Forager (9781771275606) (5 page)

In the kitchen, I used a water hose that ran from my old house
into the RV to wash the dried blood from my hands and arms. With
all of the things that didn’t work, I was glad the plumbing did.
Just like in the old days. Even the toilets still flushed in most
houses.

Mom’s instruments were in the old cupboard above the useless
propane stove. I’d watched her manipulate those tools with a
skillful hand many times. As for me using them, my hands shook so
much I figured I’d make things worse for the Forager.

When I returned to the living room, Sawyer’s pants hung around
his shins. A hole about the diameter of my little finger pierced
the skin above his knee, a thin line of blood trickling down the
Forager’s leg.

“
The bullet didn’t come out, did it?” asked Sawyer.

I carefully examined his leg. “No, no exit wound.”

Sawyer grimaced. He must have been thinking how painful it was
going to be for me to remove the bullet.

“
Got anything to kill the pain?” he asked.

“
Not really. There’s some grain alcohol in the bag here, but I
wouldn’t recommend drinking it. It’s nasty stuff.”

“
I really don’t care what it tastes like. Once you start
probing around in there, I think I’m going to need it.”

“
I’m not going to be probing around in your leg. The bullet
stays where it is. I’d do more harm than good if I tried to take it
out. Chances are good that bullet stopped when it hit bone. If
that’s the case, your leg will heal on its own.”

“
You sure? I always thought it was better to take the bullet
out.”

“
Taking it
out could open blood vessels
that it’s blocking, or worse, I could hit an
artery. Either way, you could bleed to death.” I pointed at his
leg. “The bleeding’s almost stopped.
It’s
not a good idea to reopen the wound.”

“
Whatever you say, Doc.”

“
I’m no doctor. It’s just stuff I remember from when my mom
treated patients. The wound needs to be cleaned, though. It’s gonna
hurt like crazy. The grain alcohol burns like fire.” I opened the
bottle. “I’m going to count to three and pour this on the wound.
You might want to close your eyes.” I took a deep breath. I’d seen
other patients react when Mom poured this stuff on. It wasn’t
pretty.

The word “one” was on my lips when Sawyer grabbed the bottle
from my hand. “Nice try, Dillon, but I know that trick. You’ll pour
on two when I’m not expecting it.” I blushed. That’s exactly what
I’d planned.

Sawyer put the bottle to his nose, sniffed, and then
shuddered. “You’re right, this is nasty stuff.” Then, before I
could stop him, he put the bottle to his mouth and swallowed
several times. He gave his head a great shake, probably as the
alcohol burned its way down his throat. Then he placed the bottle
over his leg and poured.

His jaw clenched and his left hand grabbed the leather sofa
cushion so hard his knuckles turned white. I tried to take the
bottle from him. A pungent odor filled the room as some of the
liquid dribbled onto the floor. His grip on the bottle was even
tighter than on the sofa. I let go of it.

How did Mom do it? Watching all those people suffer? In front
of me was Sawyer. One man hurting so badly he couldn’t even scream.
And me, standing there doing nothing. Gradually the color seeped
back into his knuckles. I reached again for the bottle, and this
time was able to pry it from him and put it away.

By the time I’d finished dressing the wound, twilight
enveloped the RV. “I’m going to the Dining Hall to get some supper.
I’ll try and bring some back for you, but I don’t know if they’ll
let me.”

Sawyer scowled. “This is one of
those
kinds of towns, is it?”

I frowned, not sure what he meant. Maybe it worked differently
in other places, but here having food in your home brought out the
Bulls. All food was brought to the kitchens and shared equally,
even the vegetables from our gardens. It was why the apple Josh or
Jason threw through my window caused me such grief.

“
Never mind,” said Sawyer. “Just bring in my saddlebags and I
can fend for myself.”

