EMP (Book 3): 12 Years Old and Alone

by Whitworth, Mike

  Was this what the desire for vengeance felt like? I’d never felt that way before, even about whoever murdered my mom and my sisters. Maybe because I didn’t have any idea who had killed them.

  Maybe I was just growing up. It felt strange though. I never thought of myself as being able to kill a man before. Now I knew I was capable. I didn’t like the feeling.

  Chapter 14

  The next morning, a feeling of doom that I couldn’t shake enveloped me. My legs felt wobbly and my hands shook slightly. It was weird. Even Sackett looked a bit confused. Al seemed to be okay. He was walking strongly and his wound was healing well.

  I kept looking around us, expecting to see something. By noon the feeling was wearing off, but it was still there, hiding in the pit of my stomach.

  The snow began in the early afternoon. At first it came down as huge, widely-separated flakes. Then the flakes grew smaller as the wind picked up. The wind brought the cold on a silver platter, served by the Devil with a vengeance. I shivered in my lined jeans and deerskin jacket. I could tell Al was cold too. He was wearing Jeans and a flannel shirt and long underwear but it wasn’t enough.

  Al stopped. I almost couldn’t hear him because of the wind. The wind was from only a little west of north and blew the snow into my face where it melted and trickled down my shirt.

  “Trevor, we need to get out of this weather. This is shaping up to be a blizzard.”

  “But we never have blizzards around here,” I said. “Even when we had almost two feet of snow when I was eight, that wasn’t a blizzard.”

  “We do now. This is going to be a bad one. Maybe as bad as the 1899 blizzard.”

  “I never heard of that one.”

  “The temperature got down to -24 degrees and people were stranded for weeks in some parts of Arkansas.”

  “Shit!”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t cuss so much, Trevor. Cussing takes time, and time is important for survival. Sometimes we need every second we can get to do what needs doing.”

  I thought a bit. “Fuck, you’re right.”

  Al laughed and I said, “Oops.” Neither of us was sure if I’d said that deliberately or not.

  Three hours later we found a low rock shelter, an overhang maybe six feet deep and four feet high. I gathered some small branches and Al tried to start a fire with a match. It broke, and so did the next six matches. Finally, he got one to light and the wind blew it out almost instantly.

  I dug out a pouch of black match and my fire striker kit. With both of us huddling around the black match and the tinder from my pocket, we managed to block the wind and get the tinder lit. Al was impressed and said so. I felt kinda proud of myself, or I would have if there were time.

  While Al lay between the harsh wind and the embryonic fire, I piled small sticks onto the fire, encouraging it to grow. Then I piled some rocks around it to protect it from the wind. Al stayed to keep it going and I went to fetch firewood from a stand of trees only a hundred feet away.

  I had no idea how long a blizzard could last so I was determined to gather as much firewood as humanly and dogly possible. I found a small deadfall and harnessed Sackett to it and we pulled it back to the rock overhang. Al broke it up and Sackett and I went back for more.

  The visibility was decreasing but we needed more firewood if we were to survive the blizzard. It was growing colder even more quickly now. My hands felt more like frozen lobster claws than hands, but I forced them to close. I pulled a small dead tree over, and piled more wood across the branches. Once the pile was high enough, me and Sackett pulled it back to the overhang. I couldn’t see where we were going so I just let Sackett lead. He took us straight to the rock shelter.

  While Sackett and I were gathering firewood, Al built a wall of rocks two feet high. The wall ran from solid rock out and around the fire and back almost to solid rock, leaving a small entryway. There was space inside large enough for the fire and the three of us. There was even some room to stack firewood.

  While Al broke up the wood we dragged back and stacked it close to the wall, I added more rocks to the wall, until it was three and a half feet high at the highest, almost to the overhanging rock in a couple of places.

