Outnumbered

by Shay Savage

  I set the book on the arm of the chair and lean back as Solo crawls up my chest and settles himself down with his nose up near my chin. He’s still tiny and obviously weakened but seems better than when I first found him. Maybe he wasn’t alone out in the woods as long as I thought he might have been. I wonder what happened to his mother.

  Thoughts of motherhood in general take my mind to the last time I saw my own mother.

  “Do you have anything to say to me? Anything at all?”

  I just sat in silence, staring at the barred window separating us.

  “You could consider apologizing, you know!”

  Her words dug into my skin. She might as well have been grabbing me and shaking me. I was shaking anyway.

  “For what?” I finally said, unable to speak any meaningful words.

  “For what? Really, Bishop? You killed him. You killed him in cold blood. They’re right about you, aren’t they? You’re a sociopath. You have no remorse and no conscience. You don’t care at all about what you’ve done.”

  I looked up and stared into her smooth, brown eyes. Even as a child, I wished I had her eyes instead of my father’s. There was too much of him in me, and I’d proven that.

  “Well, good luck with the rest of your life.” The chair scraped across the floor loudly as she pushed it back and stood up. “I hope you rot in here!”

  “I saved your life!” I didn’t know where the words came from. “You know I did! Why can’t you even admit that to yourself!”

  “Saved my life?” My mother’s mouth dropped open and a tear rolled down her reddened cheeks. “You think you saved me? You ruined my life, Bishop. You ruined it. I can’t even go home now because of what you did. I wish I had listened to my own mother. I should never have had you.”

  Solo’s claws dig into the skin of my neck, and I wince.

  “Careful!” I pull him off my chest and set him down in the seat.

  I pour myself a glass of whiskey and light a cigarette off one of the candles. Solo tries to climb back up my leg, so I find an old towel in the bathroom closet and place it in one of the boxes from the store. It’s a small box but just about the right size for the little kitten.

  I place the makeshift bed near the fire, and Solo checks it out immediately. He walks around it a couple of times before placing a foot inside. After doing this a couple of times, he climbs in and starts kneading the towel. He looks up at me and howls once.

  “What? You were expecting Egyptian linens?” I laugh and take a sip of my drink. It burns my throat, but I welcome the feeling. I haven’t had any alcohol since last winter; it never lasts long. Neither do the cigarettes though I’m better at rationing those.

  Now that Solo is settled, I make myself dinner out of the perishable food I bought in town. It won’t last long but should give me what I need to get through the latter part of winter when my primary diet will be nothing more than caribou meat and snowshoe hares. I’ve got plenty of vitamins to help supplement whatever nutrients I’m missing.

  Once my dishes are washed in warm water heated on the fire and set on the counter to dry, I load the fireplace up with the heaviest logs in the bin and prepare for the night. I blow out the candles, navigating the small, familiar space by firelight alone. I hang my jeans on the rack near the fire—the cuffs are still a little damp from the snow outside—and place my boots near the heat as well.

  I strip off my remaining clothing and shiver for a moment until my skin gets used to the chill. Boxers and socks go into a basket in the bathroom, but I hang my shirt up with the jeans. It isn’t wet, but it helps me separate what’s been worn and what hasn’t. Doing laundry is a luxury and uses a lot of water, so I keep it to a minimum.

  I climb into bed, welcoming the weight and the warmth of the blankets—one thermal, one wool. In the closet, there’s a bear hide with the fur still attached, but I won’t need that until it gets colder.

  I’m only in bed for a minute before Solo whines and crawls his way up the edge of the blanket, meowing constantly. He climbs onto my thigh and then walks up my body until his face is right up near mine. He yowls loudly.

  “I got you your own bed,” I say.

  He doesn’t appear to care.

  I sigh, too tired to bother arguing with him, and let him curl up on my chest. His purr is comforting, and his body heat added to my own makes the bed that much warmer.

  Two hours later, he wakes me up with his cries and moans. Eventually, I crawl out of bed and get him some more milk, which calms him down enough that we can both go back to sleep. Three hours later, we start all over again.

