Surviving the Fog - Douglas Lives: Surviving the Fog, #4

By Stan Morris

When the man limped into her cafe, Susanna was anxious but not unduly alarmed. Strangers were treated this way. Minutes later the man killed two men attempting to abduct a little girl. For the moment she and Petal were safe, but safety was an illusion. After a second attempt, flight became necessary. They follow the one-foot man, hoping to find a place of peace. He is a bitter atheist loner. She is an evangelical Christian. Can acceptance lead to love?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stan Morris
• Release date: Aug 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223466314

Stan Morris

Stan Morris was born during the Truman Adminstration in Linwood, California.  He lived in South Gate, Lakewood, and Norwalk before his family moved to Concord, California in 1964.  He was educated at a variety of community colleges before receiving a degree from Eastern New Mexico University.  He has a wonderful wife, two grown gainfully employed children, and a thirst for reading, writing, watching sports, gardening, and international travel.

Book preview

Copyright 2021, 2023

Surviving the Fog-Douglas Lives

By Stan Morris

Contents

Chapter One  The Crippled Man

Chapter Two  The Bartered Kiss

Chapter Three  The Wrenching Decision

Chapter Four  The Zig Zag Trail

Chapter Five  The Steep Mountain

Chapter Six  The Dangerous Man

Chapter Seven  The Redwoods

Chapter Eight  The Lie

Chapter Nine  The Truth

Chapter Ten  The Long Valley

Chapter Eleven  The Narrow Gulch

Chapter Twelve  The Dangerous Woman

Chapter Thirteen  The Road Home

Chapter Fourteen  Petersburg

Chapter Fifteen  Fitting In

Chapter Sixteen  Standing In One Place

Chapter Seventeen  The Healed Man

The End

Chapter One  The Crippled Man

No bodies had been discovered for over a month, so spring was shaping up to be a good season.  The small clapboard building that held Susanna’s Café and Store was not full, but several individuals and a few small groups had gathered to eat whatever she had available.  Most were happy to get out of their small cabins for a brief period, for the snows had been heavy in February. 

Petal was the first to hear the arrival of the man with the wooden foot, except it wasn't a foot, they were cylinders of wood connected by a rusty spring just below his ankle, and they slammed against the floor of the old oak porch like the hammering gavel of a stern judge meting out a terrible judgment upon a habitual criminal.

What's that? she asked, and then the others heard it too, the thump, thump thump.

The door opened slowly, as if the opener was unsure of his welcome, or perhaps he was just cautious, alert for danger from the other side.  The east wind tried to push the solid door wider, but the man held it in a firm grip.  Susanna's first impression was of an average sized man clad in a long blue coat that looked vaguely military.  He was wearing a black ski mask rolled up over his eyes, so his face was showing.  An old green duffel bag was slung over his right shoulder.  He was holding the bag's strap with his left hand, and in the other hand he carried what at first glance appeared to be a thick staff made from a weathered oak branch, and then Susanna spied the iron spearhead attached to the shaft.  He closed the door against the cold wind, making sure it was tight against the weather stripping, and turned to scan the room.  The others in the room were silent.  The arrival of a stranger was not a welcoming sight.  Too often they brought only misery.

He nodded as if acknowledging this truth, pulled off the ski mask, and then slightly dragging his left leg he clumped his way to the long counter behind which Susanna stood, her body suddenly tense, wondering who he was and what he wanted.  He had a scraggly brown beard, his long hair hung almost to his shoulders, and he moved like an old man, but as he neared the counter Susanna saw by his sharp brown eyes that he was much younger, in his mid-twenties perhaps.  If he smelled, as was customary in these bleak times, it was covered by the scent of gummy, pine rosin droplets clinging to his coat.  He swung his duffel bag off his shoulder and leaned it and the spear against the counter.

Got alcohol? He asked this in a gruff resigned manner that suggested he was not expecting a positive answer, and she did not surprise him.

