Ray Gorham - Daunting Days of Winter

The front door opened, and Carol stepped back inside, with Sherry tucked under her arm. “Kyle?” Carol said as she pushed the door shut. “Could you go get Gabe? We need to arrange for a funeral.”

Kyle offered condolences, then hurriedly pulled on his coat and boots and was out the door. The sun had set, and the wind was picking up, dropping the temperature noticeably. Kyle wrapped his scarf around his neck as he hurried to Gabe’s house.

They returned to Carols’ house together, chatting briefly about the community and the funeral. Kyle hurriedly put on an extra layer of clothing and grabbed his weapons before rushing off to work, already late for his shift.

By the time he arrived at the militia house his preferred assignment, walking along the river, had been taken, leaving him with everyone’s least favorite assignment – walking the town interior. Even though it provided a little variety, because there was no defined route to patrol, it was further from the garrison and tended to be the one with the fewest opportunities to warm up.

The night was cold but passed without incident, and soon after sun-up, Kyle was home and in bed, dead to the world. He had been asleep for just a short time when he felt someone shaking him.

“Kyle,” Jennifer said, tugging on his arm.

Kyle blinked, shook his head, and looked at Jennifer. “What?” he mumbled, trying to get his bearings.

“Sean’s here. He needs to talk to you. Says it’s important.”

Kyle swallowed, cleared his throat, and sat up. “Alright. Tell him just a minute.” He already had his sweatpants on, but grabbed his sweatshirt that he kept on the fireplace hearth and pulled it on before going upstairs.

Sean sat on the couch in the living room. His cheeks were red, and he wore a thick, olive green jacket. “Morning, Kyle,” he said, sounding like the drill instructor Kyle was used to. “Sorry to wake you.”

Kyle shrugged. “What’s going on?”

“There’s a girl from Clinton that’s missing. According to her father, she came over here to visit that Briggs kid, Dale, the one you caught with the wood. Anyway, she came over for a visit last night and never made it back home. Dale said she left at midnight, and he’s the last one that saw her. I understand you did the interior patrol last night?”

“I did,” Kyle confirmed as a fought off a yawn. “But I didn’t see anyone. It was cold and quiet.”

“You’re sure you didn’t see anyone, or hear anything out of the ordinary?”

Kyle shook his head. “It was cold, and I took a couple of longer breaks, but everything seemed fine. I’m positive I didn’t see her last night.”

“You ever see the girl before?”

“Yeah, I think so. Couple of nights after the News Year’s deal. There was a girl on horseback heading home along the river on the east end of town, about a couple hours after dark. Does she have some nose loops?”

Sean nodded. “Her dad says she has some piercings, tattoos on her arms, dark hair, about 5’3” tall. He wasn’t sure of her weight, but says she’s skinny.”

“Sounds like the same girl, but it was cold, and she was bundled up, so I didn’t notice any tattoos. She seemed nice enough. Was real cheerful when I asked her what she was doing. Do you need me to come and help search?”

“No. You go and sleep. We need you on patrol tonight. But if you remember anything, have someone find me. They’ve got a search party going in Clinton, and I’ll get this morning’s militia and some volunteers going on our side of the hill. Hopefully she’ll turn up. Maybe she was upset with Dad and didn’t go home, stayed at a friend’s place, or something.”

“You should look in the hills between the towns,” Kyle offered. I’ve walked them a few times while out hunting. You can get turned around and heading the wrong direction pretty easily, especially at night.”

Wednesday, January 18 th

Central Wyoming

Rose Duncan gave her horse a soft nudge in the flanks. “Hurry up, Smokey,” she encouraged, keeping on eye on the column of gray smoke that was rising in the distance. The smoke was dark and thick, and more than normal for this time of year, and for the area. Further more, it was coming from the general direction of her home, just not quite in the right location, but its presence made her nervous.

She’d been uneasy this entire trip, more so than any time in the past. Since the beginning of November, weather permitting, she’d been making a biweekly loop to the surrounding farms and ranches, for social reasons and to check on her neighbors’ welfare, as well to talk security and do some trading. The first time around it had taken her just a day to complete, but this time she had been gone for two nights and covered in excess of forty miles. Some of the folks she visited were neighbors, while others were acquaintances from real estate dealings and rodeoing. A few others she had met when she began her trips.

Despite the fact that they had already made it halfway through the winter, Rose had noticed that there was a sense of depression with most of the people she’d visited, more so than during her earlier visits. One of the ranches had been abandoned. At another, they were preparing to leave. And at a third, a widow had given up and was just waiting to die. Rose had spent half a day splitting wood and trying to talk the woman out of her depression, but there were few encouraging words to say, and Rose was sure that the next time she stopped by there wouldn’t be anyone to talk to. Most of the others, while not quite as discouraged, had similar gloom and doom outlooks and didn’t want to do much more than hunt and wait for spring to arrive.

The tree-speckled hill up ahead overlooked her valley, and she spurred Smokey to a trot, anxious to discover the source of the smoke, but Smokey’s breathing quickly became labored. The deer carcass draped over his shoulders, though gutted and decapitated, added to his already heavy load, and so Rose eased up, her concern for her horse’s exhaustion overriding any anxiety she felt.

Once they crested the hill, Rose could see across the valley, past the freeway, and up the far hill to the source of the flames. Her neighbor’s hay barn was fully engulfed, the fire raging furiously and well past any hope of containment. She tried to see if anyone was trying to fight it, but was too far off and there was too much smoke to make out any movement.

Rose continued home at faster pace, and with a little over a mile to go, she heard an unfamiliar sound in the distance. “Whoa, boy,” she whispered, reining Smokey to a stop. Rose held her breath, trying to place the low hum she could hear over Smokey’s labored breathing. The pitch of the sound changed, and Rose realized that it was a diesel engine, a sound she hadn’t heard for months.

She caught her breath and felt her heart pounding. Her hands shook on the horn of the saddle. Unsure why she was so afraid, she shrugged her shoulders and patted her horse firmly on the flanks. “Let’s go home, boy.” Smokey lurched forward and hurried along the familiar trail, sensing rest and feed were soon at hand.

The sound of the engine drew nearer, and Rose swung Smokey south, veering from the direct path home into the forest that bordered her property instead. The trees were thick, but Rose knew the forest well enough to navigate through to a place she could observe her home undetected.

Rose listened to the engine as she dismounted, heard it slow then accelerate again, knowing from the direction and distance that the vehicle was approaching her house. She heard a dog and recognized Max barking at the approaching vehicle. Sensing something bad, she dropped the reins and quickly untied the two rifles on her saddle, feeling for the box of ammo in her pocket as she ran the thirty yards to the edge of the tree line. Max had accompanied her on the first trip, but between his age and ailing hips, she had chosen to leave him home from subsequent trips with a supply of bones to chew and food to eat.