Indivisible

by C. A. Rudolph

  “Congratulations,” Woo Tang said, doing what he could to share her excitement.

  “Yeah, congrats,” Lazarus chimed in. “That’s some amazing news. I think I got some cigars around here somewhere. We should smoke them.”

  Lauren eagerly keyed the mic. “Neo, this is all wonderful news. I can’t tell you how good it is to hear and know that everyone’s doing okay. If you could, please, tell everyone…I miss them. And tell Grace I’m super happy for her…I love her and I’ll be home as soon as I can. Over.”

  The speaker expelled several bursts of static. “Actually, you can tell her yourself. She’s here now, sitting beside me.”

  Even through the static, fading and distortion, the sound of her sister’s voice made Lauren’s heart flutter. “Hey you! Happy New Year. Just where the hell have you been? You were supposed to be home a month ago. Oh, never mind…you don’t have to answer that. Christian told me what happened. Talk about scary. I’m really, really glad you’re both okay.” A pause. “Excuse me, I was just informed that I didn’t say ‘over’. As if radio decorum was ever my thing. So, over.”

  Lauren went to key up again, noticing now that her hand was shaking. She steadied it with her other hand and brought the mic close. “Hey yourself. It’s good to hear your voice…even a warped version of it. Congratulations, by the way. God…I’m so proud of you. I guess everything you told me about—well, I won’t go into detail. Too many extraneous listeners. Either way, I guess it’s confirmed. Over.”

  “Oh, yeah. It’s most definitely confirmed. At present I have a humanoid parasite sprouting inside me, soaking up every extra nutrient and every last modicum of energy I can spare, as if I had any of either to begin with. Life is uproarious, no? I don’t know what God decided to allow this to happen or even thought it would be a good idea. Guess I should be thankful…I can’t exactly take it back, now, can I? Over.”

  Lauren squeezed the microphone and spoke with heavy eyelids and an even heavier heart. “Kind of fortuitous how Dr. Vincent’s wife turned out to be an obstetrician.” She hesitated. “You probably won’t agree with me, but I know you’ll be a great mom. You’ll own it like you own everything else. And despite his…abnormalities, I think Christian will prove to be a wonderful father; and a respectable boyfriend, significant other, or whatever, if the two of you can keep from murdering each other. Listen, there’s so much I want to say to you and talk about, but it’s not easy right now where I’m sitting. So I’m going to save it for when I come home, okay? Over.”

  A long moment went by before Grace replied, “Okay, whatever. That’s fine. I didn’t want to sit in this frigid shed any longer than I had to, anyway. And when do you expect your extended sabbatical from home to conclude? I know you miss us. We all miss you too. Over.”

  “I don’t know right now, I…don’t have much control over the timing. But I promise as soon as I’m able to, I’ll be there.”

  “Okay, love. I’ll hold you to that. Stay safe.”

  The sisters then said their goodbyes and ended the call.

  Lauren spent a few moments pushing her tears away, then rotated in her seat, casting a stare to the only man in the room yet to say anything or offer the slightest reaction. “Dave? Is something wrong? Your reserve is deafening…not to mention, killing the mood.”

  Dave exhaled through his nostrils. “That’s certainly not my intention. I can take my leave if it suits you.”

  “No, that would not suit me.” Lauren rose. “I don’t get it…you look…I don’t know, like you’re peeved with me or something.”

  He pressed his lips together. “I’m not peeved with you, Janey. Far from it.”

  “And even so, not the least bit happy either,” Lauren said, her excitement over the news heard losing ground by the second. “If you’re not peeved with me and not happy, what are you, then?”

  Dave deferred his reply. “Apprehensive.”

  “Apprehensive. About…”

  “About what I know is destined to come to pass after this…update,” he grumbled.

  “And that is?”

  “An insistent yet semi-dutiful request to return home, I imagine.”

  Lauren stepped closer to him, nodding acknowledgment with an uncomfortable smile. “So you’re a mind reader now. Can you blame me? After what I just heard?”

  “No, I surely cannot.”

