Survive the Journey (EMP

by Grace Hamilton

“I know, Mom,” he replied. “Of course.”

  10

  In the end, they had little choice but to turn back. The flooding had eaten away at the trail, but more than that, it had dumped big pile broken branches, brush, leaves, rocks, and ice all over the place. Darryl would have gone back immediately. There was no guarantee that another flood wouldn’t hit soon, and if the next one was any bigger, they might find that they had to way to escape it.

  Still, his family was too distraught to leave, so he felt compelled to make some concession to hope. Therefore, they spent the better part of the next hour looking and calling for Greg. They didn’t dare step onto the trail below the break, so Darryl and Emma climbed trees that overlooked the stream. Darryl found himself perched high in the swaying branches of a towering spruce, gazing down at the filthy water. Though the flood had receded, the water was still lapping at the jagged edge of the trail.

  He was high enough now that he could see beyond the next bend, where the river and trail curved back to the south and passed through rocky ground. Debris from the flooding was pushed up against the banks on either side all along the way, filling in gaps between rocks, which slowed the current somewhat. The water was dark with mud, making it impossible to see beneath the surface. There was no sign of his father, the cows, or the other travois. It was as if the river had wholly devoured them.

  It seemed unlikely that his father would have been able to pull himself out. Still, for his mother’s sake, he stood there and scanned for him, periodically calling his name, long after his heart had given up. Finally, it was more than he could bear, and he climbed down the tree. Tabitha and Horace had been patiently sitting astride their horse, gazing forlornly at the water. As he climbed down, Darryl met his grandmother’s gaze, and she gave him a sad nod.

  Yes, it’s time to go, that look said.

  Darryl went to his mother’s side and embraced her. She clung tightly, her fingers digging into his shoulders, her body shuddering as she fought another wave of sobbing.

  “I’m sorry, Mom,” he said. “We have to think about the others now. It’s what Dad would have wanted. Let’s get back up the slope and take the other trail.”

  She didn’t argue with him, and when he pulled away, she went to Emma’s side. Darryl helped Justine to her feet, but she struggled to rise. Once she was standing, she wobbled and fell against him, her hands pressed protectively to her belly.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” she replied. “Let’s just get out of here before another flood comes. That was awful.”

  It was a prospect that was much easier said than done. Indeed, the next couple of hours were a miserable slog. First, they had to get the horses into the woods, which required ripping and tearing at the underbrush to create a path. Then they had to squeeze the horses between the trees, leading them in a broad arc back the way they’d come. Once they’d passed the gap in the trail, they moved back out of the trees, but dragging the travois made it all much slower.

  When they reached the intact section of the trail above the gap, they found most the cows patiently waiting here. Darryl counted twelve. They’d lost three of them in the flood. The herd was dwindling. Still, since the alternative could have been losing everything, he didn’t lament the lost cows. How they would survive without his father, however, was another matter, and he couldn’t think too deeply on it. That sent him spiraling into misery. For now, he just had to keep his family moving in the right direction.

  Darryl led Marion and Justine’s horse, trying to pick the easiest route. Emma followed with the other horse, but the travois kept cutting corners and digging into the underbrush. More than once, they had to stop, go back, and rip brush out of the ground by hand to free it. By the time they’d circled back around to the trail and left the woods, Darryl’s gloves were tattered from pulling at coarse branches. He still felt soaked, but now he was sweating and tired as well. None of this compared to the awful heaviness inside of him, however.

  Unfortunately, there was a little more bad news. Once they’d circled around the collapsed part of the trail and started to gather the cows, he realized that they’d lost the lead cow. She’d gone down with Greg. The lead line had been attached to the same rope as the travois, so it was gone too. This forced them to put one horse in the lead, and the other at the back of the herd. It was the only way to keep the cattle together. Darryl took the lead, leading Justine and Marion’s horse.

