Journal

by Craig Buckhout

  Gabriel never asked the question, though. Without any further discussion, he just lay down and closed his eyes.

  It was below freezing then and getting colder. Those pine boughs we put down and the pitiful layers under which I slept did little to warm me. I balled my fingers and curled my body to preserve as much warmth as possible, but it seemed to do little good. This was going to be the worst night yet, and I was concerned about what would happen if it continued to get much colder. I even thought about getting up and moving about just to generate some body heat.

  I was still thinking about it when I heard, rather than saw, Anna come in under the shelter. It was just that dark. When she got herself settled onto our makeshift mattress, I felt her shaking violently. I was doing my share of that, too. She toughed it out for about ten minutes before I felt her body move closer to me. She told me to turn on my side, away from her, and said, “Don’t get any ideas.” I didn’t, believe me I didn’t, and she moved her front to my back and I believe Gabriel’s to hers. I have to admit it helped. After that, I even got some sleep.

  I want to add a comment here, well, to make surewot maybe more of an observation really. It has been a long time, a long, long time since I’ve had contact like that with another human being. I had forgotten how the mere act of touching someone can somehow change the dynamic of a relationship. I don’t mean in a sexual way either. I think it is true that touching makes an emotional connection as well as a physical one. Something very human and personal passes between two people, at that moment, with just the sensation of touch and even more so with the exchange of body heat, too. The transaction seems to break down barriers that we, as humans, tend to erect to insulate ourselves from one another. I guess my point is, it’s sort of hard to have an attitude when you’re hugging someone.

  ____________

  When it was my turn to stand watch, I gotta tell you, it took every ounce of willpower I had to leave the relative warmth of that bed. I thought of every phony-baloney excuse possible to avoid it, too. Nobody will be out there in this cold; I’ll hear them long before they see us; we hid our tracks so well nobody will find them anyway; it would be better to stay here, hidden among the rocks, instead of being out there where they might see me first; and so forth. When I finally did step outside with my rifle, I found that the new morning didn’t bring with it new hope. Instead, it brought with it more trouble. The ground was covered with snow and more was falling. The date was April sixth.

  After I got my blood circulating, and when it got light enough to see, I scrounged a few pieces of semi-dry wood. To get them burning, it took most of the pages from the damaged journal. If ever there was a time to use some of that instant coffee I found in the shack, that was it, and that’s what I did. I also thawed out the remaining pork and beans – they froze overnight. There was just enough there for two or three spoonfuls each. I figured after such a tough night, we should at least start out with a little something in our stomachs, however meager.

  Another comment. I seem to be just full of them today. Pork and beans and instant coffee were probably two of my least favorite things in my former life. That morning, they tasted like the best steak and wine I ever had. I guess that’s the way it is when you’re starving.

  Anna was up and moving by the time I killed the fire, but Gabriel was still down, which worried me badly. We had been burning a lot of energy since fleeing the farm and not taking-in anywhere near enough calories to replenish it. It seemed Gabriel had been particularly affected by this. As I’ve said, he was thin when we first started out, but he appeared especially shrunken-in on himself that morning. I carried him a cup of weak coffee and the last of the beans and told him to stay where he was while I rolled things up and packed other things away. At one point, I looked to check on him, and he seemed more animated but not greatly so. Eventually, he did gather himself and load up his belongings. Tough kid; mentally tough anyway.

  As we were putting the last of our gear away, Anna told me that she thought we had better change directions and start back. She explained she was anxious to warn the people of Woburn of the planned attack and was afraid if we didn’t start that way right then, we’d not make it in time.

  I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard. First, she actually initiated a discussion with me, and second, she said we, we as in the three of us together. The sudden change made me feel good and nervous all at the same time. I remember asking myself if I would have felt more at ease if she told me I could go screw myself if I didn’t want to change directions and that she would go without me if necessary.

  I have to admit, I wasn’t looking forward to going much farther north anyway. I was damn cold and it would be even colder in that direction because there would be at least another fifteen hundred feet of elevation climb, maybe more. So it didn’t take a lot of convincing to get me to agree. In the back of my mind, though, was the knowledge that we really weren’t all that far away from where we last encountered Mr. Ponytail’s crew, maybe eight or nine miles at most. If they were still following us north, and we turned east now, they could conceivably intercept us. But the choice was between maybe freezing to death north or maybe getting shot to death east.

  We walked east in a steady snowfall. But snow was better than rain, and it would eliminate our tracks in short order — at least we could say that. It made for hard walking, however — we could say that, too. It was hard not so much because of the depth of the snow, it wasn’t yet that bad. It had more to do with the terrain, which was either up or down. It also was because the ground was so uneven you never knew exactly what you were stepping on. In fact, I fell once when my toe caught a root hidden in the snow. I also saw Gabriel go down one time. He made a face like he hurt himself, but he didn’t cry out. He just got back up and kept going.

