Chapter 22

Rattlesnake for breakfast, lunch, and dinner is the culinary equivalent of cruel and unusual punishment. I’d about had it with rattlesnake by the end of the third meal on the first day. I skipped lunch and picked at supper the second day. By the evening of the next day, I hated snakes as much as Seraina did.

Mood affects perception. The blue funk of disappointment settling over us transformed our dark and cozy shelter into a dank and dismal prison. We slept like babies and fucked like rabbits to pass the time. We talked about our lives, food, and life at Liberty Mountain in between sleeping and screwing.

I fixed a batch of Lipton Tea flavored with pine needles and our last packet of sugar split between two mugs. The nicest thing about my hot brew was it didn’t taste like a rattlesnake.

The Society of Sisters was not as isolated as I’d assumed. Weather permitting, Sheila, the leader of the clan, scheduled trips to Denver to resupply and do some in-person banking every three or four months. Sisters were free to go ashore as often as they wanted.

“Is there ever a problem with a sister going AWOL?” I took a sip and studied Seraina’s face for her reaction to my question.

“We’re not prisoners here. Everyone is free to stay or leave as they like,” she chuckled, then her eyes narrowed, and she tilted her head to one side. “Well, maybe not everyone.”

She nodded her head toward me. “Your unexpected arrival at Liberty has the society in a tizzy. Even if offered in error, as a point of honor, Sheila would not send you away after granting sanctuary.” Seraina fidgeted and played with a braid of her hair.

“Assuming that we get out of this fix alive, what’s going to happen when we, or I, return to the mountain?” I rubbed the back of my neck and fingered the beaded Vietnam service necklace I wore.

Seraina shook her head as she warmed her hands on the hot mug of tea. “I don’t know what Sheila will do. She’s in a box when it comes to you.”

I didn’t like the image she was painting; one person’s box could become another person’s coffin. “What kinda box are we talking about?” I pressed Seraina for details.

“Sheila feels like she’s stuck with you. She can’t send you away without jeopardizing our location. You know too much. She can’t keep you as a prisoner, that’s not who we are, and she’s not going to execute you. You haven’t done anything to harm us.” She took a sip and stared into the rising steam.

“How do the other women of the colony feel about my presence?” I inquired.

“Sheila thinks you are, as shes says, ‘interesting.’ Most of my sisters agree. You’re kinda a grandfather figure,” Seraina blew on her cup to cool it before taking another swallow.

“I think you’re kinda sexy for an old guy,” Seraina said with a wink.

If I wanted to know how Sheila’s mind worked, I needed to take a page out of the Dos Equis beer advertising campaign and become The Most Interesting Man in the World.

Not bloody likely. Despite several days’ worth of unshaven stubble, I wasn’t a bearded, debonair gentleman like the seventy-eight-year-old actor Jonathan Goldsmith, whom legend says can speak Russian in French.

“So, the women of the Society of Sisters are okay with me?” I licked my lips with cautious hope.

“Most of them don’t seem to mind; you’re a welcome diversion from the daily routine, but a couple of the gals really hate men and told Sheila that they’d assassinate you if you remain at Liberty Mountain.” Seraina took my hand in hers and held it tight, “Don’t worry about it; probably just wild talk.”

Crazy talk or not, I didn’t like the idea of being on someone’s hit list, even an imaginary list. “Forewarned is forearmed,” as my grandfather used to say.

Seraina’s news did nothing to improve my disposition. Cabin fever and paranoia are real buzzkills. A change of scenery seemed to help whenever I’d get in a funk. I glanced around our shelter; the tent sides sagged in rumpled creases, stray pine needles littered the plastic floor, and the place was a dump.

“Screw it! Let’s get some sleep and see if we can kill something with legs for dinner in the morning.”

I doused the light and rolled over and went to sleep. Eight hours of slumber would reset my attitude.

“Wake up, honey.”

Seraina gently shook me out of a pleasant dream involving vast quantities of double bacon cheeseburgers and coffee milkshakes.

I groaned. I was stiff, sore, and felt like a fleet of garbage trucks had used me as a parking lot. My mouth tasted as something had died in it. All my moving parts hurt, just another shitty day in paradise.

Bright morning sunshine and scattered clouds greeted us as we emerged from the abandoned gold mine. Eighteen inches of fresh powder covered the ground and blanketed the trees. Several black dots were traveling across the valley in the distance.

We were in luck; the deer herd was active and searching for food. Rifles in hand, we set out for the grove of Evergreen trees and, hopefully, a rendezvous with dinner. The trick to walking through drifts is to knock enough of the snow down with your hands, knees, and upper body so that you can lift your leg high enough to take a step forward. Every few yards of advancement required us to take turns breaking the trail.