Flirting With Death: Surviving The Infected

by Boyd Craven III

  A moment’s hesitation almost stopped me from turning down the railroad tracks. I remember asking Frank about it, and he assured me that the train up there always ran at 8am and 10pm. As long as I wasn’t driving the tracks at that time of day, I would be perfectly safe, plus the shoulder turn off wasn’t very steep if I had to bail the center for whatever reason. A lifetime’s worth of snowmobilers had learned this trick, but none of them ventured near the cabin.

  I finally cursed myself mentally as a coward and turned down the tracks and watched my odometer. It was ticking softly down, and the wheels on the Jeep were making the frame vibrate as I cradled the tracks, the wooden supports jostling me, the ride bumpy. When I reached the half mile mark I found the logging trail, just as I had been expecting. I followed that back and stopped at the ridge to check the compass I had brought along. The trail split off into a dozen abandoned routes. I found the right trail and put the Jeep back into gear and slowly crawled my way towards the cabin.

  I knew I was close before I could see it. The slight fishy smell of lake water reached my nostrils through the open window and I could see a break in the trees. I slowed down even further and almost missed the driveway turning to the cabin. I had to back up and get the Jeep pointed perfectly to fit it between the trees, and drove in slowly. What I found almost blew me away.

  The cabin was an old log cabin. It could be called majestic if you liked old cabins, but you could see the age of the logs, and the window glass rippled with age. The logs had been painted a green color, probably to cover and protect the old wood as much as to help the cabin blend in. The roof looked to be made of moss, and I worried that the inside would be a sodden mess. I cursed darkly, knowing that I couldn’t make it home with the daylight I had left. I decided to check it out and grabbed the keys, leaving the Jeep parked in the front.

  The front door was solidly built and showed no signs of wear and, before unlocking it, I decided to look in a window. The inside of the cabin was bare wood, the flooring appearing to be tongue and grooved oak. I didn’t see any sign of the ceiling falling in, or a mess, just an open space. I could see three other windows, and caught a glimpse of a shed on the other side of the building. I took a deep breath and asked myself for the hundredth time that day if this is what I wanted to do, if this was a good idea. I thought about dealing with the folks at work, shook off my doubts, put the key in the door and walked in.

  I automatically reached with my right hand to hit the light switch, my hand scraping against the rough wood, before remembering that there wasn’t any electricity out here. I pulled out a lighter, and it gave me just enough light to see the oil lantern on a kitchen table across the cabin, right where I was told it was. Once I got that lit, I found a hook hanging in the middle of the room and hung the lantern so I could take in my surroundings.

  Like I saw from the outside, the inside walls were bare wood, perhaps with a clear coat of varnish. A pot bellied stove was in one corner and the kitchen sink on a slab of counter top was in the other. Instead of a faucet, it had a small metal hand pump. Across from the kitchen was a built in bookshelf with hundreds of books, and the bookshelf seemed to stop at a door. I cracked that open and realized I’d just found one of the small bedrooms. It had two sets of bunks and a dresser under a small window.

  To the left of this room was another, also set into the bookshelves and inside it was a queen sized bed and a small night stand. This must be Katherine and Frank’s room. I was surprised that I hadn’t seen a dresser, just a big wardrobe against a shadowed corner, and brushed it with my fingers. It was cold. I realized that this was the gun safe I’d been told about.

  The last door on the end was a small bathroom. Actually, an ‘indoor outhouse’ would be more appropriate. The only thing in the room was a toilet and a bucket set on the floor in front of it. The bowl was low, and had an orangish tint to it, and the tank was bone dry. I could see the rubber was smeared with something shiny and I touched the seal. It felt greasy and I smelled my finger. Funny I know, but I did. It smelled like Vaseline and I quickly wiped it off on a piece of toilet paper I found on the roll hanging off the back door.

