by Hunt, Jack
The pain in her wrist had worsened.
She was shivering so hard that her teeth were chattering. Beth knew that under extreme conditions the best way to stay warm was to place a bladder or bottle of warm water on the major arteries in the neck, armpits and groin or huddle together but curling up beside a stranger or God forbid sliding into the same sleeping bag was something she was hesitant to do.
She also didn’t know what kind of injuries he had. In the rush to drag his heavy body away from the plane she hadn’t checked. Of course she guessed his one leg was broken but there was also damage to his face; blood, a good amount covered it. Would he survive the night? Every few minutes she’d lean down and listen to him breathe. Beth placed a hand on his neck and felt around for the carotid artery.
Good. His pulse was strong.
He lay there, silent and unmoving. Who was he? Where was he heading on Christmas Eve? She contemplated searching his pockets but her fingers were numb. Oh God, she said looking up. Thoughts of her father came to mind and she wished he was here. He would know what to do. Beth unzipped the sleeping bag and carefully climbed into it. It would be tight but she needed to stay warm and her body heat would help him too. Slipping her arms around his chest she thought of the times she held her own father and gave him a hug. But this was odd. The man groaned as she butted up against his leg.
The unnatural angle of the leg made it clear how bad his situation was. She didn’t want to cause him any more pain than he was already in, so she considered getting out but if she did that by morning she might be the one dead. Her stomach grumbled. She was hungry but far more tired. With the heat of his body feeding strength into hers, an overpowering drowsiness came over her. She tried to stay awake but it was near impossible,
No… don’t go to sleep… stay awake… father needs you.
Her thoughts drifted as she bordered the edge between dream state and being alert. But it didn’t last long and soon slumber claimed her.
When daylight broke, Beth’s eyes flickered open before the stranger’s. The wind was still whipping the tent but not as strong as it had been the night before. What time is it? She glanced at her wristwatch but it had stopped around the time the plane had crashed. She tapped it a few times. Had water got into it? A sense of relief that she was still alive flooded her. Better yet, the pain in her wrist had subsided, a pity the ache in her joints hadn’t. She carefully crawled out of the sleeping bag. The man groaned. Once out she checked her gloves. They were still heavy and wet. Beth cursed under her breath as she unzipped the tent to peer out. Snow. It was the last thing she wanted to see but the weather forecast said it would continue until evening. At least the worst of the storm was over. A large amount had dumped, burying a good portion of the tent beneath a snowdrift. She looked back at the stranger.
His face was swollen and caked with blood from a gash on the bridge of the nose and forehead. Unzipping the sleeping bag to the bottom she pulled it back to get a better look at his legs. Without undressing him or knowing what pain he was feeling, it would be hard to tell what kind of internal injuries he had. But one thing was clear, his right leg was broken but at least the bone wasn’t sticking out. His left leg was badly swollen, and a guess based on the bruising was it was also fractured. She hoped that wasn’t the case but it was hard to know. A full examination would have to wait until she got back to the cabin. Whoever you are, you are one lucky individual.
Beth slipped her feet back in her damp boots and made her way out of the tent grabbing her bow. Her feet sank into the knee-high snow filling them up again. Great. Her warm, dry socks were wet now. Curious to see the plane again she plowed through the snow and high drifts making her way back. In daylight it was much easier to see. Most of the plane’s remains were buried deep below snow. There was, as she had thought, no sign of life. Even if someone else had survived the crash, there was no way in hell they would have got through that night. It had been brutal. Several times she’d woken up to the sound of howling winds, and coyotes.
Realizing there wasn’t anyone else she could help, she made her way back. As she got closer to the tent, she noticed a dark mass nearby.
Beth froze.
She knew immediately what it was.
It had to be at least four or five hundred pounds.
Its fur was black, and it was sniffing the ground, no doubt picking up the scent of blood. They had shit eyesight but had razor-sharp smell and hearing. Damn it. The food in her bag. She would usually tie it off with rope and put it up in a tree but in the rush to seek shelter she’d forgotten. Her hand instinctively went for her backpack strap but it wasn’t there. She’d climbed out without it. It was under his legs, and the tent was unzipped.
Having lived her life in the mountains she knew the rules: don’t approach a bear if you see one, don’t run, keep an eye on its behavior and slowly back away increasing the distance between you and the bear. More often than not if they saw one it would just run off but this was no ordinary situation. The smell of blood was in the air. Her mind went back to what she knew. If the bear approaches, change direction. If that doesn’t work, you have no other choice than to stand your ground and shout at it if it gets close. She recalled the way her mother would show her how to act aggressively and intimidate the bear, making herself seem as large as possible. Throw rocks at it if you have to, Bluebird, but whatever you do, do not turn and run away.
Beth could see that it hadn’t spotted her. Had it just been her, she would have backed off and let it rummage through the tent but with him inside…
Very slowly she removed the bow from her shoulder and took an arrow out of the quiver. This could end one way or the other. She studied its broad back and powerful neck waiting to see which way it would go.
Don’t you dare go near that tent.
The large creature grunted, and lifted its shaggy head.
