by Edward Lang
As a kid, I used to have a dog named Grady – half boxer, the rest mutt. A shorthaired dog. Well, every time we washed him, he would immediately shake off some of the water, then start writhing around on the ground trying to get the rest off. He would rub against grass, dirt, carpet – whatever was available. If you didn’t grab him fast enough and towel him off and get him inside, he would end up dirtier after the bath than before.
So I followed ol’ Grady’s lead and rubbed all over the snow until it was stained with red. Then I walked a few feet to a new patch and did it again. By the third patch, the snow was clean when I stood up.
Better than Irish Spring soap. Clean as a whistle.
After I was done, I gathered up all my rope and supplies, cleaned them off in the snow as best I could, and repacked everything. I used a rope to tie together the sack o’ meat, then dragged it through the woods behind me. I also picked up some short tree branches I could use to fashion a roasting station, and more slender ones for spitting the meat.
Tonight I was going to feast like a king.
8
The fire was nothing more than embers by the time I got back – which was actually fantastic. You don’t want to roast meat over an open fire unless you want char on the outside and raw meat on the inside.
Still, I would need more coals than what I had, so I moved half of the embers over to the right side of the flat rock. The left half I would use to start a new fire.
There were two ways to cook the meat, given what I had. I could either roast it on spits, or I could grill it on a slab of rock. I was hungry as fuck, so I decided to go with grilling first since it would be a lot faster.
First off, I built up two walls of rocks on either side of the right batch of coals. Then I found the thinnest, flattest rock I could – basically a chunk of slate about a foot square and only a half an inch thick – and scrubbed it down with snow as best I could. Once it was clean, I placed it on top of the two walls and had a perfect grilling station just a few inches above the coals. The water from the snow evaporated within a minute as the stone heated up.
I threw down scraps of deer fat on the rock and waited for it liquify as much as possible. Not only would it add flavor and the necessary fat I would need to avoid rabbit starvation, I also wanted a coating on the rock so the meat wouldn’t stick to it.
Then I put kindling on the left group of coals and started another fire, to which I added bigger pieces of wood. Soon I had a small fire crackling. Then I transferred over some of the burning wood and put it under the grilling rock to help heat it up faster.
I also needed a plate for the final product, so I found another relatively flat rock and scrubbed it clean with snow from just outside the opening of the cave. Once it was clean, I set it near the fire to dry.
The fat had liquified a bit by then. I smeared it all over the grilling rock, coating it as much as possible. As soon as it started smoking, I threw on the tenderloins. They immediately began to sizzle.
My God, the smell… I was practically drooling.
I let the tenderloins’ bottom side sear, then flipped them over.
After about ten minutes, I used my knife to cut into the middle of one of the steaks. Medium rare. I would have normally taken it off right then, but I knew you were supposed to cook it to 145 degrees Fahrenheit. Wanting to err on the side of safety, I let both steaks go a bit more before I took them off and placed them on my new ‘plate.’
You were normally supposed to let the meat ‘rest’ after you finished cooking it. Resting lets the meat fibers reabsorb moisture; if you cut it too soon (which I had done on one piece, unfortunately), a lot of liquid spills out, and the meat’s not as juicy or flavorful.
But try telling a starving man to sit there for five minutes and wait.
I let one steak cool just enough where it wouldn’t scald me, then I picked it up with my fingers, caveman-style, and bit in.
Heaven.
I chewed and felt the hot juices coat my tongue. Flavors exploded over my taste buds.
There really was something better about food cooked out in the wild. Add in extreme hunger, and it’s guaranteed to be one of the best meals you’ll ever eat.
I forced myself to go slow and savor every bite. By the time I was finished, the second steak had rested. I could control myself enough to cut off slices with my knife and eat them one by one.
God damn that was good.
Could have used some salt, but other than that, I wasn’t going to complain.
Salt… that was another thing to add to the list. I would be able to survive a while without it – venison had a certain amount of naturally occurring sodium – but I would eventually need to find a source to supplement the meat.
That could wait, though. Time to enjoy the moment.
I sighed, lay back by the fire, and licked my greasy fingers clean.
Katie would’ve loved it. She always did enjoy the meals I cooked over an open campfire.
It was nice… I could think of her now without that feeling of somebody shoving a knife into my heart.
I chalked it up to doing something that made me happy: being out in the wild.
And to the fact that I just didn’t have as much time for grief, seeing as I was scrambling to stay alive.
Alive… that was funny…
I mean, I was dead, right? The avalanche had done me in.
But if this was ‘dead,’ then dead wasn’t so bad.
I rested for a while and watched the flickering flames, then got back to work.
My belly was full at the moment, but I knew that it would take hours to roast some of the bigger cuts of meat, so I set to work creating a makeshift rotisserie station with the Y-shaped sticks I’d gathered in the forest.
First I removed the grilling rock so the meat could roast directly over the coals.
Then I shoveled more coals over from the active side of the fire.
