Hiking along the river trail below the cabin, Warner glanced up at the heavy wintery white clouds that were dragging across the snowy peaks of Prairie Mountain. Slowing, he looked back at his older brother, Troy, who was now lagging behind Bella.
“You coming?”
“Aren’t you supposed to wait an hour after a big meal before exercising?” Troy asked, catching up to Warner. “I’m slogging around ten extra pounds of Christmas ham. How much farther is the river?”
“A mile,” Warner teased. Hearing his brother groan, he added, “No. Seriously—it’s only a couple hundred feet.”
Sylvia and Warner’s sister-in-law, Mary, followed at an even more leisurely pace while catching up on family gossip from Oklahoma. His two nephews had elected to remain at the cabin ‘to mess with their new stuff,’ a thin pretense by Jasen to attempt calling his girlfriend again. He can’t believe there’s actually a place on the planet where his cell phone doesn’t work. Nick, on the other hand, had been blunt, begging off because he had no interest in “seeing nature with people old as dirt.”
“When did you start carrying Dad’s gun?” Troy asked, pointing to the Smith & Wesson hanging from the holster at Warner’s waist. “I thought guns made you nervous.”
“They do, but after last week’s visit, Kendra made it clear I better do something.” Warner grunted with annoyance. “I’m sick of these rednecks scaring my family.”
“Not every red neck is a bad thing,” Troy said with a smirk as he rubbed his own neck.
“Yours is just a little pink,” Warner laughed, then became serious again. “My point is, since the local deputy isn’t going to help, it’s up to me—and I figure this gun will show them I mean business.”
“Sounds like Mom took it well, is Kendra still mad?”
“Mad’s not the word. Just when she was getting over the trouble last spring… She’s taking it hard. Been extra tired and moody lately and not eating right.”
“Sounds like she’s pregnant.”
“What? Quit kidding around. She’d tell me if that was true.”
Shortly, the trees fell away on either side of the trail as they reached the north bank of the Suiattle River. Sounds from a nearby section of shallow riffles filled the air with a wet murmur, while bright glints of sunlight shimmered off the surface. Forty feet overhead, an adult bald eagle with a six-foot wingspan launched off a perch, heading to the opposite bank.
“See that, Mary?” Troy exclaimed over his shoulder.
“See what?” she asked.
“A bald eagle flew right over your head!”
“Darn, I missed it!” Sylvia said.
“They’re just across the water, in those trees,” Warner said, directing his mother’s gaze to the majestic bird settling into a tall Douglas fir across the river, alongside another adult and two offspring.
While Mary scanned the sky, the two men took a seat on a large worn log.
“This is first-class,” Mary said, when she dropped onto the log beside Troy.
“What a pleasant walk,” Sylvia said, easing down beside Mary.
“I only came along to make room for a second helping of pecan pie,” Troy said, grinning as he grabbed his belly with both hands.
“Long as Warner doesn’t let that Grinch, Bruce, run off with our Christmas deserts,” Sylvia teased, looking at Warner with a mischievous smile.
“Nothing like being called out by your own mother.” Warner blushed before placing his left hand over the handle-grip of his gun. “I don’t know whether to shoot Bruce—or you,” he said with a grin.
-- : --
Warner was startled wide-awake by the road alarm. Since the confrontation at the back door, each time it sounded, he felt jolted like from a cattle prod. Lying at the foot of the mattress, Bella lifted her shaggy black head. The dog looked at him with a bad case of bed-hair and droopy eyes that asked ‘would you get that?’ before dropping her head back down.
Anxiously scrambling out from under the warm comfort of the blankets, Warner accidentally bounced Bella onto the cold floor. Sorry, girl! The dog thumped over, dead to the world. In just his t-shirt and pajama bottoms, Warner shivered, hardly feeling the warmth from the house heater running in the living room. His now-alert eyes dilated in the faint light. The old-fashioned wind-up alarm clock next to his bed read 1:00 a.m. Looking out the small side window, he watched the single headlight from a four-wheel ATV—a quad—race toward his gate.
“Don’t you heathens know it’s Christmas?” he snarled in frustration. Will this ever end?
