The Hunger(68)

Don’t go—it’s a death sentence. The words rang in Tamsen’s head but she wasn’t sure for whom they were meant, the men about to head into the darkness to look for the missing child, or her own family.

For if the creatures she’d seen before—the men who’d surrounded her in the basin—were real, if they were still out there, they’d be waiting like wolves for the party to do exactly this: divide up into smaller and smaller groups so that it left them all more vulnerable. She and her family weren’t safe among this hateful crowd, but they were no safer without them.

Still, she kept silent. Because maybe she was wrong. Because even if she was right, no one would ever believe her: a witch, speaking of fantastical illusions. Even to herself it sounded absurd, nightmarishly strange, a trick meant simply to scare and manipulate. And what punishment might they devise for her then?



* * *



? ? ?

AND SO THE WAGON TRAIN CONTINUED, the Donners allowing more and more distance to slide between their wagons and the rest, as promised. It was a relief, at least, to move apart from the Murphys, and Harriet Pike’s unbearable grief. After a few days, they’d let the gap grow until there was no sign of the rest of the wagon train except tracks in the dirt.

Tamsen tried not to let her worry consume her. After the barrenness of the Great Basin, it should have been a blessing to be traveling through the mountain meadows, even in their smaller group. They were surrounded by signs of life; an abundance of alders and pine grew beside a meandering stream. There was enough grass to feed the oxen. But for all the land’s beauty and serenity, Tamsen couldn’t shake the unease that had settled into her chest. She listened hard for a crackle in the underbrush, watched for movement in the trees, became increasingly convinced the creatures she’d seen in the desert were out there and that they were watching.

The Donners were alone, of course, following a stream they’d started calling Alder Creek for all the alder trees lining its banks, when the axle on one of their wagons broke. The rest of the party was by now unspooling a fine thread of dust several miles down the road.

“Damn it,” George Donner cursed under his breath. He was lying on the ground, looking up at the underside of the wagon.

“It’s too much for the both of us,” his brother Jacob said, squatting down beside George.

“Nonsense,” said George. “We can handle this, you and I, with Burger’s help of course.”

Tamsen eyed her husband and then his brother. George was being stubborn. There was no way he was capable of fixing the wagon axle on his own. It had only been a week ago that they’d had a problem with the brake—the shoes mysteriously engaging with the rear wheels even when the lever wasn’t being applied—and George had been so flummoxed he’d had to have William Eddy effect repairs.

Tamsen knew what her husband’s skills were, and what they were not.

“George,” she said to him quietly. “This is not a time for pride.” She wasn’t sure why she’d said it, though. He’d protected her. It was because of this that they were separated from the others in the first place.

“We could send a couple of the men for help,” said Jacob. “The rest of the group are bound to stop sometime for the night.” He peered up at the darkening sky.

Tamsen knew it was too early for night; the sky meant a storm. It felt like snow, even though it was only the end of October. Once again, panic curled itself inside her gut like a sleeping snake.

“We,” George grunted, trying to adjust something Tamsen couldn’t see, “don’t. Need. Them.”

Jacob sighed, before turning to Charles Burger, who’d remained with them. “Let’s send for Eddy, at least,” he said quietly. “After all our generosity to his family, the man owes us. I think we have to replace that axle and he’ll know best.”

So against George’s wishes, they sent Charlie Burger and Samuel Shoemaker on foot—no saddle horses left—to find Eddy and remind him of the Donners’ earlier generosity. Beg, if necessary. Tamsen almost voiced her objection to the plan, sure more than ever that the shadow creatures were out in the woods, and that this was just another invitation for them to close in. But seeing the necessity, she once again remained silent, choking back the warnings like swallowed smoke. They were sending two men, after all, and both would be armed. They would be safe enough. They had to be.

Tamsen thought wildly that perhaps the men would bring Stanton back with them, too. Even after all the hatred between them—she had certainly moved on ages ago from the longing and the craving she had felt around him in the early weeks of the journey—she still felt something. Despite the way he’d scolded her, almost jealously, after Keseberg came after him with her gun. Stanton was, quite simply, the kind of man you could trust, in spite of, or perhaps because of, the fact that no one did.

In the meantime, Jacob’s older boys started pulling the cargo out of the damaged wagon.

While they worked, Tamsen took the younger children into the field. It was swampy where the wagons stood, but beyond a stand of scrubby pines there was a proper meadow. Tamsen sent the girls to pick wildflowers for her mixtures. As she supervised, she looked to the white-capped mountain range visible in the near horizon, looming larger than ever. It was pretty here, not a bad place to remain for a time, but she thought fleetingly of James Reed. He would have insisted they needed to press on for California, and he would have been right. Winter could close off the passes any day.