Blind Fury (14 page)

Ryan seemed to take his punishment in stride. He thanked Anne for reheating his dinner, gobbled down two bowls of chili, and even swallowed his last dose of medicine without complaint. His cough was much better, and his breathing seemed almost normal. Colin carried him back up to his room, and he was sound asleep by eight o'clock.

Kara didn't stay up either. She and Colin had planned to go over their strategy for tomorrow's demonstration, but she suddenly felt as if she'd been trampled by a herd of cattle. Colin was yawning too as they said goodnight. She crawled into bed and was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

When she opened her eyes, the room was black as midnight. And so quiet. For a minute she wasn't sure she was really awake. A few seconds later a shrill beep caused her to prop herself up on her elbows. Then silence again, like the time they had toured the Oregon Caves. The guide had told them to turn off their flashlights and stand very still. The thick, black silence was both awesome and frightening, and she had been glad when they had turned the lights back on and resumed the tour.

She sat up in bed and shivered. It took another minute for her to identify the beeping sound that had awakened her.
Smoke alarm. Low battery warning
. She rubbed her eyes and glanced at the clock. The digital face was blank.
No electricity
. No wonder she was so cold. She groped for her sweat suit and slippers, then got the flashlight out of the drawer in her bedside table. She lifted the shade to her window and gasped. Snow! Coming down in sheets.
A whiteout
. Her flashlight could barely penetrate the gloom. She trained it where the apple tree should stand, then on the driveway and the pasture fence, but it was as if the world outside had become invisible.

The silence was broken by another shrill beep. Then she heard footsteps moving down the hall and a soft tap on her door.

“Kara? You awake?”

It was Colin. She shone the flashlight in front of her and went to the door.

“I'm up,” she whispered, not wanting to awaken Ryan or Anne. “Do you know what time it is?”

He shined his own light on his watch. “It's 4
A.M.
I'm worried about the cattle. They could freeze to death in a storm like this.”

She groaned. On Saturday they had talked about gathering all the cattle into the winter sheds, but they had spent the day hunting for Ryan, and Sunday had been so warm, they had let it go.

“How could we know?”

Colin matched his voice to hers, and she could imagine him shaking his head. “Anne knew. Remember her comment about Chinook winds and Winter Warrior? I didn't pay much attention at the time. Now I wish I had.”

Kara stared past Colin as they heard a rustling sound downstairs, then a soft whoosh as kindling caught in the woodstove. “Speaking of Anne . . .”

The glow of lantern light illuminated the figure at the bottom of the stairs. “Bring Ryan down, please. He must stay warm.”

“On my way,” Colin said, and Wakara watched his flashlight beam trail off down the hallway. When he reappeared cradling Ryan, who was wrapped head to toe in one of their mother's quilts, she focused her flashlight beam ahead of them on the stairs.

A few minutes later, Ryan was bedded down in the family room, undisturbed by the move. “He must really be zonked,” she said to Colin as they shut the door and joined Anne in the kitchen.

She had started a fire in the wood-burning cookstove. It was an antique Mom had found at a store in Lariat, a little smoky, but it worked well in an emergency. An oil lamp burned in the center of the table, and the room had taken on a warm, cheery glow. While Anne measured coffee into the aluminum pot and set it on the woodstove to perk, Kara retrieved the battery-operated radio from a
shelf on the service porch. Dad had talked about getting a NOAA Weather Radio receiver to monitor severe weather warnings, but when the equipment at the lodge had to be repaired, he had decided the NOAA radio would have to wait.

She turned on the small portable radio, keeping the volume low. Dad had made it clear that it was for emergencies only, and they kept it tuned to the all-weather station.

“The National Weather Service has issued a winter storm warning for all of eastern Oregon, with temperatures dropping into the low teens and below-zero conditions in the mountains. Motorists have been warned that driving conditions are extremely hazardous. State Police are investigating several stranded cars, and all roads have been closed to anything other than emergency vehicles
.” The newscaster broke in on a personal note.
“Stay home, folks. It's really nasty out there
.”

Kara looked out the window. The sky had lightened to a hazy gray as millions of snowflakes blotted out the sunrise and piled, white on white, blanketing the ground.

“I hope Dad and Greg are okay.” She couldn't help but worry. They would have to take care of the horses, and it was a long way from the barn to the lodge. Just a few weeks ago she'd read about a man who had gotten turned around in a blizzard and froze to death just a few yards from his cabin door.

Colin interrupted her thoughts. “They're fine. I'm sure they're snowed in, but we left enough dry wood in the shed to last the winter.”

“And there is food,” Anne added. “We closed early.” She was right. There had been lots of canned provisions, as well as some dried soup and beef jerky.

Then she remembered they had another problem. “What do we do about the cattle?”

Colin ran one hand through his hair, then rubbed his shoulder. He had told her once before that the cold made it ache. She could imagine how painful it must be today.

“We go get them as soon as it's full light. In the meantime we pray none of them have frozen to death.”

“The wind blows light for now. They are cold, but in no danger.” Anne poured coffee, set the aluminum pot aside, and replaced it with a pot of water.

“All the animals will need extra hay.” Kara stretched and yawned. She used to like waking up to heavy snow. It meant a day off school, sledding or riding a toboggan down the hill at the top of their property. Today, she knew, would be different. “I'd say we've got our work cut out for us.”

Instant oatmeal and toasted bread spread with Anne's homemade apple butter quieted the growl in Kara's stomach. When Colin stood, so did she.

“Wear lots of layers. We'll be working both outside and in the barns.”

