Chapter Sixteen, Part Three

In late afternoon the road took a turn toward the south and Robert guided Sophie onto a smaller road, now little more than a dirt trail, heading due east. That night they made camp on the banks of the Rio Grande and Robert had a chance once again to impress his daughter with his outdoorsman skills, which seemed pitiful enough to him in comparison to the accomplishments of his colleagues during the war, but were hitherto unknown talents in Sophie’s eyes.

The next morning, after an uneasy sleep under watchful stars, Robert stirred the fire and prepared a quick breakfast while Sophie rolled up their bedding and re-braided her hair. Then after scrubbing their dishes with sand and rinsing them in the river, they packed their gear and headed out, following the river until they came to a narrow bridge.

“We’ll start moving slightly south after we cross,” Robert said. “Arroyo Hondo is nearby and they don’t like strangers.”

“Do Nativists live there?”

“No, but some people can be trouble just the same. That’s why we’re going around them.”

Their route took them through winding roads and past the occasional house or small farm. Most were crumbling into ruins, but a few holdings showed signs that people might still live there, clinging to what little they could grow or raise.

“What are those?” Sophie pointed to a distant paddock ahead where long-necked furry beasts gazed calmly toward the road, as curious about the two strangers on horseback as she was about them.

“Robert squinted. “Alpacas.” Seeing that this meant nothing to her, he added, “They’re like small llamas. Did they teach you about llamas at school?”

“No.” They were drawing nearer now and Sophie smiled. “They’re cute.”

“They can also be mean, so keep your distance. They grow wool like a sheep, but since alpaca wool is more rare, it’s more valuable. These animals are probably how this family makes their living.”

“They sure don’t make it off anything else,” Sophie said. Her farm girl’s practiced eye took in the utter lack of other animals, or of grain fields, fruit trees or vegetable gardens.

The sound of their horses’ hooves had attracted the attention of a young man near the barn. He picked up a shotgun and hurried toward the fence.

Robert touched his heels to his horse’s flanks. “Come on. We’re not wanted here.” He waved politely at the young man as they trotted past, trying to demonstrate that they meant no harm. A little ways down the road, with no shots fired or horsemen chasing after them, he slowed to a walk and willed himself to relax.

Sophie drew up beside him. “Was he really going to shoot us?”

“If he thought we might harm his alpacas, I’m sure he would’ve.”

The girl looked back over her shoulder. “He’s crazy. As if I’d want anything to do with his smelly alpacas.”

“Out here in the country, you can never tell what someone might do. They know they can get away with anything, since there’s no government for miles in any direction. You have to be on your guard at all times.”

Sophie nodded and sighed.

“It’s not like Kentucky.”

“Yeah. I can tell.”

They continued along the dirt path through the scrubland until the sun was high overhead. Then they stopped in a clearing next to an old intersection of county roads to let the horses graze while they had a picnic of hard-boiled eggs and dried apples. But there was too far to go for them to rest for very long, so they soon repacked their gear and continued on.

It wasn’t long before the landscape began to change, with scrub giving way to occasional hills and pines. All around them were the mountains, their slopes lush and green. Although it wasn’t like Kentucky, the sight of so much vegetation reminded Sophie of home and she sighed with pleasure.

“Will Castaño be like those mountains?” she asked. “You know, green?”

“During most of the year, yes,” Robert said. “In the winter, it’s white. Like I told you, it used to be a ski resort. Such places were dying even before the oil problems, but the Resource Wars finished them off. I doubt this country will be prosperous enough for ski resorts again while we’re alive.”

Sophie nodded as if she understood, but Robert suspected she was just putting up a good front. She had seen skis, of course, but only for cross-country use. And the concept of a resort eluded her, much less the notion that a time of luxury had ever existed or would come to pass in a future that she might be a part of. Well, it wasn’t as if her life had given her much acquaintance with leisure. Just like her mother, all she had known was work.

There was probably no such thing as a resort on the entire continent since the Resource Wars. Would there ever be such places again? Even though the wealthy years of the early part of the century were long gone when Robert was born, there had still been well-off stragglers who slunk into town during the winter months. Most were graying and arthritic, unconcerned that Castaño residents couldn’t keep their more challenging slopes open anymore and only cleared the easy ones. They went out into the snow each morning and spent the evenings gathered around the great fireplace at the lodge. There they would sip hot cider or wine, complain about their aching knees, and tell stories about the way things used to be. Sometimes Robert would creep into the room and sit in the shadows, fascinated by their tales of another world.

Was that how his stories about the Resource Wars sounded to Sophie? He glanced her way but she was distracted by the flit of a bird. Feeling suddenly old, he pulled down his hat and turned away.