That’s when I lost my footing and fell headfirst into the ice-cold water. The current began to drag me under. It was so cold, that I felt like I was being stabbed with sharp knives. I came up gasping for air and feeling angry at my failure. But I didn’t give up. I pushed against the current and dragged myself up on the boulder. Shivering now, I planted my feet wide and threw my arms up into the air. I could hear the helicopter coming closer and closer.
But then suddenly the sound began to diminish. He was moving away. I couldn’t believe it.
I waited for several desperate minutes, hoping the pilot would turn for another sweep. But it didn’t happen. The only sound was the river gurgling around me. I was wet and shivering. My snowmobile suit was soaked through, and it was heavy. I felt a cramp in my leg. I had to get myself out of the creek and back to the cabin.
I lumbered back to the shore, walking through the bitterly cold water, arms outstretched to grab on to something if I fell. My legs barely worked. I inched forward and crawled on all fours up onto the slippery rocks of the shore.
Then, feeling frozen, heavy and defeated, I stumbled through the trees and snow. I was panting heavily when I reached the cabin. As I entered, I closed the door behind me. Jonathan was still unconscious, but the bleeding had stopped.
I tried to control my shivering, but I couldn’t. It was beginning to sink in how bad this situation was. And I had only made things worse. I tore off my snowmobile suit. I had to get a fire going. I could feel my muscles tightening. In the dim light of the cabin, I searched frantically for matches.
I found them in the middle of a wooden table. A box of long wooden matches from the supplies I had brought in the fall. I saw a plastic bucket filled with birch bark and kindling near the stove. I lifted the lid of the makeshift rig and dropped in a handful of birch bark. Shaking fiercely now, I piled some kindling on it as best I could and lit the birch bark. As the fire started I added more kindling and a couple of larger pieces of wood. The fire roared to life, and I closed the lid.
I hovered over the fire for several long minutes, absorbing the warmth and trying to figure out what to do next.
I stripped off my wet clothes and pulled my cell phone out of my pants pocket. It had gone in the creek with me, but it had not been on. I found a grimy towel hanging on a nail. I dried myself and then gingerly dried the cell phone. It looked damp but not damaged.
I found an old flannel shirt, some torn jeans and wool socks and I put them on.
Jonathan let out a long moan. I felt weak and helpless. I stared at the cell phone and thought that yet a miracle would happen. I would turn it on and it would work. And I would somehow get a signal.
I flipped it open. Amazingly it still worked.
But there was no signal. I knew that on a good summer day, it would be a hard half-hour ride back toward town before I could get that. And with the snow, it would take much longer.
I couldn’t let the fire go out, and I couldn’t chance leaving here for help that may be hours away. I had no choice but to stay.
chapter twelve
I moved Jonathan onto his bed. I studied the wound on his leg. My shirt had sopped up a lot of blood, and I was fairly certain my first-aid training had told me not to remove it. Just leave it until he could be taken to a hospital. I covered him with blankets, studied his ragged breathing and looked at his ancient creased face.
More than anything I ever wanted in my life, I wanted this old guy to live. Outside, it began to snow. I thought again about trying to make a run for it on the bike to get help, but then he said something. It was a hiss at first and then a mumble. “Don’t leave me,” he whispered. “Don’t leave me alone.”
I walked over to him, expecting to see him awake, but his eyes were closed. “Can you hear me?” I said.
He nodded.
“Can I get you anything?”
“Water.”
I got him some water from a jug, and then I sat by him for a few minutes. He faded into sleep or unconsciousness, and I felt very alone again.
I had to figure out what to do next. The fire was stoked. Jonathan had plenty of firewood. We’d stay warm. Then I remembered my bike fallen over outside in the snow. I might need it at some point. I found an old pair of rubber boots, put them on and went outside. The snow was coming down in large flakes—soft and puffy and already accumulating on top of the old snow.