  By the time the sun is up, I feel like I haven’t slept at all. Solo, on the other hand, is very active. As I wash up and get dressed, he explores the rest of the cabin, getting into the firewood, the supplies I have yet to put away, and almost getting his nose snapped in a mousetrap back in the closet.

  As tempted as I am to spend the day inside and maybe take a nap, I still have a lot to do before the weather gets any worse. There will be plenty of time to sleep through the winter. I feed Solo one more time, get my hunting bow and hunting equipment, and head outside.

  I’ve got a lot of meat stored in the locker at the back of the barn, but one more caribou would make sure I didn’t run out or have to track the herd through the deep snows.

  The barren-ground caribou in this area are already migrating, though some exist throughout the winter months, migrating from further north. As long as there are conifer trees to munch on and water to drink, they’ll stick around. The marshes of this area work well for finding the herds quickly, and I also know where to look. More importantly, I know when to look.

  Parking the Jeep a good distance away, I set myself up at the edge of the trees and wait. As the wind shifts, I change my position, making sure I’ll be downwind when the herd arrives to drink from the marsh waters. It’s comparatively warm today, and some of the snow is melting, but I know from the weather radio that snow is on the way, probably tonight. If it’s a big storm, I might not have another hunting opportunity for a while, so I have to make this one count.

  As I move from one group of trees to another, I come across some Shaggy Mane mushrooms. It’s late in the season for them, but a couple haven’t gone inky and black. They’ll make a good meal tonight.

  I hear the herd approaching before I see it. When the first few bucks appear around an outcropping of trees and head for the water, an eagle flies overhead, looking for its own dinner. Caribou travel stirs up a lot of smaller mammals for the eagles to hunt.

  I wait—patient, silent, and still. I pick out my mark early and anticipate the best time to shoot. The creature turns, showing me its side. Adrenaline flows through me as I aim carefully, and my arrow flies straight into the animal’s flank, puncturing a lung. I run toward the fallen caribou and finish it with my knife.

  I give a silent prayer, thanking the animal for its life. I’m not sure I really believe any of that stuff, but those who taught me were adamant about it, ingraining the spirituality of the hunt into my mind. When it gets colder, I’ll drink the blood. The indigenous people swear by it, and I do feel energized when I drink it, but I wonder how much of that is psychosomatic.

  Covering the carcass with a bear skin to keep some of the predators away, I head off to retrieve the Jeep. If I had help, I could prepare the carcass here. It would be neater, but I’m on my own, and I have to get back to my cabin to clean it.

  Once the caribou is strapped to the hood of the Jeep, I start back towards the dirt road and the lake near my cabin. I go slowly over the rough terrain, watching carefully to avoid any obstacles ahead of me. The carcass shifts as I hit a bump, partially obscuring my view. I roll down the window and stick my head out a bit to see better. The temperature is dropping rapidly, but I’m almost home, so I won’t be cold for long.

  As I get to the dirt road, I see a dark shape off to one side, nestled in a group of boulders near the lake. I’ve studied the landscape around here so intimatel
y, I know whatever it is wasn’t there before.

  As I pull up closer, the shape moves slightly.

  I stop the Jeep and grip my hunting knife in my right hand before I get out. I’m pretty sure it’s not an animal, but I don’t know what it is, and it’s always better to be careful. I walk up silently until I can get a better look at it.

  It’s a person.

  Not just any person but the woman I saw at Broken Toy’s the day before. She’s huddled up in a ball against the rocks, still not dressed properly for the climate, and half frozen.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” I ask as I approach, knife still in hand. I haven’t forgotten how she wigged out on me when I wouldn’t listen to her autobiography.

  She looks up, and I’m met with her bright green eyes. Her hair is flapping around in the wind, smacking her in the face, but I can still see the tears in her eyes.

  “They left me,” she says softly. Her voice shakes as she shivers violently.

  “You’re going to freeze out here.” I reach down and offer her my hand. “Who left you?”