  “Then what’s the problem? Do you think it’s unreasonable for me to want to go home?”

  The venerable Green Beret hesitated a long moment. “Feeling that way or any other way you want to feel isn’t unreasonable, Janey…to yourself or anyone else. And neither is feeling strongly compelled to act on those feelings. But taking action that is genuinely, consciously acting on those feelings when we are fully engaged in the predicament at hand would most certainly be unreasonable, no doubt about it. Let alone vastly imprudent.”

  “Imprudent,” Lauren repeated flatly.

  “That’s affirmative.” Dave gestured to the snow clinging to his trousers and boot laces. “Look what we had to plow through just to get here through the fields. You think road conditions in surrounding West by God are any different? Think they’re better? Or worse? The white stuff was falling at a blizzard’s pace for no less than two consecutive days by my count, and I can offer assurance the department of transportation isn’t maintaining them. I theorize almost every road between here and wherever meets with the very definition of impassable. We passed by and maneuvered around countless stalled-out vehicles on our way here prior to the storm. There could be countless trees and defunct power poles down, and Lord knows what else blocking our path. If I did not categorically believe this to be the case without reservation, we would’ve departed for Rocket Center days ago.”

  Lauren looked away. “Okay, I get all that, I do. But I don’t get why you’ve given up looking for options.”

  “Careful there,” Dave muttered. “You know me better than that. I possess a finely tuned opportunity-detecting radar under my hood. And if there was a viable, expedient alternative for us, it would’ve been on the table. As of this moment, I’ve yet to see any.”

  “Impossible is a lie,” Lauren began, “told by those eager to control us. It’s only purpose, to make us weak and subservient. It’s a programmed method of thinking we must learn to rise above.”

  “Come again?”

  “Elevate your frame of mind. Know your enemy, know and take responsibility for yourself and assume control, and you’ll find impossible to be nothing more than a figment of your imagination.” Lauren grinned, her unease on display. “You don’t remember? Those are your words. You used to drill them into me whenever I said something was too hard.”

  “While I do appreciate the rehashing of times past, there’s more to it than that, Janey,” Dave said. “Our original plans involved coming here to deliver a package. Getting stuck here and dividing the unit up all over God’s green earth was never our intention, but Mother Nature had other plans in mind for us…and as it stands, we can’t do much about that. Getting word from Neo is advantageous, it alleviates a few tidbits of butt pucker, but we’ve yet to hear anything out of Tim and the boys since we left, and I have no idea how they’ve been getting along with Major Pain and his miscreants in our absence.

  “There’s no way of knowing what else the weather has in store for us, and winter hasn’t even started yet. Staying warm, preventing frostbite, and cuddling up with our loved ones is important, and I’m not discounting it, but maintaining an adequate level of security within our AO is a primary concern. With the unit split up like it is, it fucks us…I mean, really screws the pooch. And I can’t consent to any more fragments.”

  Lazarus tapped his fingers on the radio bench. “This is just the beginning of January. Even the valleys around here are highlands and sit up high, like around fifteen hundred feet or thereabouts. By my best guess, we have a couple more months before seeing any snowmelt, if any.”

  “Thanks,” Lauren slurred.

 
; “Don’t mention it,” said Lazarus, not sensing the sarcasm in her tone.

  Lauren rolled her eyes. “I get that we’re divided, Dave. And I can see it’s weighing on you. It would weigh on me too if I were in your shoes. But I’m not in your shoes. I live in mine. And mine want to go home, and I’m not sorry for that.”

  “I know, young lady,” Dave said. “And I get it, I do. And I know you’re anxious, and I know it sucks, but the only choice we have, at least for now, is to hope and pray for some good weather and conditions to improve. Yes, we’re divvied up far beyond my liking. And we’re teeter-tottering on the brink of far too many goddamn allowable risks. Taking you home would necessitate personnel, transportation, supplies, and weaponry. We’d be staring down another split and a lot more risks. And doing that would—”

  “Defy prudence,” Lauren broke in.

  Dave squinted. “It would defy logic.”

