by David Haynes
Jonesy looked at the sacks. “Maybe if you’d rationed it out a little better there might still be enough for all of us.” He looked Olin in the face. “Maybe if you hadn’t been so fucking greedy we wouldn’t...”
Olin brought the rifle stock up in a swift arc. Jonesy saw it but too late. It hit him in his eye socket, knocking him down. A kaleidoscope of colors and shapes formed in the dark abyss of his closed eyes. Then there was searing pain and a warm sensation on his cheek. Blood. He heard Lisa scream.
“Maybe if I’d killed you sooner I wouldn’t have to keep feeding you. Either of you.”
Jonesy opened his eyes. It took a few seconds for his left eye to bring anything even close to focus. Olin was standing over him. He was pointing the rifle at Jonesy’s face.
“Stop! Don’t!” Lisa screeched. “Please!”
Jonesy stared at the other man. His bulging eye seemed to pulse in and out, in time with his heartbeat. His finger was poised above the trigger. He was clearly enjoying himself. He raised the sight to his good eye. At that moment, Jonesy knew he was going to die. Lisa was right. This man needed no excuse to murder them. He was going to do it. Now or later.
He jerked the rifle away, snapping his head toward the forest. “What was that?” he hissed.
Lisa pulled Jonesy to his feet. Blood dripped onto the snow by his boots.
Olin turned to both of them. “Did you hear that?”
They both stared back in silence.
He turned to Lauren. “You, what about you?” The words spilled from his mouth in an exited cascade.
He raised the rifle and peered down the sight. Jonesy could see nothing beyond the first layer of trees. The forest never crawled out of the perpetual dusk during the few daylight hours they had. Olin fired a shot into the gloom.
“There! See it?” He turned, a huge grin on his face. “That fucker’s just sitting in there watching us. He’s had one go and now he wants round two. Come and get it big boy, I’m ready for you!” He winked at Jonesy. “You ever see a grizzly that big before?”
Jonesy shook his head. There was nothing to see but if Olin fired another couple of shots, he’d have to reach for the Glock. He wouldn’t have time to pull it before Jonesy could hit him. With Lisa’s help he could overpower him.
Olin lifted the rifle again, this time pointing it in a different direction, toward the cabin.
“I’m getting better with this thing,” he said. “I reckon I prefer it to the Glock now. More punch. That bear comes anywhere near camp and I’ll keep us safe. You don’t need to worry about that.” He shifted the rifle again.
The guy was mad. He’d either lost his mind a while ago or was losing it now. He lowered the Winchester, looking around, appearing to take a few seconds to remember where he was.
“I’m cold,” he said, looking at Lauren. “And I’m hungry.” He motioned for her to move down the slope toward the cabin. Lisa and Jonesy walked too, following behind her. Olin walked at the rear, scanning the treeline for the grizzly he imagined was out to get him.
*
Jonesy could feel the swelling around his eye. He’d have a decent bruise but that was the worst of it. It could have been much worse. Lisa made a snowball and gave it to him to hold to the swelling. There had been nothing to eat all day, nothing except Lad’s biscuits which he didn’t mind sharing. Whenever they left the cabin, they chained him up. As much as he hated it, after the incident at the cache that morning it seemed an even better idea.
The food situation didn’t seem to bother Olin. The door remained open, heat spilling out and melting the snow on the porch. The smell and sound of frying meat came drifting across the clearing to their ears and noses in a constant stream. Having nothing to eat was a terrible thing. Having an empty stomach and listening to someone else eat was barbarous.
“We can’t live like this,” Lisa said. “Lad’s food won’t last long and then there won’t be anything.”
Jonesy stared into the fire. “We could hunt again. The goats were still there, I saw them. Maybe if...”
“You think he’d give us a rifle?” she interrupted.
Jonesy shook his head.
“And you think we’d get anywhere near a goat with him shooting an imaginary bear every few seconds?”
On cue, a shot rang out. It was followed by a series of curses and laughter.
