by Angela Scott
I grabbed both water bottles and stared at the combined inch worth of filtered water that remained in both. Pitiful.
My hands shook as I removed the lid from Marco’s water bottle and thrust it into the flow of water, just as excited as a little kid on Christmas morning. Water. Glorious water. Once it filled to the top, I lifted it to my mouth ready to slurp it down. The crisp, fresh smell teased my nose, but I stopped before the rim touched my lips.
I could’ve drunk three full bottles right then, maybe more. I was dying of thirst, but it had to be filtered. It looked pure enough — clear and inviting. Beyond knowing what was on the roof, I had no idea what contaminants were left in the air from the fallout of the meteors. If I drank now, I’d pay for it later. That was a certainty.
I placed the bottle to the side and dug around in my pack for the filter. My hands continued to shake—water, water, water—as I shoved one end into the bottle and the other into the empty one.
It didn’t take long, but it felt like it took forever to move the rainwater from one container to the other. Pump, pump, pump, pump, pump. Finally, four ounces of fresh, filtered water beckoned to me. I couldn’t wait any longer. My eyes closed as the coolness passed through my lips and touched my dry tongue. In my gluttony, water escaped my mouth and ran down my neck, wetting the collar of my shirt. I didn’t care. Nothing had ever tasted so good. The best water in the world.
“You thirsty?” I shook the bottle at my cat to get her attention. Her ears perked up and she raised herself to her feet. “I bet you are. Come here. Come on.”
She stood on the sleeping bag and stared at me, uncertain. I shook the bottle again. A lot of rain poured down from the roof with no signs of breaking, and she didn’t seem to want any part of it.
I filtered more water, made some sounds to show her how much I enjoyed drinking it—mmmmm—before pouring it into one of my dinner tins and sliding it across the floor toward her. “It’s okay. You need to drink, too.”
She meowed but didn’t move.
“Go on. Drink it.” I tapped the edge of the tin. “It’s not going to get any better than this.”
She meowed again with less conviction, circling the bowl as if inspecting it for foul play. She sniffed at it once, meowed a couple more times, doing what crazy cats do, before bowing her head and lapping it up without stopping. Finished, she looked up at me, water dripping from her whiskers, and let out a long drawn out meow of satisfaction followed by a tiny burp.
I laughed. “I know, right?”
Sometimes, something so simple could mean so much.
Chapter 18
The rain was a gift, a gift we needed for our very survival.
But after two days, it was a big ol’ pain in the butt.
It rolled off the roof in thick sheets, obscuring any view but the inside of the hut, which wasn’t much to look at to begin with. Two straight days of non-stop rain. Two. It pelted the metal roof like gunshots and splashed along the opening, spraying water a good foot inside. Callie and I stayed near the back wall to stay dry.
The first couple of times I went to fill a water bottle, it left my shirt drenched. Since I didn’t have a whole lot of clothing to choose from, I learned quickly to take off my shirt, place it on my backpack, and fill my water bottle while partially nude. It worked, and Callie didn’t care. Animals were great that way — totally non-judgmental.
Which came in handy each time I had to use the bathroom.
“Maybe it won’t be so bad this time.” I talked to Callie as I removed my clothing and placed each piece on my sleeping bag. “The rain might not be that cold.”
Who was I kidding?
I’d faced the torrential downpour twice already, holding my bladder as long as possible in between. I knew exactly what I was getting myself into.
Callie would not go outside to do her business. She made that abundantly clear our first day in the hut. A pile of dried pine needles and dried leaves in a corner became her designated potty spot. Not ideal, but necessary.
I couldn’t bring myself to do the same.
I reached a hand through the wall of falling rain. Yep, just as cold as ever. Shoot. “Stay there. I’ll be back.”
Callie didn’t even look at me. No acknowledgment whatsoever. Whether I came back or not didn’t seem to concern her. She climbed on my discarded clothes and made herself comfortable. She wasn’t going anywhere.
