by Mia Frances
Alex didn't know how much longer she could go on, terrified now that they might freeze to death in the cold. She'd already begun to see things that weren't there, leaves on the trees, flowers poking out of the snow. Her shirt was damp with sweat beneath her heavy coat, causing her to shiver all the more. She kept telling herself that it wasn't hypothermia, that the pains in her arms and legs, the fatigue, the hallucinations, weren't symptoms. She needed to rest, but didn't dare. If she sat down now, she might never get up again. Alex felt sleepy, she could barely keep her eyes open. She had to keep moving! Wincing in pain, Alex slipped the glove back on and continued the long march forward. It would be dark soon. Somewhere ahead she'd see the bright glow of a campfire and then her journey would be over. She'd be safe. Just a little further now...just a little further.
Alex moved closer to the tree, trying to hold onto the sled and keep it from sliding down the incline. They'd been heading steadily downhill for the last half-mile or so. Alex didn't know how long she'd been walking, having lost all track of time. Straining to see in the storm, Alex noticed an old piece of wood nailed to a tree a few feet in front of her. Doubting her own eyes, she reached out to touch it. She blinked, trying to bring the words into focus...Northville-Placid Trail.
Someone called to her. She scanned the hill below, trying to locate the source of the sound. There amid the trees and falling snow, she could see it, flickering like a beacon in the darkness, welcoming her with open arms. She looked down at Wolf. "We made it. We found them," she whispered.
A figure ran toward her and she collapsed into his arms. Justin held her tightly. He spoke to her, but she couldn't understand what he was saying. Disoriented, her eyes were fixed on the glow in the distance. Dancing ribbons of gold, orange, and red. Flames. Warmth. Light. Orders were shouted as the older children rushed to help maneuver the sled down the slope. Alex clung to Justin's steadying arm, as the little ones welcomed her with hugs and tears of joy.
"Wolf can you hear me? You're safe now!" He didn't respond. "We're going to be OK!"
Their little band was together again. They'd survived the ordeal. All of them!
Chapter 21
Alex slowly circled the trunk of the tree. Something was moving above her in the branches. Straining to see, she caught a glimpse of a bushy tail, just as its owner disappeared into a hole. She stepped back, waiting to see if the squirrel would reemerge, wondering too if such a scrawny prize was worth the climb. It was a good 20 feet up. Hunting, she'd discovered, was a frustrating business, even with a gun. Everywhere she looked, she found evidence of game: tracks, droppings, claw marks on the trees. But finding and snaring the animals that made them was no easy task. She contemplated the branches above her. Even if she could get her ass up there without breaking her neck, she didn't have a net with her. She couldn't smoke him out without that at the ready. The alternative was to stick her hand in the hole and hope for the best, but that was risky. She didn't relish the idea of having her hand mauled. Though they were cute and cuddly-looking, the little bastards could be downright vicious when threatened. She gave a dejected sigh. Acknowledging defeat, she marked the tree with her hatchet so she could find it again tomorrow and wearily headed home.
The sky was darkening. They were in for another storm. Spring was coming and with it the rain. The snow pack was slowly melting. During the day there were showers; at night, when the temperature dropped below freezing, there'd be sleet and snow squalls. The streams were swollen, raging rivers of melting snow, battering and cracking the ice, throwing jagged pieces up on the banks, as torrents of water rushed down from the mountains, sweeping away everything in their path. The Cedar River Flow was still thick with ice as were the other nearby lakes and ponds, but even that would soon disappear. Barring another severe, extended cold snap, they might be able to start fishing again soon.