  Lauren felt ready to draw out the argument, but opted against. She turned her head away, folding her arms. “I see. And I guess I understand.”

  “I’m sorry, Janey. I really am, but this simply cannot happen right now.”

  Dave went on and on, but Lauren only ignored him. Soon, she put her jacket on, zipped it up and exited the comm shack without another word said.

  Chapter 8

  In a passion-fueled stupor, Lauren stormed out of Lazarus’s radio shack. She hustled through the snow, finding that Cyrus had been waiting for her not far away. The dog ran to her with enthusiasm, ready to play, but Lauren paid him little mind. She passed by without so much as petting him, and dejected, he plopped down in the snow, pricking his ears. Then, after a moment, he followed in her footsteps all the way back to the farmhouse, making sure to maintain his distance.

  Lauren stomped up the porch stairs to the front door, kicked the caked-on snow from her boots, and went inside, holding the storm door open long enough for Cyrus to slide in. She untied her boots and kicked them off one by one near the door, then ran upstairs to her room.

  As she went to seal herself alone inside, she hesitated, noticing that Cyrus seemed intent on accompanying her. “You’re not going to let me be, are you?”

  Cyrus sat on his haunches and tilted his head to the side.

  “I like you, but this really isn’t the best time. My mood has gone to shit today. You should probably go find your master.”

  Cyrus only panted and whined a little bit.

  Lauren rolled her eyes and sighed. “Fine. You can come in, but I don’t know how much company I’m going to be.” She then bade him enter and closed the door behind him.

  She strolled to the other side of the room, past an assortment of clothing, gear and a few weapons, some of which had arrived with her, others she’d recently acquired from stacks of tubs and bins her father had stored in the barn, having delivered it himself years before. Cyrus took a seat nearby and put his nose to the floor, sniffing at some of the items. His paws slid forward and he rested his head on them, exhaling a breath from his nostrils that sounded more like a sigh.

  “I can relate,” Lauren said, looking upon him.

  If there was one thing Lauren could not tolerate, it was being told she couldn’t do something. Not necessarily being told no or that she wasn’t able to, but being informed that she wasn’t allowed, as if some invisible force existed serving only to prevent her from following her will. And Lauren’s will wasn’t just stubborn, it was on the periphery of being superhuman.

  But she knew Dave Graham and how accommodating he could be, or downright inflexible he could be when it suited him. He was just as obstinate as she was, and his resolve was unparalleled. After this latest face-off, Lauren wondered how long it would be before she woke to find armed guards stationed at her bedroom door.

  “Guess there’s no point in waiting to find out,” Lauren muttered. “You always put so much emphasis on the import of perseverance. Permit me to show you some.” She then rotated to regard her nightstand, where she’d placed a stack of topographical maps printed on waterproof paper. Each map contained a USGS grid of the areas surrounding Bernie and Ruth’s farm and beyond. She’d found them amongst a stack of other paper items in the gun safe her father had also evidently transported here with Norman’s assistance, per Bernie’s account.

  Lauren began arranging the grids on the floor, sliding and aligning them together like puzzle pieces, stopping after she had created a path between her current location and home. Cyrus watched her intently with his head between his paws, blowing the occasional exhale through his nose.

  Lauren studied the maps, running her fingernail over them in a straight line from point A to point B. She reached beside her into the pile of gear for a hank of 550 paracord, unrolled a few feet then cut off several inches using the folding Kershaw Induction1 knife she had clipped to her pocket. She sliced through the outer sheathing, separated it from the core, and extricated one of the interwoven strands.

  When she flicked the unused remnants to the floor, Cyrus raised and tilted his head.

  “Oh, sorry.” She scooted the strings to him, and he began merrily toying with them, employing both paws. “Is this your way of telling me that cats aren’t the only pets who fancy strings?”

  Lauren tied a knot in one end of her strand and placed the knot on her current location on the map, then stretched it taut and tied another knot where the strand met with Trout Run Valley. She then compared the length between the knots to the map scale and approximated the line-of-sight distance to home.