  “That will do, Trevor,” Al said, as he started laying some of the longer sticks of wood across part of the stone wall to form a crude frame. As soon as the frame was complete, Al pulled a couple of small space blankets from a pocket and we spread them over the frame and held them in place with more sticks. Al said the silver space blankets would serve as a heat reflector.

  “We need more wood,” I said.

  “The blizzard is getting worse.”

  “Tie a rope to me and I’ll get some more wood. It’s easier to pull it now there’s more snow on the ground,” I said.

  “No, I’ll go. You tend the fire. Will Sackett go with me?”

  “Sure he will.”

  So they vanished into the snow, which was blowing almost horizontally now. I waited and worried. All sorts of bad scenarios flashed through my mind. Mom always said I had far too much imagination. Now I agreed with her.

  I busied myself keeping the fire burning strongly and removing rocks and debris from the floor inside our wall. No need to be uncomfortable when I died of cold all alone because Al and Sackett never made it back.

  But they did make it back, and pulling a huge dead snag piled high with wood. Sackett lay down by the fire as I helped Al move firewood into the shelter.

  An hour later, we were almost warm.

  “Trevor, I do believe that’s the fastest I’ve ever seen firewood gathered. Your idea of stacking it on a dead snag and dragging it may just have saved our lives.”

  I wanted to say something. It wasn’t often in my life I’d received a complement. Come to think of it, the only complements I’d ever received, at least that I could remember, came from King or Al. I couldn’t remember my mom giving a single complement, to me, my dad, or my sisters, and they weren’t good at it either. I was trying to think of something to say when I fell asleep.

  The blizzard was a son of a bitch. I awoke to a dim morning where the light from the fire was stronger than the sunlight filtering through the white wall of windblown snow just outside the overhang.

  And it was cold. It was freaking cold. I scooted a little closer to the fire but Sackett beat me to the best spot.

  The howl of the wind was like something out of a Halloween movie, loud, insistent, and somehow evil. Anyone out in that would die, no ifs, no buts, and just plain dead. I pulled my blanket tighter around my shoulders and prayed for warmth. Well, I didn’t actually pray, but if it got any colder I would, even though I hated going to church.

  Al was sitting by the fire and feeding sticks into it as needed. The pop and sizzle of the fire couldn’t be heard over the wind. Al said something but I couldn’t hear him. Then he shouted.

  “Are you all right, Trevor?”

  “I nodded.”

  And so we sat like that, in the warmth of a too small fire, amidst the howl of a monster storm that wouldn’t let us converse.

  Snow began to drift into the rock shelter, fine, slick, powdery flakes. I watched as it reached a depth of six inches next to our rock wall. Soon it was a foot deep and then almost two. I was starting to think the snow would just keep coming and bury us alive when I noticed the wind wasn’t as loud as before. In an hour, the wind was quiet enough so we could talk.

  “Was that the worst of the blizzard?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Al said. “My grandfather told me about the blizzards in the old days. Some of them had two or three hard blows, and some would just die out after the first blow.”

  “I hope this one is done for,” I said, snuggling closer to Sackett. The wind had died down, but it didn’t seem to be warming up any.

  “Me too,” Al said, “but I’m afraid it may not be. I read that during 911, when all planes were grounded, the temperature across the country dropped by a degree or two just because the jet contrails w
ere gone.”

  “Why would that happen?”

  “Well, I’m no scientist, but what I read said that the water vapor in the contrails was adding to the global warming effect.”

  I thought about that. I didn’t know what to think, so I said as much to Al.

  “I don’t think I understand it either. But, if all of the emissions from jets, cars, factories, and the like were keeping us warmer, and those emissions are gone now, we might be in for an old time kind of storm.”

  “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

  “Yeah,” Al said, drifting back into his own thoughts.

  I had no knowledge of climate and what makes it change. I just knew I was cold. I decided it’d be safer to assume the weather would always be worse than I thought it would be. I thought of the storm that preceded the flood. Maybe living indoors before the lights went out made me underestimate the weather. After all, a house, even a rickety shotgun house, was a hell of a lot better than being outside during a storm. I vowed not to take the weather for granted again, even if I built a house to live in someday.