We don't serve alcohol here. We wouldn't even if we had some. Hume Lake is a Christian community. I have some hot lemongrass tea.

He nodded, so Susanna retrieved the pot of tea from the black, cast iron stove.  She poured him a cup, and he lifted it to his lips.  She half expected him to grimace in disgust, but he sighed instead, as if anything warming his insides was welcomed.

Who are you? Where do you come from? she dared to ask after a minute or two.

Ignoring her questions, the crippled man took another sip of his beverage.  He did not appear to be an immediate danger, so the people in the small room relaxed and turned to their own business.

A little later the door opened again, and two men entered, the larger slamming the door shut.  The entry of the two men caused silence to choke the room.  Susanna felt the blood leave her face, ears, and skull, and she felt not lightheadedness, but rather a trembling alertness as when a person is suddenly confronted by a pair of big unleashed dogs emitting barely audible growls of loathing.  And dogs they were; she knew this from past experience.

They wore heavy ill-fitting coats over pull-over shirts; probably stolen, Susanna reckoned.  The shorter man had a long, light brown beard.  The other man was clean shaven, and the false grin on his face might have seemed welcoming to someone who did not know him.  The bearded man carried a short shotgun, and the grinner had a holstered handgun.

Hey there, all, grinner said, scanning the crowd with his false smile, but no one answered.  Some looked from side to side as if searching for an avenue of escape.

The grinner made a slow perusal of the room, pausing for a moment when his glance lit on the crippled man at the counter, and continuing until his gaze settled upon Petal.

Hey, Petal. The little girl backed into a corner, placing a table between her and the two men.

What do you want? Susanna said this in as demanding a manner as fear allowed.

The fake smile dimmed and morphed into one that suggested a hint of malice behind the crinkled eyes.  He turned to face the young woman.

Now, now, Susie, we just want to come in out of the cold. You don't object to that, do you? His bearded companion laughed, and the grinner scanned the people in the room again. No one objects to us being here, do they?

No one spoke.  They knew it was healthier to keep quiet.  The man gave the cripple and his spear an inquisitive stare.

Haven't seen you around here before. You don't object to our presence do you, Mister...?

The cripple stared at his ceramic cup and did not reply.  The smile on Grinner’s face changed to one of satisfied arrogance.  He looked in Petal's direction.  The little girl was cowering in a corner, hoping not to draw his attention.

Now, Petal, don't be that way. Why can't you be friendly? He began to sidle in the girl's direction.  She tensed looking frantically from side to side as she sought an escape route.

What do you want with her? Susanna cried. She's only ten.

The man ignored Susanna as he moved closer to the girl, easy on his feet and alert for her attempt to rush by him.

I was telling a man up north about you, Petal, the man crooned. He said you sounded real sweet. He wants to meet you. He wants to be your boyfriend.

No amount of anger could alleviate the helplessness Susanna felt.  Her face flushed with the shameful knowledge that she could not help Petal without causing harm to herself.  Her fists clenched as she tried frantically to think of some way to force the men to leave the little girl in what little peace the child had managed to attain, since her parents had been murdered.

Petal finally darted to one side, but Grinner had planned for that.  He had forced her to where Long Beard waited like a mean weasel ready to pounce on a young rabbit.  She tried to squirm by, but the bearded man caught her around the waist with one arm.  He held his shotgun away from his body with the other hand and laughed at Petal's anguished cries of distress.

Oh, Lord Jesus, save Petal. I beg you, Susanna prayed, and then without a twinge of guilt, she asked God to strike the men dead.

Petal, you come with us and we'll take care of you. We'll introduce you to our friend, and he'll make you real happy. He'll teach you all kinds of things. He laughed after he spoke that last sentence, and the little girl began to cry.

Leave her alone!

Susanna wished she had one of the guns the tiny community kept in their armory, for at that moment she would gladly have shot both men.  Her gaze swept over the regulars in her store, but though some were carrying firearms, none ventured to challenge the two intruders.