The gun bounced against her back as she trudged along. Though she tried her best, once again she'd be returning home empty-handed. She'd followed Wolf's instructions to the letter, looking for steam rising out of holes in the snow, indicating that animals were present in the burrows below. Spending hours motionless and freezing along likely looking trails, waiting for something edible to wander by. Even setting trees on fire to see if she could dislodge her quarry from their nests. But nothing worked! She'd seen plenty of deer and rabbit tracks in the past few weeks, and had actually located some of the elusive creatures, but hadn't managed to hit a one. Her marksmanship left a lot to be desired. The only thing her daily sojourns in the forest had gotten her was a bad cold, blistered feet, a sore shoulder from the rifle's recoil, and assorted bumps and bruises from falling out of trees. Hopefully, she'd get better at hunting as she went along.
Alex moved quickly across the wet snow, her footprints leaving little puddles of water in her wake. At the crest of the hill she stopped a moment to catch her breath and take in the view of the Cedar River Flow and the Moose River Wilderness beyond it. This was home now. She moved along the trail, as it twisted and turned, skirting the primitive campsites with their outhouses, picnic tables, and stone fireplaces peeking out above the snow. She'd been here a few times with Matt, to picnic and hike.
The 640 acre Cedar River Flow, a shallow lake of sorts, was owned by the state. As was almost all the land to the west and south of it for 40 miles in either direction. To the north was five miles of uninhabited territory along an unpaved access road and to the east maybe another 10 miles of primeval forest. Here, in this grand expanse of unspoiled wilderness, some idiot bureaucrat from Albany had decided to build a campground! Alex remembered coming here one summer and thinking that it was a tent ghetto. Since it wasn't an "improved" camping area, meaning that it had no running water: no faucets, sinks or showers, there was no charge for using it. You camped at your own risk, battling the black flies and mosquitos, carrying your own drinking water in from the springs, and hoping that roaming black bears didn't raid your site. It was never mentioned in any state camping brochures; and if you happened to miss the tiny wooden sign at the head of Cedar River Road some 15 miles away on the main highway, you'd never even know it existed. The five-mile, unpaved section of road was closed to traffic after October 1st each year. This was partly due to the unpredictable weather, which could cause blinding whiteouts in early fall, but also because of the marshes that bordered it. During the thaws and in heavy rain, their water levels rose, washing out the road, making it an impassible, muddy mire. From October to May the area was a no-man's-land. Only hardy hunters and boozed-up snowmobilers were crazy enough to venture in.
Beyond the ramshackle ranger station lay a single-lane dirt road that snaked through the forest, nearly 50 miles of it, leading to the Limekiln State Campground 25 miles away to the west and south to the trailheads of the West Canada Lakes, the wildest area of the state. It had been a logging road, but little by little, the land had been bought up by the state, leaving only the first few miles still privately owned. Beyond that was untamed wilderness, the only reminder of man's presence here, the occasional, ring of stones where an old, abandoned campsite had been.
When she reached the flow, she stopped, looking around anxiously, gazing across the open expanse toward the two little buildings that formed the old ranger station. That had been their original destination, but they'd only stayed a few days, settling in at a red clapboard building a mile and a half away. She'd happened on it by chance while out hunting. It was the field office of a logging company. There was a small office and two large rooms with a Franklin stove downstairs and two attic lofts in the eaves outfitted with several cots and three sets of bunk beds. She supposed for workers to use in case of inclement weather. In the back, hidden by trees, was an outhouse. It had two good-size solar panels on the roof to generate electricity, but they hadn't been able to get them to work. There was no water, at least she hadn't found any yet, but Alex suspected that someplace under the snow was buried either a hand pump or spigot. For now they were making do with a spring located a mile away,
hauling water back to the camp in their sleds. She'd seen the sign for it peeking out of the snow and dug down until she'd uncovered the pipe sticking out of the hill. It was clean, fresh water, far safer to drink than the melted snow they'd been filtering for use before.
She scanned the trees around the perimeter of the clearing for signs of movement, mindful of the shadows. Deciding it was safe to come out into the open, she quickly crossed the little bridge that spanned the narrow spillway, and hurried toward the safety of the pines. She didn't like it here. Anything crossing the clearing was an easy target. That's why they'd moved on. The ranger station was indefensible.
