by David Haynes
He’d kept saying they would find a caribou tomorrow, he’d been saying it for the last month but there were no caribou, no living creature was out here now. Nothing except them, and pretty soon they would be dead. It was inevitable.
“Where?” she said.
“I...I don’t know. Big Six.”
She shook her head. “We won’t make it.”
She was right. They would be dead before they got halfway. Without food or shelter, they would freeze to death and nobody would find them until the thaw. And even then, it might take years for anyone to find their bodies. Nobody would look. Why would they?
“We...we could...we could go and hunt again, see what...”
“There’s nothing out there, Jonesy. Nothing.”
“But...” He didn’t finish. She was right. “I’m sorry,” he said. How many times could he keep apologizing? Saying sorry for letting them starve to death was pathetic. They hadn’t been prepared, been blasé about the situation. And they just kept ignoring the food supply, right up to the point where they took their last spoon of oatmeal. Even then, the thought of going to the store to pick something up seemed real. It seemed possible.
He doubled over as his stomach went into spasm. It felt like his body was trying to eat itself from the inside out. He deserved to suffer. He deserved it all but Lisa didn’t. He was the man, he was the one supposed to have considered the situation, to have stocked the cache, secured it from the damn bear. He’d brought her here. It was his job to keep her safe. He was failing. Spectacularly.
That guy, the store owner down in Big Six. What was his name? Wilkes, that was it. Wilkes. He’d been full of advice – told them they needed a radio in case things went south. Full of bullshit, that’s what he’d been. That’s what they thought anyway. Told them to buy what they needed and then double it. Jonesy told Lisa he’d been trying to rip them off. But he hadn’t. He’d be trying to help two greenhorns. Trying to stop them starving.
He should have listened but they were so excited to be here. To see the Tanana, to see the mountains and the sunsets. Summer was a beautiful thing. Summer’s fine, Wilkes had said. You won’t die from what you do in the summer, you’ll die from what you don’t do in the summer. Ha! Very funny, Mr Wilkes. Know-it-all bullshit.
Jonesy bit down on his lip. Something else. There was something else he’d said too. Something that seemed unimportant back then. Trivial. Something about the other lunatic who lived out near the ridge, so far away from anyone and anything. He’d winked and asked Jonesy what, or who, he was running away from.
The other lunatic.
There was someone else out here. Someone who might have food. Someone who could help them. He almost smiled at the thought. He lifted his eyes to meet Lisa’s and felt not the abject guilt he’d been feeling for an age, but something akin to hope.
“I think there’s someone else out here,” he said.
“What?”
“Something that guy down in town said. Something about another lunatic living out near the ridge. Near us.”
“Jonesy, there’s thousands of miles of wilderness out there, the scale’s different.” She winced and clutched her belly. “It’s all different.”
“But he said, out here. Here!”
She shook her head, obviously less excited about it than he was.
“Maybe I can find him? He’ll have food, maybe even a radio and we can get someone to come and fetch us.”
Lisa gave him a look that he knew she usually reserved for the parents who could care less for their kids’ education. “This isn’t the Boy Scouts. You’ve got no idea where this person is, if he’s even out there at all.”
“I’m going to look for him,” Jonesy replied.
“No,” she said, taking his hand.
“Yes.” He squeezed her hand. “Look, we know there’s nothing that way.” He pointed toward the river, toward Big Six. “We’ve scouted that entire area, we’ve hunted it and there’s nothing and nobody out there. It’s got to be over there somewhere.” He pointed toward the forest, past the ruined cache.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. It’s got to be. I can find him. I can...”
“Stop,” she said. “Just stop it, Jonesy.”
Lisa’s eyes were always filled with fun, with mischief. It had never dulled, not once, not even when he’d asked her to come here. She’d been full of the adventure, as full of the possibilities as he was. Yet at that moment, as they huddled before the damp, sputtering and smoking wood, there was nothing left. She looked empty.
