Survive

by David Haynes

  He watched Lad carefully. The dog’s early warning sensors never went into standby or were dulled by the weather. They were a constant, his voice as loud and jarring as any man-made siren. But Lad just pulled, never breaking stride, never growing weary or querying the direction or distance. He just pulled.

  Eventually the sun climbed high enough to bring the aspen thicket from the mountain’s shadow and make it distinct.

  “Slow it down,” he shouted to the dog as they threaded their way through the trees. He knew immediately he had hit the thicket farther south than they had been on the previous trip. It was a deliberate act. The goats had a path they stuck to, a track that allowed them to pass over the hill even in the harshest of conditions. The younger one of the two they’d seen had fled up the side of the mountain as if it had done so countless times. It was the only thing Jonesy could think of that might give him a chance. Of course, they might never come this way again after the grizzly attack. That made as much sense as his other theory but he needed to believe they would be eating goat tonight.

  He pulled the sled to a stop at a place where the trees were sparse and the slope rose gently. He took his binoculars out and scanned the steeper parts of the hill. A static-filled panorama covered his field of vision. He couldn’t see anything farther than twenty feet in front.

  He put them away. The weather was worse than the last time they were here and he certainly wasn’t equipped to do much climbing. He poured coffee from the Thermos and leaned against the sled. He would wait, maybe an hour, and if nothing changed he would climb up to the outcrop he’d seen and take another look.

  Where would they go if they went back to the lower forty-eight? He didn’t have a clue. Would he be able to pick up with the same contacts to get work? There was some money in the bank, enough for maybe three months of zero income, but after that there was nothing. The only real estate they owned was the cabin and it was something of a niche market. It could take years to sell.

  What a mess, a mess that was ultimately his fault. Lisa could walk into any job in any junior high in the country and be a success. She could adapt to any situation and make you believe she loved it. Even here, when he knew she had come just for him, she made him believe it was the right place for them. Even when it so blatantly wasn’t.

  What was it that made them stay after last winter? It sure as hell would have been easier to walk away back then. Their investment was less, had barely begun, so why hadn’t they just packed up and left? Did he really need to ask? That was him too. Stubbornness, unwilling to admit he was wrong and that he’d made a mistake. Even after he had put both of their lives at risk. Instead he bought a dog and hoped that would make everything okay. As if the dog were a security blanket and was born with some innate instinct for life out here, for survival.

  He ruffled Lad’s thick fur and felt the compact, muscular body beneath. One thing for sure, if they did go south, Lisa would be the one making all the decisions about where they lived and for how long. His itchy-feet days of wanderlust were over. Well and truly over.

  He lifted the binoculars again, focusing on the outcrop. What was it? Thirty feet maybe. Easy enough for a goat, but a man in snowshoes and a dog? He frowned and scanned the rest of the ridge. Nothing was moving out there. Nothing should be moving out there. The wind whistled through the thicket, bending the trees, trying to break them apart. Between the branches he could see the pewter sky, see how dark it had become. It was as if day had passed in a matter of twenty minutes and the relentless night was rolling in again.

  Weather, worse weather, was on its way down the valley. It would be a long journey back. Especially if the sled was empty.

  He looked down at Lad. “You stay, I won’t be long.” Lad lay down, curling into a ball, pushing his nose into his tail. He knew instinctively when a job was for him and when it wasn’t. Jonesy patted him again and set off on the ascent.

  As soon as he left the thicket, the wind hit him like a truck. It shoved him backward, almost back into the trees. He pushed forward, the thought of an empty sled keeping his legs moving. Flakes of snow with points as sharp as daggers slammed into the exposed skin around his eyes. The balaclava kept most of it out but his beard crackled beneath the material. He had never felt cold like this before. Not even on their long walk last winter.

  He squinted into the snow and felt a wave of hopelessness wash over him. It was as effective as the wind at forcing him back. He had only managed a dozen steps. The outcrop looked no closer than when he had started.