“He isn’t going to last much longer,” Jonesy said. “His face is rotting away, his brain is probably doing the same.”
“You want to wait him out? Wait till he dies?”
“It’s an idea.”
“A bad one,” Lisa replied. She crawled up next to him. “We have to leave,” she whispered. “We can’t stay. Before he dies, he’ll kill the rest of us.”
He picked up a twig and poked the fire, making the sparks do a happy-dance, like everything in the world was okay.
“We’d die if we left.”
“We die if we don’t.”
He dropped the twig into the flames. “And go where?”
“Big Six.”
He almost laughed. It was at least four days’ hike across the ridge. They could trail the river, it was frozen solid now, but even well prepared with some form of shelter, wood, food and protection, it was beyond risky. It was suicidal.
“It’s minus thirty out there. The wind drops that another ten. We have no food, no protection. We have nothing. We’d be dead in less than twenty-four hours.”
“You don’t know that,” she said.
“I know we wouldn’t make it to Big Six.”
He felt her slump against him. He felt bad about dismissing the idea but it was certain death.
“We made it last winter. We made it when there was nothing. You saved us.”
He moved away from her. “I didn’t save anybody, I put us in that position. I put us there, just like I put us here. I did this.” He fought back the tears by biting his bottom lip. He could taste blood, hot and metallic.
“No...” Lisa started but he got to his feet before she could say anything else. “Where are you going?” she asked.
“I’m going to get us something to eat,” he said.
“Jonesy, no. It’s not safe. He’ll kill you.”
He was furious, not only with Olin but with himself. He had no answers, there were no responses to Lisa’s suggestions that could help. He couldn’t listen to her anymore. He could hear the disappointment and desperation in everything she said. He could hear it in his own voice too.
“Jonesy, no, please!”
He carried on to the opening and then out into the snow. A wedge of orange light jagged out of the cabin. He marched across the snow toward his home. He made ten staggering, lurching paces and then stopped. Or rather was stopped by what he could see.
Through the open door, he could see Olin lying naked in front of the stove. Lauren was naked too, her head buried in his crotch. Olin held the rifle in the crook of his arm, the barrel against her ear. Jonesy’s bottle of bourbon lay empty beside him along with a plate of half-eaten meat.
Olin’s eyes met his for a second before he lifted the rifle from Lauren’s head, pointing it toward Jonesy.
“I see you out there, you big grizzly motherfucker!” He pulled the trigger.
Jonesy heard the bullet fizz through the frigid air a few inches from his head. He instinctively ducked although part of him knew it was too late and if the shot had been on target, he’d be dead. Lauren lifted her head. Her expression was unreadable. She might have just been reading a tedious political discourse in the newspaper, such was the vacant stare. It was unlikely she could see him but just for a second there was something. It was just a small arch of the eyebrows, a gesture that said she was there still, she was there and frightened. But then it was gone and she lowered her head again.
“Jonesy!” Lisa’s frightened voice called out behind him. “Please!”
Jonesy came out of the trance he’d been in and turned around. Lisa’s dark form was standing by the shed wi
th Lad beside her. She lifted a hand toward him. “Come on,” she called.
He walked toward her, listening to Olin’s voice bounce around the darkness. When he reached Lisa she pulled him close, then pushed him away and slapped him across the cheek – the same cheek that was swollen. He grunted and winced.
“What are you doing?” She banged his chest with her fist.
“I don’t know,” he answered. It was the truth.
“I told you not to go out there.”
He nodded.
“What’s he doing in there? Sitting? Waiting for us to try something?” Lisa walked back to the fire. Lad licked Jonesy’s hand and whined. He patted the dog and followed his wife.
“If we go,” he said, “we need to take as much as we can. Food, tarps, furs, the sled, any tools we can find and any food we can steal.”
They both stared at the fire again. Apart from Lad, it was the only thing that seemed alive.