“I promised you when we came here, I’d make sure we were okay,” he said. “I promised you and I’m not going to let you down.” He paused. “I am going to find this man and I’m going to get us out of here. We will survive this. I promise you that.”
He stood on legs that were made of rubber. His head swam but he managed to stay upright.
“I’ll set off in the morning.” He offered a hand to her. “Let’s go to bed.”
She looked at his hand for a moment and then took it. “You’re not going alone,” she said, standing in front of him. “If you’re going, I’m coming along. We go together.”
He wasn’t sure what she meant by go together, but it mattered not one bit. Either interpretation of the phrase was good by him. He smiled and led her to the bedroom. He had enough strength to climb the stairs today, but another couple of days and neither of them would. Neither would he have enough energy to drill through the ice to collect water from the spring.
*
Lisa had fallen twice now. Each time it expended more effort to put her on two feet than either of them could spare. Snow was falling steadily but the wind was picking up too, drifting off the plateau, driving them into the trees where there was shelter, but no trail.
He wanted to stick to where he thought the trail was. In the summer he’d seen it leading out this way, following the line between tundra and treeline into the distance. Why would there be a trail here if it didn’t lead somewhere, if someone hadn’t created it? He clung to that thought as they trudged, slipped, stumbled and fell their way toward the dream of survival.
He had been woken up by his grumbling belly and a urgent griping need to use the bathroom. Darkness still prevailed outside as he staggered into the outhouse. Lisa hadn’t stirred, not even when he pushed a cup of weak coffee under her nose.
“Time to get up,” he whispered. And when she hadn’t moved he’d been certain she had died in the night. He fell back sobbing, dropping the cup and spilling the coffee all over himself.
“Huh?” She opened her bleary eyes, trying to focus. “What time is it? Are you crying?”
He’d wiped away the tears. “Spilled the coffee,” he said.
She walked in front of him. His own mind was wandering, drifting off to a different place, trying to soften the blow of what was happening right now. They had been walking for more than two hours and still the sun hadn’t risen. Lisa’s flashlight beam swung to the trees, the snow, her boots and on one occasion to the never-ending blackness above. Was she asking for help? Pleading with whoever was up there to give them a chance. They hadn’t said a word to each other in forty minutes, not since her last fall. But that was okay by him. He could think of only one word to say – sorry.
To be so close to the end was utterly terrifying. To know that it wasn’t some disease, illness or tragic accident that was responsible only made it worse. It was all his fault this was happening. It was his fault and therefore his responsibility to prevent it. That thought kept his legs moving. It gave him the strength he needed to pick Lisa up after another fall.
The sun did eventually rise. The familiar golden orb was now a faint silvery glow behind a blanket of thick cloud. But it was there at least. He closed his eyes and turned his face toward the light for a second. He hoped to feel warmth emanating from it but there was none. The sun was as lifeless as they were.
He opened his eyes again and took two steps. Lisa had gon
e. Her footprints ended a couple of feet away. Three stumbling steps and then gone. To their right the bank dropped into the forest, a steep drop but not sheer. He gazed into the dusky light, waited for his eyes to focus on something other than the constant grayness of the winter. He heard his breath quicken rather than feel it. He heard the thump of his heart in the stillness. His legs started to fold beneath him as he scanned the forest.
There, twenty feet down the slope, he saw the vivid blue of her jacket. She was lying face-down in the snow, one of her arms above her head, the other tucked under her body.
“Lisa!” he shouted and hurled himself over the edge.
He landed beside her, winding himself on a rock hidden under the snow. He retched and rolled her onto her back, cradling her head.
“Lisa!” he shouted again. No response. “Lisa! Wake up!”
A spidery line of blood crawled out from between her lips.
“No, no, no, no,” he whispered, lowering his ear to her mouth. He couldn’t feel her breath, couldn’t hear it. He used his teeth to remove his glove and brought his fingers to her throat. He could hardly feel anything, his fingers were so damned cold, but he could feel her pulse.
