A Catch in Time Page 18

  In the stillness of the sky, he was revisited by a memory of the night just before the world had changed; squatting on the bank of the watering hole, the silk-soft dusk of the desert around him as he listened to the movements of the camels, his little sister’s voice calling to him through the darkness.

  Hammudi, she’d called, Hammudi, yehla, yehla. Then the great blackness had come. The camels had moaned their sudden distress, and then his small sister was crumpling to the sand amidst trampling hooves.

  He swallowed the ache in his throat and wished he knew if little Aida had been quick enough to slip back to the place of soul-living. Or had she been lost in the same instant the barrier had slammed shut?

  He wished he could find words for the questions that plagued him. Why had he gone with Mack, left his homeland and lost the capacity to fully communicate with another human being? At home, he might have been able to find a person who remembered. And one who could have told him if Aida was safe, if there was any hope of reopening the way.

  How could he ever return to his homeland? This plane would not cross the immense ocean. He tightened his grip on the yoke, to keep his longing from turning the plane into the sun, to the east, to home.

  Conrad’s sobs dwindled to moans, then ceased. He rubbed tearstains from his cheeks and wiped his nose on his shirtsleeves. A last, shuddering sigh subsumed memories that would hold him captive forever.

  “Where are we going, Ali?” Conrad asked.

  Startled from his lonely thoughts, Mohammed cried out and jerked the yoke. The plane shot upward, and both of them shouted in surprise. Mohammed quickly pushed it back, overcompensating, and the plane nosed down with a sickening lurch.

  “Aghh—shit!” Conrad yelled.

  Spitting curses, Mohammed tried to regain control. Exaggerated movements had caused them to climb, then plunge, so he pulled back slowly on the yoke. Too slowly. He lost one engine, and his heart slammed into his throat as it sputtered into silence. The plane abruptly tilted to one side. Fighting panic, he struggled to level the wings, pulling steadily back on the yoke. He leveled the plane, only to find they were still losing altitude. Frantically, he replayed the landing sequence in his mind, and the missing components: a runway and two working engines.

  Conrad shouted and jabbed at the side window, gesturing from the dead engine to the control panel. “Start the engine. Start the fucking engine!”

  The words suddenly made sense. Mohammed discarded his assumption that the plane had to be parked to be started and immediately shut down the fuel supply to the dead engine. Agonizing seconds passed before he tried to restart, bringing them ever closer to the ground.

  As the earth rushed toward them, he could wait no longer. Praying to Allah, he flipped the switch and pushed the button. The warm engines came smoothly to life and Mohammed coaxed the plane to gain elevation. He held his breath as they continued to ascend, then let it out with a triumphant cry. He looked at Conrad. They both grinned, giddy with relief.

  An hour later, only moments after landing, they were arguing.

  “Never again,” Conrad said, gripping the dash as the plane came to a stop. “I swear to God, I will never again set foot in a plane as long as I live.” He patted Mohammed’s little shoulder hard and shook his head. “I don’t know how you did it, Ali. Goddamn it, you were great. But, no shit, man, you need a whole lot of practice before I ever go up with you again, not that I would ever, ever go up again. Let’s get the hell out of this deathtrap and find a car.”

  “No car. No-no-no!” Mohammed protested. He jabbed his finger at a gauge. “Fuel, Conrad, fuel.” His hand made an upward swoop. “Up-up-up, we go, plane.”

  “Are you out of your fucking mind?” Conrad stared at Mohammed in amazement. “Are you nuts? We barely made it down. We’re driving. In a car. On the ground!” He flung his door open.

  “Plane!” Mohammed shouted, banging the yoke with his hand.

  “Car!”

  “Plane!”

  “Car, Goddamn it. Agh, fuck it!” Conrad said, twisting away and jumping the short distance to the ground.

  “Ahh, fuck it you, too!” Mohammed yelled after him.

  Conrad gasped when his feet hit the ground, jarring his sore body. Leaning back against the plane, he wondered what damage Mack had done to him other than the obvious. His kidneys were throbbing. And he couldn’t breathe right. Were his ribs broken?