  Before I explored anything further, I figured I should probably read the binder. Before I did that, I wanted to get my stuff in the house. I brought in my gear and gun case on the first trip. The second trip was groceries. I knew that I was going to be gone a while, so I had emptied my fridge of things that would go bad, and grabbed all the canned and dried foods. The pile of food that didn’t need refrigeration was pitiful, so I hit the grocery store as Frank and Katherine had recommended, stocking up on mostly dried goods, more because it would be lighter than carrying cans of food. I could see lots of chili and rice meals in my future, and I was glad I remembered to stock up on spices.

  I did buy a bunch of canned chicken and tuna, probably enough for me to stay up here for a while, but I figured I’d go into town sooner or later. I needed to buy hunting and fishing licenses, and I honestly didn’t know how I’d handle the loneliness.

  Once everything was in, and I had a decent pile of groceries on the table to be put away, I noticed the phone next to an old fridge. I opened the fridge and it was bare except for a six pack of Corona, and the air inside was room temperature. I laughed. No electricity must be their idea of a joke.

  I picked up the phone to call Frank and Katherine, to tell them I made it in once piece like I promised, but there was no dial tone. I pulled my cell out of my pocket and tried to call them, and couldn’t get a signal. I sighed and went outside, holding my phone up to the sky, walking around the cabin searching for a signal. I got nothing, but towards the back of the cabin, I found a lean-to with firewood stacked up a quarter way underneath and two sheds, not just the one I saw from inside. They were painted green as well, and appeared to be the only metal structures around here. Probably some of those kit sheds you can buy from a big box store.

  I walked to one of them and held my phone against the metal side hoping for a signal, but still got nothing. I decided I might as well go get the licenses. I checked the time on my cell phone and realized I still had hours left until the 10pm train, so I locked the cabin, got into the Jeep and took the twenty minute drive into town. With no electricity up at the cabin, things sure would be interesting.

  +++++++++++

  The grocery store in town also doubled as a bait and tackle shop and I was able to get everything there that I needed. I debated picking up a bottle of liquid courage, but in the end I didn’t. Walking out of the store, I looked across the street, remembering I was supposed to fill my tanks. Suddenly, I was startled by my cell phone making a symphony of sounds. Apparently I had gotten a signal, so I sat in one spot for a moment until the smart phone quit going crazy. I saw I had missed a call from Janie’s parents and, instead of listening to the voice mail, I called them back.

  They just wanted to make sure I had made it up OK, and had found the cabin. I told them yes I did and I had run into town to finish buying supplies.

  “Make sure get your licenses, you don’t want the possum sheriff to pop you,” Frank said with a chuckle.

  “What’s a possum sheriff?” I asked.

  “Fish and Game, the DNR.”

  “I just took care of that.”

  “Great. Two things to remember: never leave a lantern lit when you leave or go to sleep, and everything about the property is outlined in the binder.”

  The lantern, I had forgotten to turn off the lantern!

  “I sort of forgot about the lantern,” I admitted, starting to run towards the jeep.

  “Don’t let it burn dry. The wick could burn up and cause a fire,” Frank told me, “but as long as you haven’t been gone long today, you are probably safe. I filled everything up before I left.

  “Ok, it looked full when I left.”

  “You’re probably safe. Just don’t make a habit out of it.”

  “I won’t.” I replied.

  “Don’t forget about the binder…”


  “I won’t,” I repeated, “Hey, the land line is out at the cabin.”

  “Probably a tree limb knocked it loose. I’ll check it out when I get up there…”

  And the rest of the conversation was a list of reminders; to get gasoline, where the chainsaw and splitting axe were, and a few more reminders about the binder. My curiosity was piqued and, for the first time since Janie’s death, I wanted something to do. Whatever was in the binder was obviously important to Frank. I’d resigned myself to read it through and through. I even thought I’d have a can of tuna fish on crackers for dinner. Quick and easy. The drive back took no time at all, and soon I was sitting at the table, the lantern giving off a soft glow to read the binder by.