Outside, I offered his horse some water, and figured the mare
would be more comfortable without the saddle. The strap around her
chest was easy to undo, although it took me a moment to realize it
was fastened between her front legs, too, not just to the saddle.
There were two straps going under her belly, and the one farther
back was easy enough to figure out—there was a buckle. The other
one, I guessed it was the girth, was more complicated, with a long
strap wound in an elaborate kind of knot on one side of the horse,
and a buckle on the other. The buckle looked easier, although it
took a lot of effort to undo it. The second it was free, the mare
gave a huge shake—and the heavy saddle slid right off, crashing
into my chest and nearly landing me on my butt.

I set the saddle down a few feet away, and wondered if I
should look in the four sets of saddlebags for a grooming bush.
Sawyer probably had one somewhere, but searching through a
Forager’s things was asking for trouble. So I gave her a pat on the
shoulder and took the bags in to Sawyer.

Then I started the mile-long walk to the Dining Hall, which
was inside the old high school. Even with a leaky roof, the brick
building withstood the years of neglect better than
most.

Millie was serving as usual. I didn’t mind a bit. She always
made sure I got plenty. Her curly white hair and warm blue eyes
were accented by a pair of thin wire-framed glasses. She might have
been a little plump around the middle, but she had the most
welcoming smile of any person I knew. As she ladled what looked
like tomato soup into a bowl for me, she said, “Hi, Dillon. You’re
later than usual. Is that because of the Forager?”

I nodded. “His name’s Sawyer. I patched up a bullet hole in
his leg. Anyway, I’m starving. I haven’t eaten all day.”
As soon as it came out, I wished it
hadn’t
.

“
What happened to the lunch I sent you?”

“
Oh…well it’s just been so long since lunch, I guess I forgot
I’d eaten.”

Millie was such a sweet old lady. I didn’t have it in me to
tell her Josh ate it.

“
How could you forget a roast beef sandwich, potato salad, and
applesauce? It’s not every day we get beef, ya know! You young men,
always hungry, that’s the problem, can’t even remember what the
last meal was. You’re always looking for the next one. I’m afraid
this one isn’t nearly as tasty.”

I forced my mouth not to drop open. Millie couldn’t see my
shock. Images of Josh relishing my sandwich flickered in my mind
like the scenes from one of those horror movies we’d sometimes get
to watch on movie night.

Millie placed the soup on a tray alongside an apple and a
grilled cheese sandwich, long gone cold. As I reached for the tray,
the cold bite of her ladle landed across my knuckles. “Ouch! What
was that for?”

“
You know darn well what that was for. Shooting a deer! What
were you thinking? Don’t think I don’t know about it. I might be a
little hard of hearing, but it’s tough to miss when it’s all
everyone’s talking about.”

I hung my head. Millie was the one person in this whole town
who genuinely seemed to like me. She always looked out for me,
making sure I had enough to eat, clothes when I needed them, and
she always greeted me with a warm smile and a friendly voice. The
downward cast to her blue eyes and the frown creasing her normally
jolly face made the full guilt of my crime hit home. “I’m sorry,”
was all I could say.

“
Sorry ain’t gonna do you a lick a good tomorrow in the town
square.” Tears welled up behind her glasses. “Just know that I’m
not going to be there. I won’t watch as they jolt you, I just
won’t.”

“
I’ll be all right Millie, really I will.”

She took off her glasses and wiped at her eyes. “I know you
will. Listen, Dillon, could you come see me after you’ve finished
eating? I want to ask a favor.”

Enough people were finished
eating
that there were several empty tables
. Looking around, I hoped to spot Chane,
but my luck held true. She wasn’t there. She’d probably eaten long
before I arrived.

People at other tables sneaked glances at me. Some held hands
to the sides of their mouths as they whispered to their neighbors.
Did they really think I didn’t know what they were whispering
about? Did they think I didn’t know I was the object of their
scorn?

