Dennis Yates - Minus Tide

Electricity had not been restored to Traitor Bay, and only roving fingers of moonlight kept it from appearing totally abandoned. Parked cars glimmered in the distance, wood smoke spooled from rooftops. Even with daylight not far away there would not be a significant change in the level of darkness, as if the night itself had refused eviction. Ann knew today would be such a time, when everything was half-lit and the sun was a drifting sheet of gray steel, a lost wreckage, and many fog specters would visit far up country roads and into forgotten glades where the remains of chimneys stood wrapped in thick-fingered ivy and blackberry vine. It would be the kind of day when your instincts told you to light a fire and stay close to it.

Tammy opened her hand and showed her the bloody tooth. It had taken Ann a moment to realize what it was.

“Do you think they can still save it?” she asked.

“They might,” Ann said, handing her a paper napkin from her jacket. She was always taking the extra ones the waitresses left on the table. “Here, soak this in some water and wrap it up. You can’t let it dry out.”

Tammy did as Ann told her and wetted the napkin in the bay. She spread it out on her knees and set the tooth in the middle, then folded the napkin over and over until it was in the rounded shape of a white stone with threads of red in it. The napkin had left a damp rectangle on her jeans. She touched the tooth to her lips and sobbed.

Ann squeezed Tammy’s hand and watched James at the back of the boat. He lit a cigarette off the dying cherry of another. In the time it had taken for him to smoke five, they’d traveled up from the bay and into the river that fed it. They were relieved to find no lights coming off the dark bridge they had to pass under, no bullets boiling up the water next to them. James thought he’d heard voices, but it turned out to be crows raiding a swallow’s nest beneath the darkened steel beams.

When Mitch’s head dropped forward again, James leaned over to gently shake him awake. Mitch sat up straight again and stared around groggily. His face was pale and he had two developing black eyes.

“Stay awake, bud. You might have a concussion,” James said.

“I don’t have one…” Mitch said.

“Well you still better get an x-ray.”

Mitch leaned over the boat and spat more blood. “And how much will that cost?”

They passed close to some derelict barges and a tugboat covered with flaking patches of paint. A rusted crane loomed above them from one of the barges with a giant hook suspended on the end of a frayed cable. There was no sign of life here on the widest part of the river, which carried enough fresh water to keep the barnacles killed off. James told them he knew of a barn up stream where they could drop off Tammy and Mitch. By land it was hard to get to unless you were familiar with the local roads. The barn was owned by his uncle Lefty, who always kept it stocked in case he needed to pull all nighters during calving season.

Tammy leaned her head against Ann’s shoulder. “I’m worried about what’s going to happen to the baby. Those bastards knocked me around hard.”

“Nothing’s going to happen,” Ann said. And we’re going to get you and Mitch to a safe place.”

“And what about you?”

“Something tells me those guys are going to keep looking for us no matter what. You two are in no condition to keep running but we are. If we split up our chances are going to be a lot better that we come out of this.”

“Right, and then what happens after help comes? I’ll get my ass busted for assaulting a cop… Not that it didn’t feel good at the time.” When Tammy smiled Ann saw the dark gap left by the missing tooth and looked away.

“That bad?” Tammy asked.

“Don’t get mad, but you remind of that year when we dressed up as hillbillies for Halloween.”

Tammy laughed. “That’s just great. Mitch and I must make quite a pair.”

“What you did to the sheriff isn’t going to matter, Tam. After they find out what he’s been up to, he’ll no longer even be a cop.”

“I hope you’re right. I don’t want to have this baby in jail. Are you sure we shouldn’t all stay put somewhere and wait this out together?”

“I think that’s what they’re hoping we’ll do. It would make it a lot easier for them to clean their slate that way.”

“Coming up on our right side,” James announced. The others leaned over to see a wooden dock floating on the river, its wooden railing half twisted off from last year’s storms. Uncle Lefty didn’t do a lot of fishing anymore, the cold was just too much on his arthritis.

Ann took out her cell phone and handed it to Tammy. “Try and call for help. If you reach somebody, make sure they come and get you guys first.”

“And where should I tell them you’re going to be?”

“Don’t worry about us. We’re going to be on the move. And be sure you turn off the phone when you’re not using it. It loses its juice fast.”

James helped Mitch and Tammy out of the boat and onto a small dock. Behind it was a bank of tall yellow grass and the smell of cow manure coming from the field above. Mitch got down on his knees and cupped some water onto his face. Its coldness seemed to revive him. He stood up and wrapped his arm around Tammy’s waist and together they watched as James turned the boat around to head back downstream toward the bay.

“Just follow the path and go through the gate to the left,” James said. “My uncle keeps a key under the plastic dwarf standing guard next to the front door.”

“Thanks,” Mitch said. “You guys be careful now.”

Worried about how much gas they had left, James cut the motor and let the boat drift for a while. They listened to the water slurp and gurgle, felt the current draw them back as if the river were a retreating appendage of the sea. A raccoon trotted excitedly along the shore, stopping to dip its paws into pools in search of stranded salmon fry. It lifted its head as they glided past, then began to follow them until the cut bank got lost under a tangled shelf of dense tree limbs draped with neon yellow moss. River mud bubbled and belched, filled the predawn air with exhalations of wet clay and old death. Bats darted over the boat-black leathery shapes squiggled traces against the patches of starlit sky.

Ann sat facing the monochrome image of James and the river trailing behind them. He seemed to be absorbed by the river, but she knew he was only brooding over something and not really looking at anything at all. He seemed like more of a stranger now, the person he’d become after leaving Traitor Bay and joining the navy. She could see now that things hadn’t changed for him much. He’d left behind everything to take a different path and was just as unlucky with it as any other he’d tried. Everyone said going away would help him grow into a fuller person, but he’d just been led around in another circle. It seems like he can’t ever catch a break, Ann thought.

“How far do you think we should go?” she asked.

James turned from the river and looked into her eyes. She could see that he was simmering inside, not ready yet to open up. It always took him longer than most people. He’d grown up fearing he’d somehow light his father’s short fuse, until he met Ann and began to stand up for himself. Ann had always thought it was the true reason his mother didn’t like her anymore.

“I was thinking we’d pull off just before the jetty and take the beach back to get help.”

“It will be light before we get into town. They’re going to see us.”

“Look at the fog rolling in, Ann. It’s supposed to stick around all day, thick and soupy.”