My Beloved - Dime Story 2

Thanks for the comments. All of this is for nothing if I don't make you think.

Letter 9

Northeast of Lowman, Idaho Salmon River Mountains

My Beloved,

I miss you, let me get that out of the way now. I'm trying with everything I have to get back to you as soon as I can. I know that you're strong, but life now would be easier for both of us two as one than two ones.

Larry and I have company again. Well, we have lots of company. A group of campers who were in the Boise forest camping when all of this hit have joined up with us for safety. Mostly young couples, a few small kids. They are a joy to watch even in this hardship of constant travel, cooling temperatures, and the occasional cold rain lately.

There are three of us now with bikes. We've been going out two at a time to scout ahead of the main group. We find our path less governed by the map than by rumor and warning when we can get them.

The past two towns were tense. You could feel it in the air. Once the folks saw the children they did seem to come out of their shells more, but they talk of groups now and then passing through with purpose. What purpose no one knows, but the looks speak volumes.

Food hasn't been plentiful, but it has been enough. Our initial stretch of walking served to harden us and now we, I hope, are prepared a little more for these mountains.

The continental divide is ahead of us yet.

In all we talk of now, there is the feeling that we must make haste out of this area. Idaho, I once spoke of it as part of the American Redoubt, well, there may be other less desirable types about too. Try not to worry though. Larry and I are both careful in what we do.

Camps are more often cold ones than not now. Our traveling companions are probably better equipped for that than we are.

The area we are in is beautiful, but rugged. I've watched too many westerns I think because I see ambush in every valley and snipers on every hill. Darn overactive imagination.

The bow works well, but doesn't really ride well on the bike.

You remember when I tried to get you to learn how to use the shotgun? Maybe I should have started you with a bow, might have been less intimidating. I relented in the end and gave up trying to teach you. Maybe I should have tried harder. Maybe I should have painted scenarios like this for you to scare you into trying.

No, that's wrong, I'm sorry. Forgive me.

Forgive me for lots of things now that I'm not there, or curse me for not being there. I guess that would be your right.

At night I have dreams that when I get home I'll find another man in my place taking care of things. Would serve me right for leaving. I spent too much time at work, placed too much importance on it. It was a way to get the money we wanted for the things we thought we needed. How many of those things do we need now? Half of them probably don't even work now.

I have to close now. Larry and George are back from their ride up to our future path and they don't look happy.

Don't worry.

Love,

Me

Thank you a new chapter always make me happy.

Thanks for another chapter. I like how you put the notes on what to do/use this or that for the wife at the end of each letter and don't just concentrate on his trip.

A

I imagine that most of us have struggled to teach people something that is out of their comfort zone. No doubt our intrepid hero is trying to assuage his own guilt at not having done more when such a situation could so easily happen for various reasons.

Sorry no chapter tonight. Real life intrudes I'm afraid unless I get so fed up I write for a while instead.

methos said:

I imagine that most of us have struggled to teach people something that is out of their comfort zone. No doubt our intrepid hero is trying to assuage his own guilt at not having done more when such a situation could so easily happen for various reasons.

Sorry no chapter tonight. Real life intrudes I'm afraid unless I get so fed up I write for a while instead.

Click to expand...

Am there myself ... with the real life intrusions that is.

I like the flavor and temp of this one. First person stories that use any variation of the journal form is something I really enjoy ... whether fiction or fact.

Letter 10

Northeast of Lowman, Idaho Salmon River Mountains

My Beloved,

Well, we're in trouble. No, I mean more trouble I guess, scratch that.

The news that Larry and George brought back from their scouting mission wasn't good and we're all reeling from the results.

We knew that people around here were creeped out by something, and it, or rather they, are right now camped out on the road not 100 yards from where we were.

From what I've been able to see after we moved up here above the road and into this cluster of trees and brush, we're looking at a group of about twenty men, most on horseback, but some on an old Ramcharger.

I guess in one way its a sign that some people are starting to get things running again. I knew that it would only be a matter of time. Physics is physics I guess, no matter how much you fry your sparky parts.

Twenty men is bad enough, no women, bad feeling number two, but when they dismounted for a rest the deal was sealed. All of them are sporting shaved heads and I don't think they're army who forgot to dress the part. They have the camo, but certainly aren't military. The stark black tattoo ink is clearly visible even from here. Maybe they're really just friendly Canadian pharmacists out for their yearly convention.

I don't know for sure what they are, skin heads, some sort of active militia. Guess it really doesn't matter at this point. The day is cool already and the sun is going down fast. Come night fall we're going to be in a bad way.

I fear its only a matter of time before one of the children gets hungry, or tired, someone sneezes, or farts loud.

I hope and pray that they move on shortly. I swear one of the horses is staring at me.

I've left too much undone in my life. I've come to realize that more than ever recently. It's like an ulcer deep in my belly now, and will remain so until you're in my arms again.