Lifting the bowl to my lips, I drank down the soup quickly. I
don’t much like tomato soup to begin with, but having to eat it
cold and congealing was like pouring paste down my throat. The
sandwich went down quick too, but I took my time with the
apple.

Millie stopped me by the kitchen doorway. She peered around,
making sure no one was watching. I think asking for favors was
something Millie didn’t do often. “Listen Dillon, could you see if
that Forager fella could get me a new stockpot and maybe some
chopping knives, or a good whetstone? Those fellas down at the
butcher house raided my kitchen again. They took all my best
knives.”

I flashed Millie my best smile. “I can’t say if he’ll get
them, but I’ll be sure to ask.”

“
Thanks, Dillon. You’re a good kid. Good luck tomorrow… Well,
you know what I mean.”

“
Millie, I know it’s against the law, but could you send
something for the Forager to eat, an apple or a bit of bread
maybe?”

Millie gave me a sad smile, shook her head, and said, “I wish
I could. It’s not me. It’s you I’m worried about. If you get caught
carrying food out of here, the mayor might do more than see you
jolted. He might banish you.”

Would the mayor would really go that far? Banishment was
usually for capital crimes. I’d never heard of anyone being
banished for taking food. But Millie might be right. It was safer
not to take the chance.

“
If that Forager wants to eat, he’s welcome here. I’ll make
sure he gets plenty. I just can’t chance sending food home with
you.”

I gave her another of my best smiles and headed for the door.
I almost made it. Frank Miller, the town’s Director of Operations,
stopped me. It was his job to make sure the things that needed
done, got done. “Dillon, we need you on the pedals at the
slaughterhouse. With the attack earlier today, the guys fell
behind. They’re working late and they need someone to power the
lights.”

My brain searched for a way out of it, but came up blank.
There was no out for this. If the work fell behind, it was
everyone’s duty to pitch in and help.

The slaughterhouse stood a few blocks from the high school. In
a previous life, it served as a meat processing business. I
remembered Charlie Meyer talking about how the place was known for
miles around for its jerky and sausages. The dust-covered plaques
and tarnished awards that hung on the faded walls proved his
words.

Once inside, I moved past the empty display counters and into
the back room. The smell of blood, both fresh and old, filled the
air. Years ago, the back room was cooled by large refrigeration
units. Now, our last diesel-powered generator—converted to run on
corn oil—barely kept the meat from spoiling overnight until it
could be preserved in salt the following day. The generator was
strictly for cooling, and since it barely kept up, it didn’t have
the power to run the lights. So they called me.

The pedal-generators were a work of genius. Unlike the diesel
one, we had plenty of these throughout the town. Some brain came up
with bicycles that converted human energy into electrical energy by
use of the pedals.

Mounted between two brackets to keep it upright, the rear
wheel was attached to a charging unit and a battery. I didn’t
really understand the mechanics. I didn’t need to. Pedaling made
the lights come on.

Three men worked in the back room. Ben, John, and Dan labored
at separate stainless steel tables, the surface of each table
covered in big pieces of a slaughtered cow. The guys were busy
cutting it down to size and trimming away the sections of fat. Ben,
the man closest to the bike, said, “There’s our little criminal.
Good to see you, Dillon.”

I nodded. Being called a criminal didn’t sit well with me, but
this was a different kind of teasing than Josh and Jason doled out.
Ben’s warm smile and good-natured ribbing was simply a friendly
“hello.”

John waved his knife at the carcass in front of him. “Glad
you’re here. We’ve got about two hours of work left, so let us know
if you need a break.”

The men worked quietly for a while. I had fallen into a good
rhythm of pedaling, daydreaming about Chane sitting with me at the
next movie night, when Dan spoke up. “So, Dillon, why’d ya do
it?”

I was still trying to figure that out for myself. Getting in
trouble was a given, and it was more than being hungry, or watching
the deer eat the corn. I thought about it more and more while Dan
stood there waiting for an answer.

“
I guess I was just mad,” I said at last.