  He narrowed his eyes further. Was that movement on one of the rocks? A shard of lichen-covered stone jutted upward into the tumult and standing on its peak was a huge goat. It stood perfectly still, regarded him for a moment and then bounded out of sight.

  Jonesy gritted his teeth and with renewed enthusiasm climbed again. He took another break a minute later, bringing his rifle around, squinting through the sight. There was nothing to see but the animal couldn’t be far away.

  His legs were burning now. He was fitter than he had been but climbing at this angle used a whole new set of muscles. Perspiration gathered beneath his layers of clothing and ran down his back.

  Again he forced himself on. How could he look Lisa in the eyes if he returned with empty hands? He’d kept the true food situation away from her. He had no idea how she would react if she knew how dire the situation actually was, but it wouldn’t be good. Maybe she knew? There was nothing to stop her taking a look at the cache for herself. Did she trust him enough not to look? Guilt hit him again. She shouldn’t trust him. He had no idea what he was doing.

  Was that why she had made those comments about Olin? About not doing anything to help him, allowing him to die? She wouldn’t do that. Not really, it was just frustration.

  But what if she did know about the food situation? Her worst fear was playing out again. What if she knew and chose to do something about it while he was gone? Do something to Olin. He was vulnerable and maybe she wasn’t thinking straight. Was she having the same nightmares he’d been having? The ones where they walked along the trail, lost and desperate, where they found the other cabin?

  He bit into his lip, hard enough to stop the train of thought going any further. He hauled himself up the last few yards to the rocks. Lisa wasn’t like that, she would never do anything to Olin. And yet...and yet, what had they done to survive before?

  He dropped to one knee and raised the Winchester. From this position he could see up to the next ridge. Beyond that, obscured by the constant gray static of snow, was Denali. Below him, the line of aspen formed the base of the slope. He could just see the outline of the sled through the sight but not Lad.

  And no goat.

  He could climb higher. The next crag was another fifty feet or more, cresting some hundred and fifty feet beyond that. If he could get to the top, there was a better chance of spotting something. Maybe there was a herd just waiting beyond the summit?

  He focused on the highest point – a pinnacle cloaked in snow and ice for eight months a year. He was woefully underprepared for such a climb, and if he attempted it he was no better than Olin or Lauren. Worse in fact, because he knew the risks and ignored them. They were ignorant of the risks entirely.

  He started to climb. Lisa wouldn’t need to know how or where he got the animal.

  He stopped and felt his stomach lurch. Where was his kit? His knives for field dressing the animal. The sacks he’d need to pack it in for transport. All of it, everything, was back on the sled. He threw his head back and roared into the darkening skies.

  He looked down. It was too far to go and fetch the things he needed and he wouldn’t have the strength to climb back up anyway. He would have to push on and try to drag the animal back down.

  He blinked and wiped at his eyes. The cold bit through his balaclava, stinging his cheeks like a thousand bug-bites. And what the hell was that tightness in his chest? That was new. He gulped in air, feeling the tightness lessen a fraction.

&nbs
p; There. Just below the next crag, something was moving. Fifty feet away. It was beautiful, so powerful looking, almost regal. Its coat was thick, lustrous and in the wind it flowed like water. It was also completely unaware of him. He dropped to one knee and slowly brought the rifle around.

  “Breathe, Jonesy,” he whispered, trying to get his breathing under control. He flipped the cap off the sight and took aim.

  On the count of three, just as his breathing steadied, the ground beneath him moved. Just a little but enough to throw his aim wide. He brought it back, thinking the movement was the wind knocking him off balance.

  As his finger closed on the trigger it happened again, only this time it was more severe and toppled him sideways. His finger squeezed the trigger, sending the shot into the abyss. He had just enough time to watch the goat jump away before he was falling, sliding and rolling back down from where he’d come. He twisted against the fall, trying to stay his descent, attempting to grab something. There was nothing but as he arched his back, a piercing pain spiked from the base of his spine, all the way down his right leg. He cried out, thinking he was paralyzed, and thrust the stock of the rifle into the snow as a brake. It slowed him enough to prevent a heavy collision with the aspen at the foot of the slope but not entirely. He hit the tree and bounced off into another, directly onto his back.

