The Journey Home (2 page)

Jake added another log to the campfire and sat back, in mock fright.

“You know, Jake,” Abe said, turning back to winter. “That rabbit of yours couldn't have come at a better time.”

“What do you mean?” Taylor asked.

Abe poured him a mug of hot broth from his flask. “Thanksgiving's just a few weeks away, and the snows could come any day now. We need to eat well tonight, because tomorrow we're heading into town for the last of our supplies.”

Jake laughed. “Supplies? I thought we had everything we needed right here.”

Abe patted him on the shoulder. “There're
some
needs nature can't provide. Unfortunately, we can't tap a tree for kerosene, or dig up knife blades. Wyoming winters can be harsh. You know how long we might get snowed in for up here?”

Jake thought it over. “Six weeks?” he said, fearing the worst. It would be tough, but he figured they could survive being cut off from the world for that long.

“Sorry, Jake,” Abe sighed, his brows knitting together. “It's more like six months.”

2
Winter announced itself the next day with a wind that howled around the cabin, stealing down the smoke hole, feathering the water in the sink with ice, and creeping under blankets to gnaw on the boys' toes.

Outside, Abe looked at the horizon with troubled eyes, but Jake and Taylor laughed as they set off across the rugged terrain. Five months ago neither of the boys could have imagined making the journey to town in a single day, but their time with Abe and the cross-country trek to find him had toughened them up. Even heavy backpacks wouldn't slow them down.

Cody trotted along ahead of them, sniffing trees and cocking his leg here and there as if he owned the wilderness. Abe pointed out the natural features of the landscape
around them, carefully explaining the signs of animal and plant life. Taylor drank it all in, but Jake tuned it out. He was thinking about the town they were heading for, where he could eat hot food he hadn't had to cook, and stock up on books. Six months without even a magazine to read would drive him crazy.

“Now, this one's really useful,” Abe suddenly announced, pointing to a plant with some shriveled brown leaves and taller flower stalks rising from the center.

Taylor looked closely at the plant, his brow knitted in concentration. Then his face brightened. “I know this one! It's the weapons plant.”

Abe looked at him quizzically.

“You know,
arrow
leaf balsamroot?”

“Oh yeah, you're right,” Abe said. “You can use it to treat burns and other wounds, and it makes a pretty good cough medicine too.”

“Like when Jake healed my leg . . . ,” Taylor said.

Abe cocked his head.

“Remember, right before we found you, Taylor got attacked by a bobcat,” Jake explained.

Abe nodded. “Of course I remember, and you were real smart about what to do.”

Jake remembered how often Bull had called him stupid, or worse. He relished the sound of his father's encouragement.

Abe handed out a midmorning snack of pemmican—a
mixture of crushed elk meat, fat, and berries—as they continued onward.

“Hey, Jake,” Taylor said with his mouth full, “can you imagine what the kids at school would say if they knew we were out here? Or Mr. Polanachek?”

Jake laughed, thinking about their grouchy school bus driver back in Pittsburgh. “He'd have a cow.”

“I know, right.” Taylor turned to look up at Jake. “In a weird way I kind of miss going to school. I mean, homeschooling is fun and all, but I miss being around our friends.”

Before Jake could answer, Abe cut in. “You might miss school, but you don't miss the city, do you? It's so much healthier out here. No pollution, no crime, no junk food.”

“I guess you really hated the city when you lived there, huh?” Taylor asked. He fell into step with his father.

Jake hung back, listening.

Abe thought about that. “The way I see it, I never lived in the city. Nobody can
live
in a city! All you can do is waste away, slowly, a day at a time.”

“Sounds like a line from one of your songs,” Jake cut in.

Abe coughed. “Guilty as charged.”

Jake laughed, but his father's attitude still rankled. Not for the first time, it annoyed him how Abe saw everything in stark black-and-white. Sure, the mountains were beautiful and pure. But there were lots of good things about cities, too, like libraries, parks, and restaurants. Not
to mention friends. He knew there was no point arguing about it, though. Abe always thought his way of thinking was right.

If life is so perfect out here, Dad, why didn't you ever come to get us yourself? Why didn't you bring me, Taylor, and Mom out here with you?

Jake tried to push his frustration out of his mind and just enjoy the time they had with their father now.

A few yards later Taylor stepped off the trail and darted into the undergrowth. “Back in a sec,” he called.

“What's he up to?” Jake laughed as he watched Taylor dash to the edge of the forest and rummage around on the ground. When he straightened up, Taylor held a medium-size white-capped mushroom in his hand.

“Who's hungry?” Taylor said with a laugh.

Abe leaped forward and knocked the mushroom from Taylor's hands.

“Never eat that one!” he said, alarm cracking his voice. “Didn't I tell you never to eat something you aren't sure of?”

Taylor looked shaken. “But, Dad, I wasn't going to . . .”

Abe held him tight for a moment, then released his grip. “Taylor, that's a Deadly Parasol! One bite, just one, and you'd have been dead.”

Jake stepped in. “Dad, it's okay. Taylor wasn't going to eat it. He was just showing it to us.”

Abe looked from one boy to the other. Then he took a deep breath, bent down, and hiked up the leg of his jeans.
Both the boys saw the ugly white mass of scar tissue on his left calf.

“See that?”

They nodded.

“That's what happened last time I got careless out in the wild.”

“Is it a snake bite?” Jake guessed.

Abe didn't answer. He just rolled his pants leg back down. “You can never let your guard down out here.” He sighed deeply. “Let's get a move on.”