Alarmed by the buzzer, Warner’s heartbeat raced and he shoved his feet into a thin pair of house slippers. After picking up the flashlight, he reached for the hunting knife and reconsidered, instead, grabbing his father’s Smith & Wesson 10-millimeter pistol. He hurried out of the bedroom, down the hallway, and around to the stairs. Taking the steps two at a time, he pushed his knees to speed his tired climb.
In the main area of the loft, silhouetted by starlight, Troy stood in front of the long picture window, while Mary and the boys sat upright in their sleeping bags in the middle of the floor. Everyone except Troy looked nervous.
“Heard a buzz,” Troy said as Warner joined his brother and looked out the window.
“That’s the ‘doorbell’ I put on the road so I don’t get surprised,” Warner said.
Outside, the quad reached the gate and came to an abrupt stop; its single headlight went dark.
“They seem to like messing with you,” Troy said.
“Looks that way, doesn’t it?”
“Want me to kick his ass?” Troy offered.
Looking at his brother, Warner recalled all the times Troy had done just that when they were growing up. Except back then, sometimes it was my ass he kicked.
“Tempting, but I have to do this myself…” if I’m going to prove to Kendra I can take care of my own family. “Besides, why should you have all the fun?” Warner asked, trying to conceal his own fear.
“All these break-ins and midnight visits, it’s like they’re trying to run you off or something,” Troy said.
Everyone turned toward the sound of footsteps on the stairs. “If you decide to shoot them, be sure to drag them inside,” Sylvia said, reaching the dark loft. “Least that’s what your father always told me.”
Nick snickered and Jasen punched him in the side.
“Ow!”
“Boys,” Mary warned.
“Don’t worry, I’ll handle this,” Warner promised. “Everyone just stay inside.”
-- : --
Trailed closely by Bella’s shadowy black form, Warner cautiously approached the gate, and the light from his flashlight glinted off the chrome details of a silent black ATV. Wonder if I’d get into trouble if I shot the tires out? Seeing no one on the quad, Warner scanned the tree-line to his left and then the clearing to his right—both were empty.
Where the hell did he go?
Within twenty feet of the vehicle, Warner kept the gun barrel steadily aimed forward. Even though the safety was off, he would have to cock the barrel to load a shell into the firing chamber. Sweeping the flashlight over the quad again, he noticed a dark form slumped over the black vinyl seat.
“Hello?” Warner called out while Bella rumbled in a deep growl at the strange vehicle.
Warner stepped closer and surveyed the heavy chain that hung limp, almost brushing the ground. The chain remained attached at either end, but the gate’s metal posts bent inward. The flashlight’s beam swept across the red-and-gold label of a Schlitz beer can where it had rolled to a stop against one post. A wet trail of beer led back to the quad. Must be drunk. Was he trying to tear the gate down? Then he noticed the ATV’s torn left front fender and cracked headlight. Was this an accident?
“What are you doing here?” Warner called louder.
Receiving no reply, Warner eased up to the side of the vehicle. A young man, about Warner’s size, lay passed-out over the gas tank. A hunting ball-cap rested in the gravel behind the quad’s front tire. Guardedly stepping closer, Warner picked up the hat and hung it off one of the handlebar’s rubber grips. Strapped on the back of the seat over the tail light, a battered black helmet sat unused.
“Looks like you could’ve used that tonight. You okay?” Warner asked.
He nudged the drunk’s shoulder with the flashlight, pressing it into the mottled green-tan-and-black of a camouflage jacket. Bella made a skittish approach and sniffed the stranger’s pant leg before pulling back. Makes no sense. Why would he drive an ATV clear out here in the middle of winter?
The stranger stirred and pulled himself into a semi-upright position. He wobbled in a tight drunken orbit, and trailed a cloud of sour breath over the smell of gasoline from the cooling engine. Warner and Bella both took a step back.
“Damn gate,” the man said as a silvery line of saliva trailed down his chin. “Broke my quad… almost… killed me.”
“Shouldn’t be racing around in the dark while you’re drunk,” Warner said, lowering his gun. This had to be an accident—he’s wasted. But what am I supposed to do with him now? Torn by a sense of duty, Warner recalled the frequent times his father had instructed, ‘stop and let’s give them a hand.’ In the past, like a good trooper’s son, I wouldn’t have thought twice about doing that.