  Anger shook him from the worldview he’d been ready to accept again, now that the worst was over. It was the mindset that had moved him through life, self-sure complacency, the false security of a life without previous injustice.

  But an entirely new anger boiled within him, standing there on the hard ground, his back against the metal of the plane, his eyes closed. His bruised body was not him. Yet it belonged to him. And Mack had used him, used it. A moan escaped his throat. Hearing himself, he blinked, and saw Mohammed standing before him, turban firmly in place.

  “Hai, Conrad.” Mohammed squinted at him. “Okay, hah?” He pointed with exaggeration at his own backside. “Okay, hah?” he repeated with jabbing motions at his rear.

  Conrad looked away but was unable to escape the shame, or the knowledge that Mohammed had witnessed it.

  Mohammed danced before him, performing a mime of jutting butt and jabbing finger, his voice high and insistent. “Okay, hah? Okay, Conrad?”

  “Stop it!” Conrad exploded. “Stop it!”

  Mohammed straightened, feet planted, arms akimbo, and stared at Conrad. “Okay, hah?”

  “Okay. Fine. I’m fine—just dandy, Goddamn dandy, you fucking idiot. Now let’s get the fuck out of here.” He marched away and Mohammed marched after him.

  PART III

  CHAPTER 27

  YEAR 6 POST BLACKOUT

  KATE SLOUCHED IN THE PASSENGER SEAT, ARMS CROSSED for warmth. She hated nights like this. Overcast sky. No moon. No stars.

  C’mon, Josiah, she thought. How long could it take to take a leak?

  The bushes on both sides of the road were barely visible and the woods behind them were black. That huge cave bear they’d been hearing rumors about could be in there, or one of the creepy two-headed snakes. Or those Goddamn beady-eyed wolverines that just came at you like—

  Something rustled to her left. She peered through the darkness. Josiah? Or something else? She clenched her jaw.

  Darkness erupted with gunshots.

  Kate’s heart froze. There was a yell, the sound of snapping brush and leaves. She snatched her gun from the floorboards and scrambled into the driver’s seat.

  A lurching figure broke free of the bushy darkness on the passenger side of the jeep. Her throat tightened in panic.

  “Go!” Josiah yelled.

  Kate leaned over and flung open the passenger door, then started the jeep. A shot popped from the woods.

  Josiah, nearly at the jeep, faltered, sagged, and stumbled on. “GO!” he rasped as he fell inside. A rifle cracked, a voice shouted, and Josiah cried out in pain. Kate thrust the shift into gear, floored the pedal, and spun in a storm of dust onto the road, a handful of Josiah’s jacket clutched in her fist to keep him from rolling out the door. Careening down the road, she didn’t let go of him until he had both feet inside and had yanked the door shut.

  Risking a quick glance, Kate saw Josiah was covered in blood, and slumped, unconscious, against the door.

  “Laura, do stop pacing,” Catherine instructed. “You’re making me dizzy.”

  “Sorry,” said Laura. She crossed to the front window and peered into the darkness. The room glowed with candlelight, and the muted laughter of children came from the den they’d built over the back porch. “Where are they? This is just like Kate, making us all crazy.”

  Laura couldn’t quite understand why she felt so tense. This wasn’t the first time Josiah had been gone for an extended period. Eli and Josiah had once talked themselves into a foray all the way to San Francisco, a three-week adventure that, near the end, had left those at home count
ing the minutes and watching the driveway.

  And when they finally did return, they were not only safe and intact, they were bubbling like schoolchildren with all kinds of exciting stories of their adventures, stories to be told around the fireplace for some time to come: Eli about the untenable contrast between farm life and city life (he definitely preferred the former), and Josiah about the professor of a class he’d once audited, a brilliant Chinese physicist and theoretician who had brought substance, rather than faith, to things unseen in the universe. Josiah had been excited to find Dr. Chang in the bustling city and felt an unaccustomed delight in introducing to one another the only two men he’d ever respected.

  “It’s not like Josiah,” said Eli, joining Laura at the window. He’d insisted he felt well enough to join them. Five days of isolation in the attic sickroom was enough. Though still weak, he was no longer contagious and needed to be with others, sharing his worry.

