coming up don’t let them see you. Tell your Mom. She’ll know what to do.” Dad clambered over a rock and headed for the trail. When he was twenty feet away, he turned and looked at Eric. Eric thought he might say something noble or encouraging like, “You must be the man while I’m away,” or “We’re depending on you, son,” but what he said instead was, “And don’t wear those darn headphones either.”
When Dad was out of sight, Eric popped the headphones on and listened to the radio. News and talk dominated: warnings from the Denver Police to be wary of looters, information about possible quarantines from the Governor’s office, lists of school closings (Denver schools were dismissed. Eric frowned. He’d only missed one day.), and health tips (“Stay away from crowds and keep your immune system healthy by eating right and sleeping well”). Eric roamed through the channels, but couldn’t find any music except for a Ft. Collins station playing spirituals that kept fading out. Cars passed steadily by 150 yards below, household goods pressed against the windows. Families, mostly, as far as Eric could tell. Usually a man and woman in the front seat, two or three kids in the back, a dog maybe or a cat. They moved from left to right, their motor sounds swallowed by the stream’s constant rumble. Eric rubbed the rock he sat cross-legged on with his thumb. Tiny glints of mica or quartz caught the sun and reflected them like stone-frozen stars. Most of the rock in the canyon was dark, almost black, granites and schists.
Something moved on the canyon wall across the stream at about Eric’s height. It was a small mountain goat picking its way across the steep slope. He observed it until it hopped over a ridge and disappeared. The rest of the day Eric watched Dad carry box after box up the trail to the cave. Dad would stand at the side of the highway below and wait until there was a break in the cars. Then he would dash across the road and into the young cottonwood trees that screened the trail’s base. Eric snorted each time. Dad was such a ninny, practically a coward, he thought. Hiding in a cave! Nobody cares if we’re up here. We’d be tons better off if we stayed in Denver, or if we’d gone to California. Surely by the time the disease gets to the west coast they’ll have a cure for it. In the meantime we could be soaking up rays. To kill time that afternoon, Eric practiced with his sling shot, firing irregularly shaped pebbles at targets he set up on the slope. The whiz of the rocks cutting through the air and the sharp crack when they hit entertained him until Mom brought him dinner, a bowl of hot chile and a hunk of bread.
“Enjoy the bread, Eric. We might not have any more fresh food for a while.” Her hair was pinned back and looked greasy. If Dad really cared about her, he thought, we wouldn’t be stuck on this stupid mountain.
Eric set the bowl on the rock beside him to cool. “So what’s the plan?”
“We’re living up here until your dad thinks it’s safe to go home.”
“Dad’s a nut.”
“Think of it as a camping trip. Dad’s afraid that the city will be bad. Exposure to the disease, and there’s already been riots.”
“He’s still crazy.”
Mom frowned. Eric thought for a moment that she might yell at him, that he had pushed too far. She said,
“He’s your father. He’s trying to protect us.” Her face screwed up, like she was going to cry. “The world, Eric. It’s all going away. Don’t you care about the world?”
Eric put a pebble in the sling shot’s leather pocket, aimed it across the canyon and fired. The rock shattered against a boulder on the other side. “I’m getting pretty good with this.” She shook her head and walked back to the cave. Eric wished he’d said instead, “I love you, Mom.” He put on the headphones, cranked up the volume and watched the cars passing below until the sun set and the evening mosquitos drove him inside.
When Eric took his slingshot and cassette player to his post the next morning, the air was already hot, and gnats rose from the scrub oak like nasty tempered clouds. Two motorcycles were parked in the pull-out across the road from the trail. He scanned the canyon and what he could see of the path for the riders, but didn’t spot them. Several times yesterday cars had parked there, mostly to let faster cars pass, although once a woman had jumped from her truck and run down to the stream to squat behind a bush where she was hidden from the road. Eric looked away until she was gone. He didn’t worry about the cycles.
He put a tape in the player, adjusted the headphones and pressed “play.” Nothing happened. The battery cover slid off easily and he cupped his hand below the batteries to catch them when he thumped the player against his knee. He shook the batteries like dice in his hand, which he hoped might revive them, and carefully wiped the terminals against his shirt to remove oxidation. But when he put them back, the tape still would not run.