I shook the water from my hand and stepped back from the curtain of water. There was no way to prepare for the shock of icy rain on my naked body. I took a deep breath and released it. “Here goes nothing.”
I closed my eyes and jumped through the bitter blast of the waterfall, landing ankle deep in the mud outside.
“Ahhhh!” Oh, my god. Oh, my god.
Not prepared at all.
I slogged through the mud, plucking my feet from the earth’s mucky grasp one step at a time. Rain dripped from my hair and blurred my eyes. Goosebumps pricked my bare skin.
Hurry, hurry, hurry. Oh, my god hurry.
The rain shocked my bladder into silence and it took a moment to do what I’d come outside to do. Once done, I quickly schlepped my way back to the hut, climbed up on the platform, and rolled through the screen of water that flowed over the entrance.
“Never again. Never again.” My teeth chattered.
I grabbed the sleeping bag, knocking Callie from her sleeping spot. She meowed. I ignored her as I wrapped the sleeping bag around my freezing naked self. “Nope, nope, nope. Never again.”
I couldn’t even dress. My body shivered violently, and my teeth rattled, vibrating my skull. I sunk down in the corner, drew my legs near my chest, and pulled the bag tighter around me.
The makeshift kitty litter box in the opposite corner no longer sounded so appalling. Besides, getting off the mountain while healthy was hard enough. Catching a cold or getting sick could prove deadly.
I decided I could handle a bit of stench over freezing to death.
Callie meowed.
“We can share.” I opened the corner of the sleeping bag for her. She wiggled her way inside. The warmth of her tiny body was welcomed against my chilled skin.
The rain couldn’t keep up like this forever… could it?
The last time I remembered it raining this hard was when Cole and I were at his airplane hangar out in the middle of nowhere. We couldn’t do anything but wait it out, so that was what we did. We played video games, ate popcorn, soaked in the hot tub, or napped in the all-inclusive RV. The hangar was like an apocalyptic resort.
Waiting for the rainstorm to subside while inside his amazing hangar wasn’t a hardship at all, though at the time I thought it was. What a dummy I had been then.
I pulled the sleeping bag and my cat closer.
Where was Cole? Was he still living in the hangar, improving upon his solar power generated system, or gardening skills? Was he stealing more stuff, making the place even more spectacular?
I kind of doubted it. He didn’t seem to be the type of guy to stay in one place for very long. I could picture him turning the hangar into a magical place, filled with everything a person could possibly need to survive and be happy, only to get bored and walk away from it all. That was the kind of thing Cole would do—create his own personal Disneyland and then leave it behind.
While I sat naked and freezing, cuddling a cat in a damp sleeping bag.
I sighed and shook my head. It didn’t matter what or where Cole was up to. It didn’t change my circumstance. Not in the least bit.
Yeah, he was probably riding around on some stolen four-wheeler, wearing expensive sunglasses that belonged to some famous yet obscure rock star, all while holding onto the end of a kite or balloon for the fun of it.
Cole was nuts and super peculiar in a lot of ways.
Boy, did I miss him.
I’d never used a camp stove before and Marco’s seemed extra tricky to figure out. I’d tried it twice before with no luck, but with the granola running low,
I decided to give it another chance. It took seven matches to produce a tiny flame, and then two more to keep it going.
“Whoo hoo, look at this!” I glanced at Callie and pointed to the stove. “Pretty cool, huh? Look what I did!”
She stared at me, unimpressed.
“Oh, you just wait. You just wait. You’ll be thanking me once I give you something more than granola to eat.”
I placed a cooking tin of water on the burner. I never thought I’d ever see the day where I looked forward to eating an MRE, such nasty things. As the water came to a slow boil, I could hardly wait to sink my taste buds into something other than dried crunchy foods. Compared to the granola, the MRE would taste like Thanksgiving dinner.
Callie crept toward the middle of the floor. At first, I thought she was interested in what I was doing, wanting to look. She ignored me and kept her eyes fixated on the wall of water coming from the roof. She arched her back and meowed. Not a meow of annoyance or simple displeasure, which was her norm, but a full on, dragged out howl.