  I almost forgot about dinner as dusk fell. The binder not only explained that the orangish liquid in the toilet was a biodegradable anti-freeze, but the theory on how the small septic system worked. There were tips in there for how to prime the hand pump if it didn’t draw water, and how to put the stove pipe back on and make sure no squirrel or birds had made nests in the upper part of the pipe before firing it up for the first time of the year. It even had diagrams on a solar setup that hadn’t been installed, but was in boxes in the ‘root cellar’.

  That caught my eye for a moment, but I didn’t see anywhere to get to one, so I figured it was under the cabin somewhere. I looked out the window and decided that not much sunlight could be had around the cabin unless we dropped a ton of trees someday, so I skipped over that. Looking out, I noticed it was getting dark, and decided to finish tidying up the cabin and putting away all the groceries I had stacked around the small kitchen.

  Deciding to go along with the humor of earlier, I put all my canned meat in the fridge, for lack of a better place.

  Chapter 5 – First Morning

  September 18th, 2015

  I remember finding my way into the room with the bunks. I tossed my two bags of clothes on the top bunk and pulled the rough wool blanket over the top of me. I had a moment’s anxiety when I heard an owl sound off from somewhere close by, not realizing what it was at first, but soon the sounds of the night lulled me to sleep.

  I dreamed of Janie, of our last moments spent face to face. My accusations, which were not quite spoken, but were there between us. The jealousy, the fact I didn’t trust her, didn’t trust the Professor. How she would have to see him every day. That hurt; even in my dream that hurt bad. Then things morphed, only the way a nightmare can and I was sitting with Janie at the kitchen table of the cabin. She was silhouetted with a soft glow of morning sun as she breast fed little Jim, a smile on her lips. She looked up at me, noticing me smiling for the first time.

  “Don’t worry Jim, he isn’t yours…”

  I awoke with a start, the morning sunlight coming through the window, lighting up the other side of the room. Apparently I picked the right bed to sleep on, as the rest of the room was still relatively dark. I stretched and sat up, rubbing away the tears on my face. The dream had been too real, and I didn’t have to be a psychologist to understand what it meant. It was a guilt dream; partly survivor’s guilt, partly due to my insecurity of the terms of our breakup. I knew I was going to have to get over this sooner or later, but that didn’t make my chest loosen up any. I’d have to distract myself somehow, and my stomach was rumbling.

  I did my morning ritual, one that hadn’t changed during my adult life, and got ready for the day. I decided some yellow perch with fried potatoes sounded like a good breakfast and, looking out the window, it didn’t seem too late to get started. I remember something in the binder about fishing, so I sat at the table a moment, letting the soft rays of sun gently caress my skin as they came in the window by the dining table.

  I flipped to a hand drawn table of contents and found what I remembered. It was a basic inventory list in the first shed, and one of the items listed was fishing gear. I looked at the key ring Frank had given me, and decided to go look and see what sort of trouble I could get myself into. Alone in this part of the woods, the silence was actually comforting and I smiled inwardly. This was probably good for me after all.

  The shed lock came open easily and the fishing gear was pretty easy to find. I opened one tackle box, saw it had a little bit of everything, so I took that, a floating live trap to hold the fish, and a nice Ugly Stick with a decent open faced reel. I was planning on using bobbers and a basic hook setup, but I had no live bait. I pretty much ignored the stack of white buckets that took up the majority of the space, figuring that Frank had found an animal- and bug-proof way of storing his valuables when they weren't here. I decided I’d work something out, and set off on the trail that led to the lake. I knew I was going the right way, because I could see the opening in the trees ahead and my nose told me the water was getting close.

  I started down a small hill and the sight below me made my breath hitch for a moment. The trail stopped about 100 feet from the water, and wild flowers grew alongside the bank. Random game trails led to and from the water, but I saw nothing that looked like any other people were around, except for the dock that Frank had told me about. His rowboat was pulled up to the bank about twenty feet from the water and it was upside down as promised. I considered the boat a moment, but instead walked to the edge of the dock and dropped my gear next to a log.

