A Cold White Fear (8 page)

T
hough
dinner didn't come close to meeting Eric's lofty standards (the pasta was overcooked, while the once perfectly cooked beans were limp from sitting too long), at least nothing was burned. I suspected this was the first real food the men had eaten since escaping. They devoured every last bean, strand of spaghetti, and molecule of sauce, even Larry's portion, and insisted that I make more. Thankfully, I'd stocked up on pasta and sauce a week ago.

The two men also consumed a good portion of Eric's Scotch. I waited for them to pass out. But other than an occasional drooping of an eyelid, they both remained stubbornly awake.

I'd had no opportunity to forewarn Jid about my intention to escape. The chance came when I offered to take soup and a slice of bread to Larry, who hadn't felt well enough to join us at the kitchen table. Professor and Slobo were laughing boisterously over some raunchy jail joke and didn't notice the boy and me leave. Instead of heading straight to the den, I detoured into the dining room.

Outside, the storm continued to rage. Though the verandah protected this side of the house, the odd stray gust still managed to rattle the French doors. This monster of a storm had been thrashing us since early yesterday and didn't look to be letting up any time soon. It might even beat Eric's once-in-a-lifetime blizzard. Whenever we were being pounded by winter's wrath, he would bring up the record-breaking storm more than thirty years ago that buried the reserve in roof-high drifts and kept the community cut off for days.

I shuddered at the thought. There was no way I wanted to be stranded inside my house for days with these guys.

I checked one last time to ensure neither man had followed us before saying, “I'm so sorry you're caught up in this mess.”

“Did they really escape from jail?”

“You heard the guy.”

“Awesome.”

“It's not awesome. They're dangerous. Look what the guy did to your face.”

Jid gingerly touched the puffiness. “Yeah, but I kicked him good in the you-know-what.” He grinned.

“Don't do it —” I stopped at the sound of a creaking floorboard coming from the hall. When it didn't sound again, I stuck my head around the doorframe to make certain Professor wasn't there. Their laughter was still going strong in the kitchen.

“I'm hoping that they'll soon pass out from too much alcohol, and when they do we'll leave. But in case they don't, I want you to take off without me if you get the chance and go straight to the police.”

“No. I don't want to leave you alone with these bad guys.”

“I'll be okay. It's going to be easier for you to slip out unnoticed than for the two of us to try to do it together. When these guys leave the kitchen, I want you to sneak back in, get your gear, and run. I'll do what I can to distract them.”

I tried not to think about the backlash on me. But it was more important for him to be safely away from these thugs than to spare me more bruises. Besides, I felt it would be easier to protect just myself than both of us. I could see these men threatening to harm him to force me to do something.

He remained silent, his mouth firmed in stubborn resistance.

“Make sure everything you need is at the back door.”

“I need a headlamp. That guy took mine.”

“There's a spare one in the kitchen drawer.”

“I don't want to go without you.”

“Someone has to let the police know about these escaped convicts. That's your job.”

Chewing the inside of his lip, he fiddled with the deerskin amulet he wore around his neck as if seeking strength from its powers. He'd first started wearing it to please his grandmother, but after her death he tossed it aside until the day Eric sat down with him and chatted about the importance of upholding Algonquin traditions. Now he wore it proudly.

Finally he nodded sombrely. “Okay.”

I ruffled his wavy brown hair, which had grown enough to tickle the collar of his red Senators sweatshirt, his favourite hockey team. Wanting to emulate the thick mane of his hero, Eric, he'd decided last summer to grow out his brush cut.

“Good. Shome will be proud of you,” I said. “Tell me, how did you get caught? I thought you were miles away on the trail to the rez.”

“I started out along it. Snow wasn't so deep in the woods, so I could go fast. But I came across some fresh wolf tracks going after a deer. Shome says best not to get near a wolf and his prey, so I took the trail that goes out to the main road.”

“Where did you meet up with the biker?”

“When I was walking along the road, I saw this guy acting real strange. The snow was coming down real hard, so I couldn't see what he was doing very well. So I went closer.”