Anyone object to Petal coming with us? Grinner asked, scanning the crowd again.  There were angry murmurs from the crowd, but no one openly challenged him, not even Susanna.

How about you, Mister No-Name? Grinner said to the cripple as Petal struggled to free herself from Long Beard's cruel grasp. You're new here, aren't you? You got something to say?

The crippled man didn't answer, but he turned toward the smirking man, pulled a forty-five caliber revolver from his coat pocket and shot Grinner in the chest.  The loud explosion caused Susanna to scream and caused men and women to scramble for cover.  Long Beard’s shocked eyes grew wide, and he let loose of Petal, fumbling for his shotgun.  The man with the wooden stump turned toward Long Beard, and with deliberate calmness he raised his gun and fired a bullet that blasted through the center of Long Beard's forehead, making a huge hole when it exited and flicking brains and fragments of skull across the wall behind.  For a moment the only sound in the bar was the faint echo of the shot as every ear rang with the explosion, and every heart raced madly, fearing they might be the next target.

Still holding the handgun, the crippled man grabbed his spear, limped to the door, and opened it.  He peered out and listened for a long minute while everyone else crouched behind some flimsy barrier, a rickety table or an old stool.  The crippled man shut the door, clumped back to the middle of the room, and stared down at the man stretched out on the floor, lying on his back.  There was no grin on the dying man's face now, either of triumph or of malice, there was only shock and fear in the man's eyes as he stared up at the crippled man and sucked in ragged breath after ragged breath, each one requiring more effort than the previous breath.

The name's Douglas, the crippled man stated. Not Doug, Douglas.

The eyes of the man widened a fraction, and then they closed, and the ragged breaths ceased.  Stink filled the room as the man's internals were released.  Douglas returned to the counter, pocketed his revolver, and sat down.  He picked up the cup of tea and took another sip, grimacing as he did so.  It had cooled.

Men and women began to rise from their hiding places.  Susanna, who had pressed herself into the corner of the bar when the first shot was fired, hurried around the corner and met Petal who flung herself at the young woman, burying her sobbing face in Susanna's stomach.

Good Lord, said a man who had eased forward and was staring at the man stretched out on the floor.  He faced Douglas with accusation in his expression.  You killed these men without a qualm. What kind of a man are you?

Douglas glanced at the man on the floor, and then he raised his ice cold eyes to the standing man.  There was neither a smile nor a frown on his face. They were annoying me. You're starting to annoy me, too.

The man recoiled at the menace in the voice, swallowed, and backed away.  Other men came forward and stood around the bodies, studiously ignoring Douglas.

We need to move them.

Yeah, but where to?

The cemetery, I guess.

You two grab his arms, we'll get his legs.

Other men were attending to Long Beard.

I'll get a mop and a bucket of water, a woman said.

Susanna clutched Petal, still tightly wrapped against her, and stared at Douglas, transfixed.  Experience told her she should be frightened, and yet she was not.

Douglas ignored the commotion, resigned to the fact that no one was likely to feed him, until the remains of the two men were dealt with.  He sat on the stool, sipped the tepid tea, and watched as Susanna finally pried Petal away and led the little girl through the yellow and red striped sheets hanging in the doorway.  Minutes later they reappeared, Susanna carrying a blanket and a pink pillow.  She knelt, spread the blanket on the floor behind the bar, and with soft words managed to convince Petal to lie down.  Then she rose and stared at Douglas. 

He asked, Can I get something to eat?

Such an innocuous question from someone who shot two men to death only minutes ago.

I... I have roast pork simmering, she stammered, glancing at the woman who had finished mopping the floor. I could make you a sandwich. We found some mustard recently. It was still sealed, but the expiration date was a long time ago.  She was speaking too fast, but she could not help herself. What do you say to a killer?

That would be fine. What can I trade you for it?  I have a can of kidney beans.