“Piece of shit,” the man said, sliding off the four-wheeler and staggering to grab the handlebars. As the drunk stumbled around in a ridiculous attempt to drag the heavy quad away, Warner watched until the cold made him shiver.
I want to go to bed… No, I want my dream back. Warner sighed. “I’ll get my truck.”
Ten minutes later, Warner pulled up to the gate and the truck’s headlights illuminated an empty drive—the quad was gone. Did he get it started? No, I would’ve heard that.
Unlocking the damaged gate, Warner pulled onto Wa-Wilkin Road and drove a hundred feet before the lights reflected off chrome. In the center of the road ahead, the man was stubbornly pushing the ATV from behind. After creeping past the corner hemlock, the stranger lurched forward and slumped onto the seat. Did the jerk pass out again?
Barely with enough room to squeeze the Toyota around the quad, Warner heard brush scrape the left side-panel and grimaced. Stopping in front of the ATV, he put the truck in reverse and eased into position before walking back and lowering the tailgate. What a holiday—me in my house slippers, flannel jammies, and a gun—taking care of a passed-out drunk on an ATV in the middle of the wilderness, while my family enjoys the show from the cabin and my wife is pissed off at me in Alaska.
His brother’s flashlight in the cabin’s loft window went dark and Warner looked down at his watch. It was nearly 2 a.m. Merry Christmas.
“Enough! I’ve jacked around with you for over an hour.” Reaching out, Warner shook the passed-out stranger who then toppled off the quad. Crap! Scrambling to catch the man, Warner dragged the limp body back and sprawled him across the seat. Staring down at the drunk, Warner felt a twinge of pity. Why would he do this to himself? He can’t be more than twenty. Is his life that bad?
The man made a retching noise and Warner hopped back, tossing his arms wide as if the man were going to throw something at him. The drunk hunched over and hurled the contents of his stomach onto Warner’s right slipper.
“Awww, maaaan….”
“I… feel… better,” the man said, swaying as he sat upright.
“Grand,” Warner sneered, kicking his slipper out to shake off the mess.
The man eased off the quad and steadied himself with the handlebars.
“I’ll give you a hand,” Warner said, realizing he would have to lay the gun down but having no alternative. Warner marched over to the truck and set the gun in the floorboard, forcing his hand to release the grip. Before losing his nerve, he hurried back and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the stranger.
“Don’t try anything,” Warner cautioned. “And don’t throw up on me again!”
“Where’s my trailer?”
“How the hell would I know?”
“It’s someplace ‘round here. Lina’s in it.”
“Lina? How do you know her?” Warner’s suspicion returned.
“She’s my… used to be my girl.”
Glancing at the man, Warner relaxed. Now I get it. Got drunk and missed the turn-off to Lina’s trailer. His relief evaporated, replaced by a sudden inner chill as he recalled a comment made by Deputy Braun. ‘The owner of the trailer is in jail.’ This will really freak Kendra out when I tell her an ex-con is hanging out across the road.
“Trailer’s over there,” Warner said, pointing, unable to think of anything else to do. “But if she doesn’t want you here, I’m hauling you in to town.”
They rolled the ATV up to the front of the small sky-blue trailer and parked it next to a large black plastic trash bag sealed with duct tape. Why do some people pile their trash around their house?
Walking up to the front, the man rapped on the aluminum door.
“Lina, open up, it’s Chad!” A few seconds passed.
“I’ll take you—,” Warner began.
The door cracked open and Lina’s sleepy face peered outside. Her eyes narrowed when they fell on Chad.
“Tell this guy you know me so he’ll go home,” Chad said. Lina gave Warner a curt nod.
“You sure?” Warner asked.
Without answering, Lina withdrew into the dark trailer, leaving the inner door open. Reaching out, Chad opened the screen door and disappeared inside. A moment later the door slammed shut.
Disillusioned, Warner tossed up his hands. Not even a thank you, kiss my ass.
“Merry Christmas!” he yelled sarcastically, before turning to stomp away. And good riddance!