“Where were you?”

“You know the old gravel pit near the Hawk Lake turnoff? He was trying to push a car into it.”

“Did he succeed?”

“Not totally. It got hung up on a big rock, so he left it. But you can't see it very well from the road. Looked like a really awesome car, one of those fancy Range Rovers, like you see on TV.”

By now it was likely hidden under a thick layer of snow, so there was little chance of anyone seeing it in the dark. Come daylight, though, maybe someone would notice.

“I guess he saw you.”

“Yeah, he started yelling at me, so I ran. But I tripped on my snowshoe and fell. He fired his gun at me. That part was scary. He made me take off my snowshoes. That's when I bit him and kicked him in the nuts.”

“Jid, your language.”

“Sorry, forgot. Boy, I sure made him mad.” Another grin erupted. “That's when he slugged me and made me go with him.”

“How passable was the main road? Did you see any cars?”

“Lots of snow. Think the snow's falling faster than they can plough. We passed a truck stuck in a snowbank. Looked like Billy's Ram, but it was empty. The guy made me check to see if anyone was inside. He kept pointing his gun at the window. Looked like he was going to shoot. Just like the bad guys in the movies.”

“Lucky Billy wasn't in the truck.”

“Yeah, I was really scared. I've never seen anyone get shot. Only animals.”

“And no sign of the police?”

“Nah. Snow's too deep. You need one of those Hummers to get through.”

I jumped at a sudden loud clatter. My initial thought was the men in the kitchen had broken something, before I realized the sound was closer and came from outside. Figuring it was another branch falling onto the verandah roof, I shone my headlamp through the dining room window. It lit up a porch filled with snow, and thankfully the underside of a roof that appeared sound.

The laughter in the kitchen had changed to shouting.

I thought I caught the words, “Why you? It my job,” before something metallic was slammed against a hard surface.

“Jid, let's take this soup in to Larry.”

At that point, Shoni padded through the archway and promptly squatted down for a pee.

Deciding the condition of my hardwood floor was the least of my worries, I motioned for the boy to pick her up, and off to the den we went.

L
arry
lay huddled under the blanket, his eyes closed. Apart from sinking more comfortably into the sofa cushions, he hadn't moved since I'd dressed his wounds. The blanket trembled with his shivering. Little wonder. With only a handful of coals remaining in the fireplace, the room had taken on refrigerator temperatures.

“Could you get the fire going again?” I asked Jid.

At the sound of my voice, Larry's eyes sprang open. He looked around anxiously. I turned off my headlamp to keep from blinding him and placed the tray with his food on the table next to the sofa. The oil lamp still had enough fuel, but it was getting low. I would have to add more.

A curious Shoni was sniffing along the edge of his blanket. His hand slipped out and patted her gently on the head. She licked it in return.

“How are you feeling?”

“Is that you? I thought you'd gone.”

“I'm afraid I'm back.”

“Jeez, you sure had Professor mad. He wanted to kill you.” He raised a shaking hand to brush a hunk of greasy hair out of his eyes. “I was glad you'd got away. It's not safe for you here. Why did you come back?”

“I ran into the third member of your team, Slobodan. Unfortunately, he was holding a friend of mine prisoner.”

Larry twisted his head around to look at the boy, who was standing off to one side in the shadows. “You talking about the kid?”

“Yeah. Jid, meet Larry, and vice versa. I couldn't leave him alone with that man, so here I am.”

“You're a nice lady. Take the kid and run as far away from here as you can.”

Though he was acting sympathetic, I wasn't about to tell him our plans. “Look, I brought you some hot soup. You need to eat something.”

“Nah, I'm not hungry.” His top lip was moist from a runny nose.

“How're you feeling? Any pain?”

“It don't hurt so much, not like before. You done a good job fixin' me up. Thanks.”

His brow glistened with sweat.

“Let me take your temperature. I'm worried you might have a fever.”

The basket of medical supplies still rested on the floor where I'd left it. I removed the thermometer and was about to place it in the man's mouth when he pushed my hand away.