She bit back a sharp reply. Did he think she was stupid? She'd lived out here and tended stock a lot longer than he had. But as she climbed the stairs to her room, she relented. Colin had been living with an uncle in Alaska. He'd probably seen a lot more snowstorms in the past two years than she'd seen in a lifetime.

Most of the cattle were huddled by the gate, waiting to be let into the run-in shelter. It was really just a long, wooden, three-sided shed, but it faced away from the wind so the animals would be comfortable even in this weather. The cattle didn't need much prodding. Once Colin opened the gate from the lower pasture, the lead steer plunged through and the others followed. Kara and Colin shooed them past the barn, where Lily and Dakota were waiting, past the nearly renovated bunkhouse and into the shelter where they were soon munching contentedly on sweet
green hay. The heifers and their calves were already snug in two enclosed stalls at one end of the shed, and the five working horses, which usually had free range in the upper pasture and woods, huddled by the feeders at the other end.

In just under three hours, they had fed and watered all of the animals and cleaned the stalls in the horse barn where Lily and Dakota practically inhaled their extra ration of grain.

Kara shivered as she and Colin stepped out of the barn. There had been a break in the weather about halfway through their chores, but now the sky had darkened again, and a new flurry of snow began to fall, pushed by a stronger, colder wind.

“Whoa!” Colin shouted as they tromped toward the house. “It's a good thing we're done. I think we're in for it this time.”

The radio proved him right. Winter storm warnings had changed to blizzard warnings, which could be a disaster for any person or animal caught outside.

Oh God
, Wakara prayed off and on throughout the day,
please keep Dad and Greg safe
.

They slept downstairs that night, rolled in sleeping bags in front of the fire. Everyone but Ryan took turns getting up to keep the woodstove blazing, and by morning Kara was sweating inside her bag. There was just enough light in the room to make out Anne asleep in the recliner, Ryan curled up on the sofa, and Colin snoring softly on the other side of the woodstove.

Kara crawled to the window, blinked, then stared at the steadily falling snow. Snow piled to the windowsill. Snow obliterating the sky and covering every square inch of ground.

She shook Colin awake.

“What? Wakara—what's wrong?”

“Shh.” She put one finger to her lips. “Get up and come look. I think we're really trapped this time.”

The room was warm enough, but she still had goose bumps as she followed him to the window. “We aren't going to get to the barn anytime soon. And if it's this bad here, Dad and Greg are snowed in for sure.”

“Holy smoke.” Colin rubbed a spot on the glass and peered through the window. He shook his head. “You're right. I can't even see the barn. We'd better pray this lets up soon.”

She tried to be practical. “We gave the animals double hay last night. They should be okay for a while.”

Colin massaged the back of his neck and arched his shoulders, his forehead wrinkling in pain as he stretched. “Ahhh,” he groaned and peered out the window in the direction of the barn. “I'm not in any real hurry to go out in that.” He pointed to the window. “We'll give it a couple of hours, then figure out something.”

Anne stirred, then sat up, and Colin helped her to her feet. She glanced out the window, but made no comment on the weather. “I will start the coffee,” she said as she hobbled toward the kitchen.

Kara looked at her watch. “It's almost 7
A.M.
I'm going to call Dad.”

At 8:10, she finally gave up and clicked the off button on the transmitter.

W
AKARA
AND
C
OLIN
STEPPED
outside just before noon. The blizzard had stopped, leaving behind it a world of white silence. A cold sun peeked from behind the mountains, and only a few of the more courageous birds had left their nests. They laughed as they watched a blue jay circle a snow-covered stump as if deciding how best to uncover a dinner of frozen bugs. A robin gave out a tentative
thwirrp
as it hopped from one foot to another on a tree branch, dislodging a load of snow, then it ruffled its feathers and settled down with another chirp of triumph.

The screen door slammed, and Anne came up behind them with a dish of bread crumbs. “The birds will go hungry if we do not help,” she said, and handed the plate to Kara.

“Thanks, Anne. I'll scatter these here. We can use grain out by the barn.”

“I'll get some birdseed next time I'm in town.” Colin stepped down off the porch, and the powdery snow covered his boot tops.

“It's not too hard to walk in. Must not have gotten as cold as they expected.”

Kara held on to the railing and stepped in Colin's footprints. The surrounding snow came almost to her knees. “Whoa. Maybe it's not hard for you to walk, but this is one of those times when I wish I could grow another six inches.”

Colin turned and flashed her a grin. “Hang on to my belt. The snow isn't really packed. I think I can shuffle through and clear a path.”

It was slow going, but Colin was able to clear a passable trail. By the time they reached the barn, she could tell he was tired and sore.

The butane heat lamps had burned out, and the animals were cold, but none of them seemed bothered by it. Star was still at the Carlsons'. They had a generator, and Kara knew he was warm, dry, and probably very content.

Lily nickered, and Dakota thumped the wall with his back foot, impatient for breakfast.

“Sorry, guys.” Kara rubbed the mare's nose and checked her over. When she found no sign of frostbite or any other problems, she gave Lily grain, water, and enough hay to last two days, just in case the weather turned bad again. Then she and Colin went to tend the other animals. By the time they finished feeding and watering all the stock, Kara's hands and feet felt numb, even through fur-lined boots and gloves.

“Whew,” Colin lifted his hat and wiped sweat from his brow. “That's work.”

“Yeah,” she agreed and joined him at the barn door. “Especially since there's only two of us.”

She didn't add, “I wish Dad and Greg were here,” but Colin must have known that's what she was thinking, because he slipped one arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “Your dad and Greg will be home soon, then we'll get even.”