After that, I spitted the deer’s front shoulders and propped them up on the walls of stone so they were suspended over the coals.
There’s a problem with deer meat in that it’s too lean for certain preparations. Back home, if you wanted to turn the tougher cuts into ground meat, most people added pork. The pork fat helps the meat stick together better as hamburger patties, otherwise it would fall apart on the grill.
But I didn’t have any pork – or any machinery to grind meat – so I wasn’t going to be picky.
Every five minutes or so, I would do a quarter turn on the spits, making sure the meat got cooked evenly.
Fat dripped off the meat and onto the coals, burning and filling the air with delicious-smelling smoke.
Despite the fact that I’d just eaten, the scent made me hungry all over again.
I didn’t have to do anything about the rest of the meat except keep it close to the entrance of the cave. The rest of my new home was like a refrigerator, which would suck for me when I went to sleep – but at least the meat wasn’t going to go bad. Hell, it was already starting to freeze.
My own cave-sized Frigidaire.
About an hour into roasting the meat, it started to get dark outside. I could tell by the fading light coming through the cave entrance. The sun had probably set behind the mountain, though it hadn’t gone down yet.
Shortly after that, the wind began to pick up. I could hear it moaning outside the cave.
I went over to the opening, squatted down, and peered out. Jesus, it was cold over here without the fire…
The sky was thick with dark clouds, and snowflakes were falling heavily from the sky.
Looked like we were in for a big storm tonight. Thank god I had the cave.
Then I heard the wolves.
They were far away, but they were getting closer.
I had no fear whatsoever, since I was a good 40 feet higher than they could jump or climb – but I was curious.
Why would they be out on the hunt with a storm rolling in? They should be holing up for the night in their den.
Then I saw why.
9
Down in the forest, about 200 feet away from my cave, a lone figure emerged from the timberline.
It was difficult to see him through the falling snow, but I was pretty damn sure it was the survivalist from the other day.
He was still wrapped up head-to-toe in furs, with a long fur cape trailing behind him – and he was heading straight for me.
I felt a moment of shock.
How does he know I’m here?!
The reason was obvious after only a second of thought: he could see the smoke from my fire rising up out of the crack in the mountainside.
He knew someone was up here.
But why approach now?
He’d run away from me last time – why run towards me? Why not just climb a tree or something like he had last time?
That reason quickly became obvious, too.
The figure was hobbling badly, putting all its weight on one foot as it struggled through the snow. It relied heavily on the long staff I’d seen him with the other day.
Somebody’d fucked themselves up. Climbing trees was probably out.
And the wolves’ howling was even closer now.
Shit…
I didn’t know this guy from Adam, but I couldn’t leave him out there to fend for himself. I wasn’t about to let another human being get torn to pieces right in front of me.
“OVER HERE!” I yelled at Survival Guy.
The figure flinched at the sound of my voice – and then started stumbling towards me again.
My rappelling rope was coiled up by the cave entrance. I quickly tied a slipknot in the end and created a loop that the guy could put around his body. I might be able to haul him up… maybe. The rope was thin and made for arresting falls, not for hauling other human beings up rock faces.
There was no way he was going to climb up the cliff face – not with that bum leg. And he wouldn’t be able to use the rope to climb hand over hand – not without knots tied in it. It was too thin to get a good grip.
I might have to go down there and get him.
Shit, shit, shit –
I scurried back into the cave and grabbed my boots, crampons, and ice axes. I didn’t bother with my jacket because there wasn’t any time.
I raced back to the opening and jammed on my boots, then hurriedly put on the crampons – just in case.
“COME ON, YOU CAN DO IT!” I yelled at the survivalist.
He finally made it to the cliff and looked straight up at me.
Through the driving snow, I could see him better than ever before. Well, as much as you could see a guy wrapped in furs from head to toe.
And I was right – the staff was a fuckin’ spear! I could see a pointed head on it, apparently made of stone.
This guy was hardcore for sure.
Although he was also stupid enough to let a sprained ankle make him wolf chow.
Most of his body was wrapped up, including a sort of balaclava made of fur that hid his eyes. But the hands were exposed –
And they were light blue.
The guy didn’t just have fair skin that looked slightly blue; he was actually blue.
Severe hypoxia had already set in.
Jesus, he made it THAT far with hypothermia THAT bad?!
Part of me wondered if it was even worth it trying to save him. He was a dead man for sure. Frostbite would kill him if the hypothermia didn’t.
And there was no way in hell he was going to be able to climb up a rope, not in the state he was in.
He was a dead man.
I should have just walked away…
…but I couldn’t leave him down there to be eaten alive.
As though on cue, the wolves howled even closer than before.
Fuck, fuck, FUCK –
I dropped the rappelling rope down, and it swayed in front of the survivalist.
He immediately grabbed onto it and tried to climb.
He gave it the old college try, but he just didn’t have the grip strength to pull himself up with something that thin. Hell, I didn’t have the grip strength.