  Hardly a word was exchanged between anyone, except when absolutely necessary. Darryl could see gloomy looks on every face. Tabitha was leaning against Horace’s back, her cheek resting between his shoulder blades. She’d now lost both her husband and her son. Somehow, that made Darryl feel even worse about the whole situation—not just the loss of his father, but what the loss meant to the rest of his family.

  He managed to do the work, to keep everyone moving, to put one foot in front of the other, but he moved in a fog. As he trudged back up the trail, the swollen river still lapping at the edges just to his left, he became aware of a single voice constantly breaking through the fog. She wasn’t saying anything, just making occasional sounds of discomfort. Finally, he realized it was Justine, and he looked back over his shoulder. She was leaning back in the saddle, holding her belly and being cradled by Marion.

  “Are you okay back there?” he asked.

  “I’m fine,” she said, though her face was all scrunched up. “Don’t worry about me.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She opened one eye and looked down at him. “Yes, I just feel like crap, and I’m so uncomfortable I want to discard my whole body, but that goes with the territory, doesn’t it?”

  “Do you need to come down from the saddle for a while?” he asked.

  “And do what? Walking wouldn’t be any better,” she said.

  Darryl racked his brain, trying to think of an alternative. “Maybe you could ride on the travois. I could reposition the boxes into a little seat, maybe a bed, whichever you prefer.”

  “That sounds worse than riding on a saddle,” she said, shutting her eyes and pulling her hood forward to hide her face. “That thing is being dragged on the ground. No, I’m fine. Thank you, but don’t worry about me right now.”

  “Okay, if you say so.”

  He turned back around. Indeed, he could see the ruts they had carved into the trail on the way down, the travois leaving four distinct grooves in the path all along the way. He thought of those tracks leading all the way back to the cave, and he felt an ache. The winter camp hadn’t been so bad. Yes, everyone had been uncomfortable, but they’d all been together.

  I should have argued against leaving, he thought. I didn’t want the baby to be born in a cave. And now look what’s happened. The whole family has been torn apart.

  Gradually, the fork in the trail came into view, the flat open space where they’d taken a break earlier in the day. It was edging toward late afternoon now, and he didn’t like the way the light was changing. Where would they spend the night? Another thing to worry about. It was all too much.

  Keep it together, he scolded himself. Quit moping. Your family needs you.

  He managed to find a reserve of steely determination, and he used it to push down the grief and despair. It wasn’t hopeless, and the family wasn’t torn apart. He still had people depending on him, now more than ever.

  “We’ve made it back to the fork,” he called over his shoulder, pointing ahead. “We’ll take the safer path from here.”

  He looked back to make sure everyone was still together. Twelve cows moving listlessly. They all needed to take a break, and they probably needed to eat, but Darryl didn’t want to stop yet. He saw Emma way in the back, holding the reins of Tabitha and Horace’s mount. She had her head down as she walked, her wet tangles of blondish hair hanging in her face.

  The safer road went up a slight slope and bent to the right. Unlike the faster trail, it didn’t follow right along the bank but weaved through the woods
a few meters from the water. It was evident that the flooding had hit this area as well, but because of its relative distance from the river, the upper trail remained fully intact. Trees grew close on either side, however, casting the trail into shadow. However, as Darryl led Justine’s horse into the woods, the shadows made him feel safer somehow—a reminder that the water was not yawning below, mere centimeters from his left foot. He couldn’t stand the thought of looking at that damned stream for the rest of the trip.

  They’d gone maybe a hundred meters along the upper trail, and he was already enjoying the broader, firmer ground. Yes, even if it took much longer, it was far better. But suddenly, he heard a rustle and thump, as of someone thrashing around behind him. Then the reins in his hand pulled taut, as the horse moved its head to one side.

  “Oh, no. Oh, God, no, no. Is this…? Is it…? Not now. It can’t be.”

  Justine’s voice. Darryl stopped in his tracks, heart racing, and turned around. Justine was rocking from side to side in the saddle, wide-eyed and gasping for breath. She might had fallen right out of the saddle if not for Marion’s firm grip on her shoulders.

  “What’s going on?” Darryl asked.