Pray for us.

Love

Me

Letter 11

Idaho I guess

Hi

I... why am I even writing this.



Letter 12 ha, more like 11 over.

Montana, so that old one armed guy said. Even he wasn't sure.

Well I...
I'm never getting home. I'm dead, you're better off without me anyway.

I see her... I hear her... She won't leave me alone....

ARGHHHHHHH!!!!

Sumbuddy get a roap!

Come'on now, don't leave us llke this long.

nancy98 said:

Sumbuddy get a roap!

Come'on now, don't leave us llke this long.

Click to expand...

Plus 1.

aint got no rope but I's got me whip!

Letter 13

Ennis, Montana
House of Mrs. Martha Dowling

My Beloved,

Please forgive me my previous letters. I've not been myself lately. In fact, I wouldn't probably be sitting here now, hot tea in front of me and pen in hand had it not been for Mrs. Dowling continually telling me that writing you a letter might just help with things.

I have to admit, the lady probably knows what she's talking about, and its not polite to ignore your elders.

I had to go back through my letters to figure out what I last wrote. I ended up throwing several pages away. They weren't written by me, by my hand perhaps, but as I said well, things have changed.

Many weeks, and many many miles have passed since we last talked. If you drew a line on a map between Ennis and where I left off, you wouldn't be where I have been. To tell the truth, I don't even know for the most part where I have trod.

I do know that now I'm among good people in this town and surrounding countryside. They have it together and are only looking forward. Mrs. Dowling herself is 78 and says that she hasn't felt so alive in 30 years.

When the stuff hit the fan it changed us all. Many people for the better, some for the worse. The worst are always with us, waiting for opportunities.

I've changed too. I'm not sure you'll get the same husband back and I'm sorry for that.

I left you shivering in a stand of trees in the Boise national forest. I had penned a quick note, with the thought in the back of my mind that it would be the last thing I ever wrote on this earth and that it would probably end up blowing away in the wind or scattered by the coyotes as they worked on my bones.

We waited for a very long time, watching the sun set, then with deep fear, the men on the road set too. They were there for the night it seemed. Whether for a road block, or simply for sleep I'll never know.

In the end it was the horses. I knew that they knew we were there. About the time the men settled down around their campfire for an evening meal the wind shifted and the gig was up. The horses raised their heads now, sniffing the air and finding something unfamiliar. They reacted as horses do and the men were obviously no fools. The correctly interpreted the signs correctly.

We were cold, stiff, the kids were tired and restless. They had done a good job of staying quiet until that point. Finally one of them could hold back no longer and let go with a wail that would have woken the dead in that quiet valley. The echo's back and forth hid nothing from the men as they dashed towards us, rifles at the ready.

George, good old George stepped out from the brush and yelled at them not to shoot, that we weren't armed. The rush forward stopped then. They observed George without comment until one man, one powerful man, without any word, brought down wrath and ruin.

I'll never forget the orange epaulets on the man's jacket. Whether a sign of command or simply a happy symbol I don't know. All he had to do was nod, not speak, not look, no dramatic raising of the hand. No questions either, only action.

The whole group opened up then, tearing poor George apart like a can of tomatoes. Perhaps if George hadn't been black we would have gotten a different reception.

I had tried to prepare the group for such a possibility. While it was still light out we quietly communicated to everyone the path we would take back further into the mountains if we had to run. As soon as the horses turned our way I had my pack and bow in one hand and the arm of Mrs. Roy in the other. I have no doubt I left bruises from my grip on her because as soon as the shooting started I was pushing her in front of me up that hill.

The downside to our path was that after only a few yards we were out in the open. Even in the twilight we were easy pickings.

Some froze right where they were and never moved from the spot on which they died, the rest fell behind us in the chaos and were picked off before we even reached the crest of the hill.

Mrs. Roy, Ruth, I should say had her two year old daughter strapped to her back and was in good shape. She could make good time that way and easily beat me to the top. I was huffing and puffing pretty good at that point, but still alive.

Bullets were still pinging off the rocks around us, and I could hear the crunching of the men as they ran across the rocks towards us.

I yelled at her to run, along with a few other words and run we did.

We must have gone on for several hours. I could see the big dipper turning above us giving us some sense of direction as we stumbled about in the dark. My hands were cut, we both fell again and again, but the sounds behind us, the occasional shot, the catcalls and jeers, hoots and hollers drove us like mad people. Why didn't they just give up and call it a night? We were just three people, no harm to anyone. We probably wouldn't have made it out of the mountains alive anyway.
The path, if you call it that, wound up and down, made by and for goats no doubt, and we passed into an area of steeper embankments and drop-offs that were slowing us down.

I didn't turn on my flashlight because I was afraid of getting shot. If I had turned it on, maybe what happened wouldn't have happened.

