It was late afternoon when they arrived at the lake. On the way, Bodhi again brought up the scene in the little yellow farmhouse. “People shouldn’t be dying like that Marcus,” Bodhi started. “We’ve seen a lot of dead people. Seen them dying, seen them recently dead, seen them near dead, seen them long time dead, short time dead, but now…” he paused, and the dark humor dropped from his tone. “Something is happening to these folks. It’s like they’re dying from the inside.”
“Yeah, it feels like something is changing. Maybe it’s a disease or virus of some sort.”
“It has the feeling of something unnatural,” said the cowboy between bites of jerky.
“What do you mean?”
“Hell, I don’t know, but people don’t die like that. It’s unnatural.”
Marcus looked out the window at the countryside passing like a foreign land. They were on their own outside town. Abandoned cars sat scattered along the road, usually in clumps. The landscape was still beautiful to look at, but it seemed a specter of emptiness now. Every vista reminded him that this was a fallen world with only remnants of humanity trying to stand back up. The world haunted him now, an empty eggshell with all the form of its true self but inside, vapid. Unnatural. The word hung in his mind.
The roads were cracked and broken with weeds, the seasons reclaiming them. Freeway speeds were no longer an option. Decaying gaps in the pavement bounced them along forcing frequent speed adjustments. Eventually they left the main road and continued on a heavily rutted dirt track which took them deeper in the forest.
Marcus was worried about Anders. When hunters didn’t come back, they were rarely heard from again. Optimists in town liked to think they headed to another town; realists knew they had likely run into trouble. If Anders was in trouble, he hoped they would be able to find him, and it wouldn’t be too late.
Marcus dug at his brother, “Maybe your God killed that man and his daughter. Maybe he isn’t done punishing us.”
Bodhi looked back coldly. Bodhi had been trying to convince Marcus for years that there was a God, with little success. “God doesn’t kill people,” said the cowboy.
“But he lets us kill each other.” Marcus said dryly.
“Yes, he does. If we are wicked, then bad things happen.”
“So, you think that man and his daughter were wicked?”
“No, well maybe, who the hell knows,” Bodhi responded. “The point is he lets us do whatever we are going to do.”
“Why doesn’t he intervene if he gives a rats ass about any of us?”
“That’s not the plan.” Bodhi stated.
“And what is this--”
Bodhi cut him off. “Well, God lets things take their course. That’s all I am saying.”
“Wait, you have said, we are God’s children?”
“Yup.”
“So why would he let his whole family go to hell like this? What is the point of that? Especially if he has all power, why isn’t he a little more,” Marcus added emphasis, “hands on, and have it more likely that we grow up to be good kids instead of killing each other?”
“Because it must be up to us, you know free will and all that. Agency, it’s all up to us.”
“What good is free will if we use it to kill everybody?”
“Forget it; you atheists won’t ever get it.”
Marcus laughed, a little.
Bodhi wasn’t interested.
“It’s the only honest position really. You can’t prove there is a God, and I can’t prove that there isn’t. Only God can prove it and he hasn’t yet, so until he does, we don’t know shit.” Marcus was on a roll, “and I wouldn’t be so sure of this free will you think you have. Regardless, it leads to this mess. I wish you were right. I wish your God had a big plan and that everything was under his control, but apparently, he doesn’t, because I highly doubt that this was the world he was expecting.”
This time, Bodhi let the subject drop. It was an old conversation; one he was not willing to rehash.
County Road 274 led them to Loggers Lake which sat deep in the Mark Twain National Forest. Thick deciduous trees stretched for hundreds of miles that would soon be flushed in autumn hues. The boot-shaped lake had most of its inlet streams feeding into the toe and was full of young trout. Both men enjoyed this area having hunted here before and soon the red Ford flatbed that Anders drove came into view. Marcus parked nearby. The rustling of leaves overtook the sound of the quieting engine. They walked to the edge of the lake but saw no one. Before the war, the lakeside would crawl with families every weekend. Canoeing would break the glassy water, while fishing lines would dash through the air to descend gracefully, barely disturbing the wet pets gliding below.
A soft breeze spun around them and the trees around the lake danced. Millions of leaves turning and talking in every direction with silver ripples sparkling across the top of the lake. It was a place of beauty and peace. For a long moment Marcus remembered the world before. Before all the noise, all the violence, and the rot, a time when there was, at places like this, a pleasant form of loneliness where a soul could come to get away from the hustle; a cleansing loneliness that would stretch the soul between the warm squeezy embraces of loved ones. The breeze picked up and put a shiver on the back of his neck. Now loneliness was all that was left. Sure, folks in town knew each other, but the war and aftermath had not only burned clear the land of its people, it also scorched the survivors of trust and in the absence of trust – even surrounded by people – you’re alone.