  “No, no, something’s wrong,” Justine said. “It can’t be! No, no!”

  Marion leaned to one side to catch Darryl’s eyes. “Son, get over here. I was afraid this might be happening. She’s been experiencing waves of pain for the last hour or so.”

  Still holding the reins, Darryl rushed toward them. “Did something happen?” he asked.

  “She’s having contractions,” Marion replied. “I think she’s going into labor!”

  “No, not out here,” he said. He came up beside the saddle and handed the reins to his mother. “This isn’t the right time or place. What do we do? Can we delay them somehow? We have to get to the cabin.”

  “You don’t get to choose,” Marion replied. “It doesn’t work that way.”

  “That stupid flood scared…the baby,” Justine said through clenched teeth. “Oh, God, this hurts. This is worse than I thought it would be. Someone put me out of my misery.” And then she groaned, her face twisted in pain.

  “Get her down from here,” Marion said. “We have to find a soft place to lay her down.”

  Getting her down proved a challenge, since he no longer had the ladder he’d used before—it had gone down with the other travois. Reaching up, he managed to slide an arm behind her, but he wasn’t sure what to do next. Finally, Marion had to carefully lean her to one side in the saddle, so Darryl could get both arms around her. The horse had turned back to watch all of this, clearly troubled by the strange grunts and groans coming from Justine.

  “This sucks,” Justine cried, leaning precariously to one side in the saddle, as Darryl tried to think of the best way to pull her off. The flooding had already left him sore, so he didn’t entirely trust his strength. “Darryl, I’m about to fall off. You’d better be ready to catch me.”

  “Go for it,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

  He tried to sound like he meant it. Justine leaned farther to one side and finally slid off the saddle and out of Marion’s grasp. Darryl was positioned beneath her and caught her against his shoulder, wrapping his arms just under her armpits. She screamed in pain, but he managed to move one of his arms and position it under her legs. Then he lifted her in his arms and stepped back from the horse.

  It was the worst possible timing. He could scarcely believe it was happening now! Back at the cave would have been so much better than this. Fighting panic, he carried Justine across the trail. The only comfortable spot he saw was a small patch of grass between two pine trees. It would have to do.

  “I’m not ready for this,” Justine said. “Can we reschedule?”

  “I’m sorry,” he replied. And why was he apologizing? He wasn’t sure. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

  “That’s what you always say, and it’s…it’s…” Her words trailed off into a long, agonized moan.

  He laid her down gently on the ground, swiping away some lingering mounds of snow and a few desiccated pinecones. Then he pushed together a bunch of pine needles to create a crude pillow and laid her head on it. She took a deep, shuddering breathing and reached up, grabbing the collar of his coat with both hands.

  “I’m not ready,” she said. “Do you hear me, Darryl Healy! I’m not ready.”

  Darryl heard footsteps, and he looked up to see Emma running toward him full out, dodging cows as she came. She had her backpack on her shoulders, a book in one hand, a big canvas bag in the other. Marion moved to join her, and Tabitha seemed to be making her way toward them as well, leaving poor Horace all the way at the back of the group.

  When Darryl pushed Justine’s hood back, he saw that she was sweating and flushed, grinding her teeth from the pain. The temperature was above freezing, still cold, but she seemed like she was burning up. Suddenly, Darryl felt hands grabbing at him, pulling him to his feet. He glanced up and saw his mother and Emma. They had each taken hold of him and were frantically trying to drag him away.

  “Let us handle it,” Emma said. “We know what to do.” As if to prove her point, his sister held up the book in her hand. He only saw part of the title—Guide to Pregnancy and Natural Childbirth—before he was pulled back. “You just stay out of the way for a while, okay? We’ve got this.”

  Darryl wasn’t about to fight them, so he moved back a few feet. “You’re going to be okay, Justine,” he said, wanting somehow to comfort.

  “There…you go…again,” she snarled.

