Читать книгу The Face of Freedom - Benjamin Vance - Страница 7

He could never make fifty miles in a day, even when he was a young man and the terrain was relatively flat. He calculated another overnight at a spot which would be a bit less protected, but a lot warmer he hoped. He hoisted his pack and headed in the general direction. The sun would be kind to him that day. Walking in the filtered light was like walking in a dream. At times he could almost imagine Linda peeking around one of the large evergreens; scotch pine he thought, or maybe balsam fir. “Different trees up here than in Colorado or Utah”, he thought. These guys had to stand some really long and cold winters. He never understood how Lewis and Clark and company made it so far on so little. Those boys were his inspiration some days.

About 1:00 p.m. he heard conversation. He didn’t see any roads on his map, but that didn’t mean a logging road hadn’t been pushed through lately. He cautiously circled where he thought the voices were coming from, but they were moving as well. He decided to take a rest and snuggled up under what looked like another balsam tree. He waited and tracked the noise. At last he heard a man and a woman slowly moving through the trees. He smelled them before he saw them well. Perfumes in the woods! “Good way to draw the bears”, he thought, but he didn’t know for sure. The man was leading the way and both had large back packs. Both looked strong, handsome and tireless. They moved slowly up the slope toward ... who knows what. He waited until their voices faded into bird chirps and bug noises again and then crossed their trail. It looked like a nice game and hiking trail; probably used by a lot of hunters. He left it behind on his way northeast.

At one point he edged a cliff of about seventy feet. The view made him catch his breath; purple clouds on the horizon and green as far as he could see. Below him, he heard before he saw, three bull elk emerge from a nap and start to browse around the edges of a small park. They were big boys and one was at least a Western twelve point. He watched them knowing that thirty years earlier he would have shot one. Now ... well, that was then. He quietly moved on and they never saw nor smelled him.

He came to a small stream he’d seen on his map and found a brief level place on the up-slope to lay his weary body. He’d eaten enough jerky. He cooked himself some sweet rice and chicken and imagined he and Linda were eating Chinese food she loved so well. Talk about a way to draw the bears! He had plenty of time to wash his cup and spoon in the stream. It was about three feet across and littered with all types of wood and rock. Still, there were edible brown trout claiming it as home. He tried to convince one to take a hook with a salmon egg, but all he did was run from the bright lure. He tried to smile at them, but nothing formed. Finally, he lay and watched the last of the light as his hand found the pistol by habit.

Quiet “Snuffing” in the middle of the night abruptly woke him. He slowly swept his shaded flash light in the direction of the noise and was greeted by a black badger nose and two big red eyes. He grunted at it and it simply stared back. He then explained that he would have to kill Mr. Badger if it came any closer, and since he thought that would be a great injustice he recommended the badger move on. The badger then puzzled him by dropping to its belly, resting its chin on a rock and watching him some more.

He wondered what would cause such puzzling behavior, and slowly pulled out a strip of jerky without taking his eyes off the flat character. He sailed the jerky and it hit just to the side of the badger‘s head. He sniffed, took the jerky, turned and ambled into the woods with his tail high. It was definitely a boy. The walker found it hard to accept the situation, and questioned out loud if he was dreaming. He also found it hard to sleep again with a badger near, but finally about dawn he caught a few more minutes. Then he was walking again postprandial, and half expecting to see his badger friend again. It didn’t happen.

About noon he was within a mile of his goal. He stopped. He waited. Then he heard chopping about thirty degrees to his left front. It was obviously someone chopping fire wood. The sound always carried well in cool air. He slowly began to stalk toward the sound. He was within eyeball distance when he spied slight movement to his right front. It was a listening post in which someone wasn’t listening. What he’d seen was the soles of two small boots on the crossed-ankle feet of someone who was supposed to be listening for intruders, but was probably listening to headphones since one boot was keeping time with music; imagined or real.

He slowly sat down and scanned the area with his binoculars. He could find no one else. He then moved in a large circle to come up behind the listener. His movement took twenty minutes. The birds kept chirping and the chopper kept chopping. He approached directly behind the guy in the crude lookout and saw a hat pulled down over eyes. He got very close and cleared his throat. Nothing! Then he cleared it again, louder.

The chopping stopped and almost at the same time the watchman jumped up and challenged him without knowing where he was. In so doing, the guy tried to turn abruptly, stumbled, nearly lost the pulled-down cap and a thick, long fall of beautiful shining black hair tumbled from beneath it. There were also two of the most striking green eyes he’d ever seen. He could see all of them too, because they were very wide. She made a futile attempt to seize her pistol, which was by then almost hung from her rear end. The walker held up his right hand and simply said, “Please don’t do that.”

