Page 42 of Thunder Pass

“Valid point.” They stopped at a red light, and he took the opportunity to rub the heel of his hand into his forehead. A dull ache had developed, probably from lack of sleep. “I can’t even think straight anymore. I feel like my Dad must be here in Alaska. But why didn’t he come out here himself? Why didn’t he ever mention he was in the Special Forces? Why…” He trailed off, so many “why’s” filling his head that he didn’t know where to start.

“Come here.” Ruth scooted closer and slid her arm around him. “You’re okay. We’re going to be okay. We’ll figure it all out.” She murmured to him as if he was one of her charges, or maybe one of her chickens, lullaby-style. And hell, it worked. The hamster wheel in his head slowed down and his tension eased. And one thing became perfectly clear.

“I need some sleep.”

“We both do. There’s other hotels in Anchorage, right? Can we just drive around until we see one?”

“Let’s go downtown. We can probably find something there. We could sleep in the truck, but I really need to stretch out. A shower wouldn’t hurt either, especially if we’re going to see that prosecutor.”

Half an hour later, when he was so bleary-eyed he could barely see the paperwork the hotel wanted him to fill out, they collapsed onto a king-size bed in a little inn not far from the Snow City Café.

Ruth fell asleep fully clothed, but Gunnar knew he’d never be able to sleep that way, even as exhausted as he was. He took off everything except his t-shirt and boxers, and hoped Ruth didn’t get a shock if she woke up to a half-dressed man next to her. Just to protect her sensibilities, he constructed a barricade of pillows between them. Then he stretched his body long, punched his own pillow into the shape he liked, and fell deeply asleep.

He dreamed about a time before his father left.

They were sparring in their little home gym. He was about fifteen, and already strong and big, and almost as fast as his father. But he didn’t want to fight. He wanted to go hang out with the kids he’d met at the Magic Breakfast Bus, some high-schoolers from Outside who were about to hike Thunder Pass as part of an outward bound type of thing.

“Why can’t I go with them?” he kept asking his father. “Their guide doesn’t know the mountains half as good as I do.”

“Half as well.” Anthony jabbed at his stomach, but Gunnar dodged the blow.

“Whatever. Who cares? Ain’t no teachers around here gonna care.”

“We don’t say ‘ain’t.’ There are no teachers.” A back kick hit Gunnar in the chest, and he spun away, smarting.

“What is this, grammar or sparring?”

“It’s both. Now get your head back in the game before you get hurt. If you’re on the sparring mat, you gotta keep your focus here. Can’t let your mind wander.”

That was a good point. They fought for a few solid minutes before Gunnar returned to the main thing on his mind.

“You didn’t answer the question. How come I have to be here when I could go hang out with some kids my own age? The only time I can even do that is the summer. And I’m stuck in here with you.”

“We’ll talk about it after our session.”

“But they’ll be gone then!”

“So you can hang out with them another time. They’re here all week, right? Aren’t they going rafting on Snow River?”

“Rafting is stupid. Hiking’s more fun. You just don’t want me to have any fun, do you?”

“You’re not going to Thunder Pass, so drop it.” And that was the end of that discussion.

Except in the dream, his father swelled up into a giant as he shouted those words, and along with them, thunder roared and lightning cracked, and then a herd of bison crashed through the wall in a bewildering flurry of flying hooves. Gunnar tried to spar with them, parrying with his forearms as they tried to run him over. Then his father pounced on him and rolled him to the edge of the room and shielded him with his own body. He was taking the force of the hooves now, and Gunnar could feel his body flinch with every blow.

“No, no, no!” He whimpered the words, because the weight of his father’s body was nearly suffocating him. Dad was going to die if he didn’t move, if he didn’t get away from the trampling hooves of the bison. “Stop it!” But his voice could barely be heard over the thunderous din of the stampeding herd.

And then, suddenly, his father was gone, dragged away by the force of the hooves, absorbed into the herd, and Gunnar knew he was never going to see him again.

“Come back! Don’t leave me, come back!” he whimpered, still out of breath from his father’s weight on his chest. He reached out and felt something warm and soft fill his arms.

“Shhh, it’s okay, it’s just a dream,” someone murmured. A kind voice, a woman’s voice…Ruth.

He came awake, panting and shaking, to find himself buried under pillows, with Ruth peering over the pile, reaching out a hand for him to hold onto. He grabbed it and let her living warmth seep into him until he felt calm enough to speak.

“It wasn’t just a dream,” he said. “It was a memory.”

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