Jake thought back to his dad ranting about how bad the city was. But snake bites and deadly mushrooms? It wasn't as perfect here as his dad made it out to be.

When they reached town two hours later, Jake felt a huge wave of relief to be back in civilization. There were only a few dozen houses, a post office, a gas station, and a general store that doubled as an information center for visitors, but after being away from other people for so long, even a tiny roadside stop felt like a bustling metropolis to Jake.

Abe left Cody sitting outside and shepherded the boys into the general store that fronted the two-lane highway. The boys looked around like starving wolves.

“Look at all this stuff, Jake!” Taylor exclaimed.

The store offered everything a person could want: groceries, guns and ammo, camping supplies, propane and kerosene, tools and hardware. Jake imagined how much
easier life would be if their cabin had one of the shiny propane grills the store had for sale.

Abe briskly shook hands with the manager, Gunter, who wore over his long blond hair a baseball-style hat from a group called the Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation. He turned to the boys and flashed them a hearty smile. “You two look like you're going to be even taller than your dad here.”

The boys glanced at each other sheepishly. It was true that they'd grown since leaving Pennsylvania. With their long hair and tanned faces, they were turning into mini-Abes.

“So, Abe, you here to stock up for winter?” Gunter asked, leaning on the counter.

Abe whipped out a list and handed it to the storekeeper. “It's about that time, Gunter.”

Gunter scanned the list, nodding. “This won't take but a few minutes.”

“The quicker the better,” Abe said. “So we can get home before dark.”

“I could have gotten it ready in advance if you'd called ahead—”

“Called ahead? Dad doesn't have a
phone
,” Taylor interrupted.

Gunter raised an eyebrow, and eventually Abe spoke up. “Well . . . I do, actually. For work emergencies. Forest fires, lost ramblers, that kind of thing.”

If there was a phone in the cabin, what other technology did Abe have squirreled away, Jake suddenly wondered.

“You sell any books?” Jake asked, looking around eagerly.

Gunter scratched the side of his face. “Not really. . . . I have a few magazines in back. You might find something there.”

“Thanks.”

Jake headed to the rear of the store while Taylor made a beeline for the candy shelves. Jake found a rack of magazines, mostly sports stuff that interested him about as much as wet cardboard.
Great. Just great.
Six months with only
Sports Illustrated
to read.

“You all right back there?” Abe called.

“Coming!” he cried. Before he left the aisle, a stack of small, hardback notebooks on a shelf caught his eye. Over the past few months he'd wanted to start keeping a diary of his and Taylor's adventures—kind of like the wilderness journal Abe had kept when he'd been younger. It was Abe's old journal that had inspired the boys to make the trip to Wyoming, and had helped them survive the journey. Jake grabbed a notebook and went to get Taylor, who was still drooling over the snacks section.

“Think dad will get us one?” Taylor asked, sweeping his hand through his sandy brown hair.

“Doesn't have to be his call, does it?” said Jake, picking up a bag of peanut butter cups.

“What do you mean?” Taylor asked, confused.

“Nothing. . . . C'mon,” he said.

On the counter, Gunter had stacked a treasure pile of supplies: boxes of nails, duct tape, gun oil, gun cartridges, a
new ax, shoelaces, matches, sewing needles and thread . . .

“We'll take these, too,” Jake said, placing the notebook and peanut butter cups down.

Abe picked up the bag of candy and dangled it as if it were a dead rat. “This crap?”

“The candy's for me,” Taylor quickly said, sensing his dad's disapproval. “It's okay. I'll put it back.”

“C'mon, Abe. It won't kill 'em,” Gunter said.

“Yeah,” Jake chipped in. “It's hardly a deadly mushroom.”

Abe's eyebrow arched, and for a moment it looked like he was going to launch into one of his long speeches, but he dropped the candy back onto the counter.

“You're right. But I get a bite!” he said with a laugh, handing over the money.

3
As the three of them headed toward the front of the store, laden with goods, the door opened before they could reach it. Suddenly the mood changed again. Jake's squabble with his dad was forgotten, and tension took over.

A police officer stood in the doorway, arms folded, eyes narrowed.

Jake froze.

One thought went screaming through his mind:
Bull. They've found his body.
He exchanged glances with Taylor and saw the fear in his eyes.

He wished they'd worked out a story to tell the police before they'd come to town. But no, that would have meant
talking
about Bull's death, and that was the one thing they never, ever did.

“That your dog out front?” the cop asked.

“Yeah, he's ours,” Jake said. His throat felt dry and tight. “Is he okay?”

“He's loose!” snapped the policeman. “If you're going to visit a national park, you'd better learn the rules. Dogs must be kept under control at all times.”

Abe finally spoke up. “It's my fault, Officer. I thought he was tied up.”

The policeman frowned. “Abe Wilder, isn't it?”

“That's right.”

“Well, I know
you
know the rules.” He looked sternly at Jake and Taylor. “Just checking that these boys know them too.” The police officer turned to leave, but then paused. “Oh, Mr. Wilder? One more thing . . .”

Abe swallowed. “Yes?”

“You should bring that guitar of yours next time you come by. Play a few songs over at Benny's. It's been too long.”

Abe smiled, and promised he would.

They said their good-byes and made to start the trek home.

“C'mon,” Abe muttered distractedly. “Let's get out of here.”

Jake couldn't help notice the change that had come over his dad—jaw set, sweat beading on his forehead, eyes darting nervously.

Once again the memory of Bull's last scream rang
out in Jake's mind. He saw the limp body collapse over the waterfall's edge and go tumbling down. It was as if Bull's ghost were haunting them.