Two small buildings were positioned on either side of the road's well-worn ruts and potholes. One housed the office, the other living quarters. Though from the outside they looked pretty much as they'd found them, windows shuttered, snow piled against the doors, the insides were a different matter, They'd taken everything they could carry, including the old fashioned cooking stove, transporting it to their new home. They took the beds, couch, table and chairs, bookshelves, desk, utensils, tools, blankets, whatever there was. The ranger who ran the place in summer had quite a little library. He must have been an amateur botanist. She'd been forced to leave most of her books behind when they'd fled the camp, but here she'd found a wealth of knowledge surpassing what she'd had before. There were at least a dozen books on wild plants and half again as many devoted to trees alone. There were books on backpacking and hiking and two or three on wilderness survival, along with cardboard boxes crammed with old issues of Adirondack Life and The Conservationist.
Though space in their new abode was cramped, they were managing. The lofts served as bedrooms for the children. The boys on one side, the girls on the other. She and Wolf slept in the office. The rest of the downstairs was a living area filled with furniture, supplies, and the tools they'd appropriated from the maintenance crew's central storage shed.
It was decided that the ranger station would remain, for all intents and purposes, standing and intact. To destroy it would invite investigation. Anyone happening on its ruins would be alerted to the fact that someone else was living in the area. With an absence of corpses to indicate a raid, the only assumption could be that it had been burned to discourage unwelcome squatters and that there was another dwelling hidden someplace nearby. Alex didn't want anyone's curiosity aroused, fearful they'd come looking for her and her tribe. She'd removed the big plastic map from the entrance and took all the visitors guides, burning everything. It wasn't much in the way of protection, but it was the best she could do.
The field office was relatively new. It hadn't been there the summer before last when she'd driven through the area for a day-long backpacking exploration of Mitchell Pond. Still, that didn't make her feel any more secure. Even in this remote, out-of-the-way area, she had no way of knowing how many people might have stumbled on it. They were her enemies now, threats to her family's survival. She was determined not to be driven from her home again. She was staying put and God help any man or woman who tried to force her out! When the frozen ground thawed, she planned to booby trap the road with a series of camouflaged pits similar to the one Wolf had stumbled into. But she might be worried for nothing. She'd yet to see any tracks to indicate that there were others about.
Alex had circumvented most of the clearing, sticking close to the trees, when she caught sight of something moving far out on the ice. She stopped dead in her tracks, standing perfectly still. It was coming toward her. She grabbed the gun from her shoulder and pointed the weapon at the approaching target. She couldn't be sure what it was. A big dark blob. Could be an animal or maybe a man. She crouched down beside the trunk of a large white birch. She could see it, but hoped to hell it hadn't seen her yet. Only when it stopped and turned slightly sideways, did she realize it had four legs. Hot damn! A deer! Since she couldn't see any antlers, she decided it must be a doe. Alex leaned against the tree and waited for her prey to get closer, her heart racing, hands sweating.
The doe crossed the ice very slowly, cautiously pausing every now and again to look around. Deer were wary animals, always alert to possible danger. Though she was probably in range, Alex didn't dare fire. The only way she had a chance of hitting the animal was if it were right on top of her. She chewed her lip, nervously watching as the deer changed direction, heading toward a patch of brush on the shore. The doe nosed the scraggly twigs a minute, taking a nibble here and there before moving on. She was coming closer! Alex was downwind of her so the animal was unaware of her presence. When the deer stopped again, it was to munch a few stalks of dry grass protruding from the snow. Finding them to her liking, she pawed the ground to uncover more of the tasty morsels. The doe was still almost 100 feet away. Alex tightened her grip on the gun. Another 50 feet, that's all she needed. Just another 50 feet! The timid creature meandered back and forth through the clearing, looking for more grass, but unable to find any, turned its attention to the trees. Oblivious to the danger, her quarry was heading straight for her. Alex held her breath, finger poised on the trigger, gun trained on the head. She clenched her teeth as she squeezed. The air was filled with the sound of thunder as the rifle butt slammed into her shoulder. She watched in elated disbelief as the animal stumbled, then fell. Holy shit! She'd actually shot it!
