younger kids, it’ll help them, and the older, weaker folks too. But you don’t have to share if you don’t want to. You can use it all yourself. It’s up to you.”
Kyle was shocked at Frank’s suggestion. “Hey, really. I appreciate the gesture, but I’ve got to say no. I admit I tried weed a couple times when I was younger, but I stayed away from the hard stuff. It’s not my thing.”
Frank’s expression switched from curiosity to amusement as Kyle spoke, and he began to laugh loudly. Kyle looked at Brenda, who was covering her mouth. He could see in her eyes that she was laughing as well.
“I’m guessing that’s not what I thought it was.”
Frank shook his head, his laughter calming. “This is to make your water safe. It’s bleach, or actually it’s swimming pool shock -- calcium hypochlorite. Same thing as bleach, but this will last forever. Liquid bleach degrades fairly quickly; this won’t. I wrote the mixing instructions on a paper in the bag.”
“So it’s not crack then, huh?” Kyle confirmed, embarrassed.
Frank shook his head. “No drugs here, Kyle, at least not that kind. Did you tell Brenda about your party?”
CHAPTER 8
Monday, January 9 th
Deer Creek, MT
David pulled the collar of his jacket tight around his ears as the wind blew cold and steady, as it so often did at night up in the observation nest, pelting him with flecks of ice scoured from the side of the mountain. The militia had constructed an observation post on top of the western mountain, where they had the best views of the valley below, and David’s assignment was to scan the area for threats. The outpost was crude, consisting of a shallow, twenty-foot trench with dirt and rocks piled around it to block the wind and shield the observer. At night, and on especially cold days, a tarp could be drawn over the top of the trench as a shield from the wind and to retain heat from a small fire the sentries kept burning by their feet.
Once he was resituated, David grabbed the binoculars with his gloved hands and scanned the roads below him. He had a good view of the freeway, from the east side of Missoula all the way to Clinton, but the view of the smaller road on the south side of the river was partially obstructed. From the east, he could see the road clearly until it was almost directly below him, then an outcropping of rocks and some trees blocked the view for nearly a mile, until just a couple hundred yards from the militia house.
David swung the binoculars from east to west, then back east again, pausing on every rock, shadow, and tree that caught his attention. He noticed movement along the far side of the river and twisted the focus knob to sharpen the image. A buck stepped gingerly onto the ice and snow, dipping its head down to the water, then raising it up quickly, looking back over its shoulder. David watched it turn from side to side, then dash off across the freeway and up into the trees on the facing slope of the opposite mountain.
He continued to swing the binoculars east, past the bridge, along the road, past a couple of abandoned homes on the far side of the river, and then into the town of Clinton. His gaze lingered on the town, wondering which home belonged to Amy Carpenter, the girl he’d met the week before when she’d come with her family, and most of the residents of Clinton, to Deer Creek’s first annual New Year’s event.
The party had started at noon and lasted about 4 hours, with food, games, a children’s production of Toy Story , dancing, trading, and a lot of socializing. David had noticed Amy during the games. They had been on different teams during the relays, and she was one of the few teens who had kept up with him. During the last hour of the party, a well-intentioned band from Deer Creek had provided music, and David had asked Amy to dance, giving him an opportunity to learn her name and get to know her.
The fire at David’s feet popped, and he felt a coal bounce off his
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