Just go away and leave us in peace was what she was tempted to say, but what she said was, That would be a fair trade.

Except for a few brave or curious people the place had cleared out.  Two men came to the bar, and Douglas tensed when they did so, but they made no threatening motions.

Are you okay, Susanna?

The questioner gave Douglas an edgy sidelong glance.  He was a little older and huskier than the other.

I'm fine, Adam. Petal is the one they were after. She looked down at the girl who was whimpering in her sleep. I can only imagine what those men wanted her for.

They were going to sell her, Douglas said, fixing his gaze on Susanna.

She knew that, but she hated to have it stated. Monsters, she murmured.

Monsters with friends, the man next to Adam mumbled.  Except for Douglas, they exchanged knowing glances.

You’re right, Joe, Adam said. And when they find out these two are dead, they're gonna come looking for revenge.

Three faces turned toward Douglas.  Douglas did not speak; instead he leaned down, unzipped the duffel bag, and reached inside, his actions followed by three pairs of cautious but curious eyes.  He pulled out a can of kidney beans and handed it to Susanna.  She stared at the can for one moment, and then lifted her eyes to Douglas, nodded, and disappeared behind the hanging sheets.

Mister, I don't know what those men will do if you're not here when they come, Adam said. But I know what they'll do, if you're still here. They'll kill you.

Douglas shrugged. Everyone dies. Don’t you people have any guns?

We do. But after a few incidents with hot heads that got out of hand, most of us agreed to keep them in a community armory and take them out when we hunt.

Susanna reappeared with a plate containing a sandwich.  She laid it in front of Douglas, grabbed the tea pot, and refilled his cup.

Where you from? Joe asked as Douglas took a big bite out of the sandwich.

The brown eyes narrowed, and his voice turned icy again.  He swallowed the bite before answering. From south of here. What's it to you?

Nothing. Nothing at all, the young man replied hastily.

Mind your own business, Susanna said sharply, conveniently forgetting that she had asked the same question earlier.  Joe lowered his eyes, stung by her words.

Susanna did not care.  She did not want any more confrontations in her place, and Joe knew better than to ask personal questions of a stranger.  Since the Fog had come, many people were reluctant to speak about their past.  Some did not want to remember loved ones.  Some did not want to remember a world that was lost.  Others had done things immediately after the Fog's congealing that they would rather forget.

We've got to get a move on, Adam said to Joe, watching Douglas consume the rest of the sandwich. We've got a fence to fix.

See you in church, Joe said to Susanna, a hopeful note in his voice. I'll save you a seat. He and Adam left the bar.

Sorry, Susanna said. Joe's young and a little nosy about strangers.

Douglas grunted noncommittally. Didn't hear him ask those other guys where they came from.

Susanna blushed and lowered her eyes. That's different. We've seen those men before. They are... were dangerous.

You're dangerous, too.  But he was dangerous in a different way; somehow she knew this.

Which one's your boyfriend?

Susanna was startled. What?

Adam. Joe. I noticed they liked looking at you.

Excuse me, but that's none of your business.

True, Susie. Douglas wiped his mouth on his sleeve, gulped down the last of his tea, and picked up his duffel bag. I like looking at you, too. You've got a nice rack and a great butt.

Her eyes narrowed, and her temper flared. It's Susanna, not Susie. You've finished eating, mister. Get out of my establishment.

Douglas shrugged, turned, and left the cafe, carefully shutting the door.  Outside, the late afternoon sun was partially hidden by the western peaks.  By the side of the paved road, nailed to a post and quivering from the wind blowing toward Hume Lake, a hand painted sign directed travelers to a dormitory where a bed could be rented for the night.  He had stayed in these sorts of places before, and he expected the bed would cost an exchange of labor, usually wood chopping or gathering fallen branches which would be burned in a fireplace.  He strode up the path toward the dormitory, his long shadow following him.