I picked up my bike and struggled to roll it through the snow to the shed. I parked it by the old Harley. On the way back to the cabin, I noticed the ax leaning on the chopping block. I picked it up and saw the blood. I carried it inside with me and latched the door tight.
I planned for the long night ahead. First, I found the ancient kerosene lamp I’d noticed before, and I practiced lighting it. I’d need that once it got dark. There was a chair made from alder branches. I pulled it up by the fire and stationed myself there. My clothes eventually dried, and I put them back on. I was happy to get out of the hermit’s stinky clothes.
I looked out the small window at the sky and realized this was going to be a major snowfall. My parents would be hysterical when I didn’t return today. I knew it was futile, but I tried my cell again. No signal. No cellular miracle. As the light faded, I lit the lamp but soon realized I had limited fuel. I’d keep it on for a while, but after that I’d be alone in the dark. I located three small half-used candles. Not much for backup. I put more wood in the fire, but not too much. I was deathly afraid of a fire in the stovepipes. If that happened, this place would burn to the ground in minutes. I’d just keep it going with a low steady flame.
I checked Jonathan again. “Buddy,” I said. “Yo, buddy?”
His eyes suddenly opened. “Where am I?” he muttered.
“You’re home, Jonathan. You’re right here.”
“Is it safe?” he asked, whispering now, sounding scared.
“What do you mean?”
“Where’s the enemy?” he asked in a quavering voice.
“There is no enemy,” I said. “You’re safe.”
“Who are you?”
“Josh,” I said. “Remember?”
“No,” he said flatly. “How many did we kill?”
I wasn’t prepared for that question. I said nothing. But it was starting to sink in.
“I’m wounded, aren’t I?” he asked next.
“Yes. You need to stay in bed.”
“But I’m safe, right?”
“You’re safe. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
His eyes closed and he faded. I didn’t know if he was dying or just falling asleep. The blankets rose and fell as he breathed, so all I could do was watch over him.
I began to imagine what had happened to Jonathan. He’d been outside splitting firewood with his ax when the helicopter flew over.
It frightened him, and he must have accidentally hit his leg with the blade and then crawled back into the house. It was a miracle he had not bled to death.
And it was a miracle that I had shown up.
But so far I was not of much use.
I stoked the fire again and studied the converted washing machine. The metal was rusted and thin in places. I didn’t trust it. I kept inventor y in my head of what I needed to do. Keep the fire going. Keep us warm. Keep Jonathan calm no matter how crazy he got. What if he had flashbacks of the war and tried to run out into the snow? He was in rough shape, and the effort could kill him. I’d never had so much responsibility in my life.
What if I had made the wrong decision? What if I should have gone for help? I pushed the thought out of my head and calmed myself down.
That’s when I realized how hungry I was. Above me, hanging from the rafters, casting crazy shadows, were the dried eels. There were dozens of them—a full winter’s supply. I stood up on the wobbly chair, tugged one down by the tail. I studied the puckered face of the snake-like creature. It was not exactly my idea of fine dining. I snapped off the head and bit into the flesh of the long body. The texture was like sho
e leather, the taste was…well, it tasted like an eel that had been hanging from a rafter for a couple of months. I chewed and chewed, spit out some thin bones and swallowed.
At about nine o’clock, I turned off the lantern, checked on Jonathan and tucked matches and a candle in my pocket. I sat back in the chair and fell asleep. When I woke, the room was getting cool. I stoked the fire, and the place warmed quickly. I dozed again, woke, stoked the fire, catnapped. Outside, the snow was getting deeper and deeper. My parents would be frantic.
Jonathan woke in fright twice. Each time, he thought he was back in the war. Each time, I spoke to him patiently until he exhausted himself. The second time, just before fading again, he seemed to know where he was. “They’ll want to take me away from here, won’t they?” he asked.
“You need to get to a hospital,” I said.
His eyes were wide-open, and I saw the fear again. “Please. Please, don’t let them take me.” And then his eyes shut.