She stopped in mid attempt and looked at him with now narrowed eyes and a crinkled nose. After a number of seconds she announced, “You’re the walker!”

He simply said, “Yes!” Then after thinking a bit more about her predicament he said, “I’m sorry I scared you.”

“Oh you didn’t scare me that much. I was just listening to some CW and checking my eyelids for holes.” She cracked a disarming smile while tilting her cap bill toward the sky and adjusting her pistol and hair. She continued with an explanation in light of his silence, “We don’t have many people around on weekdays so everything is kind of relaxed. ‘Come the weekend though there are about 150 folks in camp. We got more members than that, but not all can come every weekend. Some are in the Guard and have to make weekend drills.”

“You think you could show me where I could get something to eat?”

“Sure, follow me. How far did you walk today, or yesterday, or whatever … how far have you come to talk to us.”

While walking slowly beside her, “I’ve been waiting all my life to talk to you … and others like you.”

She looked at him sideways; skeptically, “Whoa, that’s pretty deep for such a pretty day.”

“What’s coming is pretty deep too kiddo. When the feces hits the fan, I think it would behoove all of us to be as prepared as we can be. Some of us are going to die when it happens, but that’s the way it always is in war.”

Apprehensive and confused, she didn’t say another word until they reached the kitchen. It was prequeled by the delicious smells of meat, eggs, green beans and fresh bread. He was depleted and his stomach embarrassed him.

She reacted with, “Wow that sounds like a badger growling.” He looked at her with a question on his face so she said, “You know, those big, flat, striped guys with the big claws?”

“Yeah, I know it’s just that I had a slight run in with a badger last night in the mountains.”

Stopping and turning to look directly up at him she said, “Whadaya mean, run in?”

“Oh, it was just a friendly stand off until I gave him some jerky. Then he thanked me by showing me his genitals.”

“Oh hell!” she screamed, “You saw Hercules!”

Her scream of excitement brought everything to a halt camp-wide. Several men started to slowly walk their way with obvious menace in their faces. He placed his hand on his belt … the one attaching his pistol to his chest. The looks on the faces changed to, “What the hell do we do now?”

The listening post lady quickly assessed the situation and loudly confirmed he was the walker and had come to talk to them. Then he noticed skepticism enter their faces; not what he was expecting. She added, “He saw Hercules last night and fed him some jerky!” There was no change in their demeanor.

Then out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of a man exiting a small cabin to his left. All eyes turned to the man and several made an opening for him to come through. When he saw the walker, he immediately flashed a broad, apprehensive smile. As he got closer, he held out his hand in the way of a politician. The walker took his hand, but was ready for the pull he knew was coming. Instead, he held his ground and the man succeeded in pulling himself off balance a bit. He covered the faux pas by loudly welcoming the walker and announcing to everyone that they were glad to have him visit their humble camp.

He looked at the lookout lady and said, “Julie, I thought you were supposed to be on watch ’til three?”

“I know Daddy, but the walker came up to my post and somebody had to show him in. If we had phones out there I could have called!”

“I know too baby, but we have to take this mission seriously. How about you going back out there and keeping watch ’til three. Then someone will relieve you and you can eat.”

“I don’t need to eat. I was just delivering him to the kitchen. He’s hungry you know, and he saw Hercules last night. I knew he was still alive. He fed ’im some jerky … okay I’m going!” As she turned to go she flashed the walker a big smile and glanced at her father, “Good to meet you Mr. Walker. Hope you find some signs of intelligence on this planet.”

Then off she went, purposely exaggerating her wiggle for everyone she knew was watching, hoping to embarrass her father. The gentleman then introduced himself with apologies for his daughter and said, “Howdy, I‘m Ridge Parker and that was obviously my daughter Julie Parker. I … am a state representative for the district we are presently in.” Making a wide sweep with both arms, “Our little group, known hereabouts as the Mother’s Sons of America, got its name from the founder in 1969, a man by the name of Ben Maltin. He thought it was a cute name. I think it’s repugnant, but it stuck and everyone remembers the MSA guys. We try to run a tight ship, especially on the weekends. It’s sort of like a National Guard unit. Everybody has a uniform and tries to do their best to uphold American values and traditions. We have fun too. Let me introduce you around.”

Ridge was successful in remembering about half of the names of the members. They eventually migrated into the mess hall and sat among gawkers and doubters. The food was good and the walker complimented the cooks, who were obviously members and wives of members, and appreciated his comments. He thought, “A few allies at best.”