  The wind and snow ebbed and waned, going from fierce to sorta fierce and back again. It never quit snowing, but the snow wasn’t coming down as hard either. Now enough daylight filtered through the snow to overpower the light from the fire.

  I picked up the canteen. It was frozen solid. Shit.

  Al saw what I was doing and took a small pot from his pack. He handed it to me and I scooped it full of snow, avoiding the yellow spots where we had peed, and set it over the fire. I had to keep adding more snow by the double handful as it melted. I remembered learning in science class in school that one inch of rain equaled about twelve inches of snow. That looked to be about right.

  An hour later the melted snow was cool enough to drink, so we drank it all before it could freeze again. Sackett drank last right from the pot. Then he stared at me with his soul-stabbing eyes. I started melting more snow.

  “What happened, Al? What did Tolliver do?”

  Al sat and stared into space for a bit. Then he said, “They attacked while everyone was sleeping. They killed everyone while I was outside on watch. They shot my wife and son in our bed. They did the same to King and my mother. One of my brothers woke up and got his hands on a rifle, but they shot him before he could fight back.

  “I’m sorry, Al.” I didn’t know what else to say.

  “I heard the gunfire and ran to see what was happening. I made it into the house and found everyone dead. I wasn’t sure what happened, but I immediately suspected Tolliver and his buddies. We should have never taken them in.”

  “You had no way of knowing,” I said.

  “Take this as a lesson, Trevor. Don’t trust people easily. Be very careful.”

  I had already learned this lesson myself, but I didn’t mention that to Al. “How did you get shot?” I asked.

  “I was leaving through the front door of the house, when Tolliver shot me in the back. He must have been hiding and waiting for me. I should’ve known better.”

  I just sat quietly and left Al alone with his thoughts. I didn’t know what to say, but I did know what he was going through. I remembered finding my mom and sisters. Life could sure suck now.

  As we sat, each lost in the world of his own mind, the wind picked up again. The snow was soon coming down harder than it had done before, and was blowing right into the overhang so hard I couldn’t see Al where he sat only five feet from me.

  Even though I couldn’t see any farther than the hand in front of my face, I wasn’t worried. I could feel the heat of the fire. I could hear Al tossing more wood on the fire. Would this damn snow never let up?

  And then the fire went out.

  I couldn’t believe it. That big old fire just snuffed out. I felt Al’s hand grab me and then his face was close to my ear.

  “We can’t restart the fire in this.”

  “What are we gonna do?” I asked.

  “Help me spread the coals and ashes from the fire.”

  I grabbed a piece of firewood and did what Al asked, although I didn’t know why. The snow backed off but the wind refused to abate. I saw where Al had spread the coals and ashes from the fire over an area just big enough for the three of us to lie down. Al started scooping up handfuls of dirt to cover the fire but it was a slow go because everything was frozen. I used my knife to loosen the dirt for him and soon he had the ashes and coals covered. He then spread the one wool blanket over the hot spot and motioned for me and Sackett to lie down on it.

  We did. I could feel the warmth seeping through the dirt cover. Then Al pulled the frame with the tattered space blankets down and, after we covered up with the other two blankets, dragged the frame on top of us.

  Pretty soon I was warm. Sackett was snuggled in between us. He had the best spot, like he needed it with a fur coat. I was glad he was there. I might not be able to trust many people. But I could always trust Sackett.

  After a while I was sweating while the wind and snow screamed past. I only got hotter as time passed. Maybe there wasn’t enough dirt over the coals? Shit, I was gonna be cooked to death in a fucking blizzard and I didn’t even have any salt and pepper.

  But the coals cooled down. By the time the wind slowed and the snow stopped, I was freezing again. Al used some black match and started another fire. He soon had it going pretty well and Sackett and I migrated to the new fire.