Beth watched as it ambled forward following an unseen trail that led up to the tent. Behind it were numerous trees she could use as a target. The goal wasn’t to harm the bear but to distract it, shift its attention and scare it away.
She pulled back, narrowed her eyes and released the arrow. It shot through the air striking into a tree a short distance from the bear. The bear let out a roar, bounced up and twisted around heading down the mountain.
She breathed a sigh of relief as her fears ebbed slightly.
Beth watched it scamper away leaving large prints behind before she pressed on and made it back to the tent. They needed to get out of there soon as bears weren’t the only threat. Cougars, coyotes and feral dogs, they would all see them as prey.
As soon as she reached the tent and entered, she came face to face with him. His eyes were wide and he was sitting upright with a fixed knife in his hand. It had been inside her backpack. Obviously, he’d heard the bear.
“Who are you?” he asked stabbing the air in front of him with the blade.
Beth put a hand up. “Whoa. Put my knife down.”
“This is yours?”
“And the sleeping bag and tent you’re in.”
“Where am I?”
“The Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina.”
“What happened?”
She frowned. “You don’t remember?”
He shook his head and she wondered if it was for the best, especially after coming across the clothes of a young girl. He groaned in agony and she pointed to his legs. “One of them is broken.”
“What?”
Slowly she crept into the tent and told him she was going to unzip the bag so he could get a better look. Once she flipped back the cover, he swallowed hard and his eyes rolled and she knew he was going to pass out. Sure enough he tipped over. Beth darted in and relieved him of the knife.
She knew she needed to set the leg, especially if she was going to drag him back up the mountain which was closer than trying to reach the town.
Seeing a leather belt around his jeans she unbuckled it and began to wind it around his ankle and then
her wrist. It was going to hurt like hell but it was better to do it now while he was out cold than later. Her mother’s background as a nurse had given her some basic knowledge but that was a long time ago and from what she could recall that involved using a cast. Beth sat back on her heels, kneeling and observing the leg. How to do this? Maybe it wasn’t hesitation of getting it wrong but fear of hurting him that made her second-guess her decision. Nope. You need to do this. She placed her right foot between the legs and straightened her leg, pressing her foot into the side of his groin. Beth then grabbed the right foot and breathed in deeply before looking at him. He was still out. Here goes nothing.
Beth yanked hard on his foot while at the same time pushing with her leg and arching back. In that instant his eyes opened, his mouth went agape and he let out a horrifying scream that echoed before he went unconscious from the pain. Another adjustment of the leg and it was finally straight again.
She needed a splint for the leg now that it was set.
It required three parts: something rigid, soft padding and some form of wrapping or covering. Her father would tell her that in the wilderness you had to make do with what you had. She could have found some branches but figured the plane might hold something a bit sturdier. Beth exited the tent and returned to the wreck to see what she could salvage. Pulling out the knife she’d taken, she cut away some of the cushioned seat which would work for padding, then collected a blanket that was tucked away below the seats in the cockpit. Finally she spent the next five or ten minutes looking for any steel rods, or metal that was firm but small enough that it could be used on either side. For a moment she thought she’d have to use two branches but finally she uncovered something she could use.
Upon returning it didn’t take her long to protect the leg from further damage and ensure that it stayed rigid. A few basic knots and she smiled. That will do the trick.
After, she dragged him outside in the sleeping bag. He was still out cold. The sooner they could get back to the cabin the sooner she could help him. I can do this. She blew out her cheeks and went through the process of disassembling the tent and stuffing everything back into her backpack. All the while she scanned the terrain for that bear. By the time she was done her clothes were as every bit as wet as they had been the previous night.
Once done, she wound some rope around the top half of the sleeping bag and slung it over her shoulder. She set her face like a flint towards the slope and began to drag him back to the cabin.
10
Christmas morning
When the second vehicle at the Manor wouldn’t start the next morning, Sara knew something was seriously wrong. The town of Castine had experienced multiple power outages before, it was par for the course living on the East Coast, but this was different.
Something felt off.
The ride with Hank back from the farm the previous night had yielded no answers either. Thankfully the trip hadn’t turned out to be as bad as she imagined, probably because Max was with her. Hank said he had no clue what was happening as it was too soon to know and like most, he’d notched it up to the weather. After she told him about Landon’s trip, he said he’d seen a small plane nosedive into the bay when the power went out. Quickly realizing what he’d said, he backtracked and tried to reassure her that it probably wasn’t him but that did little to calm her.
Still, in light of that admission she convinced herself that it wasn’t Landon. He was an experienced pilot after all, with hours upon hours of flying time under his belt. No. It wasn’t him. She couldn’t go there, she wouldn’t. That’s why upon returning to the Manor she didn’t wait up or fret. Nope, she curled into her thick duvet expecting him to arrive sometime after midnight with some excuse about bad weather.
However, that all changed when she rolled over the next morning just after seven and the other side of the bed was cold and empty. Her stomach sank. Sara had got up and called out to him, checked all the rooms of the house without waking Max and then attempted to text Landon on her backup phone but of course that one wasn’t working either. That was when she reached for the landline. Nothing. It didn’t even go to his voice mail. Getting nervous she placed a call to Hancock County Bar Harbor Airport, an hour away, figuring he’d got in late and stayed that night at a hotel.