One moment Ruth was whispering to her daughter, telling her stories of her stuffed animals at home, the next she was screaming, except the screaming seemed further away.

As suddenly as it started, the screaming stopped with a sick sounding crunch of broken twigs. Had she not screamed, I would have stepped right off into the blackness with her.

Must stop for a moment love.

Very good chapter. Thank you.

Letter 13 (continued)

Sorry about the break, but I guess you didn't notice. I had to take a walk through Mrs. Dowling's flower garden for a bit. I still get the shakes at times if I dwell on these things. Most nights I still wake up shaking.

We were on the cliff weren't we?

Here we go again. Once my foot felt nothing but air, I had no doubt that it was the end of this path. With the men closing in behind me, and nowhere to go in front, I thought that now might be a good time to practice my midnight rock wall climbing skills.

Now I've never climbed a rock wall, didn't look like that much fun to me, but I did that night with backpack and bow. Some of my fingernails are now finally mostly grown back.

I quietly slid onto a ledge about 20 feet above the path, nocked an arrow, set some others beside me and waited.

Maybe someone was on my side after all. The moon was rising slowly, giving me enough light to do what I had to do next.

Three of our attackers slithered onto the little path below me. They too just about went over, but had the advantage of a flashlight and the dim light of the moon now. The front one stooped down, peering over the edge and let out a chuckle.

I never made you watch Sergeant York did I? That night I pulled a York. You always start at the back of the turkeys. I proved that what works with a Springfield works with a longbow too.

Those three went to their reward by my hand, a heavy burden all of a sudden when you also realize how tired you really are and how every muscle in your body is burning from uses it hasn't seen in a long time.

I lay there on that ledge for I don't know how long before I heard the faint cry. Coming down off that ledge was nearly as scary as going up, but this time I was hurried for different reasons.

I took my turn kneeling over the ledge now. What I saw struck me like a hammer.

Ruth was lying below, this cliff was ledge after ledge, her new home was three stories below me. Her shape was not natural now, bent in places the human body was not meant to be bent. Had she executed one final twist as she fell, well, maybe it would have been easier. Rita her two year old daughter, bouncy as young kids are, and cushioned by her mother's body was alive below me and now out of her carrier.

I called to her as she pulled on her mother's hand, touched her face trying to wake her.

She looked up to me holding her hands up after a time. By then I was frantic to find a way down that shear wall.

I couldn't see well enough in the light I had, so she and I spent the night talking to each other, well I did most of the talking.

I sang every song I could think of. Whistled every piece of Mozart, Bach, or Handel I could think of. I even threw in some Pink Floyd.

By morning light I looked the situation over well, there was no way, no foothold from above, no way to come from below.

I even took off my clothes and tied them together, but the distance was too great. She cried when I stopped talking, singing or making noise. I must have even told her about designing plumbing and steam systems. From time to time she would pull at her mother, shake her.

On the second day I cut up my backpack trying to unweave the threads to make a rope, her cries keeping me moving through the hunger and thirst, cold and darkness.

I woke on the third morning not even knowing that I had gone to sleep. It had been a cold one again and I was shivering.

My voice was barely a choked whisper now and it hurt to sing. I got no answer that morning. Looking down I knew. I hadn't been fast enough, resourceful enough.

I'd swear I saw a smile on little Rita's face, reclined in her mother's arms, closed eyes towards the rising sun.

Ruth was 32 years old, born in Bloomington Minnesota, married to John, who lay somewhere in the wilderness behind us. She liked coffee ice cream and peonies. Rita was two years old, born in Bismark North Dakota.

She liked Mozart and her mommy.

I hear her still.

With too much love to say,

Me.

Your breaking my heart. Very sad letter. Thank you.

That was a toughie alright.

Thanks for it though.

No words...

A little lighter lesson tonight. Glad you guys liked the last one, that had been burning a hole in my head for quite a while.

Letter 14

Ennis, Montana
Martha's flower garden

My Beloved,

I think I told you a while back that life is full of opportunities, we just have to be on the watch for them.

Here, during this time of rest I've tried to take that opportunity to make myself as useful as possible. Martha had many things she needed done before the snow flies again in a few months, and others around town have had needs that looked like they needed to be met too.

I've built good will among strangers who I will never see again, most likely, on this plane, but maybe that's the point of it all. I'm starting to feel like the traveling tinker.

I've left a letter for the Sheriff explaining the story of what happened as well as I could. Hopefully some day someone will be able to give my friends a good burial, not that I think they aren't resting now where they are, but its once again just the right thing to do. Martha promised to give it to him when he made his rounds again this way in a few weeks.

I hope that as this letter finds you, our friends and neighbors have taken advantage of the opportunity and not advantage of the situation that my absence has created.

You and I were never really outgoing types, kind of stuck to ourselves. Over time though, as I prepared for some of the nightmares I had I realized that I had missed something.