31
Jonesy came back from emptying the bucket with two strips of jerky. Yesterday, Olin gave them the caribou’s tongue to eat. It had been partially cooked, partially eaten and then discarded. It had been kicked around the cabin’s floor for a couple of days and was covered in filth, but Lisa cooked it over their fire. Neither of them had developed a taste for it over the last year, although Wilkes once told them it was best part, but they ate it as if it were the most expensive cut from the finest beast.
It was hard not to eat every last scrap but Lisa wrapped a small portion in cloth and put it in their stash. She did the same with one of the strips of jerky too.
“It’s everywhere,” Jonesy said. “Scraps all over the floor. It’s like he thinks there’s a store on every corner.”
They were both weak but the plan had given them renewed energy. It was as much a psychological effect as it was the meager scraps of food they had eaten.
“We could leave tomorrow,” Lisa said.
“You need to keep your voice down,” he whispered. “We don’t have enough yet. Another couple of days, that’s all.”
There was never going to be enough food, he knew that. Lisa did too but a half-eaten tongue and a strip of jerky wouldn’t give them enough energy to last a day hiking through the snow.
Rigging the sled and loading it with firewood and a makeshift shelter wouldn’t be a problem. Olin only ever came to the shed once a day now and that was to supervise the wood chopping. He never came out of the cabin once it got dark. He preferred to shout abuse at the bear, and take wild shots at it from the porch or just inside the cabin door. It didn’t matter that only he could see it. They would load up and leave in the dark and by the time he realized they were gone, it would be too late. They would be too far away for him to risk looking for them.
Lisa took a deep breath. “Will there be anyone in Big Six? Once we get there, I mean. How many people stay over winter? It won’t be deserted, will it?”
“A handful,” he replied. The idea that they might not make it was in both their minds but never voiced. “Wilkes for one. Maybe a few others.”
“And cops?”
Jonesy shook his head. “No but Wilkes has a radio. He can call them in.” A fresh wave of guilt washed over him. If he’d ordered the satphone earlier, this could have been avoided.
It was his turn to take a deep breath. “There’s a lot of blood in the cabin.”
“What? Where?”
“On the stairs mostly, but I could see drops everywhere.”
“Oh God,” Lisa whispered. “And I bet it’s not his, is it?”
Jonesy shook his head.
“Did you see her?”
He shook his head again. “No, but I could hear her coughing upstairs.”
“We need to do something, take her with us.”
“How?” he asked. “He never lets her out of his sight. He bolts the door at night. We can’t get anywhere near her.”
Lisa remained silent.
“Even if we managed to get her out of there, we barely have enough food for two let alone three.” He didn’t like saying it but there was no choice. “We have to be selfish. If we want to make it to Big Six, we have to think of ourselves.”
She nodded but said nothing.
*
Over the next two days, Jonesy managed to scavenge whatever Olin thought was beneath him to eat. It was easier to find it, since he was hurling it into the snow in front of the cabin. He believed it was Olin’s idea of luring the grizzly out of the woods so he could shoot it.
Jonesy picked it up like the litter Olin believed it was and handed it to Lisa. They ate half of it, which wasn’t much, and continued to stash the rest. The leftovers were grim but it wasn’t taste they were after, it was sustenance. She stored it behind the bed, up against the timber wall where it froze solid.
“There’s nothing left,” he said. “He’s got nothing left in there. Might be a jar of dehydrated apple lying about but that’s about it. He’s down to the last mouthful.”
“Tonight then, we have to go tonight,” Lisa said. Neither of them needed to voice what Olin running out of food meant.
Jonesy nodded. There was nothing else left for them to do except starve to death here. They might as well do that halfway to Big Six. It was that or maybe Olin might decide he needed more meat and there were only three options left on that score. Three people.
*
Damn bear was getting too confident. Coming into camp like that. It was a clever bastard too, taking the bait but never when it could be seen. Never when it could be shot. He’d never respected anyone before so he didn’t really know how it felt but, as much as it pained him, he thought he might admire the bastard. He’d put at least a couple of rounds into the thing and yet it was still trying its best to get at him. The fucker wanted to eat him. They both knew that. There was only going to be one winner in that fight. The same winner as always. Him.
