WWIV - Basin of Secrets (4 page)

Flopping in an old brown easy chair, she rubbed her temples. She needed a break; she needed to think. She and Jeremy had spent the last two hours running throughout the house, working in two different directions. Betsi logically listed items they’d need for their trip – their change in life. Jeremy went from room to room wishfully thinking about all that he would miss.

Maybe she should just leave him behind. Not that she didn’t love her husband, but this was a perfect example of what an anchor he could and would become in tough times. He thought and felt with his heart. She, of course, let her brain do the work. Still, she knew deep in her heart she could never leave him behind, no matter how dense he could be at times.

“Hey babe,” Jeremy was back. Maybe he’d accomplished this one simple task. “Do you think we’ll need this camp stove?” Holding up his prize, he awaited his wife’s response. An honest smile covered his face. Betsi’s head dropped, fists again clenched.

“Please,” she drew a deep breath, “for the love of God, pull your head out of your ass!” she screamed, her voice shattering the otherwise silent house. “We have got to get out of here, today!” Her voice shot up another octave. Noticing his hurt expression, she reached out for his hands. “Please sweetheart, we have to keep moving. Please?”

Letting out a shallow breath, Jeremy nodded slowly. “Yeah, okay. You’re right. I just don’t get all of this yet.” He stepped closer, embracing her. “I don’t even know where we’re going. And why really.”

She led him to the couch and sat next to him, still clasping his hands in hers. “Okay,” she began, “here’s the plan.”

Two hours later, husband and wife emerged from their house. Both wore blue jeans and colored T-shirts – his dark blue and hers a lighter shade of the same color. Wrapped around their waists were flannel shirts for the cooler mountain air. Each wore a sturdy pair of hiking boots, the kind the woodsmen wore. Soft padded leather with thick yellow checkered laces covered their ankles.

On their backs rode large packs – expedition packs, as they were sometimes called. They weren’t going on a nature hike, so the packs lived up to their name. A bedroll was neatly rolled and stored at the base of each pack, riding just on top of each of their rears. Betsi had on her white framed sunglasses; Jeremy’s were dark green. To anyone else, they looked like a happy couple going on a long hike in the hills.

Jeremy turned back to their home as they stepped off the curb in front of their long time residence. Sadly, he took in the last sight of home. Betsi knew how he felt; even in the worst of times, like the last 12 years, it had served them well. A place of comfort, a palace of solace. His right hand covered his mouth as he held back a muffled cry. Tears filled the corners of his blue eyes as he peeked at his wife, her face stoic.

“We don’t have a choice, babe.” She squeezed his hand one last time before turning to begin her journey, their journey. “We need to warn my Dad. And I’m sure Tarlisch will be looking for me once he knows my Dad isn’t with the militia.” Somberly, he followed her north on their deserted neighborhood street.
 

For the first half of a block, they walked in silence. Betsi hoped he’d keep quiet until they were out of town at least.
 

“Hey babe?” he called out from 10 paces behind. “How far is this unnamed place we’re walking to?” Betsi stopped immediately. Finally, a pertinent question from her spouse.

“With the route we need to take, about 60 miles.” She fell in step as he reached her side. Giving a quick sideways glance at him, she noticed no change in his expression.

His expression became reflective. “We can average about three miles an hour,” he began. “Except for our initial climb.” He shot Betsi a quick grin. “So that’s about 20 hours then.” He gave a quick glance at his old wristwatch. “It’s almost two now. If we hike ’til nine tonight, we can get there in about 12 hours tomorrow.”
 

Adjusting her pack, she reached for his hand. This was an attitude she had not expected. She thought he would whine and pout at the distance. Instead, he was being a team player, understanding their trek instead of doubting it. Feeling a quick squeeze from his hand, they picked up the pace together.

Tarlisch searched through the pile of files on his new desk. The entry door to the office that had once read “Mayor Erickson” now stated his name instead. One of his goons used a jar of black paint and covered Erickson’s name. Now the opaque glass displayed a black box with Willem’s last name in messy white letters.

“How many soldiers on the roads, Howard?” Willem shouted.

“Come again?” Howard replied.

Shaking his head, Willem tried again, more deliberately. “How many roadblock checkpoints do we have set up leading into the mountains? And how many men and women do we have waiting for any fleers?”
 

