6 The Wedding (4 page)

“I still don’t think it’s fair that now the town will only
allow us to set off our fireworks in the middle of the lake,” Horace grumbled.

“In Mother Russia, we have saying,” Sasha replied. “The one
who does not row does not complain.”

Sasha had been in a contemplative mood all morning and
Horace was wondering if he should ask what was wrong. It’s what Chuck would do.
Instead Horace remained silent and shivering during the remainder of their trip
to the center of the lake. Once there, excitement reinvigorated him and he was
able to pull his hands from his pockets and face down the wind and cold like a
young boy at play. While Sasha removed the oars from their locks and stored
them in the bottom of the boat, Horace rubbed his cold hands together in
excited anticipation.

“This is going to be great,” he exclaimed.

“Calm down, my capitalist friend,” Sasha cautioned, though
he was beginning to smile. “Remember last time?”

Horace’s eyes went wide at this warning and he settled down.
No one wanted a repeat of their last disaster; but then again, what could go
wrong in the middle of a lake?

While they bobbed on the relatively calm surface of the
water, Sasha and Horace set to assembling their sophisticated launch gantry. The
gantry, made of stripped saplings and tree branches, was designed to hold the
rocket upright in preparation for the launch. They assembled it in the center
of the boat using pieces of twine to hold the struts and crossbeams in place. By
the time they were done, they’d constructed a meter-high tower which would
secure the rocket in place before takeoff.

Sasha lifted the rocket from the floor of the boat and gave
it a kiss. He then held it out so that Horace could do the same. He slid the
rocket into place in the center of the launch gantry and adjusted the fuse at
the bottom so that it was easily accessible.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Ready,” Horace confirmed.

Horace flipped open his lighter with his thumb and spun the
flint wheel. The lighter ignited. He protected the gentle flame from the wind
using his free hand and touched it to the tip of the fuse. The fuse sparked to
life and began to sizzle toward the rocket’s engine. Sasha and Horace stepped
back as far as the tiny boat would allow.

There was a sputter before the engine ignited and the full
force of the burning propellant was released. Flames and smoke shot across the
floor of the boat to lick at the dancing feet of the rocket engineers. The
rocket tried to take off but one of the fins was held in place by a broken
strut on the launch gantry. Eventually the flaming beast tore itself free of
its constraints and flew skyward.

“There she goes,” Horace announced with a smile.

Sasha was too busy extinguishing the smoldering cuffs of his
jeans to comment.

The rocket continued high into the sky and then began to arc
toward shore. It was only then that the launch crew, who was left standing in
the boat, noticed that the strong breeze had shifted toward the town of
McIntyre’s Gulch not half a kilometer away. The slow steady arc of smoke from
their explosive projectile continued to soar in the direction of town and then
banked down into a steep descent.

“Oh no,” Sasha said, finally free to look up. “Not again.
God is malevolent.”

The two men watched in horror as the rocket crashed into the
roof of the Lonesome Moose and exploded. Pieces of shingle and broken boards
flew in all directions. The only upside was that the fuel had spent itself and there
appeared to be no fire.

“Crap,” Horace declared.

“Lots of crap,” Sasha agreed.

Horace stood with his arms crossed, shivering against the
cold. It was then that he noticed that his feet were particularly cold. Looking
down, he saw gentle waves of water lapping against his boots. Then he noticed
that the rocket had burned a fair-size hole in the bottom of their fiberglass
craft.

“Quick, Sasha, we’re sinking!” Horace noted.

Sasha looked down to see the water flowing freely into their
boat. Frantically, he slotted the oars into their locks and started rowing for
shore. The boat sank only twenty meters from the beach, requiring the two men
to swim the last leg.

No one at the Lonesome Moose was happy to see the two wet
and freezing aerospace engineers as they entered the debris-strewn tavern to
warm themselves before the fire.

“You’re just lucky my daughter isn’t here, eh,” Big John
said. “And you can start fixing the roof after breakfast.”

“Sure,” Horace agreed quickly.

