“What about the bridges? Langley said the reason he didn’t attack over our bridge is on account of dogs.”
“And there’s going to keep on being dogs. We’ve got Wing’s dogs now, and Fundy’s got one or two left. We’ll take them up on the bridges too. And we’ll move Pender and his dog up onto a bridge.”
“Fundy’s dead, Grampa.”
Frost waited, said “You know what I mean.”
“Yes.”
“You can help out guarding. You won’t mind sleeping up there?”
“No.”
“Among the men?”
“No, I won’t mind.”
“Daniel is going up. Jessica wants to help too. I hope to be able to work in shifts, but I don’t know if we have enough men. Enough people. Don’t let Jessica sleep up there. She won’t listen to Daniel.”
“I’ll try.”
Frost still had not turned toward his granddaughter. He said “I would attack the building. Smoke them out and kill them. Or maybe set up a siege. Their food is bound to run out some time. But Wing’s women are there. We can’t hurt the soldiers without hurting the women.”
“There are soldiers all over Town anyway. And back at Wing’s farm. They’re not all at the buildin’. And there’s no guarantee Langley would be there.”
Across the river the south slope of Town rose for two miles, becoming more barren near the top, where the old streets and house foundations were hidden under scrub and blackberry, from which scattered concrete buildings protruded like blemishes. Nearer the bottom the three-story concrete apartment blocks were separated by expanses of mud or by eroded ravines that carried run-off into the river. The pillars of Frost’s Bridge looked solid and ageless in the sunlight.
He said “I wonder what von Clausewitz would say.”
“Von Clausewitz lived three hundred years ago.”
“I’m sorry to say, this is three hundred years ago. Maybe a thousand years ago. Von Clausewitz had muskets and cannons and cavalry. We’ve got dogs and spears.”
“And bows that don’t shoot straight. Grampa?”
He looked at her finally, turned to face her.
She said “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken off like that.”
Frost nodded. “Okay.” He touched her shoulder.
“It was selfish and stupid. He could’ve killed me. Tortured me. He could’ve thrown me in with Wing’s women. He could’ve used me against you. Against everyone.” She looked away. Tears pooled in her eyes.
Frost let the binoculars hang from his neck. With both hands he turned her face toward his. Near the eye her left cheek was reddened and slightly swollen. He said “But he didn’t do any of those things. He didn’t do them because he’s afraid of you. He knew, whatever he did, he’d come out on the losing end. And he’s right. Listen, I want you to know two things. I was wrong not to tell you I saw Steveston out at Langley’s place by Skagger’s Bridge. It was my fault. I was trying to keep things from getting complicated. I was trying to find the easy way out, and as a result everything got a lot harder and a lot more complicated. So don’t feel bad about taking off. And the second thing is, I don’t want you ever to stop being who you are. You’re the best of any of us.”
For a few moments the grimness was not in his eyes. But then he turned away and picked up his spear. Still, he took her hand, and they walked westward, parallel to the river, through the frost-marked graves.
He could see some of his men on Fundy’s Bridge. They were small, like ciphers, hardly real on the long sweep of the span, which seemed to spring with its own mindless energy across the water.
Frost said “You will be the leader when I’m gone.”
Noor’s hand tightened involuntarily on his. She said “That’s a long way off. Let’s not talk about it now. You’ve got more important things to worry about.”
“I told Daniel and Jessica and Tyrell. Years ago. They all think it’s right.”
She said, in a pleading way “Grampa…”
Grace was standing alone beside the water. She was staring across it, as Frost had stared. He released Noor’s hand and went to Grace. As he came beside her she turned. The early sun made deep shadows in the wrinkles of her face. She looked like an old woman, weary and hopeless. She conjured a brief and self-pitying smile. Frost hugged her and kissed the side of her head.
She said as he rocked her “It’s all gone.”
He said “I’ll get some more.”
She stepped back. “Will you, Frost? How?”
“I don’t know. But we need it. So I’ll get some more. You have to stop worrying now.”
“I will.”
“You promise? We need you to be in good shape.”
“Yes, I promise.” Her smile now had more life in it.
Frost walked back to Noor. The two women observed one another for a second, and each lifted a hand in greeting.
Noor said to her grandfather “Will she be all right?”
Ahead Wing and young Surrey and Fundy’s son Solomon, who had a bandaged arm, and the newcomers to the domicile, and a couple of loose dogs were walking toward Little Bridge. Frost said “I don’t know if anyone will be all right. But she’s stronger then she thinks she is.”
“Are you sure?”
Frost did not answer. Ahead, Wing stopped and let the others go on while he waited on the path for Frost and Noor. He was wearing a shiny red warm-up jacket and black pleated chalk-stripe dress pants. He was carrying the baby girl from his farm, wrapped in a poncho.
Frost said to Noor “What did Langley mean when he said Wing’s women were going to start visiting us?”
Noor shook her head. “Nothin’ good. That’s all I know.”
37
Frost stood alone on the steps of the domicile, with a bucket of water at his feet. A golden but heatless light painted his face. There was a wind that tossed his long and twisted hair. He studied the afternoon sky. To the north the mountains were invisible behind a black curtain. To the east a dazzling and muscular thunderhead towered. It had passed a half-hour earlier.
Then, in an instant, the sun was gone, and the day went dark. Frost heard more crows. A flock of them, fifteen or twenty, materialized above the far bank. With disordered flapping and angry cries they flew up to shelter under the bridge.
Frost picked up the bucket of water and turned and entered the domicile and went up the dark stairwell. On the third floor he stopped in front of a door and called through the plastic. “Brittany?”
‘That you, Frost?”
He set the bucket down and went in. Her room was like the others. There was a metal bucket for a fire, a ramshackle stovepipe, plastic over the window, a concave mattress under rabbit skins. The floor was sloped. Beside the bed stood a small framed photo of a young man with spiky black hair and a triangle of whiskers under his lip. Brittany sat on the mattress with her back against the wall, hugging her knees.
Frost said “Are you all right?”
“I’m not so good, Frost. I’m scared.”
She was wearing green and red argyle socks, navy blue pyjama bottoms and a boy’s blue dress shirt with the right side faded to near white. Her tight white curls stuck out like a shelf below a green and blue peaked cap.
Frost said “I know. Everyone is scared. But we’re not going to let anyone hurt you.”
She asked in her child’s voice “Are you scared, Frost?”
Frost deliberated for a moment. “No. I’m not scared.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. I should be, but I’m not.”
“Kill them bastards, Frost. Them hordes.”
He nodded.
She said “Joshua’s room is empty again. That guy with the lump was there. The guy with your shoes. But he’s gone now.”