The radio worked, for what little use it was. The stations were either off the air or broadcasting news. He couldn’t find rock-n-roll anywhere. Finally he settled on KBPI, where at least he recognized the DJ. The governor had declared a general emergency the night before and called for National Guard support at hospitals and “food distribution centers.” Also there was talk about possible vaccines and how the scientists were saying that people shouldn’t panic. Meanwhile, reports from the eastern United States sounded bad, but no one would say how bad. Europe, where the disease started, wasn’t reporting anything now. What bothered Eric was the DJ’s voice. He sounded wheezy and he cleared his throat a lot.
Eric leaned against a rock and watched the clouds. It’s hard to believe that anything is wrong, he thought. A jet dragged a contrail high against the blue. Probably a military flight, he thought. Commercial service was suspended. The shady side of the rock cooled his back, and lichens flaked off beneath his fingers as he rubbed them. Far up the slope, scrub oak leaves twisted in a breeze that hadn’t reached him yet. The announcements droned. The DJ started coughing and couldn’t stop. After twenty seconds or so, they switched to the station’s call signal and kept playing it over and over. Eric held his cassette player in his lap, his hands around it, and cried.
After a while, he closed his eyes and fell asleep.
The heat woke him. The shade that had protected him earlier had retreated, and three quarters of his body was in the sun. He sat up groggily, his head foggy with sleep. His first thought was to check the trail. After all, he thought, I’m supposed to be on guard duty. The motorcycles were still there. Traffic slid slowly through the canyon, bumper to bumper now. The windshields reflected brightly, and he couldn’t see the occupants. Baggage was strapped to the car tops. His second thought was of how lucky he was that Dad hadn’t caught him sleeping. He’d have freaked out for sure.
He clipped the player to his belt and walked back to the cave. Maybe Mom knew where some batteries were. If not, he might be able to talk her into running into town with him for some more. If Dad was so set against going into Denver, they could go west to Georgetown or Idaho Springs. Eric stopped at the cave entrance. Voices came from within, his father’s and one he didn’t recognize. He scooted into the crawlway and crept closer. The Coleman lantern’s harsh light left deep shadows through the room.
“You have more than enough for three people,” said the man sitting on a box with his back to Eric. A big soft-looking hulk, over two-hundred pounds, he wore a jean jacket with the sleeves cut off at the shoulder, short, spiked hair, and a dangly earring. Dad stood on the other side of the lantern, his arms across his chest, and another man, tall and scrawny, maybe high school age, sat on Eric’s mattress. Eric pushed himself up slowly and scanned the room. Mom wasn’t there. He thought she might be in one of the back corridors he hadn’t gotten around to exploring yet. She had said that there was a lot more to the cave.
Dad said, “There’s not so much. I’m planning on staying for the winter.” The jean-jacket man leaned forward. “So we go get more when this runs out. Lots of food there if you know where to look.” “Looting you mean.” “A strong man takes what he wants.” Dad stepped back toward a stack of boxes. The high school kid said from the mattress, “Might be we could team up. You got a good start here. Three guys working together could do all right. We get some women and wait for things to blow over.”
“You’re not too old for witch wool are you?” said jean-jacket. “All kinds of babes would be happy to come out here and get away from the city. Scared, you know.”
“I like it alone.” Dad looked relaxed but Eric suddenly felt cold. The leaves beneath him seemed to crackle like firecrackers and the darkness of the crawlway felt like poor cover.
“Maybe he’s already getting some,” said high school. “You notice he got
“Used to be three of us. My family. They didn’t make it. I buried them out there.” He nodded toward the entrance. Eric tried to look like a rock.
Jean-jacket said, “That’s too bad. Shit happens, doesn’t it?” He seemed to mull over Dad’s news.
“Maybe you’re right, old man. You’d do better on your own. So I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you leave?” High school laughed.
“This is my place. I found it and I did the work to stock it.” Dad stepped back again. Eric slipped his hand