I don’t know what kept the old guy alive through the night. He’d lost a lot of blood, he’d nearly frozen to death before I found him, and he was out of his mind when he was awake. But he was alive.
As I sat in the dark, my mind grabbed on to all the things that could go wrong. The next time I checked on Jonathan, he could be dead, and I’d be here all alone with a dead man I had called a friend. If rescuers came by helicopter in the morning, the sound could trigger a flashback. And there was a good chance they would insist he be taken to a hospital. Jonathan would fight that with every inch of his life.
I was not great at my lonely post. Each time I woke, the cabin was cooling down. Twice I had to use the precious matches and birch bark to rekindle a flame in the stove. But eventually morning arrived. Jonathan had survived the night, but when I placed my hand on his forehead he felt hot. I wondered if his wound had an infection. Given his state of cleanliness, it seemed likely. This did not look good.
I put on the now-dry snowmobile suit and inched open the door. The snow had stopped, but it was chest high. As I opened the door further, soft powdery snow spilled into the room. I closed it quickly, worried we’d lose heat.
I decided the eel I ate for breakfast was my last. I’d search through Jonathan’s supplies and learn to cook.
And then I heard the welcome buzz of snowmobiles in the distance. I closed my eyes. Yes. Definitely. Two of them far off but most certainly headed this way. My parents would have reported me missing. The rescue people would be out here along with everyone my dad knew who had a snowmobile. It was possible they would only look for me along the trail. They may not have a clue that I could be at the hermit’s. Jonathan was snoring now. I had to take the chance. I had to get to the logging road.
I put a log in the fire, pulled on boots and zipped up the suit. I grabbed my gloves and plunged out into the snowdrift, hastily latching the door behind me. It was like swimming. The snow was chest high, and I kept sinking and having to climb out of drifts. I tried crawling along the surface of the soft snow. It coated my face, numbed my cheeks and gave me an ice-cream headache.
At the creek the snow was not quite so deep along the shoreline. As I stumbled out onto the logging road, I fell into the track where a snowmobile had already passed by. Darn.
But then I heard a second one headed my way and a third behind that. I yelled but soon realized they wouldn’t hear me. I waited three long, panting minutes. A large black snowmobile approached and stopped. A blue one stopped right behind.
The driver of the first one popped off his helmet. It was Dave Jenkins. “Josh, you all right?”
I was still breathing so heavily, all I could do was nod.
“We got to get you home. You got frostbite?” He looked terribly concerned.
“No,” I rasped. “It’s Jonathan. He needs help. He cut himself badly. I stayed in his cabin last night.”
He nodded. “Right. Hop on.” I hopped on behind him and nodded to the driver behind him who followed.
Above the roar of the engine, he said, “That’s Doctor Mahaney back there. He was one of the first to volunteer to come looking for you. He’ll be right behind us.” Dave revved the engine and plowed into the soft snow through the forest. He avoided getting stuck by ramming right through bushes and saplings. Without a helmet, the cascading snow blinded me and froze my face even more. I just hung on.
“We’re almost there,” Dave said.
chapter thirteen
When Doc Mahaney looked at Jonathan, he immediately said, “We have to get this man to a hospital.”
He pulled out a two-way radio and was about to make the call when I grabbed it from him and said, “No. You can’t do that.”
He looked at me like I was crazy, but Dave shook his head and said, “Josh is right. You call in a helicopter and this man is as good as dead.”
“Then we rig up something to tow him out on a sled.”
“If we move Jonathan,” Dave said, “he’ll lose it. He won’t survive.” Then turning to me he asked, “What was he like last night? Incoherent?”
“Sometimes. War stuff,” I said.
He turned to Mahaney again. “There’s no shrink in the world that can fix the damage in Jonathan. Living here keeps him alive.”
Mahaney looked angry. He didn’t get it. “You call that alive?”
