by L. E. Howel
There hadn’t been any time to think of supplies when he and DeSante had chased after Karla, now he had to find his own water and seek out something edible. The prospects were not encouraging. He supposed there would be a mountain stream somewhere up here, though he would have to find it. Food was another issue. There would be wildlife, though he didn’t have a gun for hunting. He could fish, if he found a stream, but again he had no equipment. That left the unappetizing prospect of berries, roots, leaves, and fungus. That wasn’t something he would look forward to, assuming he could even find any of them. Still, he was hungry enough for anything.
Karla stirred. He looked down at her; she seemed so innocently helpless, lying there with her eyes closed. He was glad he found her, but the extra baggage was going to make his job harder. At least he could feel relief at his success. DeSante troubled him though. He had promised to get him back and now, even if it had meant beating at the Ares front door, he would have done it. But he didn’t know where to start. Another glance at the heat sensor didn’t help. It left him with the same conclusion, with no trace of anything, and with no hope at all. He couldn’t help it. DeSante was lost.
Karla moved again and opened her eyes. Looking quizzically at Birch she half-smiled and sat up, stretching stiffly. Birch was still glowering at the heat sensor and didn’t meet her gaze. Her smile faded.
“Still no sign of Carlos?” She murmured. Birch shook his head slowly and replaced the device on his belt.
“It doesn’t look like we’re going to find any,” Birch’s voice was flat but barely concealed his anger. “They’ve covered their trail better this time than they did with you. It looks like we just made a straight trade, getting you back but giving them DeSante in exchange.” Karla cast a hurt glance at Birch. This reduction of DeSante and herself to a mere commodity to be won or lost was not an intentional insult, but perhaps that was more hurtful, because it seemed to indicate what he really thought of them. Birch didn’t notice, he was considering their next move.
His initial intention had been to go back west to the base they had left a few days ago. It meant going the opposite direction from where they were heading, but it had the advantage of returning them to known territory. It would also allow them to team up with another military convoy before attempting the rest of their eastward journey again.
In the end he had discounted the idea. It would mean retracing their steps through the harshest part of the mountains, only this time on foot and without the same level of protection they had enjoyed before.
It might have been possible to sneak through undetected, but it was too risky. It would take them back near the scene of the last battle and open them up to the chance of another attack like the one they had already faced. With just two of them that would certainly mean death, or worse. He couldn’t risk that.
The second option hadn’t really seemed much better. It dealt with the unknown on the eastern side of the mountains. It was possible that this side was less dangerous than the area they had just passed through. He doubted it though.
The deciding reality in the end had simply been the fact that the eastern side was closer. The shorter option was appealing. He wanted to get out of the mountains. From what he had seen from the Ares’ ridge above he thought they might even be able make it down on the eastern side today. The west would take longer and lead them back into certain peril. He would risk the unknown over that.
If they could make it off the mountain by nightfall he would feel a lot better. Edwards had set great store on the importance of getting to the other side as quickly as possible, and this was now his own goal. Once they made it there it might even be possible to find the others with the heat sensor, though his experience with that device didn’t fill him with any great hope. He doubted they would be in range still. If they were waiting for them there might be a chance, but more likely they would have gone. That left Karla and him on their own with no clear destination beyond the mountains. There was Washington, of course, but that was a long way off and the perils between them and it were a mystery to him. Without help or safe haven he doubted they could make it, still, they would have to try. For now they had to survive the mountains, and to do that they needed to eat and drink.
“We need to get food and water soon,” Birch announced, “but we can’t hang around here looking for it here. We have to get as far from this place as possible before nightfall, so we’ll just have to keep a watch out for whatever we can find as we go. With any luck we should get out onto the prairie by nightfall, if we keep up a good pace. I’m not sure that it’ll be any better out there, but at least we won’t have to worry about what’s behind the next tree.”
Karla nodded and the two were soon moving down the eastward slope under the cover of the trees.