  She stares at my hand for a long moment before reaching out tentatively. She lets me help her up, then wraps her arms around herself as the brunt of the wind, previously blocked by the rocks, hits the rest of her body.

  She looks to the west at the road leading to Whatì.

  “Are you staying in Whatì?” I ask. “I can take you back there.”

  “No.” She doesn’t offer any other explanation as she sways unsteadily.

  I grab her arm just as she’s about to fall, and the next thing I know, I’m holding an unconscious, freezing woman in my arms.

  Chapter 4

  What the fuck have I gotten myself into?

  I carry the unconscious woman inside my cabin. I can’t even remember what she said her name is, but here I am, bringing her into my home where I haven’t had company since the first winter I was here.

  I’m concerned about my kill. Leaving it on the Jeep is a bad plan—a bear will surely smell it and pay me a visit. A lot of the bears will already be in the hibernation dens, but some are certainly still out and about. If not a bear, then some other carnivore or carrion eater. It won’t last long, even with night approaching, and I don’t want to lose the meat.

  Maybe it’s shitty to be more concerned about the caribou meat than I am about the human woman. I don’t care. Thawing out this woman had not been on my agenda for the evening.

  Now that I have her inside, I have no idea what to do with her. Her clothing is wet, and I need to get her out of it, but I don’t know where to put her. I don’t want to lay her on my bed – she would just get the blanket wet.

  With no other options, I squat down and lay her as gently as I can on the rug. Solo comes up immediately, meowing loudly.

  “I know you’re hungry,” I say. “I gotta deal with this first.”

  Solo is not impressed with my reason for delaying and continues to whine.

  “Hey, can you hear me?” I yell at her a couple of times but get no response. After a bit of hesitation, I slap her face lightly, but she still doesn’t move. If I had some smelling salts, they probably would have worked, but I live on my own and never had need of them before.

  I need to get her warm, which means getting her dry. I start undressing the woman, all the while trying to figure out what I’m going to say to her if she wakes up and finds me taking her clothes off. I don’t want her to panic, but I have to get the wet clothes away from her skin. It’s much warmer inside the cabin, but the warmth won’t be enough if she’s getting close to hypothermic, and I can’t check her for frostbite while her socks are on.

  She remains unconscious as I strip her down to her bra and underwear. Pushing the wet garments to the side, I dry her skin carefully with a towel as I check for any grey flesh. She doesn’t have any signs of frostbite, so I finish drying her and crouch down to pick her up.

  By the time I move her to the bed, she’s shivering. It’s a good sign—her body has the energy to work to warm itself. I cover her with the blankets and stoke up the fire to better heat the room. Only dim light comes through the window now, so I light the kerosene lamp and a few candles as well. Even little flames can help heat a small room.

  I try to get her to drink a little water, but she’s not cooperating, and I don’t want the bed to end up wet. I pinch her arm gently and watch her skin snap back. She isn’t severely dehydrated, or her flesh would pucker. Water can wait. I hang her clothes and meager coat to dry out on the rack by the fire.

  “Keep an eye on her, okay?” Solo only responds by whining, but he’s going to have to wait, too. I need to get the caribou back to the barn and stored where nothing can get to it.

  I jog to the barn and grab the sled. Once I have it back to the cabin, I untie the caribou from the hood of the Jeep and strap it onto the sled. As I start to pull it back toward the barn, I wish I had found a husky pup instead of a cat. At least when they grow up, huskies could help with the work.

  I store the caribou in the barn next to another one I’ve already cleaned and dressed, separating the best meat into usable portions and preparing the hide for whatever use I might have for it. I’ve built up a stockpile of furs over the years, and I usually end up with plenty of extra to sell or trade in the spring if I need a bit of cash to replenish supplies. I never sell the caribou hides though—the skins with the hollow fur are the best for winter weather protection, and that’s worth its weight in cash around here.

  As I walk back from the barn, the wind picks up. I can feel the increased chill in the air and smell the impending storm before I even look up at the sky. Dark clouds loom from the west.