It wasn't something you could can, or stack away in a shelf, or shove in a bug-out bag. It wasn't even knowledge that was contained in a book to be learned over a cup of tea.

We didn't know our neighbors, our fellow church members. Our circle of friends were on the computer, and now, on there, they might as well be some computer generated fantasy.

I don't know if you ever noticed a change. You were probably annoyed at me for volunteering us for more cookie making for church, more meetings, more time just sitting around chatting.

You probably hated me for dragging you down the road to visit the neighbors. When you asked why, I said "Just to say hi."

Men always think they're smarter than they are. Did you catch on to my little plans? Do you remember their names now, what they do, their hobbies? Do you remember what they raise in the back yard so that they can teach you now?

Forgive the pressure I put on you, as the head of the family, I thought it best at the time. Sometimes being the head was no fun when I saw the way you looked at me.

Tomorrow morning I'm on my way to you again, hopefully your travelling tinker will be back to you before the snow comes and we can sit in front of the fireplace in each others arms.

Love,

Me.

Thank you.

a really sweet chapter. thank you !!!!

Sorry for the delay on this. I've been stuck getting our little traveler through Montana in an interesting fashion, but hope I have something figured out.

wow, this is quite the story! Moar!

Very good story. Thank you Methos

Excellent story. Please continue!

Great story, please, please, please keep it up.

sheilab15

i hope it continues!!!!!!



WAB

Nope, not done with this one yet. Promised I'd finish it. Just a short warm up tonight.


Letter 15

Livingston, Montana

My Beloved,

I am struck, my love, as I sit here under this tree in the late afternoon sunshine, that we have entered a new phase in human existence not seen for many a long year.

Here in front of me is the remains of what was probably once a very nice little town, giving every sign of being people of hearty stock, well meaning and hard working Americans, yet now, the town is nearly abandoned, half burned, a shell of what once was. Those few people who had so much now reduced to the have nots, and I'm not so sure that they don't have less than I.

Those poor souls that I have seen from a distance have no desire to converse with me, and I have to admit that I'm of the same ilk any more, shunning human companionship and taking my own lonely path back to you. I must be a strange site to the hidden observer, looking rather like a lone wolf seen on one of those National Geographic documentaries, digging through the burned out trash of others, avoiding the piles that smell so clearly of death, popping my head up and listening in the silence for my enemies, in whatever form they may come this day. At the end I scored one lone can of very cooked tuna. Another oddity, this is probably the last time I will ever taste tuna. Makes you think.

Besides the haves and the have nots, I can see the modern, and the post modern, or perhaps better, pre-history, spread before me in my travels. Riders on horseback are not uncommon, yet there was also a group of twelve black hawk helicopters at the airport just over the rise that lifted off into the setting sun just a few moments ago. Not sure where they were going, or where they come from and I wasn't about to walk down to find out.

I've seen men with six shooters, and men with AR's and AK's. I saw an old man pushing a wheel borrow down the road this morning, then at noon was nearly blown off the road by a '70 Cuda stuffed to the top with chickens in the back seat.

Before and after. I'm rather looking forward to the after with you now for some reason. Sure the work will be hard, but we'll be working together as soon as I'm home. We won't be pulled in opposite directions by sports for the kids, or travel for work, or some useless errand that when you think of it in the grand scheme of our lives. It will just be you and I growing old together.

The path before me is clear, but the road is cloudy. There is a red glow to the south tonight in the dimming light. I think that the cloudy road shall not lead me that way. Billings it is then, but by the back roads. Always.

And Always your's.

Me.

Thank you for the new chapter

Thank you and so looking forward to more.

I sure hope he gets home to his family.

Thank you

The love he has for his Beloved is so strong, one can taste it.

Blessings to you that you are able to give this gift to us.

DM

Darn I was hoping this was a finished story...cliff hanger!!

I enjoyed the story so far, thanks.

I haven't forgotten about this one, I'll get back to it shortly I hope. Thanks for checking in though.

methos, I great story so far I voice my wish along with everyone else that you finish it.
I want to thank you for your time and work on this story.
Wayne

Great story! Really enjoying reading it.

Thanks folks, that means a lot. This is a special story to me and I do intend to finish it, just been hammered at work and traveling a lot. Speaking to you from Turlock California tonight.
Lesson being little guys from Iowa are not meant to drive in California traffic.

Beautiful story! Please finish this story.

Lovely story, would really like to see how it turns out. Please MOAR!!

Well, the end is written, I just have been stuck at this same point for quite some time. Long way from Montana to Iowa and the summer is getting short for our intrepid traveler. He see's the guys driving cattle ahead of him, but just can't make that jump. Wish me luck, maybe I'll have inspiration in the next few days.

Thank you for the update and hoping that your inspiration finds you soon. If I see it hanging around I will send it your way.