs and sofas had been arranged in a horseshoe around a country hearth, and a coffee table was piled high with a stack of paperbacks. Stocking Cap, whose name was Bruno, got a fire going and welcomed the kids with all the affection of a long-lost uncle. Bruno didn’t seem too concerned about Marty and his automatic rifle, which Gus found strange and oddly comforting.

“You live out this way?” Gus asked him.

“Ah, not here exactly, but around,” Bruno answered, feeding long pieces of split wood into the growing fire. “Me and the other folks. So what’s this about you coming out here to look for people?”

Maggie sat and told him the story of Shovel and his pack of raiders. Bruno listened while the fire took hold and slowly warmed the lobby. The kids wandered off to explore the halls and the opened rooms. Bruno didn’t seem to mind. Gus remained quiet, as talking too much put stress on his mending ribs.

“So,” Bruno asked when Maggie finished her story, “that lady––Collie––is out in the motor home right now?”

“She is.”

“You guys had quite the run.”

“Almost at an end now if we can find a place.”

“And you’re a doctor?” Bruno asked. Gus sensed eagerness there.

“Yes.”

“Whoa,” Bruno let out. “You are a rarity in these days.”

Movement outside the picture window of the lobby caught Gus’s eye, and he saw three figures walk to the main doors. “Friends of yours?”

Bruno leaned over. “They are. A few others of the crew. Good timing.”

The doors opened, and the men entered warily, led by a tall individual taking stock of Marty and little Becky, who had hung back with Maggie. The lead man nodded at them but balked noticeably when he spotted one unexpected face.

Gus stared back in return, recognizing the tall height and the fat face dusted with thinning blond hair. His beard had thickened, but there was no mistaking the blue eyes.

“Jesus Christ,” Scott Harris breathed. “I thought you were dead.”

Gus took his time replying. “Couple of times, I thought I was.”

“What’re you doing here?” the big man asked, face collapsing into a smile.

“Looking for you guys.”

“Jesus,” Scott repeated. “You found us.”

Then, completely unexpectedly, he stepped up to the person who had saved his life so very long ago and made to throw his arms around him.

“Ah, wait,” Gus cautioned. “Not a great idea. I’ve got some broken ribs on me.”

So Scott gripped Gus’s shoulders instead and beamed at him.

“Few extra scars, eh?” Gus asked.

“You too.”

“You find that guy you were looking for?”

“Yeah. Where’s whatserface?”

Gus sighed and rolled his eyes. “That’s a story for when the youngsters aren’t around.”

Scott chuckled. “You’re staying, of course.”

Gus hesitated and glanced at Maggie. “That’s what we’re hoping to do.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way. Good to see you, man.”

Scott chuckled then and embraced Gus in a soft hug anyway.

“Welcome home, brother,” the big man said through his smile.

Bundled in winter clothing and an exceptionally warm thermal coat, Gus stood on the beach of a frosty cove just down from the old dock where the ferry would tie up. He gazed out at the rough waters. Fogbanks misted the horizon, but neither that nor the cold bothered Gus. He remembered something his father, long departed, had once said about winter having a memory as short as its days. Gus hadn’t understood what his father meant by that at the time, and he still wasn’t certain, but he suspected it had something to do with time and letting some recollections go.

Over the past few month, while his hurts healed, Gus had taken the time to let some memories go—not all, as he remembered Wallace warmly. He even remembered Talbert and how they’d seen eye-to-eye in the end. There was also the farm, and his need to return to put Adam and the others into the ground properly. It would be unpleasant after all that time, but as Wallace had said,
a proper burial is precious
. And Gus meant to see his friends buried by the earliest of spring.

Returned to the earth.

Scott entered his head then. And Amy. And
little
Scottie, who kicked enough to be a soccer player. Gus was happy to find this brother in one piece, unchanged, and doing quite well for himself.

The people of Big Tancook… a collection of folks drawn from various parts of the mainland, all with their own familiar personalities and idiosyncrasies. Scott had come into a good group of people here, and every day, Gus was thankful for finding them. In that daily, challenging puzzle of survival, each person brought a skill set or a charm that fit and made life a little easier for the little community.

And, finally, there was the Captain.

Gus held up the bottle, discovered in his pants pocket a while back and kept in a drawer until Collie questioned him about the rum’s future.

My history lies with the sea
, the officer had once said.

Gus looked about the shore’s rocky edge, cold wind sawing at his face—so unlike the beach paradise in his mind—but Big Tancook had its share of nice beaches too, and Gus meant to explore them in warmer weather. He’d chosen that one purely for the sake of convenience.

He ran a thumb over the plastic surface of the bottle before popping the seal and untwisting the cap. For all the good old sailor had done for him, staying and seeing him through some rough times and some very dark places, Gus meant to return his guardian angel back to the sea.

He smelled the rum and took the barest nip, treasuring the burn.

“Thanks, buddy.” He poured the alcohol into the water. “You take care now.”

The icy surf lapped up the drink, and Gus lingered for a second, perhaps expecting something special to happen. Nothing did, however, so he sniffed, ribs feeling mended, and made his way back up the snowy incline behind him…

Back to where she waited.

Collie leaned on a walking cane. She was dressed in similar winter gear and watched him all the way back until he stood next to her, and together they watched the rolling of the open waters. She wore a new stocking cap, which some folks on the island insisted on calling a toque, and though her face had a few new scars, Gus thought they did her no harm. She glowed all the same.

“All done?” She smiled, hiding her dislike for the cold.

“All done.”

“Can we head back inside now?”

“Thought you were tougher ’n this.”

“It’s fuckin’
cold
here, man.”

“You head on in. I’ll be along shortly.”

But she didn’t leave him.

In Gus’s mind, she’d let him know when the time was right. Wallace was still only recently deceased in his mind, and while Gus knew his feelings for Collie grew stronger with every passing day, he had to respect a period of mourning, for both her and Wallace. There was no rush. Neither of them was going anywhere. And the houses made available to them were practically side by side, as if the whole town knew something he didn’t.