  Laura crossed the room and placed a hand on his arm. “I know,” she said softly.

  He squeezed her hand in sympathy. No one suspected the depth of their friendship, cemented five years ago in one afternoon of intimacy, a strange, out-of-context interlude.

  It had been a bad summer for her, a time when Kate’s and Josiah’s relationship had intensified and was difficult for her to witness. She’d walked to a sun-filled mini-meadow in the woods, not far from the house, a spot she frequented when she wanted to be alone. She’d been surprised to see Eli sprawled in the golden weeds, head buried in his bent arms.

  She’d almost left, but hesitated when Eli noticed her.

  “Laura?” His voice had been as warm and soft as the afternoon.

  She’d walked over, knelt down beside him, and, inexplicably, burst into tears.

  Instantly sympathetic, though perplexed, Eli scrambled to his knees, put his arms around her, then held her, stroked her hair, and said nothing.

  His tender solicitude undid her. Emotions spilled from her and she poured out her secret: her love for Josiah, her pain at seeing him with Kate. Eli hugged her close and brushed away her tears with his thumb, as though she were a child. He kissed her hair.

  Lifting her face to the comfort of his lips, she pressed herself to him with unexpected trust.

  They made love with ease, an exchange of comfort that was part of their familiarity. It was odd—friendly and satisfying in a quiet, peaceful way. Afterward, they lay close, listening to sounds of the forest, watching the blue sky framed by treetops.

  Though they’d never repeated that intimacy, the affection they’d so expressed for one another deepened their friendship in a way that was different from all else. The memory of that afternoon was one they both cherished.

  “Quiet,” Catherine suddenly commanded. She cocked her head.

  Jarred into the present, Laura heard the faint sound of an engine, growing stronger. Several minutes would pass before the vehicle made the final curve onto the driveway.

  “Laura, get the guns,” Catherine said.

  “Why? It’s the jeep. I recognize its sound.”

  “Perhaps,” Catherine said grimly. “Get the guns. Quickly!”

  Laura hurried to the gun cabinet, her mind whirling with fear Catherine had invoked.

  “Eli,” Catherine snapped. “Alert the children.”

  Eli rushed from the room. Laura unlocked the cabinet and removed a rifle, two handguns, and clips and ammunition.

  The children knew what to do, she reassured herself. The thud of the trap door shutting meant they were under the porch, now the floor of the den, in the enclosed area that had been weather-sealed and camouflaged. They’d built an emergency exit to the yard, and Laura fervently hoped they wouldn’t now have to use it. She imagined the children scurrying through woods full of mutated creatures, and fear for her daughter nearly eclipsed her thoughts. Lily. Lily, whose beautiful brown eyes had, from her first moment of life, reflected her precious soul.

  Eli rejoined them and, weapons in hand, they took up positions, Laura and Catherine each at a front window and Eli dashing upstairs with the rifle into Kate’s bedroom, where he squatted to one side of the central window overlooking the driveway.

  Laura listened to the sound of the jeep. It was traveling fast. She glimpsed the headlight beams scattering through the woods lining the road. Any second now, the car would turn into the driveway.

  The jeep burst from the trees and ignored the curved driveway that circled the grassy grounds in front, its high-beams pointed directly at the house. Horn blaring, it sped over the grass and came to a jerking stop mere inches from the front porch steps.

  “Don’t move,” Catherine hissed just as Laura stepped away from the wall.

  The driver’s door opened, and a shape tumbled out into the night, shouting. Kate’s voice! Something was terribly wrong.

  Laura and Catherine reached the front door simultaneously. Kate threw herself against it from the other side, banging and shouting. Eli clattered down the stairs as Laura flung open the door. Kate tumbled in, wild-eyed.

  “He’s hurt bad. Hurry!”

  Laura’s world became a muffled fog. They all hurried down the steps. Through the open door of the jeep, Laura saw Josiah, slumped against the passenger door, eyes closed, mouth slack, arms limp. Blood soaked his shirt, pants.

