Protecting the Flame Read online

  Emma scowled. “Whose side are you on?”

  “Mine. I suppose it’s too much to ask if there’s dessert. Because when we were going through the packs, I saw this, like, really nice Almond Joy bar.”

  “Touch that, and you’re a dead woman.” Digging through the nylon carry sack into which Will and Mattie had pooled their food, Emma unearthed her Almond Joy and reached to tuck it back into her own pack for safekeeping. “We can have it when we’re rescued.”

  “And I suppose you can be trusted.”

  She really was starting to like this kid. “I resemble that remark.”

  “Thank you, Curly,” Will said. His color was better…well, through the bruises and swelling. They all looked pretty gruesome.

  “You guys.” Mattie executed an impressive eyeroll. “What does that even mean?”

  “Three Stooges,” they said at the same time.

  “God.” Mattie covered her ears with her hands. “Now they’re in stereo.”

  Emma’s mouth cocked in a grin. “Stick with me,” she said, pushing Ben’s copy of The Waste Land to one side then slotting her candy bar into her bag. “I’m a font of irrelevant effluvia…” She frowned.

  “What?” asked Will.

  “I don’t know.” She withdrew a plain brown paper packet about the size of her hand but oddly shaped: something square that felt like a box on top and an odder, heavier object on the bottom. It felt a bit like a very large lipstick case. “I don’t remember packing this.

  “I saw that when I went through your pack. It’s a present. See?” Taking the packet from Emma, Mattie turned it over and pointed at a message done in fine black Sharpie .

  For dark times, Emma read. Kim.

  “Who’s Kim?” asked Mattie.

  “A friend.” Kim must’ve slipped this in last night. She remembered now that Kim had asked to use the bathroom right before they went out.

  “Here.” Will slipped a knife from a front pocket where he’d clipped it. “Never know when you might need paper to help start a fire.”

  “Thanks.” She could’ve used Burke’s KA-BAR, but it was too much knife for the job. Will’s pocket carry was a Ken Onion Blur. Ben had a knife like this. “Nice knife.”

  “Wow,” Mattie said as Emma thumbed open the speed-safe and the Blur’s blade locked in place. “It’s black.”

  “Yup,” Will said. “It’s one of my favorites. Rule Nine.”

  “What?” Then Mattie did another eyeroll. “Don’t tell me this is more irrelevant cultural effluvia.”

  “Television show.” She wouldn’t have pegged Will as an NCIS-type. “Never go anywhere without a knife.”

  “Oh.” Mattie thought about that. “Sooo…do I get a knife?”

  They looked at one another, and then Will said, “I don’t see why not, especially since I’ll be resting this hand for a couple days anyway. You ever use one?”

  “Well, gosh, no, my mom cuts up my food all the time,” said Mattie.

  “I told you. She’s got you.” Folding the knife, Emma held it out to Mattie. “All the same, we’ll go the basics in the morning, okay? The last thing I need is to explain to your mother why you no longer have an opposable thumb.”

  “Fine.” Mattie heaved a put-upon sigh. “What’s in the package…oh!” Mattie exclaimed as Emma peeled back paper. “Is it your birthday?”

  “They’re not that type of candle.” She was amazed her voice was so steady. She also saw that what she’d thought might be a really large lipstick case wasn’t. She turned the length of lacquered wood in the wash of blue-light from their flashlight and studied the green vines, red flowers, and white coves painted onto a lapis-blue background. A tiny brass hinge was set in one end.

  “What is that?” Will asked as she pulled the hinged wood open to its full length. “Wait, is that a menorah?”

  “What’s that?” Mattie asked.

  “A special kind of candelabra.” She cleared her throat. “It’s what Jewish people use on Hanukkah to celebrate the miracle of the oil and the Temple.”

  “A miracle?”

  She decided on the Spark Notes version. “There were these guys, the Maccabees, that led a revolt against the Seleucids. This was, like, a really, really long time ago. When they retook the Temple in Jerusalem, they found there was only enough of the right kind of oil to keep the eternal flame, the ner tamid, burning for a day, which is bad because you’re not supposed to let that go out. Anyway, the miracle was that the oil lasted eight days and eight nights, long enough for them to get more. It’s really a minor holiday, honest. Something the rabbis decided on.”