  The wood of the log was smooth on top and it was probably worn down by generations of guys sitting on it, before the dock itself was built. I suppose that meant that the fishing would be good, so I walked out onto the dock and looked around the water. I was surprised by the lack of weeds around the dock, only a few lily pads close to the shoreline. Twenty feet out at the end of the dock, I could barely see the bottom of the lake. It looked to be at least ten feet deep and I could see long shapes cruising the edge of what looked like a drop off.

  Perfect! I couldn’t make out if those were bass, but I suspected they were some variety of pike judging by the size. I grabbed a spinner instead of the bobber and hook that had been originally planned. The bug had hit, and a good fight on the spinning reel would make my morning complete. I was excited while I tied on a swivel and snapped on a black and yellow striped Mepps and gave it a practice cast.

  I waited a few seconds before starting my return. I wasn’t expecting the strike, but the rod bent in half and, before I could officially set the hook, the reel started peeling off line as the drag started its loud job. I pulled the rod back and was surprised by the weight that was threatening to pull me off balance. Knowing I only had eight or twelve pound test, I sat down at the end of the dock and decided to give the fish a little headway before I tried to tease it back in to shore.

  Every time I would get the fish within twenty feet or so from the end of the dock, the reel would spin out line like crazy. The weight on the top of the pole suggested either something big and heavy, or a fish that fought like hell, like a pike or some sort of catfish. After about ten minutes of working the rod, I finally felt the fish tire. It wasn’t pulling as hard and I regretted not taking the landing net I saw on the pegboard inside the shed. I decided to just play this cool and not try to muscle the fish in the rest of the way.

  It broke the surface for a moment, and a rainbow of colors accompanied the splash of water. I got a good glimpse of its tail before it rolled and tried to make a run again, but the fish was spent. Reeling quickly, not putting a ton of tension to the line, I was able to get the fish close to the dock. I put the pole along my side and laid down flat, taking the blue tinged line by hand and slowly pulling the fish close. I shot my free hand out and pulled a Laker out by the jaw. I was awed by the color and beauty of the fish. I’d never caught a trout in Fall, but I had evidence right here, and he was a big boy.

  Once I had poked the fish in the head with the fillet knife from the tackle box, I packed up the gear and started walking back to the cabin. I think my smile not only touched my eyes, I was wishing I had witnesses to see this epic fish. I decided to take a picture with my cell phone, using my forearm as a sizing comparis
on. When I got back to the cabin, I dropped the fish and knife by the door and took the rest of the equipment to get locked back up. One thing I didn’t want to do was get lazy and give Frank a reason to get pissed at me.

  +++++++++++++++++

  The rest of the morning went by in a flash. My cell phone was dead, so I cleaned the fish and added a can of chili in a separate pot on low for lunch later on. I fried one fillet with the potatoes, but I felt the humble spud didn’t do the fish justice. The second fillet I put in a zip lock baggie and put it in a cooler that I filled with water from the well pump. It was cold, but I knew it wouldn’t stay that way. That’s why I decided to go to town.

  I needed ice, and to use my Jeep to charge my phone. Without my phone, I didn’t know what time it was, didn’t know when to wake up and, if I was up here long enough, I would forget what day it was. This wasn’t acceptable to me and, even though I had to fill the bucket in the bathroom with water to flush the toilet, I wasn’t ready to go all off-grid just yet. Besides, I was already lonely for human voices.

  Chapter 6 – Town and Dire Warnings

  September 18th, 2015

  As soon as I could, I plugged my cell phone in. I didn’t dare turn it on once I got into town, as it was still really low so I left it plugged in and went back into the grocery store. One thing I remembered was how inexpensive the previous day’s shopping was. Dried foods cost about a third of the price of pre-packaged or canned foods, plus it didn't need refrigerating. Since I didn’t want to lug a ton of weight, space was an issue and all I had was time, I decided to do some more shopping and do about the same kind of shopping I did yesterday.