  Eli, Kate, and Laura struggled to get Josiah out of the car, up the steps, and into the house. Groans slid from Josiah’s unconscious lips. As they settled him on the couch, Laura’s and Eli’s frantic questions overlapped Kate’s answers.

  “Enough!” Catherine barked. “Laura, get the medical kit. Eli, get hot water. Boil more and make sure the stove stays lit. Quickly.”

  Eli hurried to the kitchen and Laura dashed up the stairs.

  “Clean rags, Laura,” Catherine called, then turned to Kate. “Kate, scissors from the kitchen drawer. And get clean sheets and blankets.” She bent over Josiah and gently lifted one eyelid, then placed her fingers against his carotid artery. “How long ago?”

  “About two hours.”

  “Scissors, quickly.”

  Josiah had been shot in his right shoulder, left thigh, and left foot. The bullet that had entered slightly beneath his collarbone had left a gaping exit wound beneath his shoulder blade. The other two bullets remained lodged. As Laura and Catherine cut his clothes away, Eli went outside to start the generator. On his way, he opened the trapdoor and hustled the children out, tersely telling them that Josiah had been hurt and they needed to stay in the den. Back in the living room, he clustered several lamps onto the high table behind the couch.

  To keep herself busy, Kate stoked the fireplace as she told them what had happened. It was a short story. With a last savage poke at the blazing logs, she hurried back to them.

  “Goddamn those assholes!” She tried to peer between Laura and Catherine at Josiah. “How bad is he? Is he gonna be all right?”

  “I don’t know.” Catherine said grimly. “I think I can remove the bullet from his thigh, but not the one in his foot.” She handed several instruments from the medical bag to Eli and instructed him to immerse them in the pot of boiling water on the stove, then douse them with alcohol. She took out a small vial of Demerol and a syringe. “I once was a nurse,” she muttered, to everyone’s surprise.

  “What sidetracked you?” Kate asked.

  Catherine sniffed. “What else? A man. That which has, as you put it, sidetracked women throughout the ages.”

  “You told us your Harold was a prince,” said Kate, eyes fixed on Josiah.

  Catherine sighed. “His name was Howard and, yes, he was a prince.” She drew Demerol into the syringe. “And awfully good at that which sidetracks us.”

  Kate reached past Laura and brushed a few damp curls from Josiah’s glistening forehead. “I’ve been in love a jillion times and I still did what I wanted.”

  Laura tried to ignore Kate’s proprietary gesture and concentrated on sponging Josiah’s shoulder wound. “At least,” she said, “the bullet didn
’t stay in here.”

  “Let’s hope the damage it did on its way through can be healed,” Catherine said.

  “I wish I’d shot back,” Kate said, straightening up.

  “That would have only been a waste of valuable time,” said Catherine.

  “You did good, Kate,” assured Eli, giving Kate a quick hug.

  Two hours later, Catherine had removed the bullet from Josiah’s thigh and his wounds had been cleaned, disinfected, and bandaged. He lay, drugged, beneath a mound of blankets. Although they were exhausted, no one suggested sleep. Eli found a bottle of sherry and poured them each a drink. They grimly toasted to Josiah’s recovery, and none of them voiced their shared concern over the bullet still lodged in his foot.

  “I totally forgot about the kids!” exclaimed Laura. “I better get them to bed.”

  As soon as she entered the playroom, Lily and John Thomas hurried to her, Lucas trailing behind them. Reina’s ears perked and her tail thumped the floor.

  “Is Josiah okay?” asked John Thomas. His voice had begun changing the last few weeks, and it faltered now. Laura was struck anew by how much he’d grown, seemingly right before her eyes. The shy young boy was now a gangly, gentle adolescent.

  Lily grabbed her hand. “Can we go see him?”

  Lucas crowded next to her. He, too, showed worry, teeth anxiously nibbling his lower lip in a way similar to Josiah’s.

  “He’s hurt very badly,” Laura said. “We’ve helped him as much as we can and now we have to see if his body can heal itself. You can see him, but he’s sleeping, so you have to be very quiet.” They all nodded solemnly. “All right, let’s go, and then it’s off to bed.”