  As he hit the bottom, he screamed, such was the pain. His head swam and his vision blurred as he lay looking into the unending speckled interference above his head. He could move his legs, he wasn’t paralyzed. But something was wrong, and each time he moved an electric storm broke out in his back and leg.

  His right foot was dead. Pins and needles sparked all the way down his thigh and calf. He could almost feel the disc bulging in his back, trapping the nerve. He tried to move his legs. The left moved just fine but moving the right only an inch sent excruciating spasms up his spine. If he just stayed still, the pain was manageable.

  Lad was whining. He could hear him above the screaming wind. Maybe if he lay here long enough the pain would subside enough for him to get up, get up and ride the sled three hours back home. Maybe. He closed his eyes. Lying still wasn’t an option. He’d be dead inside two hours.

  He rolled onto his side and attempted to bring his knees up. Fifty thousand volts exploded in his back, forcing his legs to straighten back out. From this angle he could see Lad. The dog was pacing back and forth, making a high-pitched whine. He was still harnessed up to the sled.

  “Lad! he shouted. “Come here, boy.”

  The harness went taut and a moment later the sled eased out of the drift that had built up while Jonesy was away. Lad pulled it smoothly toward him, licking Jonesy’s face as he reached him.

  “Good boy!” Jonesy pushed his fingers into the dog’s thick fur. He just had to crawl to the sled now, haul himself onto the footplate and ride all the way home. He grunted and rolled onto his belly. The pain surged again but not as viciously as it had done a moment ago. Planting both elbows, he pulled himself past Lad toward the rear of the sled. It had been dark enough on the side of the hill but inside the thicket it was darker still. The gloom and his vulnerability made it feel like a bad nightmare. All he needed now was the grizzly to come bounding across the plateau, ready to rip him to pieces.

  That very thought drove him forward. He dragged his body to the footplate and steeled himself for what he knew would result in excruciating pain. His right foot didn’t work at all. It hung at an odd angle beneath him. The wiring had gone completely.

  He roared as loud as he could and grabbed the rail. The pain exploded and the world keeled but he was upright at least.

  “Go, Lad,” he whispered. The trees were at an unnatural angle, slanted, as Lad pulled away. He was standing but it was far from erect.

  He managed to steer the sled out of the thicket but as soon as he hit the plateau, everything changed. Someone took a white hot needle, pushed it into his butt cheek until it was all the way in, then drove it all the way down the back of his thigh. He screamed and tried to remain upright but his leg simply gave way and he fell from the sled into the deepening snow.

  He watched the sled slide away at a frightening speed. Panic seized him and made him crawl but the gap widened. He shouted until his voice was hoarse and then he shouted again. The sled was almost out of sight, concealed by the blustering snow clouds that swept across the wide-open expanse.

  “Lad! Stop!” He dragged the rifle off his shoulder and fired it once into the sky. That round had been meant for the goat, he realized. The sled stopped moving, at least the gap between his desperate clawing hands and the sled didn’t increase any further.

  Night, full night, was only a matter of thirty minutes away. Home was three hours at a good, constant pace; something, he realized as he reached the sled, he would not be able to keep. Even if he managed to stay on the sled for more than just a few minutes, there would come a time when he would be forced to walk, or even help Lad pull it. If he cut down the slope, through the Sitka, he wouldn’t be able to steer it through the trees and would risk damaging the sled, Lad and his own body further. That would mean a night exposed to the worst of the Alaskan winter. It would mean death.

  There was one other option. An hour away there was another cabin. One he’d not been to in a year. A place he’d rather forget.

  A place that wouldn’t be forgotten.

  *

  It was pitch black and the flashlight on Jonesy’s head flickered, strobing across the forest. A year had passed but the route was carved into his mind. It had been cut into his gray matter with a knife as sharp as a razor…as sharp as the knife he’d used inside the cabin.

