Apache Dawn - - (classic fiction .TXT) 📗

In the not too distant future…

Chad Huntley scraped the last handful of cold dirt onto the fresh grave. He brushed aside a few bits of snow which had already tried to cover the crude wooden tombstone he had helped his neighbor carve that morning. The ground had been frozen for three weeks. It’s what always happened in winter. Things died. The ground grew hard and inconsolable, as if feeling the same pain of love lost, lives destroyed, sacrifices wasted.

He wasn’t afraid of crying. He wished to God he could cry. Crying, it seemed to him, was the appropriate thing to do when your entire family withers and dies in front of you. He just had no tears. Patting down the last bit of dry, cold earth, he paused, his hand on the crude mound that covered Mom. He watched absently as fresh snow landed on his hand and didn’t immediately melt. He thought it was odd that he couldn’t feel the cold anymore.

He felt nothing.

Mom didn’t feel anything anymore, either. The coughing fits, the congestion, the fever, the pain. It was all over. She had lasted longer than most, he guessed. Certainly longer than his father and sisters. That was Mom, though. The toughest woman he ever knew. He smiled and wished again that he could cry.

Chad grunted and stood up. He brushed the snow and dirt from his favorite jeans. His best boots were already under the new snow. Tilting back Dad’s well-worn Stetson, he looked up into the gray nothingness above. The snow swirled and fell around him in silence. It was a wet snow. Some of it hit his face. If he couldn’t cry, maybe the sky would.

“It’s time we got inside. Come on, son,” mumbled his neighbor, Doug Miller. The grandfatherly man struggled to hold in a cough. Chad knew his neighbor’s time would be up soon.

“I know what you’re thinking, son. But, I’ll be damned if the young man who helped me care for Emma is gonna freeze today. I owe your folks that much.”

“Miss Emma wouldn’t want you to turn into an icicle, either.”

The old man chuckled ruefully and Chad raised his eyes up from the grave with no expression on his face. He looked left and right at the other mounds, where his dad and sisters were already at rest in the cold ground. He looked at the sick old man that stood before him, trying not to shiver.

Mr. Miller was wrapped in two muddy blankets and had snow on his shoulders. A thick wool cap perched on top of his head provided only a little protection to the wispy silver hair that poked out in all directions. Old Man Miller stamped his boots a little in the snow to keep his feet warm. He suppressed another cough but his shoulders shook with the effort. He glared at Chad under a bushy white eyebrow with a rheumy, red-rimmed eye.

“I ain’t sick, so stop worrying—but I am gettin’ cold.”

Chad sighed. The stubborn old man would deny he was sick until the day he died, Chad figured. Everyone was dying around him. Had been now for nearly a month, ever since the Blue Flu had arrived in town.

“Do you think my family is with Miss Emma?”

Mr. Miller stopped coughing with a start and stared incredulously at the younger man. “Son, I know you’re deep in a pit of grief right now, but I’m mighty hard-pressed not to slug you and teach you some manners. Emma…” He turned away suddenly.

Chad felt foolish and guilty. He regretted mentioning Miss Emma as soon as he said her name. He sniffed and wiped his nose. The pain was clearly still too fresh for Mr. Miller. Miss Emma, the closest thing Chad had ever had to a real grandmother, had passed only last week.

The old man straightened his shoulders. He looked back at Chad and in a quiet voice said, “The house is empty, Chad. Empty. We been married 33 years.” He took in a deep, ragged breath and stared up at the falling snowflakes. “I cry myself to sleep every night in a cold, empty bed.” He blew his nose into a paisley handkerchief. “A man doesn’t get over that in a week, boy.”

Mr. Miller sighed when Chad stepped back as if struck. “I’m sorry, Chad.” He put a shaking hand on Chad’s shoulder and squeezed. “It’s just hard to figure what you meant. You ain’t had no tears or…anything since your momma…that was no more’n a few days ago.”

Chad knew instantly what the old man was talking about. He had felt it about himself and was worried something was wrong. He should be crying, sobbing, inconsolable. Not only was Mom dead, but with her passing, he was left totally alone in the world. Well, he did have family back East and a few cousins up in Montana, but since the world seemed to be ending, they might as well be on the moon.

Mr. Miller watched Chad’s face and said, “Chad, to answer your question truthfully, yes. I suppose she’s with your family.” He looked up at the gray skies unloading their white cargo. A sad smile graced his wrinkled face. “I expect they’re up there together somewhere, looking at us and shaking their heads. Two grown men standing around in the snow.”

“I’m only sixteen,” said Chad in a small, quiet voice.

Mr.