Trouble was no one answered the phone.
Christmas or not, it was always open. Strange.
“Max. Get up,” she yelled up the stairs before hurrying out to the woodshed to locate the portable generator. They hadn’t powered it up last night as by the time they got in, it was late and both of them were exhausted. Hank had initially offered to have them stay with him and Rita but she declined saying that Landon would be home soon.
Disturbed by the unusual event, she dragged out the red generator and unscrewed the top to fill it with gas. It delivered around 7,000 to 10,000 watts — enough to power a few lights, a fridge, freezer and a couple of appliances for a few days. They’d purchased it after the big outage in 2017 that lasted a week — she’d sworn she’d never be put in that position again. Right now it was a godsend.
Bundled in a thick winter coat, waterproof boots, gloves, beanie hat and scarf wrapped around her face, Sara felt like an Egyptian mummy as she ventured out for the second time and braved the frigid weather.
The Manor Inn was set back from Battle Avenue on the west side. Situated on a hilltop with breathtaking views of Penobscot Bay, the nineteenth century inn was one of three lodgings in Castine, with hers the farthest from the downtown. With so few options for visitors, it had for a while caused some rivalry prior to her taking over the business. Since then she’d formed a good relationship by referring potential guests to the other businesses when they were booked solid. They did the same. It had worked and for the longest time they were the go-to spot for visitors until Airbnb began taking away profits with low-cost alternatives. Now anyone with a home could compete.
It had become a point of contention between her and Landon as he noted her frustration, and used it to fuel his grand idea of moving to sunny Florida. But that was not in the cards. She would rather go down with the ship than close up shop. No, instead she tackled the challenge like any business owner — head on. With high overhead and the need to stay competitive, they had taken out a line of credit to renovate, add on an addition, as well as provide free wi-fi, a restaurant and bar, a cooked breakfast, and yoga. They even went as far as to make it pet friendly to ensure that everyone was catered to.
In addition they had spent another ten grand on marketing and updating their website to highlight some of the finer points of what made them unique such as their period-style interior furnishings. Although they were only a four-minute drive from Main Street, and some wouldn’t choose them, preferring to be in the heart of the town, they’d used that to their advantage by appealing to tourists and workshop groups searching for something more peaceful — a retreat that butted up against the Witherle Woods, took only four minutes’ walk to reach Dyce Head Lighthouse and under ten to be at Maine Maritime Academy.
It had worked, and so far, they remained booked up several months in advance except for December to the end of February when they closed because of the winter.
Trudging back to the house Sara grumbled at the thought of having to revert to a generator. She was grateful to have it but she relied on the grid and the internet; they were critical for running the business, never mind day-to-day needs. Christmas without power wasn’t what she had in mind. Landon had discussed converting the Manor over to solar power, and as wonderful as it sounded, it required more money and they were still digging themselves out of debt. No, the power would come back on soon, she convinced herself, praying that it wouldn’t take a week. Still, as prepared as they were it bothered her that her cell and vehicles weren’t working. As for her vehicle still in the ditch, Hank had informed her that he would speak to Jake and see what they could do but she was a realist, and didn’t expect anything, anytime soon.
The generator kicked in.
What a beautiful sound.
“Max, are you up?” she yelled again pulling her gloves off and stomping snow off her boots, then flicking the light switch. Lights came on in the house, the furnace kicked on and she breathed a sigh of relief. Christmas without power, not in this family, she told herself.
It was only then Max replied over the steps. “The internet’s not working.”
“That’s because the power is out.”
She didn’t need to explain. Max groaned and disappeared in the bathroom. “No hot water either!” he yelled.
“That’s because it will take a while for the boiler to reheat.” She shook her head. She was doing everything she could to keep her mind occupied so she didn’t burst into tears. Christmas was meant to be about family. She had plans to have all of them there with her mother, a nice cooked meal and… She sighed.
“Uh, another problem,” he yelled down.
“Oh, Max, what?”
“The pressure of the water is almost nonexistent.”
She groaned bringing a hand up to her head. It was one thing to deal with an interruption in TV and wi-fi, and rely on a generator to power a few appliances in the home, but to have the plumbing system go kaput, that was a whole other challenge. She recalled the town hall meeting after what happened when Maine was without power for a week. Many had shown up to complain about receiving no water while others said they still had water but it was pumping through at a lower pressure. There was a lot of confusion and people were irate until they explained.
Contrary to what most understood, even when a power outage happened, water treatment plants could continue to deliver water to homes and businesses for a short time. That was because most of them had back-up generators to keep the core components functioning, even if it was pumping at a lower pressure, however, delivery problems could arise depending on a few factors, the first being the source of water. Some received it from the city, others from a well. The second was where a person was when the outage occurred — house, apartment or farm in the countryside. They went on to explain that those living in high-rise apartments would be the first to see their water stop, while the rest were likely to see it work for a short time but at a much lower pressure.