Fear ripped through him again. What if that wasn’t her pulse, what if it was just his fingers throbbing with the pain of the cold? He lowered his head again. Nothing.
“Lisa,” he whispered. “Wake up, you have to wake up.”
He rocked her for a while, listening to the trees mourn with their creaking groans against the wind. This was where they would die. He closed his eyes. Her words, go together, had been correct. He kissed her forehead.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
He didn’t deserve to look at her. He lifted his eyes and peered across the dark forest. Blurred shadows swam in the gloom, stick-men with elongated, grotesque limbs marching toward him. The trees, the Sitka, spruce and tamarack all wanted their share of his soul. His eyes narrowed. He wiped them with fingers that were losing feeling, and focused. Another shape took form – a regular-angled shape. Something man-made. A cabin.
He gently lowered Lisa and struggled to his feet. A coughing fit nearly drove him back down to his knees. He held onto the nearest trunk, never taking his eyes from the cabin.
The other lunatic.
Relief washed over him, so powerful he felt the shockwave from his boots all the way to the top of his head. He felt tears pooling in his eyes.
“We’ve found it,” he whispered. “Lisa, we’ve found it.”
He dropped beside her, scooping her up like she was a child. She weighed one-ten at the most. All of her adult life she had been one hundred and forty pounds. It made him feel sick to feel her bony frame beneath the padding of her jacket and trousers.
“Come on,” he whispered again. As if talking too loud would waken her.
He took a step, felt his leg tremble, then lock. He took another and then another, and with each step he concentrated on working his thighs, picturing the powerful muscle tensing then relaxing. Little by little he inched toward the cabin, toward safety.
He reached the porch. Three steps up. Three little steps. He took the first one with the same determination that each of the preceding movements demanded. As he pushed down to raise his left leg, his right thigh cramped into a ball so tight that he felt his leg shorten by a foot. He bellowed, falling forward, keeping Lisa safe, keeping her head from the wooden porch rail. He landed heavily, his arms trapped beneath her body, but he slid forward on his belly, pushing her toward the door like some ceremonial offering.
It didn’t matter how they got there. It didn’t matter at all. In the back of his mind a spiteful little voice kept saying, she’s dead, she’s dead you fool, but he ignored it. He pushed it away.
“Hey!” he shouted. “We need help!”
He crawled toward the door, sliding Lisa as he inched forward. Explosions of pain detonated all over his body. Any moment now, he thought, any moment now and someone’s going to open that door and bring us in. He’s going to have a fire burning and food to eat and we’ll be safe. Lisa will be alive and we’ll be safe.
“Hey, in there!” he shouted. The constant creaking of the trees replied, the faint hush of snow as it fell in great sloughing clumps from the miserable sky.
“Open up!”
The momentary elation he’d felt was slipping away, replaced with frustration and anger. He pulled himself upright, the thigh muscle twitching and bunching in excruciating spasms, stepped over Lisa and banged on the door.
“Let us in!” he yelled, trying the door handle. It was locked. He looked about frantically. The clearing was little more than a narrow tunnel. Nobody was in sight. He kicked the door. It shook. He kicked it again, harder this time, and used his shoulder to lean against it. The door groaned in protest but held fast. Out here, doors were made to keep out five hundred-pound bears. It wasn’t likely to give against his weight.
He banged on it with his fists in pure desperation. Why wasn’t anyone answering? He stepped off the porch and looked up. There was no smoke coming out of the chimney. That didn’t make sense.
He completed a circuit of the cabin. There was not one window but on his way around he tripped on a tangle of tools. He scraped the snow and ice away and found a shovel. It was old and rusty but he wasn’t planning on showing it to anyone. He wanted it for leverage.
