Free The Urn Carrier by Chris Convissor Page A

early morning hours. Josh tried to keep his mind on
the task at hand and not worry about Tessa. She was in good hands now. She was
strong and he had to trust she would survive.
    The cousins pulled the kayak in. They helped Josh move the limp
form from the front and treat his body carefully, like an elder, like glass.
    They made a strange contingent of men with
long hair in Levi jackets and jeans, muddied work boots, a small parade in the
thicket of swamp cedars. Silently they walked, carrying a gurney. Two Ford
trucks waited for them, indistinguishable from all the other logging work
trucks and crew cabs in that part of Ontario. Chainsaws, fuel cans, bar oil.
They rumbled down the two track and eventually to a deserted hard-top road.
    No cars for miles. The lead truck turned right and a hand waved.
The truck the elder’s body was in turned left and began its journey. First to
Sudbury, and a small shack a mile off the train tracks and eventually to the
original clan; the caribou followers.
    Josh was already halfway across the river with one final task to
finish. After stowing the kayak on the ladder rails of his truck, Josh drove
the three hours back. This time he came in from the east on the Rayle Road.
Just as he thought, half the snow had melted in the several hours he had been
away. He parked, found a barely discernable path, and hiked to a deer blind
left over from the fall. Gabe’s deer blind.
    He climbed the stand and waited. As the sun rose higher and
higher, he believed his relatives had deserted him. Then he heard a crack. A
step. Another step. Turkey?
    Josh dared not move. He waited. The young doe came in. He steeled
his heart. He couldn’t feel right now. He slowly moved the crossbow to sight.
Her nose twitched. But she was here. For him. For Tessa. For Eli. Yes, even for
Gabriel. He pressed the release. Just behind her right shoulder. She stumbled
and went down.
    Josh was on the ground and over her. His breath fogged over her
neck as he held her and slit her throat. She bled out and still he did not
allow himself any emotion. He placed the plastic over his shoulders and carried
her over his back, forelegs in his right hand, and back legs in his left. And
he placed her over the blood pile from yesterday.
    He field dressed her here, from neck to anus, and was thankful she
was too young to be carrying fawn. He prayed over her, he called her and asked
for forgiveness. And smeared her blood over Tessa’s blood and Gabriel’s blood
and he prayed that this was enough to keep everyone safe.
    Then he carried her again to his truck and covered her with the
same moving blanket from the day before.
    Once he was on the road toward Peshawbestown, then and only then
did he let himself cry.

 
    Chapter 10
     
    TESSA WORRIES HOW she will make up Lake Superior, The St. Lawrence
Seaway, and Bay of Fundy, way north and east. Would she do it at the end of her
trip? All she knows now is she is heading to Stone Mountain Georgia and then on
to Florida and the Keys.
    She’s listening to iTunes with her ear buds. But as she flips her
visor down to block the rising eastern sun, she sees a variety of CDs in a
flap.
    She pulls one out. It’s unmarked save for “Good Driving Music”
printed neatly from something like a Sharpie.
    She pops it in and is instantly greeted with blaring lyrics from
“Kryptonite.”
    Tessa fumbles for volume, eject, anything. She ends up jumping a
track to Bon Jovi’s, “It’s My Life.”
    “Lord. Auntie. Scare me ’bout half to death.” It’s quite a switch
from Lana Del Ray and Taylor Swift.
    She tries another “Good driving CD” this time, making sure the
volume is lower. “White Rabbit” rumbles through the speakers. This song is
definitely about drugs, popping pills that make people smaller, or taller, or
something.  
    “Holy crap. I’m gonna get an education.”
    Finally she settles on one marked Allman Brothers and listens to
that. Nothing too excitable there. The opening guitar licks