  Back inside the cabin, the young woman hasn’t moved. Solo is absolutely screeching at this point, so my next task is to feed him. I watch the woman as Solo sucks on the bottle I bought for him in Yellowknife, trying to remember what she said her name is. I am pretty sure it starts with an S. Maybe Sarah? That doesn’t seem quite right. It is a little more unusual than that, and short for something else. I wanted her to leave me alone and hadn’t really been paying attention.

  Solo drinks as much as he can fit into his tiny stomach. I swear he’s glaring at me for making him wait. When he’s finished, I rinse out the bottle while he decides to check out the woman in the bed. She’s still lying on her back, just as I left her. Solo starts out at the foot of the bed, sniffs at the lump under the blanket where her feet are, and then walks right up her legs, over her stomach, and stands on her chest. He stares at her face for a minute, carefully sniffing her nose.

  He seems unimpressed.

  “Women are trouble,” I tell him. “They’re best avoided. Sometimes you can’t help it though.”

  Solo jumps down and entertains himself with a bit of bark he finds on the floor near the fireplace. I get caught up in watching him for a moment, trying to figure out how he could be so entertained just by pushing the bark around on the floor, but he seems happy enough to do it.

  I should be so easily entertained.

  As it is, I’m just tired. Between last night’s interrupted sleep, the hunt, and hauling this woman around, I’m about ready to lie down myself. It’s not late at all, but the sun is starting to set, and it will be dark quickly. I light the oil lamp and make some extra food when I cook dinner, assuming the woman will be hungry when she wakes up. Those donuts couldn’t have lasted too long.

  While I eat, I crank my weather radio and tune into the forecast. As I suspected, there’s a storm on the way, and it’s looking like a big one. Several inches of snow are expected, followed by dropping temperatures. I glance at the unconscious woman, wondering just how long I am going to be stuck here with her.

  She’s still out when I’m done eating, and I’m kind of at a loss about what to do next. For a while, I just stare at her, taking in her features. She’s pale white with light brown hair, which means she isn’t from anywhere around here. I remember the few words she spoke to me, and I know she’s from
the States and probably from the Midwest. Why would an American Midwest girl be this far into the Northwest Territories in the first place?

  I remove my shirt and socks, then my jeans. Glancing at the woman in the bed, I leave my boxers on for her sake. She is bound to freak out when she wakes up in a strange place, and the last thing she would want to see is my dick waving around.

  I stand in the middle of the room, looking back and forth between the chair and the bed and getting colder by the minute. I toss one more piece of wood on the fire just to buy myself some time. It would be most chivalrous of me to grab an extra blanket and sleep in the chair, but that would just kill my back, and I need to finish the caribou tomorrow before the storm hits. I also need to chop more wood, and doing that with an already aching back would suck.

  Without knowing what else to do, and being totally unwilling to be gentlemanly enough to freeze my ass sleeping on the floor, I climb over the woman and slide into the blankets beside her.

  Her body is still a little chilly, even under the blankets with the fire roaring. I move a little closer to her, pressing my body up against hers. I am encumbered with a vague memory of the last time I was in bed with Margot as a winter storm approached. It’s been awhile since I felt soft skin against mine, and I hope I don’t make a fool of myself.

  Some things are more easily controlled than others.

  I shiver a bit and pull the blanket up over my shoulder. I don’t know what to do with my arm. I try just laying it down my side, but it’s completely unnatural and uncomfortable. I’ll never be able to sleep with it in that position, so I slowly, carefully, slide my arm across her bare stomach and rest my fingers against the mattress on the other side of her.

  “Please don’t wake up and punch me in the face,” I mutter as I close my eyes.

  She doesn’t.

  In fact, she’s still asleep when I open my eyes. I’m in almost the exact position I was in when I fell asleep—with one arm tossed over her. Her hand lies across my forearm and her head is tilted toward me. Her skin is warm now, our combined body temperature creating a pocket of heat under the thick blankets. The firelight is dim, but I can still make out her face. Her breathing is steady, which is a good sign. The light is too dim to know for sure, but I think she has color back in her face as well.