  “The shortest distance between two points is a straight line, right?” Lauren prompted the dog, causing him to alert. “You don’t have to answer, it was rhetorical.” She sighed. “Just over forty miles, sixty not omitting elevation changes. And no direct path or trail to get there. Just a shitload of ups and downs—steep ones, in very unfamiliar territory.” She studied the map closely while Cyrus monitored her every movement and murmur. “From the looks of it, the straight-line approach won’t be an option on foot; it goes against the grain the entire way. The Alleghenies run southwest to northeast, they’re rugged and most of their ridges are sheer, especially this far west. I count at least five major river crossings to contend with, and it goes without saying that roads are off-limits. So that sixty miles just became eighty or more. Still better than a hundred on the road, I suppose.”

  Lauren leaned back on her hands and exhaled. “Five to six days tops in satisfactory conditions, but we don’t have those, do we?” She paused. “There’s at least a foot to eighteen inches of snow on the ground, and there’s no telling how deep it’ll be at the higher elevations. Might need to locate or put together a pair of snowshoes…but either way, those six days could very easily become a week and a half. Water wouldn’t be an issue, but food procurement could be. Can’t forage, hunting and fishing would be time consuming, and trapping isn’t viable when you’re on the move…and I’m definitely no Daniel Boone. I’d have to carry everything. And a week’s worth of food is a lot of weight to shoulder, especially since this would become the longest trip I’ve ever done on foot.”

  Lauren’s eyes met with the dog’s, who lazily stared up at her from the floor. “It’s doable, though—” she chuckled to herself “—for a crazy person, anyway. Seriously, I must be losing my mind. I have to be nuts to even consider this.” She exhaled. “I should probably complete a gear assessment before conjuring any more dumb ideas. Let’s see what Dad left us.”

  Lauren’s inventory of prized backpacking and hiking equipment had been left behind in the mountains of Hampshire County on the day she and Austin Brady had been captured. Subsequently, she’d only managed to acquire replacements for her forsaken firearms and tattered clothing.

  Among the particulars previously delivered and stored in the barn, Alan Russell had left a sealed bin of gear explicitly for her, that, failing some aesthetic, functional and a few itemization differences, closely resembled her former loadout.

  Lauren’s previous catalog of gear had been perfectly su
itable for backpacking. But the items in this collection looked more robust and heavy duty, appropriate for mountaineering and bushcraft, or rather wilderness survival and subsistence, thriving for extended periods in natural environments.

  While the backpacker carries in all items needed for the trip and packs out everything that cannot be burned or decomposed, the bushcrafter only carries in those items that cannot be feasibly constructed or recreated by nature. Backpackers bring along only what’s needed for the trip, and plan their inventory specifically for it in advance, along with some extra padding in case of emergency. But their preference is to keep their loadout as light as possible, and for good reason. Backpackers are usually on the move and tend to hike for long distances on hilly, adverse terrain, and extra weight takes a righteous toll on the body.

  The bushcrafter has no specific itinerary and brings along only the basics, but those basic items serve multiple purposes and have various uses, including the construction of other items. For these reasons, these basic items should therefore by all means be capable of withstanding a lifetime of abuse, making weight requirements of little to no consequence. The bushcrafter focuses instead on knowledge and skills—the ability to make or build whatever is needed. And neither knowledge nor skills afforded superfluous weight.

  While having fallen somewhere between the average backpacker and the run-of-the-mill bushcrafter on the outdoorsman spectrum, Lauren’s father had always prioritized functionality, while remaining a stickler for keeping things light. She recalled him testing outdoor gear purchases on numerous occasions either at home or on the trail. Items that passed his tests remained in his inventory and, as well, in his good graces. Others that didn’t were either sold for pennies on the dollar or given away, discarded, or even reduced to ashes in ritualistic fashion.

  As she visually inspected the items strewn about in no particular order, Lauren was reminded of ‘the five Cs of survivability’, as deliberated by author Dave Canterbury in his Bushcraft2 book series. Those being cutting tools, combustion, cover, containers and, finally, cordage.