Alex came running out of the trees to claim her prize. The deer lay on its side unmoving, tongue protruding, brown eyes fixed in an unblinking stare, the snow around its head saturated with blood. Alex felt a moment's remorse. She was such a beautiful creature. Alex bent down to gently stroked her fur. She'd shot her just below the ear, leaving a gaping hole in her skull. Alex could take comfort in the knowledge that she hadn't suffered, that death had been almost instantaneous. Alex had never been this close to a deer before; they were bigger than she thought. How was she going to get the carcass home? Discouraged by her past failed attempts and by the fact that the toboggans and large plastic sleds were often noisy as they scraped against the snow and brush, alerting game to her approach, she'd stopped bringing them along an her daily forays into the woods. She lifted a front leg and tugged. The animal barely budged, the warm body already forming an large, water soaked indentation in the melting snow. The doe was far too heavy for her to lift and dragging it along the ground would be a backbreaking chore, taking hours. The simplest solution was to gut and butcher the carcass here. Once she'd done that the meat would weigh less and could be better managed.
Alex stared at the doe bewildered, wondering where to begin. She supposed she should probably skin the thing first. She thought a moment, deciding the best way to accomplish that was with the animal lying on its back. The doe refused to cooperate. After several minutes of shoving and pulling, Alex finally managed to roll her over, holding her in position with rocks and branches to keep her from flopping over. Unsheathing her knife and wincing, she cautiously poked the sharp point into the fur and got started, making one shallow incision from genitals to neck. Once done, she carefully worked the blade between the skin and flesh, trying to separate them. It was tedious work, made all the more unpleasant by the light drizzle that had begun to fall. It took 30 minutes to accomplish and, even then, patches of hair could still be seen clinging to the meat here and there.
Producing her hatchet, Alex tackled the next job, removing the head. It wasn't nearly as easy as she imagined. The sight of so much blood turned her stomach and it took repeated blows of the ax before she succeeded in severing the vertebrae. The head bounced off, landing with a thud, eyes wide open, staring at Alex accusingly. Very disconcerting! Alex grabbed the skull by the snout and tossed it to the side. The worst was yet to come. Taking the knife, Alex plunged the blade into the belly and began sawing until she'd completely split the doe open, exposing the innards. Steam rose from the cavity as she pushed her sleeve up. Holding her breath, Alex thrust her hand in. She remembered Wolf saying that any contamination or toxins an animal had ingested or been exposed to would concentrate in their internal organs: k
idneys, liver, lungs, and the like. Not knowing which parts were salvageable and which weren't, she discarded everything.
The bloody entrails stretched a good four or five feet on either side of her, bits of tissue and gore clinging to her hands and clothing. When she was finally done with the grisly task, Alex rubbed her hands in the snow trying to wash them clean, then patted some on her face, trying to quell the queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. She stood up, the cold, pelting rain chilling her to the bone. Alex tried to focus her thinking on roasts, steaks, stews, and soups, not killing or butchering, or where the meat came from.
Alex blinked and shivered, looking up at the sky. The rain wasn't going to let up anytime soon. If she didn't want to get drenched and end up with pneumonia, she'd better get a move on. Alex turned back to the carcass and, grabbing the forelegs, began dragging the dressed meat free of the gore. It was somewhat lighter, but even cleaned, weighed close to 70 pounds. She could probably drag the doe home through the slush and snow, but it wouldn't be easy. The meat would be mangled by the time she made camp. She let go of the legs, thinking there had to be a better way, and went to fetch the discarded skin. She laid it smooth side down and rolled the carcass onto it. It was a little easier to move, but still clumsy. Unfortunately, that was the best she could do. Next time she'd better remember to bring along a sled!