The evil shadows of the night had changed, but the light of day had not fully transformed the scene. The murky green of shaded daylight was only rarely broken, where brief gaps in the covering branches permitted shafts of light to pour their golden rays in patches around them. The sense of danger, like the gloom, had lessened, but was still there. The daylight gave their troubles a lighter tone and made them at least seem manageable.
For the next hour they traveled in silence. There was nothing to be said. They should have been watching for any sign of the Ares, but they were preoccupied, though, looking instead for something to eat or drink as they hurried eastward. Finally Karla found a berry bush in one of the few sunny spots between the trees. At this stage Birch would have preferred water, but his hunger was almost equal to his thirst, and so he ravenously devoured the little black berries. He and Karla ate at great speed, unceremoniously stuffing them in, until their fingers were stained black and the bush was bare, but for a few pieces of green, unripened fruit. It took all his willpower to stop himself from eating even them, despite the knowledge that they would probably make him sick.
This meager meal did little to stem their hunger, though the juicy center of the berries did a small service in lessening their thirst somewhat. Even so, another couple hours walking without water had left them gasping.
It was late afternoon when the welcome sound of a nearby stream finally met their ears. Karla was ready to run toward it when Birch hastily signaled for her to stop.
“Wait,” he hissed, “we’ve been lucky so far, but we better be careful. Let’s take it slow and see if any Ares are around first.”
Cautiously they crept down to the water’s edge, looking for any sign of their enemies. They hadn’t seen anything of them all day, but he wasn’t really sure that meant they weren’t there. He hoped right now that they were somewhere resting, dormant during the daylight hours, but he couldn’t help but wonder if the woods were really as deserted as they seemed. Where did the Ares go during the day?
For now everything looked clear, and as he and Karla caught their first glimpse of the muddy, slow-moving stream it seemed like the most majestic thing they had ever seen. Its silty, brown water, that a few short days ago would have been foul and undrinkable, now became delicious ambrosia that they couldn’t get to quickly enough. Forgetting their fears they both plunged into the water and hastily lapped up the murky, brown liquid.
Grabbing great handfuls of water Birch gulped them down and grabbed for more. Brown, muddy streaks flowed down from his lips and left strange tear trails of earth on either side of his mouth. Karla did the same.
It was a few minutes later before either of them stopped. Karla rubbed her mouth on her sleeve and coughed. As their desperate thirst was slacked so their concern for taste returned and left them both gagging on the earthy flavor and the glooping mud that clung to their throats.
“Maybe we should have boiled it first,” gasped Karla between coughs, “though I’m not sure anything could improve that taste.”
“That might have been an idea,” Birch admitted through his own retching coughs.
“We better get going,” he added when he was finally able to catch his breath.
The
y rose wearily to their feet. The stream was wide but shallow and wound like a long brown ribbon through the landscape. Its banks were bathed in sunlight as the trees stood respectfully distant from its lazily lapping current. Drinking its water had quenched their thirst, but now in a more sober light the water appeared muddier and less inviting than before. Further down a series of mossy stepping stones promised an easier crossing. They walked toward them.
Cautiously Birch stepped onto the first stone. It was slick and wobbled unsteadily under his weight. He raised his arms slightly to steady himself and determinedly pushed on to the other side.
The water’s current was gentle and at its deepest point would probably have come no higher than somewhere above his knees, but he wanted to stay dry. A few steps later he slipped and almost fell headlong into the water. It was only by a great effort that he was able to regain his footing and avoid the embarrassment of a dunking. Karla laughed. She was still sitting on the bank and was removing her boots.
“Don’t laugh until you’ve tried it,” Birch barked grumpily. Karla by now had strung her boots around her neck, but instead of using the stones as a bridge she rolled up her pants and waded into the water. She moved easily through the murky stream and was soon standing beside Birch, thigh deep in water.
“This reminds me of my old fishing trips,” she remarked dreamily. Birch shrugged and concentrated on his next step.