Howard scratched his long dark beard and looked at the table behind him. Sorting through several various reports and other maps, he held up his prize.

“Okay, here’s the situation.” He spread the map wide in front of Willem for reference. “We’ve set up six choke points that will force any travelers to the four main roads heading into the mountains.” Pointing his dirty finger at the map, he called out the routes. ”The two main roads are 80 and Big Cottonwood Canyon. After that, there’s Millcreek Canyon Road and Emigration Canyon Road as alternate possibilities.”

Tarlisch leaned forward on his elbows, examining other escape routes. “What about 15 north?” he asked. “Or even 15 south? Neither leads into the hills directly, but they’d slip through our net if they get out of town.”
 

Howard’s head shook twice as he leaned forward again. “Forty to 50 soldiers covering the north and south routes, boss. Those are the choke points. They either have to head east into the Rockies, or…” He paused moving the same filthy finger to the west side of town. “…west into the salt flats.” Finishing, he tapped the map several times.

Tarlisch grinned. “And if they head to the salt flats…” He leaned back in his chair, his grin broadening. “…they’re choosing death over life with us.” Now he and Howard shared a broad smile. “And you have the four family names we’re looking for?”
 

Howard nodded, pulling a small stack of paper from his back pocket. “Kane, Cormat, Williamson, Bond.” He ticked them off even though the names were emblazoned in his mind. “First three are all tucked tight in their family homes as we speak. Got some troops watching each of them.” His expression changed from satisfied to pensive quickly. “The Bond girl though, she ain’t home. Looks like her and the husband packed up for a trip and headed out.”

Spinning in his chair, Willem stared out the large window behind the enormous oak desk. Rocking forward, he rose. “She won’t get far. Just stop every woman with long dark hair and ask for ID. She’ll turn up.”

Howard grinned from behind. “Already done boss, already done.”

Cara and her four assembly mates waited outside of Kirby’s cabin for him to answer their call. Three sets of knocks and still no answer. Cara impatiently stared at Dave for help.

“Go inside and see what he’s doing,” she demanded, her tone anything but pleasant. This wasn’t an enviable task for any of them. Cara especially found no joy in removing someone from the camp, regardless of how unreliable he might be.

Dave pounded one last time and opened the crude wood door. “Kirby,” he shouted. A faint, muffled reply came from the rear room. Dave shot Cara a final reluctant look before disappearing into the dark two-room home. Cara covered her nose and turned away from the entrance, the awful smell of sweat and mold invading her nose. Trying to shoot a quick smile to the others, she watched as the smell reached each one in turn.

Within a minute, Dave reappeared from the darkness, pinching his nose. The group stepped back as he came closer to them, trying to stay away from the odor that stuck to his denim jacket. He shot the group a look of hurt.
 

“Funny, real funny.” Dave pointed a thumb back to the small enclosure. “He’ll be out in a minute. Says he’s been sick, but his place mostly smells of body odor and mold. Maybe a little rotting wood.” Looking back at the group, he focused on its leader. “Cara, we should send in one of the gang to see if this place needs fixing, after…” he paused, searching for a word and grinned shyly. “After Kirby moves.”

A small young man appeared in the doorway wearing only a dirty sweat-stained t-shirt and a pair of BYU sweatpants. His greasy hair and unshaven face, with its sparse grow, gave the appearance of a hermit. At least a hermit that stayed inside at all times. Coughing, phlegm collected in his throat and he searched for a place to spit away from the others. Finding none, Kirby turned and spit inside his own home.

Wiping the spittle away with his bare arm, his eyes came back to the group. “Morning,” he muttered, almost inaudible. “What can I do for you all?”

A long silence followed. Cara stared at the unkempt man with disdain. A scowl helped furrow her brow. “Kirby, you were to be on duty at garden one after Agnes last night. You never showed. Why?” Cara’s tone could not be mistaken as anything but hostile, as she intended.

Kirby shook his head at her. “Not my turn. Brower’s turn. He was supposed to be on last night.” Kirby stared at Emily. George Brower was her son-in-law.
 

Emily’s face tensed. “No, that’s not true and you know it, Kirby.” Quickly, she turned to the others. “George had duty on garden six last night. Terri came over after he left for duty.”

