Calamity Rock

Annie slapped absently at a mosquito. The insects were still prolific, especially here, but their incessant whine in your ear was oddly comforting. It was such a blessedly normal thing, and there was so little of that left anymore.

Her knees cracked as she stood from her crouch. They would scream an agonized lullaby tonight that would keep her awake for hours. She wondered again if these forays were worth the trouble.

Feeling the stings, Annie looked down suddenly and slapped two tiny bloodsuckers off the knuckles of her right hand.

“Goddamn things,” she muttered.

“They’re awful today, aren’t they?” whispered a moon-faced woman with mouse-brown hair. Clara? Sara? What the hell was her name again? She brushed her hands over her neck and arms, stepping awkwardly through the prickly underbrush toward Annie.

She froze as a thick dry branch snapped under her weight. Annie closed her eyes.

“Sorry,” she mouthed.

Annie nodded.

“It’s so nice that you do this for us. You know, for the kids,” Clara-Sara whispered breathlessly. “It’s so good for them, for all of us, really. For… for you, too, I’m sure,” she added lamely.

Annie was stoic, staring into the small green clearing ahead.

The terrain here was rugged, overgrown and rocky, atop a steep hill surrounded on all sides by thick evergreen forests. Thistles sprang up amongst the deadfall, and wild raspberries pushed forth to line the base of the hill. Some of the other girls were always whining about wanting to pick the berries, but it was too open at the bottom of the slope, too dangerous.

Annie and Clara (Sara?) stood at the edge of a small, natural clearing, where the tall pines and spruce trees ringed the rock. Moss grew on the flat top of the Cambrian rock like a moist green carpet. Four women and six children sat cross-legged on the mossy rock in a close circle.

This was expressly forbidden.

Annie scanned the edge of the clearing and listened hard. Birds sang their silly songs, a trio of squirrels chattered. A slight breeze rustled the leaves of the poplars. Underneath the forest’s conversations came the hushed whispers of the women and children seated in the circle.

This was so very dangerous.

“We’re gonna have to wrap this up sooner than you wanted,” Annie whispered, pointing up to the sky. A group of clouds had come in from the northwest across the big lake, and threatened rain. “You better get back in there and tell the others. And keep those kids quiet this time.”

Clara-Sara nodded silently and made her way to join the circle. Annie watched the weather move warily. It could change so fast here, and you didn’t want to take the chance of being caught in this rain. You never knew what kind of rain it would be. Annie had misjudged once, when they used to go to Calamity Rock instead, and now there were two kids and one woman who would never be the same. Annie didn’t take chances anymore.

The ladies in the circle were standing and helping the smaller children up. A boy of about six was sniffling and hiccuping with both hands over his mouth to muffle the noise, eyes wet with tears. Olivia, the youngest mother, blinked back tears as she packed the remains of a picnic lunch in a rucksack. Annie blew her hair from her forehead and heaved a sigh. Leaving was always the hardest part.

A slim, wiry woman with greying hair carrying an old leather tote stepped carefully over to Annie. “You really think that might amount to something?” she asked, gesturing at the sky. “It’d sure be nice if we had a bit longer.”

“Jan, I don’t know for sure, but I know I don’t wanna risk it. I know they aren’t ready to leave yet, but…”

“Oh, they’ll survive. We’re all getting pretty good at that now,” said Jan with a wry smile. “If that’s what you think, it’s good enough for us. Will you ride back tonight?”

Jan was Annie’s senior by sixteen years, but always deferred to Annie when it came to these get-togethers. It was both flattering and frustrating; Annie would have loved to let Jan make the tough calls, but Jan stood back and allowed Annie to lead, always.

“Likely. Unless things go sideways. I should be home around two,”

Jan nodded. “Then check your henhouse when you get up. Julie’s having something delivered, a token of gratitude, I should think,” she chuckled quietly.

Annie rolled her eyes. “She doesn’t need to do that, you know. I’m not looking for payment!” she hissed.

Jan’s face crinkled up in quiet mirth. “Just the same, she’s grateful. We all are,” she whispered seriously. “Oh, and Tara’s picked some fiddleheads for you,” she said with a wink. Jan returned to the group and kneeled to button her four year old granddaughter’s coat.

Tara, right, not Clara or Sara. Annie would try to remember that. Her dad had loved fiddleheads. They’d been out at the hunt camp year before last and had a feast of them, swimming in butter. They had fished all morning on Lake Ted. Those were good times. But that was before.

Two loud cracks and a low cry brought Annie to her knees. What the hell was happening? She looked frantically around at the others; Jan squatted beside her granddaughter with her hand over her mouth. Tara was kneeling, holding her own two girls’ faces to her chest to stifle their cries. They were scared, looking to Annie for direction.

Annie scuttled over a fallen log when a louder crack splintered the air, followed by a chorus of low voices. Annie dropped to her belly. It’s them, thought Annie wildly. But how did they find us?

Annie crawled quickly across the mossy rock, “Are you all right? Is everyone okay?” she demanded.

“We’re okay,” said Jan with a shaky breath. Her eyes drilled into Annie’s. “You don’t think they’ve found us?”

Annie shook her head violently. “I… I don’t know. But stay down. Stay quiet. Nobody moves until I say!”

The ladies nodded, huddled with the children, and Annie moved off to the perimeter of the trees, drawing her knife. She stopped where the leaning white pine marked the trail to the bottom, scanned the trees again, and with a quiet breath, left her terrified charges behind her.