“I’d prefer a boat,” he responded dryly. Karla laughed again. She was really starting to annoy him.
“You missed out on half the fun,” she bubbled, “you have to be one with the river and with the fish. It’s only when you know what the fish knows can you think like the fish, and then you’ll really know how to catch them. It really works.”
Birch imagined that if anyone could think like a fish Karla would be the one. He kept that thought to himself. All this talk of fish wasn’t helping his hunger much either.
“Maybe you’ll just have to show me how you do that when we get to the other side. I could use a good fish dinner right about now, you know.” For once he hoped Karla was right. She nodded brightly and they both continued in silence.
A moment later he slipped again, almost falling backwards this time. Karla smiled innocently up at Birch. Her bright blue eyes sparkled, and she extended a hand to steady him. Her stride had deliberately slowed to keep pace with his faltering steps, like a child walking an elderly relative home. Birch grimaced. Karla waited patiently at his side, her toes sunk easily into the stream’s muddy bed. Birch sighed impatiently and stepped off of his rock, plunging with a splash, knee deep into the stream.
“You’ll get your boots wet,” Karla gasped.
“So what,” Birch muttered and strode to the other side.
A few moments later they were both clambering out. Birch was first. Water bled from his boots. His socks were sodden and squelched uncomfortably with every step. He ignored it. Karla’s bare feet were coated in a syrupy, oozing mud that she struggled to wipe off with the brittle, brown needles that covered the forest floor. She laughed at her lack of success.
“Maybe you were right,” she suggested generously. “Keeping your shoes on avoided this stuff!”
“Yeah,” Birch responded impatiently, “but let’s hurry. We need to get going.”
“Hold on a minute,” Karla was up again, padding bootless over to the stream’s edge. She fell to her knees, delving her arm deep into the muddy bank.
“What are you doing?” Birch asked incredulously.
“Getting bate,” Karla responded, biting her lip in concentration as she struggled to grab at something.
“Got it,” she yelped. She pulled out a long, fat worm. “These are the best. We’ll catch a big one now.” Birch watched, amazed, as Karla removed the rank insignia pin from her uniform and fashioned the long steel shaft into a makeshift hook. She attached it to a bootlace, then impaled the worm on the pin and dropped the line into the water.
“Rank has its privileges,” she remarked lightly, and laughed at her own joke. Birch shook his head.
“Is that really going to work?” He asked doubtfully. “We don’t have a lot of time to waste waiting for some fish to take a fancy to the smell of your bootlaces you know.”
Karla smiled reassuringly. “Sure it’ll work, you just watch.”
They watched. For a time nothing happened, and Birch took the opportunity to examine his wounded hands. It was something he had tried to avoid. He shuddered now as he looked down at the bloody shreds of bandage and the crimson-stained fingers that hung numbly beneath them. The pain had receded into a numbness that he could ignore, and he was tempted to keep on ignoring it. He didn’t want to see what was under there. He hesitated.
“Major,” Karla’s concerned voice came from behind him. Though he had tried to turn away from her she had noticed what he was doing.
“What?” Birch’s voice was impatient.
“Can I help?”
“I thought you were fishing,” Birch’s answer came back sharply over his shoulder as he hunched over, examining his gnarled hands.
“Well, you could hold onto the string with one hand while I fix other one. Then we could swap over and get them both fixed up.” Her voice was soothing. Too soothing, like someone who cared and wanted to do something for you, like someone who would invest emotion into you and expect some return on that investment. If people cared they expected you to care back. He didn’t want to care.
“I can do it,” he responded gruffly. “Thanks,” he added as an afterthought.
Birch moved closer to the water’s edge and slowly began removing the stained brown cloths from his hands. The acrid smell of wet, putrid flesh rose up from them and almost made him swoon. His hands were still numb. In some ways this had almost seemed helpful, but now it worried him. Now, looking at the deep red grooves and the oozing watery wounds was enough to remind him of his pain and leave him shivering convulsively.