Inside the red Ford, nothing looked strange, a truck waiting in the woods. They made their way around the lake looking for signs of Anders’ hunting group. the undergrowth was thick forcing them to zigzag to avoid soggy ground. On the south side of the lake they found a campsite, the fire pit slowly smoking. Anders had camped here last night. Fishing poles rested against a fallen tree, and a recently cleaned mess kit sat on wet ground. Marcus felt better.
“They’re still chasing that fat fowl.” Bodhi offered.
“Yeah, guess so.” There were no signs of wild turkey at camp. “Maybe they’ve had bad luck and decided to be persistent, not wanting to come back empty handed.” Still, Marcus thought, staying out this long was dangerous, it didn’t seem worth it, and it didn’t seem like Anders. There were drifters out here, some folks called them raiders. Unorganized groups of desperate and hungry people that would jump anyone, for almost any reason. The longer you linger outside of town, the more likely it is they’ll pick up on you being there. The brothers had run into more than a few of those types since the war, the results were always violent. Anders would not stay out here this long, especially if he brought Sarah with him. Marcus was not convinced they had solved the riddle.
“They could be anywhere out there.” Bodhi motioned to the trees, “would be hard to find them.”
“Yeah, it’s probably best to wait for them to come back to camp.” Marcus looked to the sky, “It’s getting late, they only have a few hours of light left, shouldn’t be long.”
“Let’s get our gear.”
With a couple trips they had the ammo, food, sleeping bags, and some tarps moved from the truck to the campsite. Then they sat and waited. Evening rolled in and Bodhi started a small fire Anders had setup against some boulders which served to block the glow in some directions and radiated the heat back towards the two men. As the sky turned black and the night sounds of the forest began their symphony, Marcus’ concern turned to worry. The fire cracked and popped in front of them in an attempt to give comfort, but he didn’t notice. Marcus could only stare anxiously into the surrounding trees, wondering about his friend and what had happened.
As usual, Bodhi remained in good spirits, and using a long thin stick he jabbed at the orange embers deep in the heart of the fire, passing the time. His mind was clear and unconcerned by the perils of those lost in the woods. In this new land of ‘old Montana’ the expectations of the fallen modern world had no place. The sensibilities of civilization were a luxury no longer appropriate. The problem of Anders, and certainly any woman he had taken along, was already a thing of the past to him. In old Montana, foolish people died. Anders wouldn’t be the last.
“They wouldn’t be hunting in the dark,” Marcus said bringing his gaze back to the coals of the fire, “too easy to get lost, too hard to see the birds, too easy to shoot your friends.”
Bodhi jabbed at an ember that had been alternating from a blue blaze to a crimson glow. The fire cracked and sprayed sparks at the cowboy making him jump to his feet. “Whoa!” he said chuckling, “Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the woods!”
Marcus wasn’t amused. As the fire burned, Marcus’s mind sifted through memories that felt like ash. His eyes were dark, looking at nothing. For a while, Bodhi sat poking the fire and stealing glances at his brother. Eventually he felt compelled to pull him away from whatever self-defeating memory he was prodding.
“Marcus, I worry about you.” Bodhi said breaking the silence.
“Why?”
“I know you’re thinking of her.”
Marcus breathed heavy, “Not just her, them.”
“You got to let it go, the past is a dark place, for anyone.”
“How can I?”
“Because it’s gone, it doesn’t exist anymore. Where you’re at, in there” he tapped the side of his head, “is a fantasy. You gotta get outside yourself. This is what’s real.” He reached down and patted the earth. “All that crap you’re carrying around inside, it’s fiction.”
Marcus shook his head, “No, it’s real alright. Look around? It’s all empty, but in here,” he tapped his temple, “my life.”
“You’re wrong. The world’s been reborn. We have a chance to rebuild everything, fresh start, clean slate. It’s like after the Garden of Eden. I know you city slickers enjoyed your technology, but you can’t go back there, and think of all the freedom we have now. Why would you want to? Big government and big corporations whoring around for more and more power? The damn internet sitting on the world like a smothering blanket, a blanket full of illness like the ones we gave to the original owners of this land. At least now we can breathe easy again. The fella that wants to bring that shitty world back, he’s my enemy.”
“Oh, it’ll come back cowboy, eventually anyway, who’s going to stop it?”
The question hung in the air and drifted away into the dark.
Six logs were eaten by the fire before they heard voices and rustling out in the dark. They picked up their guns, stood near the trees on the light’s edge, and waited. In a few moments the sounds stopped. Those in the trees could see the fire and the brothers, but the brothers could see nothing beyond the glow of the fire.
Marcus called out, “Anders!” Silence returned, “Anders,” he called again.
“Who’s there?” Came the reply, it was Anders.