  Marion unfolded a blanket, and Emma began pulling things out of the canvas bag. Just then, Justine screamed loud enough to pierce the sky. Darryl winced and backed farther away. As he did, he felt his grandmother brush past him. She seemed unsteady on her feet, but she was carrying the wooden box of medicine.

  “I’ll get that for you,” he offered.

  “No, you keep an eye on our things,” she replied. “Give us space here. We’ve been preparing for this.”

  Despite everything, he was relieved to see the medicine box. It had survived the flood. That, at least, was some comfort on what was otherwise turning out to be a nightmare day. Without the medicine, they might lose Tabitha as well. He walked back to the horse, picked up the reins, and stood there beside the towering animal. As he stood there, feeling useless and utterly conflicted, he listened to Justine’s cries.

  “Justine, listen to me, you have to squat,” Emma said. “That’s the best way to deliver a baby naturally. The only reason they make women lie down in the hospital is because of the medication. And also, it’s easier for the doctor.”

  “Squat?” Justine replied. “Are you serious? I’m giving birth, not taking a dump.”

  “Well, it’s going to feel very similar,” Emma said. “In fact, you might do both at the same time, so just push. I’ve been preparing for the birth of your child since I first learned you were pregnant, and we’ve talked about this. You’re in good hands.”

  “God, I hope so. I can’t…I can’t believe I’m giving birth in the woods like a wild animal.”

  Emma, Marion, and Tabitha were like a wall of strong backs. Darryl saw them moving around, but he couldn’t tell exactly what was happening. They had Justine up on her feet now, moving her into position. It just didn’t look right to Darryl. Squatting to give birth? Still, he didn’t dare intrude.

  “Darryl,” Tabitha said suddenly. “I need you to set up camp. We won’t be moving on from here any time soon. Set up windscreens, start a nice fire in a safe location. Heat some water and prepare some warm compresses. Hurry up!”

  He rushed back toward the travois, navigating the rather confused cows. Some of the animals were busily feeding on plants. At some point, he needed to make sure they weren’t injured from the flooding, but he just couldn’t think about that now. When he reached the end of the caravan, he saw Horace sitting sidewise on his saddle, gazing down at the ground as if trying to think of some way to get down on
his own.

  “Are we having a baby?” he asked, as Darryl approached.

  “Yes, sir,” Darryl replied. “We have to set up camp and get ready. We’re not going any farther tonight. Come on.”

  He approached the horse and reached up. Helping the old man get down from the saddle was going to be awkward, but it couldn’t be helped. Horace gave him an embarrassed smile and leaned forward. He slid out of the saddle and dropped right into Darryl’s arms. Darryl had braced himself for the weight, but the old man weighed a lot less than he’d expected. He felt like skin and bones.

  Darryl set him down on the ground then retrieved his crutch from the travois.

  “At least I only lost one of my prosthetics,” Horace said, using the crutch to leverage himself up off the ground. “I can still get around like this.”

  Darryl just didn’t feel like chatting with him, so he didn’t bother to reply. Rooting through their remaining supplies, he located a couple of folded tarps, some nylon rope, a stack of blankets, and a small box with some tools—including fire-starting sticks and matches. He bundled this all up in a heap in his arms and carried them back to the others, as Horace came hobbling along behind him.

  “Hey, kid.”

  Horace’s voice choked with emotion. Darryl at him over his shoulder. He was tempted to say, “Can you save it until later? I’m barely keeping it together right now.” But it was just too rude.

  “You’ve been through so much,” Horace said, “but you’ve really shown your mettle. I’m proud of you, kid.”

  It touched him, though the feeling was muted by all of the anxiety and grief. Nevertheless, Darryl nodded and said, “Thanks, sir.”

  Justine began making some truly unpleasant noises—yelling, snarling, cursing—as Tabitha, Marion, and Emma spoke to her in soothing tones.

  “Hang in there, Justine,” Darryl said lamely. He felt compelled to offer some kind of comfort, but he didn’t know what to say. Shouldn’t he be at her side, holding her hand? What was he supposed to do in this situation?