They rode into dusk and found their progress up the valley blocked by a pair of large dogs who had classified them as intruders. Each of these animals probably weighed more than Olivia. One seemed to have a lot of Newfoundland in him, but she could easily convince herself that the other was largely, if not entirely, a wolf. But both of them had collars, and both were well fed. “Do not look them in eyes,” Sokolov suggested, dismounting and getting his bicycle between him and the animals. “Turn bike around, ride away if it gets bad.” Olivia, feeling no urges whatsoever to behave heroically, reversed her bicycle’s direction and kept one leg thrown over the saddle. Sokolov stood his ground. She knew that he could put these animals down with bullets to the brain from the pistol that he was carrying somewhere on his person, and that he was refraining from doing so only out of a desire not to offend their owners.
The dogs’ barking eventually drew the notice of a man who came riding out from a nearby compound on a four-wheeled ATV. He did so, Olivia suspected, because he was too heavy to move about conveniently on his feet. He was armed with (at least) a large flip-knife and a semiautomatic pistol in a hip holster. He began shouting at the dogs as he drew closer, but it was difficult to get them calmed down, and so there had to be rather a lot of shouting and alpha-male drama before he could get them to sit down and shut up. The whole time he was keeping a sharp eye on Sokolov and, to a lesser extent, on Olivia.
She had no idea how these people would think about race. She had seen many more Native Americans than Asians today and guessed that she might be mistaken, by such people, for a member of one of the local tribes. But it didn’t seem to be an issue with this guy; or at least it didn’t make him any more suspicious and hostile than he was to begin with.
How he’d react to a man with a heavy Russian accent was impossible to guess.
Olivia set her bicycle down in the middle of the road, approached Sokolov, and tucked herself in under his arm. A woman who had been claimed by a dominant-looking male was a whole different organism from a woman who seemed to be up for grabs. Flattening her vowels and trying to sound as American as possible, she said, “We’re looking for Jake Forthrast’s place. He invited us to come and pay him a visit.”
This changed everything. The man, who introduced himself now as Daniel (“as in The Book Of”) wouldn’t hear of letting them finish the journey on their bicycles; he rode back into his compound and emerged a few moments later driving a huge diesel pickup truck. Sokolov threw the bicycles into its back and rode with them while Olivia sat in the passenger seat with Daniel. From the way he had talked, she was expecting a long journey, but the distance covered, from there, was no more than a few miles. Somewhat adventuresome miles, as the road became steeper and worse the farther they went — giving Olivia the vibe that they really were approaching the End of the World. But then they penetrated a narrow slot between a granite cliff face, astream with snowmelt, and a furious river and entered into a little dell, no more than a mile across, where four distinct homesteads had been built around a little body of water that Olivia guessed was there because of beavers. Directly across the water, and reflected in it, was a lone mountain, so close to them that they could be said to be on its southern approach.
The pond was ringed by a dirt road. In one place, another road led away from it, between two of the homesteads and farther up into the woods that grew on the mountain’s southeastern flank. Daniel proceeded up that, moving slowly and being sure to exchange friendly waves with all the children, dogs, and homesteaders who had taken note of them.
The landscape now changed dramatically, becoming moister and cooler and cedar scented. A few hundred meters up the road they came to a gate, bolted together out of massive timbers, completely blocking the way. Posted on it were several documents, preserved under clear plastic. Olivia only glanced at these as she approached it, undid the latch, and hauled it open. For Daniel had assured her that it was permissible for them to do this. One of the documents was the U.S. Constitution, with several passages highlighted. Another was some kind of manifesto, apparently placed there for the edification of any federal agents who might come calling to collect taxes or gather census data. There were some favorite Bible passages as well, and a page of the Idaho State Code explaining precisely what a citizen was and was not allowed to do to an intruder in the defense of his own dwelling.
All of which was quite intimidating, and probably would have prevented her from going into the place at all, had she come here without a local guide; but Daniel seemed to think that he could make it past all Jake’s defenses simply by honking his horn a lot. Dogs came out at a run. Olivia closed the gate behind the truck and leaped up onto its rear bumper; Sokolov hauled her up over the tailgate with several moments to spare before the arrival of their canine escort. They drove along for another minute or so, since Jake apparently didn’t believe in having his front gate inordinately close to where he actually lived. The road bent around a spur of rock, and then the actual house came into view: tall and narrow by the standards of log cabins, perched on the opposite side of a creek bridged by a homespun log-and-plank span. The truck crossed it and pulled around to the back side. Spreading away from the cabin was a flat, partially cleared space complicated by livestock enclosures, gardens, and sheds. This rambled over some acres of ground until it came up against the base of a forested slope.
A boy with an axe was emerging from a woodshed. A woman with a long dress was stepping out onto a deck above them. Jacob and John Forthrast came around the corner of the building wiping black grease from their hands.
“Picked up a couple of strays,” Daniel joked, jerking a thumb toward the back. Olivia stood up, since the truck had come to a stop. Automatic lights had been triggered by the truck’s thermal signature and shone warm on her face. She was about to remind them of who she was when she heard Jake explain, “It’s Olivia.” Guessing, maybe, that John’s eyes were not good enough to recognize her in the sudden light. She found it odd that she was considered to be on a first-name basis with this family.
“Oh, hello again, Olivia!” John exclaimed. “Who is your friend?”
“That’s a long story — but he came here because he wanted to help Zula.”
“Then he’s a friend of ours,” Jake said. “Welcome to Prohibition Crick.”
Day 21
Richard went to sleep with ease and then woke up a couple of hours later feeling bad that he had done so. After several days’ absence, the Furious Muses had hunted him down in this remote place and come after him with a vengeance. It made for a very crowded tent.
The jihadists might kill him in the morning. But it seemed unlikely. If that had been the agenda, they would have done it already and saved themselves all those zip ties.
If they weren’t going to kill him, then in the morning they would make him guide them up the old smugglers’ trail to Abandon Mountain and Prohibition Crick. In order for that to work, they’d have to remove the zip-tie hobbles. He would then have the option of trying to run away from them. It seemed likely that this would lead to pursuit, capture, and ceremonial decapitation.
So he was going to have to look for a place where he could get away from them suddenly, out of rifle shot range, in some manner that would make it difficult to track him.
A movie hero would have jumped off the cliff into American Falls yesterday. After a few tense moments, his head would have broken the surface of the river some distance downstream. Richard knew that this was not really a practical strategy. But there might be stretches of the river that he could conceivably use in a similar way, body-surfing through rapids.