It was strange but the air where his hand had been itched. It ached almost constantly. It wasn’t particularly painful but it was distracting. How could nothing make him want to scratch and scratch and scratch like that? It didn’t make any kind of sense.
He held the stump closer. At first he couldn’t bear to look at it. It looked like part of the carcasses they used to hang behind the butcher’s counter in the store when he was a kid. His mom had made him wait by her side as she chose what kind of meat she was going to ruin that night. A pig split right down the middle, ribs showing, wiry hairs still attached, haunch of some animal with curdled blood all over it maybe? Once there had been a whole sow’s head behind the glass. Its eyes were frosted and they stared right at him. It was just like one of those spooky old portraits they hung in galleries – the eyes followed you wherever you went in the room.
But the stump didn’t bother him now. Not the physical appearance of it anyway. It was kind of beautiful when you looked closely enough. The way the charred skin made crazy, burned-charcoal cracks run in every direction. He traced one all the way to the crook of his elbow. He was getting used to the feel of it, how to use it. Maybe he’d get a hook for it. He laughed to himself and wished he hadn’t. It hurt like hell.
His face was a different matter. It felt like something was living in his cheeks. A creature made of fire that squirmed around his face, neck and head trailing spiky, burning tendrils behind it. His eye watered almost constantly, leaking viscous salty fluid which only stung his flesh even more. There was a constant buzzing sound too. At first he thought hornets had nested in the cabin somewhere. He spent a couple of days watching Lauren search for it before realizing it wasn’t outside his head, but inside. That was hunger. It was all it could be.
So he ate more. He ate most of the day. Meat mostly but there were some jars of apple and plums hanging around. He ate them too. They were sweet and tasty and made his cheeks hurt all the more. There was some offal he didn’t care for, and he’d tried to make oatmeal once and burned it. He tipped the sack of oats away after that. But mostly he craved meat. It was the only thin
g that turned the buzzing down enough to prove he wasn’t going mad.
He never bothered cooking it now either. What was the point? It tasted more or less the same. He’d tried to encourage Lauren to fix him something but she was no cook. Just about the only thing she could do properly was lie still while he fucked her. Sometimes she couldn’t even do that right and he had to encourage her a little more.
He stared out into the darkness beyond the door, squinting. He kept the fire burning bright all day and all night just so he could see out into the clearing a way. It wasn’t for warmth. There was no cold anymore. No cold and no warmth, just a kind of agreeable numbness.
Lauren was upstairs sleeping off the encouragement he’d given her earlier. He had his rifle and a box of cartridges next to him. Tonight was the night he was going to shoot that motherfucking grizzly. He lifted the rifle, stared down the sight, moving it from side to side. He could see practically nothing.
Damn, he was hungry. He lowered the rifle and reached down between his legs where he kept his snacks. As soon as he touched the little sack, he knew it was empty. He screwed it up and threw it out in the darkness. No problem, there was another inside somewhere.
He stood up and walked to the kitchen. It was a mess, pots and pans everywhere. Lumps of things gone bad. Things he could no longer identify so he sure as hell wouldn’t be putting them anywhere near his mouth.
“Lauren!” he called.
No response. No sign of any of those cotton sacks.
“Where’s the food?” He stepped back and looked up to the mezzanine. “Get your lazy ass down here and fetch me something to eat. A man could starve to death!”
Still nothing. He shook his head, walking upstairs, past the blood spray. Time for some more encouragement. She was sitting up rubbing her face when he got there.
“If you’d just answer me when I ask you a question.” He strode over, lifting the rifle like a club. She stared at him as he brought it down on her shoulder. It was strange because she had plenty of time to get out of the way. But she just sat there waiting for the blow to land. And land it did. Something popped and cracked and then her shoulder was hanging like a string of spaghetti. He’d seen dislocations before.