I sat a little straighter. “What’s wrong with—”
My words trailed off as a dark shadow passed slowly in front the hut. The water distorted the shape and size, like driving through a storm without using the windshield wipers. I scrambled backwards, knocking over the camp stove and the boiling water. The small flame I’d worked so hard on went out. It didn’t matter.
What the hell is that?
If not for Callie’s insistent meowing, I would’ve dismissed the whole thing as a trick of the eye or a figment of my imagination. We hadn’t seen anyone or anything, ever.
The shadow slowly passed by again.
Holy—!
I grabbed my pack, pulled out the large hunting knife, and wedged myself tightly into the corner. I held the blade pointed out in front of me — jab, stab, maim — ready but not ready at the same time.
Whatever was out there cast a big shadow. That wasn’t a good thing.
“Callie, shush,” I whispered, trying to get her to be quiet. She hissed and howled, drawing out her meows in a way that kept me from reaching for her.
Maybe it would go away. Sniff us and simply move along. Maybe Callie’s crazy meows would frighten whatever it was away. Please, please go away.
The shadow walked past a third time. It stopped in front of the wall of water.
Oh, no, no, no.
I griped the knife tighter.
Mountain lions were just big, mean cats. They had to hate water, too. No way a mountain lion would jump through the wall of water. Nope, no way, right? And bears? Bears wouldn’t like it either, right? Did bears like water? I couldn’t remember. Oh, jeez!
The rain poured down, and whatever stood outside the hut was already drenched. Jumping through the wall of water wouldn’t make much of a difference. If warm pizza were on the other side of a curtain of water, I’d vault through it.
Crap.
I gripped the knife with both hands, shaking more from fear than from cold.
Please go away. Please go away. Leave us alone.
The shadow moved closer, tilting its large head from one side to the other.
Oh, jeez, it smells us.
Our combined pee in the corner of the hut must smell inviting.
I drew the knife over my head. Either it would eat me, or I would eat it. Those were the only options, and I really didn’t like the first one.
The curtain of water parted as the shadow’s head slowly pressed through it, disturbing the perfect flow. Water splashed to the sides, making way for the intruder. Beads of water sprayed everywhere. Callie stepped backward and stopped her awful meowing.
Large brown eyes blinked at me. Droplets clung to its long lashes. It pushed its long neck through the water even farther to get a better look at us as we looked at it.
I gradually lowered my arm with the knife to my side. What in the world? How?
Callie wasn’t as amazed as I was with the deer. Much like the first time we saw it, Callie had no tolerance for the other animal. The deer didn’t mind her protests. She watched us with her head and neck inside our domain and the rest of her body standing in the rain.
It had to be the same deer. We’d walked many miles, leaving the deer and any signs of her well behind. How had she found us? It was marvelous and bizarre at the same time.
“Callie, it’s okay. Shush.”
My crazy cat wouldn’t stop screeching. She cast me a look as if to say, “Hey, I’m protecting us from this monster and you’re kind of being a jerk about it.”
The deer didn’t seem bothered one way or the other, such innocence and naivety. She blinked while tipping her elegant neck one way and then the other. Rain poured off the roof around her. She hardly noticed. We stared at one another, me in complete awe, as Callie persisted in her anger over the whole thing.
When it seemed the deer had seen enough, she slipped her head back outside and her shadow disappeared. The curtain of water resumed its natural flow.
A deep sigh escaped my chest, pressing through my lips. My arms hung limply at my side, the knife still in one hand. I was grateful it wasn’t a bear or a mountain lion, but the deer leaving again filled me with sadness. I slid to the floor and sat with my back against the wall.
I needed a second to process what had happened and what it even meant. Before I could, rainwater sprayed the entire inside of the hut. I raised my hands to shield myself from the onslaught of water. Hoofs clacked on the wooden slates of the floorboards, stomping and pawing to keep her balance on the wet floor like a beginner ice skater.