  “Which started tonight at sundown, actually,” Will put in.

  “Yeah, but you know, it’s like every other holiday around this time of year. It’s because it gets so dark. That’s why you have Christmas trees and lights and Hanukkah candles. Even people who celebrate Kwanzaa have a special candelabra.”

  “Seven total instead of nine,” Will said. “The middle candle, which is always black, is lit first and then used it to kindle the others. You add a candle for each night, and each new candle stands for a different principle or idea, like unity, creativity, faith.”

  “Oh.” Mattie peered at Emma. “Well, if it’s the first night, are you going to light the candles?”

  “You don’t light them all at once. I mean, you’re talking forty-six candles,” Will said. “The idea is you light a new one for every night to symbolize all the nights the oil lasted.”

  “Forty-six?” Mattie frowned. “That’s eight more than you need.”

  Will pointed at a hole in the smaller of the two hinged portions. “That’s because this holder on the far left is for the helper candle.”

  “Like the black candle for Kwanzaa.”

  “Well, Hanukkah came first, but yeah. It’s called the shamash,” she said, picking up the thread. Shirer was German; Will had to be Jewish. Even if he wasn’t, he knew a hell of a lot. Why did that make her feel…well, not good, but better? No, less alone. “It doesn’t count as one of the nights. Its job is to light the other candles.”

  “Cool.” Mattie made a get-rolling motion with a finger. “So, light them.”

  “I don’t know. We should probably save them.”

  “What for? We’ve got Burke’s firesticks,” Will said. “We’ll find wood, and we’ve got plenty of matches and lighters.”

  “And you’re forgetting we’re going to get rescued. Besides,” Mattie added, “isn’t it kind of a miracle we’re all alive to be talking about this? I wish my mom would wake up, but she’s alive, and Joshua’s alive, and those are all miracles.” Mattie’s voice went a little watery. “Aren’t they?”

  Will threaded his good arm around Maddie’s shoulders and pulled her close. “That is an excellent point.”

  “Yeah. Okay.” She was not going to get out of this. She didn’t know how she felt about that either. The last time she’d lit candles, Ben was alive.

  The multicolored candles were made of beeswax, the kind that didn’t drip and make a mess. Fitting a dark-blue candle into the hole for the shamash, she stuck a white candle in the hole to the far right.

  Mattie was watching closely. “How come you put it all the way out there?”

  “Because that’s how you read Hebrew, from right to left. It’s not like English, which goes from left to right.”

  “Did you know that Shamash was also a Babylonian solar deity?” Will said. “He held the power of light against the forces of darkness and evil.”

  “That’s us, then.” Mattie looked solemn. “Maybe not against evil…Mr. Burke wasn’t bad or anything…but it’s really dark, and my mom won’t wake up, and I’m kind of freaked out.” She burrowed closer to Will. “I don’t want to be here, but if I have to be, it’s better than being here alone.”

  Oh, boy, could she tell this kid a thing or two about that. Flicking a Bic, she held the flame to the shamash’s wick, which caught with a small pfft and spray of orange sparks before blooming
in a hot-yellow flower. “There you go,” she said, using the shamash to light the first candle.

  “That’s it?” Mattie’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “You don’t say anything? You only light candles?”

  “That’s it.” Avoiding Will’s eyes, she reseated the shamash. The blessings were on the back of the box for the forgetful and even transliterated for the Hebrew-challenged, but she knew them by heart. “You can say yehi ’or, I guess,” she said with false heartiness. “That’s Hebrew for, ‘Let there be light.’”

  “Is that all? Well.” Suddenly pushing to her feet, Mattie brushed past and headed for the cargo hold where her mother lay. “That’s not so much.”

  Chapter 10

  You are a horrible human being.

  Working a wrench with grim efficiency, she cranked loose nuts and bolts, trying not to feel the grab in her side, working hard not to listen as Mattie cried. She didn’t wail like a little kid but sobbed in soft, angry hiccups as Will tried to comfort her. Would it have hurt her to embellish a little, say the stupid damn blessings, maybe even teach the kid a verse of “The Dreidel Song” or “Rock of Ages”? It’s a matter of principle. Saying the blessings would be hypocritical, an empty gesture to an even emptier and more bankrupt concept because that’s all a god was at the end of the day, wasn’t it? An idea? She’d have better luck putting her faith in Spiderman.