Karla hastily pulled up her makeshift fishing line and came to his side. He tried to motion her away but she ignored his gesture, gently taking his hands in her own.
“That doesn’t look too bad,” she murmured encouragingly. Birch gave her a doubtful look between shivers, but she carried on. “It could have been much worse. They’re pretty deep, but it doesn’t look like you’ve made it down to the bone. If we wash them and keep them bound up they should heal okay.” She took his hands and gently started bathing them in the stream. Birch pulled back.
“I can do it myself! Nobody’s washed my hands since I was three,” his voice was gruff, “I think I can still manage.” Karla shook her head.
“Not well enough, you can’t,” she responded, pulling his hand back. Birch flinched, it seemed that the air and water were bringing back more of the feeling to his numbed fingers, but the sensation was not a pleasant one. “I need to make sure you get all the junk out of the wounds, if you don’t it’ll take longer to heal. There’s no way you could do that with your fingers in their condition. You told me yourself they’re too numb to feel anything, so you need me to do it.”
“I can feel them just fine with now,” Birch remarked bitterly as she prodded painfully into his palms.
“I’m sorry,” she responded flatly, noticing him wince in pain. Her tone was not sympathetic, like the school nurse who had seen plenty of tears over the years. “It’ll feel better in a minute.”
Surprisingly she was right. Expertly she rubbed at his hands and as the water cooled and soothed the fiery trails left by his attacker’s knife, he felt his fingers finally loosening from the gnarled claw-like grip they had assumed. He couldn’t move them very far, it hurt too much, but he could move them. Karla noticed the fingers twitching and smiled.
“See,” she commented brightly, “I told you I could help.” Birch’s mouth was a hard thin line and he only grunted a response. Her voice had assumed that cheery tone again, and if she wasn’t actually making him feel better he’d have gladly told her to go away. As she was helpi
ng he said nothing.
Finally she pulled his hands from the water and dried them on her own uniform. Birch found, to his surprise, that he was sorry it had stopped. In the water his wounds were cooled and seemed almost to melt away under her soothing touch. Outside, in the air, they began to sting again. At least he could move his fingers now, he thought to himself, though at the cost of considerable pain.
Karla tore at a vest she wore under her shirt and produced two strips of white cloth that she used to bandage his hands again.
“I hope your hands get better soon,” she laughed, “otherwise I think I might run out of clothes.”
Birch laughed in response; sometimes you couldn’t help it with Karla.
A few minutes later she had caught dinner too. It was a mediocre fish, and they had eaten it raw, for fear of a fire being detected by their enemies, but it still seemed a remarkable thing. She repeated the process to catch another which she wrapped up in her jacket to save for later.
Soon they were walking again. Birch felt fresh and invigorated. True, his hands were hurting again, and the muddy residue of the water and the slime from the uncooked fish still clung to his throat, but somehow all of this hadn’t seemed to matter since the first flicker of movement had returned to his fingers. Karla had made them feel again. Those bloody bandages had seemed to hide an evil secret, a truth that his hands might never do their work again. That was all changed now, and though it hurt, he knew he was alive and going to get better.
Their speed had increased, the rest and refreshment had worked a powerful good in them, and the next few hours seemed to pass as quickly as the miles. All was calm and their journey continued uneventfully. Birch was watchful for any indication of the Ares’ presence. The lively trees seemed to grow still as evening approached, expectantly awaiting the night’s events. He still hoped that they might make it out from under them before the darkness had fully come. It wasn’t long now. They had to hurry.
Their descent had greatly quickened in this last portion of the journey, and as evening finally gave way to dusk, they caught sight of the rich plains stretching out below them. The darkness was beginning to gather and the sun had disappeared behind the western mountains. Still, he could make out the tall grass being blown like waves across the land. Like a glimpse of freedom it beckoned them on, and with almost reckless abandon their last few steps sent them crashing through the trees and out into the free air. They had made it.