I didn’t move. I didn’t wipe the water from my face but stared at the beautiful deer which now stood inside the hut. A curtain of rainwater poured down behind her. So magical.
She took a step toward me, slipping a little. When one hoof lost its balance, another made up for it, keeping her from hitting the floor. She took another step and then another until she stood directly in front of me, staring down at where I sat.
If Callie made any protest, I didn’t hear it. My attention rested solely on the deer.
She nudged my cheek with her wet nose. I reached up and ran my fingers down the length of its slick neck.
With little grace, she collapsed at my feet, curled into a ball, and closed her eyes.
I pet her, wiping the rainwater from her head and body, somehow feeling she needed as much reassuring as I did. The smell of wild, wet fur filled the air, covering up the smell of urine in the corner. I wasn’t exactly sure which smelled worse, but I wouldn’t trade that moment with the deer for anything.
Callie glared at me from the far side of the hut, directing her hiss more at me than the deer.
I reached my hand out to her, but she didn’t come any closer.
“You’re still my favorite if that makes you feel any better.”
She let out an angry meow as if to say it didn’t.
Chapter 19
“Well, this is going to be fun.” Thick globs of mud clung to my boot, making it difficult to walk and adding unwanted weight. The rain had saturated the ground so much it felt as if I were walking in cement while dragging a bowling ball tied to each ankle.
The deer didn’t seem to mind. Her thin, long legs managed the mud easily enough, hindering her only a little. She stopped ahead of me on the trail and looked back, waiting. Her bobbed tail wiggled side to side and her pointed ears laid back.
“I’m trying.” I took one difficult step after another. The mud slurped and sucked at my ankles. “You have four legs. I have two, and I’m carrying a crazy cat.”
Callie had found a new way to ride. Instead of her usual napping inside my pack, she perched on top of my backpack while clinging to my right shoulder with her front paws. She wanted to keep an eye on the deer. No matter how many times I tried to shove her into the backpack or pry her sharp nails from my shoulder, she refused to give up her post. The deer had become her archenemy. Sharing the hut for a day and half with the wild animal had not changed Callie’s
opinion one bit. The deer couldn’t care less.
The torrential rains stopped earlier that morning. It sprinkled off and on, leaving a dewy mist hanging in the air. Food ran low, scary low. I wanted to stay put for one more day and give the trail a chance to dry out a little.
The deer had other plans. She paced the small hut, her hooves clacking on the wooden floorboards like an Irish dancer. She’d looked at me briefly with her deep brown eyes before she turned and jumped to the ground outside. I expected her to take off, to disappear into the trees never to be seen again. She didn’t. She stared at me, her long lashes brushing across her cheeks as she blinked. Light rain coated her fur, but she didn’t seem to notice it.
I didn’t know what I believed in anymore. Angels? Signs? God?
Life, in general, was hard enough. Adding the craziness of an apocalypse and being stuck on a mountain, belief in anything was damn near impossible.
When the deer looked at me, unmoving, the sereneness of the trees surrounding us, and the silent rain falling across the deer’s back, I quickly climbed from my place in the corner of the hut. Without hesitation, I packed my bag and decided to trust the deer.
Now, with the mud encapsulating my boots, I wasn’t so sure.
We’d left the campsite. Mud or no mud, there really was no turning back.
“Okay, deer.” I waved my hand and followed her, one slow mud-sucking step at a time. “Tally-ho.”
The tiny red berries hugged the prickly branches. Beautiful. Plump. Inviting.
The deer snacked on them, eating one right after another while avoiding the thorns. Red juice dripped from her lips. Although she only ate raspberries, the red stains made her look evil and murderous — a murderous deer with big bright innocent eyes. Terrifying yet cute at the same time.
Were the berries safe? If the deer was eating them, it had to be okay, right?
My brain spun in circles, fighting between hunger and logic. I was so hungry. I hadn’t eaten anything fresh in more months than I could remember. Canned food, dried food — how my body hadn’t collapsed from malnutrition, I had no idea.