Big John started for the kitchen and then added, “And you
owe me a boat.”

*
 
*
 
*

The tripwire having been tripped, the trap sprang out of the
dirt not three meters from where the Mountie was standing. Chuck’s breath
caught in his throat in the expectation of being pierced through the throat by
an arrow or knife, sent twirling through the air at the head of a massive
blast, or at the very least having his leg bitten off by a bear trap. Instead,
a metal plate launched itself upright out of the ground to stand before Chuck’s
face. On it, someone had attached a crudely painted sign.

Bang!

You

Are

Dead

Chuck felt his body begin to shake. He could no longer
control his muscles. He could no longer remain standing. He sat down hard in
the middle of the road, dropping his rifle in the dirt. Anatoli rushed to his
side. Chuck was just thankful that when he’d heard the sound of the trap being
sprung his sphincter had slammed shut instead of wide open. His guts roiled in
his belly all the same.

“Mountie, you are alright,” Anatoli said.

Chuck wasn’t sure whether his partner was expressing an
observation, perhaps a confidence builder, or asking a question. He opted to
interpret it as a question.

“I’m fine. I just need to sit for a bit while I regain
control of myself.”

The shaking eventually subsided. The Mountie pushed off the
ground and teetered to his feet. Anatoli held on to his arm to steady him until
he stood upright. At a nod of the head from Chuck, Anatoli released the arm and
Chuck remained standing rock solid.

“What now?” Anatoli asked.

“We keep on going,” Chuck replied.

The men continued down the street, stopping off to check the
other cabins to either side of the road along the way. They found nothing else
of interest in town, only the aftermath of old Woody’s earlier rampage. During
their winding course to the church they managed to set off three more booby
traps. Each was much like the first, with the exception of the last trap which
actually was tied to a tiny explosive charge. By the time the men stood before
the double doors of the old church at the end of town, their nerves were spent.

“I do not know how much more I want to take. This smells of
insanity,” Anatoli said as they considered the building.

The Mountie could see that there was light coming from
inside. The light was pouring through the wide seams around each door. The
light presented itself as an orange glow, as if the church might be on fire. Then
the Mountie heard a voice. A single man was speaking, or rather orating, as if
before an enraptured audience. The Mountie grabbed the handle of one door,
Anatoli the other. At a silent signal between them, they threw the doors wide
and stepped into the church with their rifles at the ready.

“…
besides
, the Mounties are never
going to come,” a man dressed in dusty bib overalls and standing behind a
simple altar declared.

“Royal Canadian Mounted Police, Inspector Chuck Goodhead,”
Chuck declared in his most authoritative tone. “Everyone remain seated and
don’t
move.”

Of course, all the people moved, spinning in their pews to
see who it was. Half the people jumped from their seats. Fully half of those
now standing were armed. Fortunately, the Mountie’s initial words and bright
red parka with sleeve insignia saved everyone from what could have easily
become a bloodbath.

“Who are you people?” Chuck asked, releasing the trigger on
his rifle and pointing the barrel toward the ceiling.

“The citizens of Soda Springs,” answered the man behind the
altar. “Who are you?”

By this time, half the firearms in the room had been either
pointed away in a harmless direction or reholstered.

“I’m Chuck Goodhead, RCMP,” he repeated. This prompted the
other half of the firearms to be dealt with safely. “What are you doing in
here?”

“Deciding what to do with the madman we have tied up at the
other end of town. What are you doing here?”

“I’m here looking to subdue and arrest Mr. Woody Sykes.”

“It’s about time!” someone declared from the congregation of
about thirty.

“Who do you think we have tied up at the other end of town,
eh?” demanded the man in bib overalls.

The Mountie and Anatoli exchanged thoughtful glances. In
unison they reached behind their backs and each pushed open a door to the
church. They looked down the street toward the other end of town. There was a
man dressed only in long johns dancing in the middle of the dirt track. He was
holding up his clothes in one fist and a whisky bottle in the other. He was
cackling at them and screaming obscene oaths. As they watched, the old man
danced off into the woods, never to be seen again by humankind.