“Anders! It’s Marcus and Bodhi.”
Sounds of movement resumed and Anders came into the light with Troy Goodman close behind. They both looked worn. Their clothes were filthy and sweat stained, beards grown thick. They walked to the fire and dropped themselves down on the dirt.
“Sarah is missing,” Anders said in exhaustion.
Sarah Fuller was a forty-three-year-old woman from Independence. One year younger than Anders. She had been a farmer in Washburn for almost two years and during that time Anders had become fond of her. They were often seen holding hands as they played kickball with the children in the big field on West Pine St.
“I asked her to come. I thought it would do her well to get outside the town for a bit,” his voice was breaking. “We have been searching for her. All over, for days, we have been searching for days.” His right hand covered his face, tears at the corners of his eyes. “There are so many trees. I don’t know where she would go. She didn’t have enough food. It’s been days, we’ve been looking for days,” he rambled.
Troy sat nearby saying nothing; he looked as if he might pass out. Bodhi handed both men some water and food. Troy finished off his in a matter of seconds. Anders drank the water and sat staring at the food.
“It’s ok,” Marcus put a hand on Anders shoulder. “That’s why we’re here. We will help look in the morning. Eat and get some rest. She’ll be fine, she’s a smart woman. We’ll start early in the morning.”
Anders rolled over to his side but kept murmuring and sobbing for some time before falling silent. Marcus looked at Troy. Troy simply shook his head and returned a look that gave little hope. Troy moved to his pad and fell asleep. There were many questions, but for now, they would have to wait till morning.
Bodhi moved over by Marcus and spoke softly, “Sarah should never have been out here with them.”
“I know.”
“Then why would he bring her?”
Marcus shook his head.
“Foolish infatuations,” Bodhi looked angry. Marcus looked at him curiously and Bodhi went on, “when men get caught up with women they become fools.” Marcus was not surprised by his brother’s attitude.
Bodhi continued, “Bringing her out here when she has no place outside that town. She isn’t ready for survival in this–”
“That’s enough,” Marcus cut him off with a quiet but firm voice. Bodhi was getting too loud, and this was a discussion for another time.
Bodhi took a drink from the canteen.
“Marcus,” he started. They both stared at the fire, crackling. A log slid down another, sparks drifted upwards. Flaming tongues licked after them as if to catch them before finding freedom. “If you don’t believe in God, how do you keep hope?”
Marcus looked over at Anders. The big man was shivering or sobbing; he didn’t know which. He thought of all they had been through and how things could, and often did, continue to get worse. What could Sarah possibly have done to deserve getting lost alone in the woods; what did Anders do that warranted losing the little bit of love he had in this world?
Marcus looked back at Bodhi with dark empty eyes, “I don’t think I do.”
Bodhi worried about his brother, but he knew there was nothing more to say. Not tonight. Bodhi eventually fell asleep, and Marcus stayed up watching the fire. Watching it burn and destroy. His hope had walked out the door many years ago and left him only a note taped to a mirror. A note that told him instantly that now he was alone. Before the war, he would talk with Charlotte every year or so, neither of them filed for divorce. Each time they spoke he could feel the distance grow, but she was his wife; to him it was as simple as that, he wasn’t going to let go. He reached for the wedding band and began to turn it on his finger.
When Charlotte left, she went to San Francisco and found a public relations firm, and they loved her. She handled the art galleries and met lots of famous people. She sounded happy. He visited her once, but it was awkward and busy. He vowed not to repeat it. It’s not good for a man to be where he is not needed, it hollows him out quickly.
He remembered the day the war started and the sound of the CNN anchor behind him on the TV. He was at a place called Dark Moon Bar & Grille on the east side of Indianapolis where he was working with a supplier for the hardware store that he and Bodhi had started after Charlotte’s leaving.
“We have just received breaking news that the cities of New York, Seattle, San Francisco, and Los Angeles have been attacked with what appears to be nuclear weapons.”
The words raced down his spine like an electric shock, he said San Francisco! Did he say San Francisco? He raced home to get Bodhi and head for the bay area. By the time they pulled into Elizabethtown, only a day’s drive away, the world was coming apart and they never made it further than Washburn. All methods for getting to San Francisco became impossible. The world had gone mad. Marcus assumed the worst; Charlotte was dead.
Would she ever have wanted him back? A question that would haunt him forever.
The question came at him unexpectedly as he sat by the fire in the woods. He batted it down. It was a question too painful to consider answering. He wished it would go away, but it came back, and he hated himself for being so needy, so incomplete, and so dependent. But it was true and simple; he always loved her and ached terribly because of it. He found it strange that there were people in this world that could leave footprints so deep in the soul. He looked at Anders and whispered.
“We’ll find her.” The fire was low. “In the morning, we’ll find her.”