  Wrestling her seat and Rachel’s from their rails, she butted them against their barrier of luggage and Visqueen. Once morning came, presuming it stopped snowing, they could reassess and figure out where to put the seats for the duration. God, she hoped that wouldn’t be more than another day. Any longer and, hell, they could set the seats out in the sun, catch a couple rays, work on their tans.

  When did you get this way? The voice was half hers and maybe a little of Ben mixed in. Whatever the case, it was a good question. Perhaps she had always been a glass-half-empty kind of person.

  Yeah, yeah, yeah. She went to work on Will’s seat. I dare anyone to come home to what I did and still look on the bright side of life. This was probably the reason she despised romance novels—all those size two women with the flyaway hair and their drop-dead-gorgeous guys on the covers…and none of the men seemed to have heads, did they? No, only rippling, well-oiled six-packs. She snorted as she dislodged a bolt and thumbed out a monster screw. Fantasy land.

  Once she was done with the seats, she spread Burke’s double-ton bag, shucked her boots, killed the flashlight, and then, still wearing her watch cap and the rest of her cold-weather gear, slipped inside, and lay on her right side. She listened to Will’s low murmur. The sound was comforting, almost a lullaby against a counterpoint of snow scurrying and hissing over plastic and metal. Eventually, he fell silent. She felt him waiting, could imagine him with Mattie, perhaps sitting quietly with his good hand pressed to her back. After a time, there was a soft rustle and then Will slipped into the sleeping bag where he settled with a small groan.

  Without turning, she said in a low murmur, “Does it still hurt?”

  “Yeah.” A long sigh. “Not as bad. I might have a small fracture. Hard to tell without an x-ray. Have to be careful not to use the hand or arm much.”

  “Can you? Use it, I mean.”

  “Within reason. I’m not going to be doing any rappelling any time soon, though, or splitting wood. Better hope we find a lot of downed branches. Thank God, Burke packed that folding saw.”

  “Which you are not going to use. With our luck, you’ll saw off a thumb or something.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “I’m serious.” She turned onto her back, a move she regretted an instant later as the pressure on her left ribcage sent a spike of pain zinging into her spine. “We can’t afford for you to get hurt more than you already are.”

  “You always sell yourself short?” Before she could reply, he went on. “I heard that groan, by the way. I never took a good look at you.”

  “Tomorrow.” She rolled a bit onto her right side to take the pressure off her back. The pain fell to a low grumble.

  “Is there a reason you keep putting me off?”

  “No. It’s that there’s nothing to see. You really think we’re going to be out here long enough where chopping down trees becomes an issue?”

  It was dark as pitch in the fuselage. She couldn’t see his face or even a glimmer of his profile. “I think we need to be prepared for that,” he said.

  A clot of panic formed where her heart rested. “Come on. Will, even at minimal rations, we’ll run out of food in a week. Maybe less.”

  “Let’s not catastrophize yet. We’ll know more in the morning, once we’ve got better light. Even if the snow doesn’t let up, we’ll need to do some exploring, find fuel for a fire.”

  “I thought about that.” She told him her idea for using Visqueen and building a lean-to. “I think we’re close to trees. We can probably gather a lot of wood. We won’t be able to start a fire if the snow keeps up, but we can be prepared.” Starting a fire in or on the snow would be difficult but not impossible once the storm let up.

  “We’ll need it. If we are near trees, that also explains why the wings are gone. They wouldn’t normally shear away like that unless they get caught up on something.”

  “How long do you think we’ll have to be here?” It was a stupid question. “That was dumb. Ignore me. You can’t possibly know.”

  “True. But I’ve certainly asked myself the same thing. We’ll have to hope for a break in the weather sooner rather than later. Weren’t you going to do a story on a bunch of military guys?”

  “Ex, but yeah. Why?”