It was a mean thing to say, but he had a point. Jonathan had remained unconscious and he was sweating. The doctor had removed my makeshift bandage. The gash looked dark and ugly.
“He’s my friend,” I said. “I’ll stay here. Bring whatever you need here.” I was staring at the old doctor.
Dave shrugged. “It’s the only way. If he leaves here, he dies. If he stays and we can help him, I don’t know. Maybe.”
My dad was somewhere else on a snowmobile, helping to look for me. Dave got him on the radio. An hour later he showed up at the cabin. Mahaney had cleaned and bandaged the wound. More help was on the way. More medical supplies, food, a generator.
I rode home with my dad to talk to my mom, and then he and I both went back to Jonathan. We stayed the night. By the next day there were generators humming, tents set up, two nurses and Mahaney overseeing the operation. Jonathan seemed to enjoy the pampering.
It was amazing how generous people were. Some reporter got wind of the story, of course, and it was plastered in the newspaper and on TV. Everyone wanted to help. Jonathan was not going to take up any of the offers to move into a “better place” in town. He would stay put. But he had an army of new friends. As he got better, I saw a different side of Jonathan, a social side. He joked with Dave and the Doc.
My life was never quite the same after that. My parents had more respect for me. They bought me a satellite cell phone so I could call them from the most remote places on the planet. It had a GPS built in. I was like a tagged dolphin. If they wanted, they could know where I was at any time. I really didn’t mind at all. In fact, it was kind of cool.
Everyone knew the story, so I became the center of attention for a while. Kids talked to me now. Sonia had a newfound interest in my well-being. She sent me emails and text messages all the time. Even Anton changed. Everyone stopped believing I had vandalized his bike.
I visited Jonathan often. My dad and I made snowmobile trips to see him until the snow thawed and my bike was back in action. Once the days started getting longer and the media lost interest in the hermit, I found myself riding down to Loggerman Creek and just sitting alone on a rock, feeling pretty good about things. Thinking that life as a hermit may not be all that bad.
Lesley Choyce divides his time between teaching, writing, running Pottersfield Press and hosting a television talk show. He is the author of over seventy books for youth and adults. Reckless is Lesley’s third book in the Orca Currents series. Lesley lives in Lawrencetown Beach, Nova Scotia.
Titles in the Series
orca currents
121 Express
Monique Polak
Bear Market
Michele Martin Boss
ley
The Big Dip
Melanie Jackson
Bio-pirate
Michele Martin Bossley
Blob
Frieda Wishinsky
Branded
Eric Walters
Camp Wild
Pam Withers
Chat Room
Kristin Butcher
Cracked
Michele Martin Bossley
Crossbow
Dayle Campbell Gaetz
Daredevil Club
Pam Withers
Dog Walker
Karen Spafford-Fitz
Explore
Christy Goerzen
Finding Elmo
Monique Polak
Flower Power
Anne Walsh
Fraud Squad
Michele Martin Bossley
Horse Power
Anne Walsh
Hypnotized
Don Trembath
In a Flash
Eric Walters
Junkyard Dog
Monique Polak
Laggan Lard Butts
Eric Walters
Manga Touch
Jacqueline Pearce
Marked
Norah McClintock
Mirror Image
K.L. Denman
Nine Doors
Vicki Grant
Perfect Revenge
K.L. Denman
Pigboy
Vicki Grant
Queen of the Toilet Bowl
Frieda Wishinsky
Rebel’s Tag
K.L. Denman
Reckless
Lesley Choyce
See No Evil
Diane Young
Sewer Rats
Sigmund Brouwer
The Shade
K.L. Denman
Skate Freak
Lesley Choyce
Special Edward
Eric Walters
Splat!
Eric Walters
Spoiled Rotten
Dayle Campbell Gaetz
Struck
Deb Loughead
Sudden Impact
Lesley Choyce
Swiped
Michele Martin Bossley
Reckless Page 5
