I was still huddled with Jenna in the corner of the blind and put my back to the window to shield her some from the cold.
“Should I come?” I said.
“Don’t yet,” Portis said. “Let that smoke clear a bit and then come down. Give us five minutes.”
Jenna was still crying, but softer now. Portis finally set his rifle down and drank from his whiskey.
“Did you see it?” he said.
“Most of it,” I said. “I think.”
“You should try to forget the image,” he said.
“I don’t think that’s likely.”
“I have never seen a thing like it in my life,” he said.
“I don’t smell anything,” I said.
“I don’t either,” he said. “Perhaps he absorbed all of his brew into his own skin, like a sponge. Maybe that’s why he went up like that. So quick.”
“It only took a second,” I said.
“I am not a scientist,” Portis said. “And I am glad to say that I do not understand the physics of what just happened.”
He took another knock of whiskey, then took the bottle and the rifle and stepped outside. He whistled as he stared at the fire, already diminishing in the snow. I closed my eyes and breathed.
“The flaming Arrow,” he said.
I did not grieve the death of Arrow McGraw. It shocked and upset me, but when it was contrasted to the idea of handing Jenna over I viewed it more favorably. I was also comforted by the fact that he had done it to himself, that while upbringing and genetic code could not be entirely ignored, in the end it was Arrow himself that lit the fuse.
It is a terrible thing to see a man burn down in front of you, but you would be surprised by the things you can walk through when it is necessary to keep walking. Besides, I had Jenna to attend to. Her face was blushed red and now there was real heat on her forehead when I put my cold palm against it.
I waited for what seemed like five minutes, then hurried down the hill with my gaze held straight ahead. I was not interested in glimpsing whatever remained of Arrow, and kept my focus on Jenna—who hadn’t done a thing wrong in the entirety of her existence, who hadn’t asked for any of the insanity that surrounded her.
I heard the rumble of Krebs’s sled, but he was already out of sight and the truck was still submerged when we got to the base of the hill. I could not see Portis, but when I called out for him he answered with a grunt from behind the truck.
I hurried to find him on his hands and knees. He was bleeding from the stomach and trying to crawl forward, but he gave up when he saw me and slumped against the rear tire.
“Portis!” I shouted.
“He shot me,” he said. “He didn’t even mean to, which I think makes it worse. I was kicking some snow away from the tires when he came back to help. He was walking with that pistol swinging and then he dropped into the snow where it falls off and shot me on accident.”
Portis looked at one of his blood-streaked hands, then replaced it over the wound in his stomach and groaned.
“That fucking idiot,” he said, and knocked his head against the tire.
“You’re bleeding bad,” I said.
“He was more afraid than I was. He shot me and then I sat here and watched him piss in his pants. When that was over he got on the sled and took off back down the trail.”
“Do you think he went for help?”
“Krebs?” Portis said. “Hell no. He’s on probation and probably high as a kite to boot. He’s beelining it for home. That fucker will be in Canada by nightfall.”
Portis reached for his whiskey and had a long slug. He emptied the bottle and then threw it off into the snow.
“People will reveal themselves to you, Percy,” he said. “In single moments they will show you what they are, and Krebs is exactly the coward I have always suspected.”
I leaned closer and told Portis he was going to be fine. I said he just needed to try and get up. I said all he had to do was put one foot in front of the other and walk.
Jenna was hollering and I must have been talking a streak because Portis finally waved at me to shut up. He told me to concentrate on the baby.
“You got to try and calm that baby down,” he said.
“We got to get you out of here,” I said.
“I ain’t going anywhere,” he said.
“Portis,” I said. “Please.”
“You done good,” he said. “And I’m proud of you.”
“Don’t be proud,” I said. “Just get up.”
“Go fix that baby a bottle,” he said. “Then light me a cigarette and bring me my whiskey. There should be a pint stashed beneath the driver’s seat.”
I did what Portis said. I mixed the bottle in the cab, though I spilled most of the formula with my shaking hands. Then I got the whiskey and the cigarette. I sat beside Portis with Jenna in my lap and put the cigarette between his lips. I opened the whiskey and handed him the bottle.
“Where’s the baby?” he said.
“She’s right here,” I said. “She’s in the papoose.”
“She’s calming.”
“She’s okay,” I said, and looked down at her.
“You’re good girls,” he said. “The both of ya.”