  “The military has a better capability when it comes to search and rescue, even in storms. They’ve got choppers that can navigate in the equivalent of pea soup. And there are drones. They use them way up for here for patrolling the border because it’s more efficient and easier than navigating mountains and forests on foot.”

  “Heat signatures, you mean.” That put a new spin on things. “They could look for us even in snow.”

  “That’s the theory.”

  “How long do you think we should wait?”

  “Before…?”

  “Before we leave.” She didn’t want to do that at all, but it paid to think ahead. There were three of them—four, if you counted Rachel—and they would need to start thinking about calories. Staying warm burned a lot of them, and they had limited rations. As it was, they’d be skimping if this went on for more than a day, as seemed likely. When Rachel woke…if she woke…that would be another mouth.

  Will listened and then said, “We’ll burn a hell of a lot more calories walking in the cold than staying put. I read a story not long ago. Outside magazine, I think. It was about this thru-hiker on the Continental Divide. Veteran, knew what he was doing, but also went ultra-light so he could make better time. He told people where he was going and when he ought to arrive; he even had a sat phone, I think. Then it snowed. One of those freak October storms. A helluva dump, I guess. Anyway, when he didn’t show, people started looking along his route. Search planes, the whole nine yards. Turned out they were looking in the wrong place. Even so, this guy managed to survive until late February.”

  “Holy cow.” Five months? “How did he do that?”

  “Luck. He kept a journal. It’s all in there, what he did, how he tried to get out. Because he knew the area, he made it to a campground and eventually sheltered in one of the cement-bottomed latrines. In a woodshed nearby, he found a couple pounds of horse oats. He still had a camp stove, so he lived on oatmeal and water for months. He tried making skis, too, but that didn’t work. All he could do was sit there and write in his journal and daydream about food. As time went on and no rescue showed up, he started thinking maybe suicide was an option. He tried, too, by cranking up the woodstove so he’d asphyxiate. Only the latrine was drafty, and he survived. Another time, he cut his wrist with his portable saw. When he woke up still alive, he sewed himself u
p with fishing line.”

  My God. “What happened? Did they find him?” They must have. Will said the hiker kept a journal.

  “They found him…in April. An early spring hiker came on the latrine and there was this note warning people not to open the door because there was a dead body inside. They finally brought the body down in May.”

  “If you’re trying to boost my morale, you’re totally failing. Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because that guy was an experienced hiker in an area he knew well, and he still died. We are lost. We haven’t a clue where we are except, probably, somewhere in Montana. But we could have crossed the border into Canada. I know you keep thinking I’m this indispensable guy, but I know wilderness medicine and basic survival skills. I know how to navigate but need a map or some idea of which way to head. So, I’m not a Superman here. I’m only a guy who knows things. You know quite a few things, too. Don’t tell me they don’t teach you basic survival in the military. You’re the hunter, too, not me. I know how to fish and set a snare, but that doesn’t mean I’ve ever caught anything. Plus, we have Mattie to consider. She’s a tough kid, but if she’s spent one day on a trail, I’ll eat my hat.” He let out a small grunt. “I might do it anyway if we get desperate enough. We also have to worry about Rachel. I sure don’t want to be delivering a baby on the trail.”

  “It’s better to deliver it here?” But it was a rhetorical question, and she knew it. “Have you ever done a long-distance hike?”

  “If you mean days, yes. But months?” He wagged his head in an emphatic negative. “You?”

  “No.” But how hard could it be? Hadn’t there been some woman who’d up and decided to hike some really long trail? Yeah, that was right. Reese Witherspoon had starred in the movie. She’d read the book and, if she were honest, the book had ticked her off. Like, that woman would never had made it if a bunch of people on the trail hadn’t rescued her butt several times over. (Seriously, who tossed away a hiking boot because they were pissed?)

  Will was right, she did know a few things: how to build a fire, make a solar still to turn her pee into water, construct a basic debris shelter, catch fish with a safety pin and line made out of her hair. If she had to, she could choke back a worm (a task assigned by a truly sadistic sergeant; the worm had been disgusting, but she learned you didn’t chew worms. You swallowed them whole and tried not to think about it). She could ice-fish and set a snare; she knew how to clean whatever she caught. Sarah had taught her well, too.