Kirby scoffed at her words. “Well, either Terri’s a liar or you are.” Emily charged the young man, ready for a fight.

Cara intercepted Emily as Charlie pushed Kirby back toward his door frame. “That is all easily checked. We will not argue over something as simple as where the others were.” She spun to the single man again. “The fact is you were to be on duty somewhere last night, and you weren’t.”

Waving her away with a quick toss of his hands, Kirby laughed at the others. “Whatever. You’ll all just make it all up to save face anyway. Who cares? I’m sick of babysitting crops that aren’t going anywhere. Find someone else. I’ll cut wood.”

Cara’s head shook visibly like someone clearing their mind for a new thought. “We set the rules. If you want to be a member of this community, you must follow them.”
 

Kirby again dismissively waved a dirty hand.
 

Cara took a deep breath and exhaled it through her pursed lips. “This is your third offense, Kirby. That means you can’t stay here anymore.”

Kirby stepped forward, his face contorted in disbelief. “No. No it’s not. This is only my second.” Hastily, he turned to the others hoping to find a sympathetic face. “Just that one time last spring. I was supposed to help clean that late snow off those roofs, and I overslept. Otherwise, I been clean.”
 

Sighing, Cara’s eyes closed as her head fell forward. “Kirby,” she said lifting her gaze, “you forgot about last month.” His mouth opened but no words came out. His head shook wildly. “The day all able bodies went to Deer Creek Reservoir for water. You were a no-show that day, too. That’s three strikes. You know the rules.”

His head tipped back as he let out a scream that could be heard for miles around. Kirby had forgotten his second sin. “Please,” he begged reaching for Cara’s arm. “You can’t banish me. This is like my fourth place in two years. Word will get out I ain’t no good, and then no one will take me in. Please.”
 

Cara stared into a set of brown eyes filled with fear. They all knew this man could not be trusted, and he had proven it beyond any doubt. Slowly, her eyes moved to the dirty shaking hand grasping her coat sleeve. Stepping back, she broke the grip. “Kirby Atkins,” she began softly. “You are hereby banished from Camp Nine for the period of three years. If you can clean up your act somewhere else, you are welcomed to come back after that time.” She turned and stepped carefully through the group of her friends. Stopping suddenly, she called back one last time. “Have your possessions gathered and be ready to leave after the noon meal.” She let her eyes fall on the offender one last time. “If you do not leave willingly, I’ll have my husband and his group remove you forcibly. Do you understand?”
 

Like the uncouth young man he was, Kirby lowered his sweatpants and urinated amongst the group, causing the remaining four to hastily turn away and step back. “Sure bitch, whatever. Why don’t you just have your husband come and kill me now? Save nature the time and trouble of taking me.” Finishing, he pulled his pants above his waist, staring bitterly at Cara.

“Please, Kirby,” she said in a whisper, “just this once show a little pride in yourself. Please.” The group left him alone to ponder his future. The last anyone heard from him, he slammed the door loudly enough to echo throughout the camp.

Well after the noon dishes had been dried and put away, Cara stood alone by the only window in her small cabin. Her eyes still focused on the front gate, as they had been since returning from her confrontation with Kirby. Finally, summoning her deep inner strength, she called back to her family.
 

“Joshua, I’m going with Mr. Dillion to deal with something. Please watch Rose until I return.”

Making his way from one of the two back rooms, the young man smiled at his mother. “Okay, Ma. Rosie’s sleeping right now anyway. I was reading her a story, and next thing ya’ knew, there she was asleep.” Cara walked over and hugged her son, now a good six inches taller than his mother.
 

“Thank you, Joshua.” A quick peck on his cheek was just as quickly wiped away by the embarrassed 15-year-old teenager. “If Poppa comes back from cutting wood before me, tell him where I am.” Joshua nodded and went back to his room.
 

Cara knocked softly on the doorway of the Dillion’s home. Dave answered and stepped into the warm afternoon sun. “You seen him leave yet?” Cara’s sad expression said it all. “Yeah, me neither. Steven back yet?” A quick head toss was the only answer she cared to give. A quizzical expression flashed on Dave’s face. “Everything okay?”