*
 
*
 
*

I worked all morning on my dress and was relieved when the
Flowers arrived, giving me an excuse to put it away. I learned to sew out of
self-defense, but I sure didn’t enjoy it.

“How’s Ricky?” I asked, getting up to make tea.

“Better than I am,” the Flowers admitted. “I’m going to head
down to Seven Forks in a bit and see about getting him some clothes. Dad’s
going to watch him.”

The Flowers didn’t need to add that Ricky wasn’t joining her
because we were going to be keeping very quiet about his presence, at least for
a while. The kid was probably going to end up being homeschooled.

“Did he tell you any more about what happened?” I asked,
breaking an unwritten rule of privacy. I figured that we were going to need to
know the basics of Ricky’s story so we didn’t say or do something to upset the
kid or put him in danger.

“A little.
The Snake had been
dating my neighbor, encouraging her to look after Ricky while he was doing
business.” The Flowers’ tightening face told me the business wasn’t legal and
probably dangerous. “I guess it all finally caught up with him. Thank God
Vanessa kept Gavin’s number and that he was willing to bring Ricky to Canada
for me. I just wish that I had been given some warning. I don’t have anything
for him—no clothes, no cereal, no toys.”

“You will in a few hours,” I said calmly, thinking that this
Gavin had to be a very close friend to risk transporting a minor across
borders. “Ricky’s from the States?” I asked, setting out mugs.

“Yes, Los Angeles.”

This surprised me. I knew that the Flowers had been down
south, but not all the way to California.

“The Snake isn’t a US citizen,” the Flowers said, watching
the mug and not me as I poured water into the teapot. “He isn’t …
isn’t
lots of things. But he’s beautiful and charming.
So beautiful that it took me a while to realize what he truly is.”
She stopped, searching for words. “There were no warnings—not that I saw. He
doesn’t rattle—just strikes out. Never at
Ricky—he loves the
kid—but
everyone else….”

I nodded. Lucifer had been beautiful too.

“I don’t know why I was so blind to what he was, but I was
blind.
Completely sightless.
Until
he hit me.”

I understood and murmured sympathetically. Some attraction
is primordial and even reptiles can be appealing. Until they bite.

“The pain woke me up quick enough. I saw everything very
clearly after that and got out.”

Pain serves an important purpose. And it isn’t pointless
unless you fail to learn from it. The Flowers had gotten the message and left.

It couldn’t have been easy though, especially leaving Ricky.
But life in the Gulch prepares you to do hard things, to make decisions without
a lot of emotion getting in the way. We haven’t much scope for melodrama here.
We are too close to the edge of extinction to act like we are in an opera.

“Ricky’s mom was still alive then. I told myself that she
would look after him….”

“It was her place,” I agreed.

“But she died last year.
A car accident.
And with Ricky’s mother being dead now, and his father an illegal alien, I
don’t know what would have happened to him if Gavin hadn’t gotten him away. The
system isn’t the greatest for dealing with orphan kids.”

“I know,” I said and then stopped there. This wasn’t the
time to tell stories about my own messed-up childhood. “But he isn’t orphaned.
He has you and Big John. And he has all of us.”

The Flowers’ face finally eased.

“It will be okay, won’t it? We can keep him safe.”

“Of course,” I said firmly, pouring out tea. “The Snake is
in jail. And if he does get out … he doesn’t know how to find you?”

“No. I covered my trail when I left. Vanessa might tell
someone about Gavin if she isn’t bright enough to leave town for a while
herself, but he won’t talk. Gavin is … an entrepreneur and spends a lot of time
in Mexico. He wants no official entanglements. I suspect it may be a while
before he’s back in California, or even in the States.”

“Then everything is fine.”

“Thanks. I needed to hear someone say that. I’ve been
imagining all kinds of horrible things—but what could happen to Ricky here?”

“Nothing, not with the whole town looking
after him.”