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The evening wind had picked up and was blowing sand across the desert. Ahead he could hear the singsong of metal bending in the wind. It reminded him of the village.
The wolves had his scent now and he could hear them racing in the brush behind him
Rising out of the dark he could make out a toppled power tower. The kind that was nothing more than cross welded steel frames rising high above the landscape. But this one had fallen on its side.
A wolf howled behind the Old Man, and not daring to look back he raced for the nearest girder and began to climb.
At first, he had to climb with the gun and the crowbar in his hands, but once he was high enough, he hung for a second, placing the gun in his satchel.
Below him, the entire pack circled, whining and yelping.
Once the Old Man was as high as the toppled girder would rise, he wedged himself between two supports and glanced down.
The wolves whined and howled in high little yelps. Pacing, they began to race back and forth until the largest of them let out a bone-chilling howl.
If I fall …
Then don’t. Don’t fall.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#ulink_a77874b2-9b5a-52be-ac95-757289e8388b)
The Old Man lay under a blanket of stars. Above him a thousand points of broken glass shimmered. The moon had gone down and now the sky was black before dawn.
This is how the world is in the night. In all the nights I was a child and a young man before the bombs. It was like this in the night.
It was like this for the man in the book. At night. With the great fish. Will I find my great fish? Will my story go that far?
Below the wolves had disappeared for the most part. He could hear them ranging through the dirt and scrub. All except the big one. The big one waited. Sitting mostly. Waiting. Occasionally he would pad around beneath the Old Man, checking the perimeter. A loping little gait, almost friendly. Just business.
The Old Man lay precariously across the top of one of the girders where it intersected with another. It was a small space and not much more.
A strong wind or sleep and over I go. So no sleep tonight.
What will the wolves do in the morning?
What will you do in the morning?
The big wolf didn’t answer. But he seemed to be listening.
The Old Man drank some water.
His neck was tired. His back felt numb from the girder. And his legs were falling asleep. He flexed them, moving back and forth. He winked at the big wolf.
If I fall, you must be ready. So no sleep for you either.
Are you crazy?
No.
The wolves won’t let you go five feet.
I must try.
You will fail if it comes to that.
“If” it comes to that.
Below the wolf waited.
At dawn, the wolves settled to wait. There were thirty of them. The two killers baited the Alpha. They wanted to leave the scrawny man and return to the sickly mule deer near Phoenix, a hot pile of ruins the wolves called “The Uneven Ground.” The two killers walked away decidedly. But none of the females followed. The young watched. As if their decision mattered. But the big Alpha waited.
The Old Man watched the wolves play their game.
It’s obvious to me.
How so?
They don’t want to stay. They want something to kill. To eat. But the big one there won’t let them. What he says goes. There is more to me, for him, than just a meal. So I think all of us must wait.
He awoke with a start. He had drifted for only a moment. But he had started to roll. Started to roll off the girder to the wolves below.
I can’t wait all day, my friend. Maybe you should listen to the rest of your family and go. That would be for the best.
The big Alpha watched from underneath the top of his eyes, giving away nothing.
I have a family too, you know.
Do you?
The Old Man looked behind him, toward where he had been heading. A dawn breeze moved softly over his gray hair in the orange light of a new day.
The power lines ran down the length of the fallen tower, which was even higher at the far end. The lines continued out across a low riverbed. They stretched loosely across the gap to meet another tower, twisted and fallen in the same direction on the other side of the dry riverbed.
These must have fallen in the shock wave after Phoenix.
The Old Man rose to his knees. He moved his satchel onto his back.
Listen, wolf. I can’t wait for you to leave. So I must go. You understand, don’t you?
The Old Man began to crawl over the length of the tower. At once the wolves were up and pacing, whining and crossing back and forth underneath him. Some growled.
This requires all the concentration you have ever had in your whole life, so pay attention. You must focus like your friend in the book. He needed to bait the hooks and cut the tuna while his hand was cramping. And still he held the line the big fish was on.
I will.
Patiently, unlike the rest of the pack, the big Alpha below paced the Old Man above, each of the paws tracing each of the hands and knees of the Old Man.
When he arrived at the end of the tower, he was at least ten feet higher and the girders were wider. The power lines were draped and bunched on the desert floor around the tower but they continued up across the base of the fallen tower and out across the riverbed.
I must be fifty or sixty feet up from the riverbed.
I don’t think I have the strength.
The heavy cables swung in the morning breeze.
He tried them. He would never know for sure. Never know if halfway across the gap they might start to slide downward.
These are heavy cables. They stretch for miles and miles. They weigh tons. Surely they can support the weight of just me.
You will never know.
I don’t have much choice.
Most of the wolves below were losing interest and they began to chase small animals. All except the big Alpha. As the Old Man began to work at his satchel, cutting it into strips, the big Alpha began to growl. And when the Old Man began his journey across the void, the big Alpha let out a sudden mournful howl, and soon all the wolves were back and baying at him.
His tools were in his pockets and he had secured the grease in his bandolier with his water bottles. Everything he had tied across his waist.
Cutting the leather satchel into strips, he missed his wife.
She had made the satchel for him before she died. It had not been salvaged. It had been made. He left it at that. He didn’t think anymore about their love. Their love after the end of everything. Or the short time they had together. Or her olive skin. Or the boy he raised. Or all the things that are made when love is reason enough.
He tied the strips three times about one wrist. He tied another set of strips about the other wrist. He did the same with his ankles, ending up with a leather collar for each limb. He ran thicker straps made of sturdier leather through those bands about his wrist. He did the same with his ankles.
Moving to the cable that stretched across the riverbed, he greased the tough straps and then tied them to the other bands about the opposite ankle and wrist, leaving the power cable between his body and his arms and legs.
The sun was directly above him. He looked across the gap to the other fallen tower.
Two hundred yards.
He started out headfirst, using his hands to pull and his feet to brace. He was thankful for his gloves.
The big Alpha howled and then stopped.
This might be tougher than I’d thought.
The cables were dropping down at first and so the Old Man was braking himself more than pulling. Halfway across when he would be most tired, he would need to pull.
Just work and think about something.
What will the wolves do?
Think about something else.
What is the name of my friend in the book?
He is not much of a friend if you don’t know his name.
I would like to have been in the boat with my friend. I could have helped him with the fish.
Great drops of sweat broke out across his body, and by the time he was three quarters of the way down the descent, one glove tore above his index finger.
Listen. Do you hear the wolves?
I think they have gone.
He looked down and saw the big Alpha bounding across the rocks of the dry riverbed. Two leaner wolves paced behind him.
At the lowest point of the descent, he could barely see from the glare of the sun and the salty sweat running into his eyes.
He gripped the cable with his legs and felt it slip, or thought he did. He opened the tin of grease he had placed in the bandolier across his chest. Trembling fingers flipped open the lid as he poured the rest of the grease across the straps and the cable.
He let the empty tin of grease that had accompanied him on so many salvages for so many years fall as the wolves danced away from it.
Now you must pull.
Ten feet farther up and climbing, he was exhausted.
I can’t. I am too tired.
You have no choice. You must pull. Think about something.
I wonder what the wolves will do when I get to the other side.
Think about something else and pull.
Pull.
You must pull.
You should teach your granddaughter to do this in case she is ever surrounded by wolves and trapped on top of a fallen power tower.
I would rather teach her to read.
You must pull.
I am pulling.
Pull. Pull. Pull harder.
There is nothing left.
You have no other option, now pull, Old Man.
I am pulling.
Whatever happened to all the people you ever knew? Knew before the bombs.
I don’t care.