He had stopped overnight in Hume Lake on his way north, but he had not visited Susanna’s cafe.  It was a small community in what used to be Sequoia National Park.  Before the Fog, it had catered to Baptist and Protestant church organizations as a summer camp for their teenagers.  At a little over five thousand feet in altitude, it had been buried beneath the Fog for years, until the top layers of the Fog dissipated, and the buildings were uncovered.  Survivors from the surrounding mountains had moved in.  As was true elsewhere, the bodies of the previous inhabitants had never been found.

The path wound up the hill through small redwood and pine trees.  Pine needles and chips of granite lined the path.  He knew he had found the dormitory when he saw the huge log piles with cords stacked higher than his head.  One end of the two story building was dominated by a massive stone fireplace.  On the other end, there was another fireplace, but that one looked to have been added much later, possibly after the Fog came.

An Asian looking man reading a book sat at a desk just inside the door. He looked up when Douglas entered, his sharp black eyes measuring the newcomer.

What's the charge? Douglas asked.

Five hours of honest work for a night's lodging, and all the tea you can drink.

Douglas was not adverse to hard work, but he had come a long way from the northeast, and he was tired.

I’ve got a quarter roll of dry toilet paper I found in a cabin. I'll trade it for a week in a corner bed.

The man stared at Douglas for a moment and then looked around the room, making sure none of the other men could hear.  He lowered his voice.

A full quarter roll? His tone was full of skepticism.

A little more than a quarter.

Alright, but don't mention this to anyone else.

Right.

He reached into his duffel  bag and pulled out the toilet paper roll which was carefully wrapped in a precious plastic bag.

Hide it, then I want the bag back.

The man nodded. First or second floor?

First.

Bed twenty five. Northwest corner.

Douglas hauled himself and his equipment to the northwest corner of the room.  Each bed had a number painted on its side frame, and some of the beds were already occupied.  The bunk over his was not.  The beds were made from old bunk beds, but wood poles had been added between the lower and upper to raise the top bed.  Beneath each level a wooden box with a metal latch had been installed, so travelers could secure a few items.  There was no lock on the box beneath his mattress.  Douglas returned to the manager.

What about a lock?

An hour’s work.

Douglas scowled at the man and said, The lock first.

The man handed over a heavy duty combination lock.

No telling who knows the combination, Douglas thought.

Got one with a key?

They traded locks and Douglas went back to the bunk, locked his gear in the box, and went back to the manager who silently handed over a sharpened axe.

Douglas left the building and went to the stacked wood.  Small logs were lying in another pile close by a stump that had axe marks around it.  He took one, set it on the stump, laid his spear to one side, and grabbed the axe.  As he swung the axe, he noticed the Asian man watching from a window.  Fifty five minutes later, Douglas stopped and proceeded to stack the split wood on the pile.  When he finished, he grabbed his spear and entered the building.

The manager remarked, You’ve done that before.

Douglas just grunted in response on his way to his bunk.  The man was right; he had chopped wood plenty of times.  He was almost as good at it now as when he still had his missing foot.  He stopped next to his bunk and considered whether or not to remove his pants.  They were sewn into the contraption of three wood cylinders that served as a foot, a spring that connected the top and middle cylinder, and a piece of pvc pipe that covered the wood cylinders and his lower leg.  He was tempted to remove it, because his leg was aching, but he knew nothing about the other inhabitants of this place, and he had learned caution from bitter experience.  He kept his pants on, lay down on the bed, and pulled his blue coat over the dingy grey blanket.  He rolled onto his back and waited.  It wasn’t long before two men approached.  They were coarse looking, with the scraggly beards of men who did not own or have access to a razor, a common state of affairs in Douglas’ experience.

Hey, Pal, the beefier man said in greeting. I’m Pedro. This is Joey.

Hey, Douglas said.

"Cripple man, you’re new here, ain’t you? Mister this is a rough town. Lots of bad people. Thieves. Me and Joey, we