  “Is it over?” I asked.

  “I sure hope so.”

  “Do you think Tolliver and his men survived the blizzard?”

  “I don’t know. I hope not.”

  “If they doubled back to the tunnel, they’d be fine. The tunnel is great shelter and there’s plenty of firewood.”

  “Let’s hope they didn’t.”

  “What should we do?” I asked.

  “I think we’re going to have to wait for a while.”

  I looked over the terrain outside the overhang. There was a blanket of snow at least two-feet-thick covering everything. In a few places the snow had drifted twenty feet high. We needed skis or snowshoes. I mentally voted for snowshoes because I had no idea how to ski.

  Chapter 15

  Al said, “We need to get going soon. If Tolliver and his men survived, they may find us here. If we found shelter, they could have as well. There are quite a few rock shelters in this area.”

  I looked out over the deep snow. “Do you think the blizzard is over?”

  “Yes. See there? There’s enough blue sky to make a man’s shirt. The snow will be gone by afternoon and it won’t get any heavier.”

  “I just hope the wind dies down.”

  “It will, and pretty soon. It will be cold until it does though. Tonight will be almost as cold as last night. I’m sure there’s a warm front following the blizzard, but I don’t know how long it will take to get here or how much the temperature will rise.”

  “Do you know how to make snowshoes?” I asked.

  “No, there's not much need for them in Arkansas. Do you know how to make them?”

  “Well, sorta. I watched a vid on making snowshoes once.”

  “Okay, tell me what to do.”

  Moving through the snow was hard. Since my legs were shorter, it was more difficult for me than Al. It took us three hours to gather the materials I thought we needed.

  Once the materials were piled next to the fire we waited for them to warm up enough to work with. Then I took a long thin sapling about the diameter of my index finger and bent it into a teardrop shape. Once the ends were tied together, I used small green sticks about the diameter of my little finger to make a cross weave. I tied everything in place with strips cut from the bottom of my and Al’s jeans. I was gonna use leather strips from my deerskin jacket, but Al said they would work loose if the leather got wet.

  Al sacrificed his woven cotton belt to make straps to hold our boots on the snowshoes. At first we used two straps on each snowshoe and tied our boots securely to the snowshoes. That d
idn’t work at all. After we removed the back strap and left just the toe strap, the snowshoes worked pretty well. It didn’t take me long to get the hang of the snowshoe shuffle. Al sank deeper than I did, but he got around pretty good. The snowshoes looked like rejects from a stick factory, but they kept us on top of the snow.

  I took my bow and arrows and snow-shuffled around looking for a rabbit. In about an hour I spotted one hiding under a bush. I drew my bow, slightly startled by a small cracking sound, and loosed the arrow. We dined on rabbit in the afternoon.

  We decided to stay in our camp for the night and move out in the morning. I was worried about Tolliver and his men being able to track us in the snow. I wondered if it was wiser to stay hidden until the snow was gone, but Al was determined to move on quickly. Maybe he knew something I didn’t?

  The snowshoes were awkward but we made progress. Sackett followed along behind us breaking snow with his chest and jumping over small drifts like a dolphin at Sea World. I had no idea he could jump that high.

  And man were we leaving a trail. Even a blind man could follow it. I didn’t like this at all. Without Sackett, the trail would be much less obvious, but I wasn’t going anywhere without Sackett.

  We had snow-walked for almost four hours, when Al said. “We’re here.”

  I looked around. “Where is here?”

  “Look up the slope.”

  I peered into the trees on the slope above us. At first I didn’t see anything, and then I saw it. A low log cabin in the trees, banked high with snow.

  Al led the way upslope and was inside the cabin before Sackett and I could get there. Sackett beat me through the door and jumped onto the bottom bunk of a pair of bunk beds, snow and all. He flopped over with his feet in the air and was soon snoring. The dang dog was addicted to beds.