He pushed it into a narrow gap in the door frame and eased his weight against it. The door creaked and the gap widened. He pushed it deeper into the gap, and leaned against the frame as hard as he could. There was a cracking sound as the wooden frame pulled away from the door itself and then something metallic dropped down inside, echoing off wooden floorboards. He had time to register that the door had been locked and bolted from the inside a split-second before it gave way and he tumbled through.
He didn’t even look around before he took hold of Lisa’s coat and slid her into the room. He pulled her far enough inside to be out of the wind and then kicked the door closed. It hung at an angle but kept the worst of the weather out.
He lay beside her on the wooden floor, cradling her head in the crook of his arm.
“We’re safe,” he whispered. He wasn’t sure if he believed that or not. But they were out of the snow and the wind. That had to count for something. At least for now.
He smoothed her cheek and kissed her. He was so tired. So tired.
*
The partially unhinged door banged against what was left of the frame. How long had he been asleep? He had no idea what time they fell inside, but the sun had been on its way down and now it was light again. That meant it had to be late morning.
He tried to lift his hand but it was dead, he couldn’t feel it at all. His first thought was frostbite, and then he remembered. He turned his head.
“Lisa?” he whispered. There was no movement but as he lowered his head toward her, he could hear her breathing. A wave of relief made him feel dizzy. They had made it here, but what now? The cabin was empty. Empty and locked. Bolted from the inside.
He gently eased her off his arm, allowing her head to rest on the dirty rug. He sat up, still facing the door. Snow was creeping inside, forming a wedge shape on the floor.
Fire, he needed to build a fire. Whoever owned the cabin wouldn’t mind, and if they did, they could go screw themselves. He got slowly to his feet, his head swirling, throbbing and filled with cotton wool. His stomach didn’t hurt as much as it did yesterday. Maybe it was used to being empty, or perhaps it had just grown tired of complaining. Whichever one, it was a welcome change.
He started to turn and as he did, the realization that they weren’t alone hit him. He was being watched.
He turned all the way around. Barely a couple of feet behind where they had fallen last night, a man was sitting on a chair, a rifle in his lap. He was staring at Jonesy.
“Listen,” Jonesy started. “I’m sorry about the door, but we were desperate.” He looked down at Lisa. “My wife fell and...and, well, we
ran out of food a week ago.” He lifted his eyes back to the man. “We didn’t know where else to go. Look, I can pay for the damage, maybe I can fix it up?”
He was aware he was babbling now. He was also aware that tears were rolling down his cheeks. It was relief. There truly was someone here to help them. The guy had obviously been out when they broke in last night and must’ve returned at some point before Jonesy was awake. Yes, that was it.
He didn’t like the way he was holding the rifle but it was understandable. In the same position Jonesy might have done the same.
“Have you got any food?” Jonesy said. He bent down beside Lisa again. “And we need to build a fire. My wife...my wife, I think she’s got hypothermia.” He lifted his head and looked at the man again. “Will you help us?”
He said nothing, didn’t even move his head or eyes to follow Jonesy. He just stared right at the broken door.
“Are you listening to me?” Jonesy could feel the frustration overriding the fear. He stood up. “We need to get the fire started.”
No reaction.
The man was older than him. His beard was ragged and gray. Nicotine stained it yellow around his mouth and under his nose. His hair hung straggly like rats’ tails from beneath his woolen hat.
“You have wood?” Jonesy asked. There was a stove on one wall. It was cold and nothing glowed on the inside. It had been a while since a fire had burned there. Beyond the man was a dark room. A bedroom perhaps?
Bolted from the inside.
There were no windows through which to come and go. The knowledge that he had been there all night made Jonesy’s skin crawl. Why hadn’t he said anything to...
He understood before the question was fully formed. He took a step forward. The cabin was dim, the light a silvery-gray hue, but it couldn’t disguise the blue tint to the skin, the sunken cheeks. The vacant stare through milky eyes. It all made sense now. The man was dead.