“It's not a fever.”

“Let me make sure. A fever could be a sign of infection.”

“So what. Nothing you can do.”

He was right. If the gunshot wound was infected, antibiotics would be the only way to deal with it. Without medical help, that wasn't going to happen.

After stoking the fire back up to a glowing roar, Jid sank into one of the leather armchairs and lifted the puppy onto his lap.

“What's wrong with him?” he asked, his eyes glued to the prone man.

“He was shot.”

“While he was trying to escape?”

“I imagine. Do you know who shot you, Larry?”

“I don't remember.” He wiped his runny nose with the back of his hand. “So ya know we escaped from jail, eh?”

“Yeah, from Joyceville.”

“Do ya know anything else?”

“I think the three of you were in a vehicle. The Serb said something about a staged crash. He mentioned a woman being responsible for it. Do you know her?”

“Nope. Just know her name's Jo. She's his woman. Supposed to be one tough broad. I remember the van, one of them prison vans. They were taking us to another facility. I remember a big bang, nothing after that.”

“Was there anyone else in the van with you?”

“If you mean prisoners, nope. Just Professor, Tiger, and me. But there were a couple of hacks.”

“Hacks?”

“Yah, guards. One of them was Nick. Nice guy for a hack.”

“Do you know what happened to them?” I wasn't sure if I wanted to know.

When he turned his eyes away, I had a pretty good idea.

“Like I said, I don't remember much,” he said.

“Do you think you can sit up? I need to get some soup into you.”

“I'm not hungry.” His eyes shifted away from me again and then back. Once again he wiped his wet lip with the back of his hand. “I need something else. You got any pills around here? You know, stuff like Oxycontin, something that's got a kick in it? Maybe even horse?” His eyes reflected the desperation I heard in his voice.

The minute he said the word “horse,” I knew what I was dealing with.

“Ya see, Tiger didn't bring any. He usually gives me the stuff.”

Just what I needed, a heroin addict going into withdrawal.

“You need to eat. A little chicken noodle soup will make you feel better.” A tried and true grandmother recipe for all that ails one, at least that's what they say — whoever “they” is. But the soup wasn't homemade, just straight out of a can with all the goodness processed out of it.

I brought a spoonful of tepid soup to his lips and kept it there until he reluctantly opened his mouth. He'd no sooner swallowed it than I gave him another spoonful. This time he readily took it. A couple of more, and he was trying to push himself more upright. I helped him to sit up as far as was comfortable. He finished the rest of the soup on his own.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Do you want more? I can reheat it.”

“Later. But I'll have that piece of bread.”

He munched on the bread while Jid and I watched him in silence. With flames licking at the fireplace's metal screen, the room had warmed up to almost cozy levels. Behind us, flakes scraped a staccato beat against the window, reminding us that danger lurked as much outside as it did inside. The two men continued to argue in the kitchen. I figured it was probably the Scotch taking over.

“You got some nice decorations.” Larry jerked his head in the direction of the mantel, where I'd draped a garland of emerald tinsel and set up a streetscape with the last of Aunt Aggie's china Christmas houses, some more chipped than others.

“My
kòkomis
used to decorate her house for Christmas. It was kind of nice. I liked going there. Mom never did much of anything.” He sighed than turned to the boy. “You from the rez?”

“Yeah.”

“How old are ya?”

“Twelve.”

“Not very big for your age, are ya? I figured you were younger.”

That wasn't something the boy wanted to hear. His small size was a source of embarrassment. Often bullied by the bigger boys, he'd learned to get back at them with his quick tongue. Eric had taught him a couple of effective moves he'd employed as a professional hockey player. The one time Jid had been forced to use them, they'd worked, leaving one bully lying with a broken wrist on the ground and the other running as fast as his legs could carry him away from their victim. He'd had no further run-ins.

“Who's your dad?”

“I don't have one.”

“How about your mom?”

“She's dead.”

At that point the shouting in the kitchen stopped, followed by the thump of footsteps echoing along the hall toward us.