  “Whoa!” he shouted. Lad trotted a few more steps and then stopped. The dog had never been here before and he held his nose permanently in the air, taking in the scent, moving from side to side as he breathed it in.

  The cabin was small but in his mind it had always been an enormous structure, castle-like. It wasn’t. It was only slightly larger than their woodshed. The timber was a dull silver in the flickering flashlight, and the roof a patchwork of sod and rusted, corrugated iron. One half of the porch had collapsed and the whole structure leaned to one side. The door was how he remembered it – hanging from its frame where he’d kicked it in. It wobbled in the wind, and with each movement Jonesy could see the dark cavern beyond. It looked just about the most miserable thing he had ever seen and yet it was a chance at shelter, at survival.

  He climbed off the footplate, pulling himself along the sled, using all of his upper body strength to keep the load off his back. Nevertheless the pain was constant. He’d never been stabbed but he couldn’t imagine the pain to be any more intense.

  Nausea had built slowly over the last hour. It gnawed at his stomach the way hunger would, the way it had a year ago. Food was the last thing on his mind now, he just wanted to get out of the wind, away from the snow. And although this place was the last he would have chosen to do that, he was out of options. He had to lie down somewhere safe. Either that or pass out in the snow.

  He steadied himself enough to loosen the harness, grab a bag of jerky and sling the canteen over his shoulder. How much would he give for a couple of Advil right now? How much would he give for a whole box?

  He half-staggered, half-fell up the rotting steps onto the porch. The whole structure creaked with each of his steps, a little like his body. He peered through the door, steeling himself to cross the threshold. Images, reminders of what had happened here, flashed through his mind. He was unable to take another step, not into the darkness – that was manageable – but into the past.

  A gust of wind hit him in the middle of the back. It shoved him inside like the ghostly hands of the previous occupant. He took three lurching steps and crashed to the floor. The threadbare rug did little to break his fall and a fresh surge of pain made his head swim. He squeezed his eyes shut, as much from the pain as not wanting to see where he was, and rolled onto his back.

  Lad’s paws cli
cked across the boards and stopped beside him. Warmth radiated from the dog.

  “I’m going to need you to lay down next to me,” he said. “You need to share that fire you’ve got in your bones.” He patted the hard wooden floor for emphasis. “Come on,” he said.

  Lad yawned and dropped in beside him, pushing his body up against Jonesy. He pulled a strip of jerky from the bag, chewed on it and gave one to the dog. He reached out, finding the edge of the rug and pulled at it. It peeled away, adhered to the boards by fluid of some sort. He didn’t think about it too much. The rug groaned as he shrouded his body in it. It wasn’t much but it was something.

  The flashlight flickered again, went out and stayed out. He was glad. Morning would make it impossible to ignore where he was. He didn’t need a flashlight to accelerate the realization.

  For a moment the pain eased. The relief was unwelcome. It allowed other thoughts to swim to the surface. He pulled his leg up a little to flare the pain, to push the memories away, but they were there to stay. Lisa’s tears, her anguished screams. The utter desperation of knowing how little power he had to avert death.

  25

  One year ago.

  “We can’t stay,” Jonesy said, taking her head in his hands. “There isn’t enough food. We’ll starve if we don’t do something.”

  Lisa had been crying all night. Yesterday was the second day they hadn’t eaten anything at all. Everything was gone. All of it. The cans, the flour, the rice, the meat. All of it gone. He’d tried to scare the grizzly away, shot at it a couple of times, but it just kept coming back. He heard it sniffing around camp, night after night. It left its scat everywhere as a calling card, a reminder of where they were and what they were dealing with. It climbed up the wooden leg of the cache and pulled it down. Destroyed it and removed everything they had put in there. Everything that was supposed to keep them alive all winter. He should have done more. He should have stopped it from happening, but he’d been so damned sure of himself, over-confident in his own abilities. Now they would pay for it.