But it amazed me nonetheless that his hands were still working. How the fuck was that possible, given the level of hypothermia he was suffering? Hands that blue should have been stiff and unbending.
“PUT THE LOOP AROUND YOU!” I yelled down as I pantomimed with my hands. “SIT IN IT!”
The figure looked up helplessly at me.
“PUT IT AROUND YOU – AROUND – GODDAMMIT, DO YOU SPEAK ENGLISH?”
No answer.
Of course I would get somebody who couldn’t understand me. Of course I would.
Now or never, Jack.
What do you do?
Walk away or go balls to the wall?
“Fuckin’ hell,” I muttered as I grabbed the rope and rappelled down.
The survivalist stumbled backwards in alarm and pointed the spear right at me as he gripped it with both hands.
Then he said something that might’ve been… I don’t know… Indonesian? Thai? Hawaiian? I couldn’t place it, but it definitely wasn’t a European language, Russian, or Chinese or Japanese, that was for sure.
“Halana! Ka sala oh mavakai!”
And the voice was high. It sounded like a woman’s.
I dropped my eyes down to the chest area and saw a very pronounced swell beneath the furs.
Holy fucking shit, it IS a chick.
A crazy, fur-wearing, Thai-speaking survivalist chick with hypothermia.
Fuckin’ A, I knew how to pick ‘em.
With the snow falling so hard, I couldn’t see anything through the slit in her balaclava, so I couldn’t judge her expression. All I knew was she shouted something else in her language and waved her spear in my face.
“Cut it out, I’m trying to help you!” I yelled. I turned around and gestured to my back. “Get on!”
She hesitated.
“The WOLVES are coming, goddammit!” I yelled at her – then remembered she couldn’t understand me.
I pointed at the trees. “Ah-roooooo – rawr, rawr!”
She backed up a step and looked at me like I was insane.
I felt like a fucking idiot and stopped making snarling noises.
“Okay, fuck you, then,” I muttered as I grabbed my ice axes and started up the wall –
Suddenly I felt a thin arm encircle my neck.
And something I hadn’t been expecting:
Soft breasts mashing into my back.
A sensation I hadn’t felt in a long, long time – not since Katie would spoon me in bed in the mornings. Something I’d missed without realizing it.
I felt another sensation I’d never had, though: the shaft of a spear knocking into my shoulder.
I looked over and got a great view of the spearhead. It was some sort of volcanic glass, chipped down to a wickedly sharp point.
I had to give her props: she might have been crazy, but she could make a damn good spearhead. If she hadn’t bought it off the internet at CrazySurvivalistChick.com.
“What the fuck?! Leave it!” I yelled at her over my shoulder.
She didn’t answer.
I grabbed the wooden shaft of the spear –
“Maka no palaka nakwai!” she yelled as she jerked it away from me.
“Leave it!” I yelled, and pantomimed with both my arms like I was hugging a tree. “You need both arms to hang on!”
She looked reluctantly at the spear… then let it fall to the snow and latched both arms around my neck.
Progress.
I started up the wall.
I had expected her to be light, but she weighed even less than I’d thought.
Of course, I was still lugging 90 or more pounds up the fuckin’ side of a cliff.
Without any backup. No ropes, no harness, nothin’.
If we fell, it was all over.
…and then the wolves showed up.
We were a good 20 feet up the wall when I heard the snarls approaching.
I didn’t look down. I didn’t want to see what the hell was down there.
She was smart enough not to look down, either. She just hung on for dear life.
The animals were jumping beneath us now. I could hear their teeth clicking as their jaws snapped shut on thin air.
Please, just hang on…
I got us to the opening of the cave. This was the most delicate part of the climb, because I wasn’t going to be able to bodily carry her up over the edge – she would have to crawl up over me first.
The rappelling rope was hanging down right beside me. To make absolutely sure I was safe, I poked my left arm through and wrapped the rope around my forearm and hand five or six times.
If I got knocked loose off the cliff, at least I wouldn’t fall.
Not right away, anyhow.
“Go on,” I said to her.
No answer.
I pointed up into the cave with my hand wrapped in rope. “Go – climb over me and get up there!”
She hesitated, then began to pull herself up onto my shoulders. I helped her out by grabbing her furs and shoving her upwards.
She managed to grab ahold of the rock ledge and hoist herself up, planting her feet on my shoulders for the extra push –
And suddenly my ice axe slipped.
I tipped backwards –
She screamed –
But the rope around my arm yanked and held.
The spikes of my crampons were just barely still hanging onto the crack in the rock face.
Up on the ledge, she lay flat on the ground and extended her hand – her blue, hypothermia-wracked hand – down to me, straining to reach me.
“I’m fine, I’m fine!” I yelled as I dangled backwards, held in place only by the crampons and rope. I felt like a cartoon character teetering backwards over an abyss, balancing on the tips of their toes.
She babbled in her language and strained her hand out to me even harder.
Fuck… not like I couldn’t use the help…
I knew she couldn’t pull me in, but I could at least use the help to right myself so I could use my axes again.