  More and more, the trees gave way to a landscape of barren white slopes, dabbed here and there grey-green with sage, which, at times, was waist high and impenetrable, requiring frequent changes in direction. It also slowed our progress down considerably.

  About three hours into the morning, we stopped to rest and study our surroundings to see if we were being followed. Gabriel was looking pretty bad and Anna only a little bit better, sitting there hunched over and hugging herself. I took the time at that point to cut strips of fabric from the material I had removed from the plane. I wrapped these around their lower legs as makeshift gaiters, tying them in place with nylon cord. Their pants were already wet, but I figured this might help insulate them from the cold. I wished I had thought of it earlier. I also made sure that Gabriel drank some water. You can get dehydrated in the cold just the same as you can in heat. During this whole process, not much was said between us; each holding our miseries tight.

  Re-reading what I just put down, I can imagine that it might make me sound as if I am this tough, resilient character taking care of the women folk and children, but that’s not the case; not by a long shot. First, as I’ve stated so many times before, I was completely and totally miserable, scared, cold, wet, and tired just like they were. The reason I might have been in slightly better shape than they were is because I had warmer clothing on and more of it. They left the farm essentially with what they had on their backs and what they could scrounge up in just a very few minutes. Also, there was a practical reason for me being particularly attentive to their phys the Author

  Getting back to it, with little enthusiasm, we continued east. If there was a bright spot, it was that the snow stopped falling, and it seemed that we were going more downhill than up. Once I saw deer tracks and another time what had to be the paw prints of a gray wolf or large dog. There would be no hunting, however. To risk a shot from us now, would risk a shot at us later.

  Other than that already mentioned, and an uneventful crossing of an old logging road, there’s not much to tell about the next several hours. After all, how do I remark on a missed footstep, an uprooted tree, or a climb just short of impossible when the hundred before and after were no different? It w
as basically just one foot in front of the other for about six more hours.

  We quit when our legs quit, not another step less. This time I left Anna and Gabriel to put up our shelter while I scouted around for fire wood and maybe something to eat. I found enough pieces of dry wood for a cook fire, refilled our water bottles from a ribbon of water flowing from a hillside spring, and picked two pockets full of new growth Fiddleheads, a type of edible fern common to the area. There wasn’t enough for a full meal, but it would maybe provide a few more calories to keep us going.

  Because I have mentioned more than once finding this plant or that which we then ate or brewed to tea, I should explain here that I’m not an expert at this or anything. It’s just that about a year ago, I came across a paperback on edible plants under the seat of an abandoned Ford pickup truck. What am I saying, they’re all abandoned now. Anyway, I hung onto it for a while and tested it out whenever I came across one of the plants pictured on its pages. In that way, I got to know a few plants that are safe to eat. I only wish I’d kept the book, because we’ve probably walked by a dozen other edible plants without knowing it. I ended up using it as fire starter on a day when heat was a more immediate need than food.

  By the time I got back, Anna and Gabriel had set up a lean-to shelter under a large pine and were just about finished laying a bed of pine needles to sleep on. The temperature was maybe in the low 40s, and we were at an elevation of about 2,000 feet, so the only snow left on the ground was in the shade. Also, we were in a region that was a mixture of meadowland and forest, so the walking was becoming easier and easier.

  A few other things should be mentioned, too. The lack of food and almost constant dawn to dusk walking was really taking its toll. First, we all stunk like a locker full of sweaty gym shorts. I know I sure did, but there wasn’t much I could do about it. We were also dropping weight like mad. I noticed it most in my waist. I was constantly hiking up my pants during the day and, as I’ve mentioned, Gabriel seemed to be the one suffering most from it. It looked like his eyes had literally been sucked back inside his skull, and you could see that just about everything he did was a struggle. The thing that bothered me the most, other than the weaWhile so engagedwotkness I was experiencing, were the headaches and mild dizziness. I suspected that we were all feeling the same thing, but there was no talk about it.

  We cooked up the last of the venison, not much of that, used more of the instant coffee, and ate the Fiddlehead. I started feeling better almost immediately after, but I knew it wouldn’t last. Tomorrow would be worse than today. We were now completely out of food. There also wouldn’t be any hunting on our part because of our fear that our pursuers were close. I remember hoping we’d find something to eat, the same way you would hope a broken leg wasn’t broken or that you’d wake up in a warm bed, knowing all the time it really wasn’t going to happen.

  After putting out the fire, we agreed we needed to return to our regular, all night, watch schedule. We weren’t looking forward to it, that’s for sure, but we suspected our pursuers were somewhere nearby. And as if to confirm our fears, we heard a gunshot way off in the distance. It seemed to be south and west of us, but the way sound bounces around in the mountains, who really knew for sure.

  ___________

  I took over for Anna at about midnight April 7th and positioned myself a good one hundred fifty to two hundred yards east of our shelter on the edge of a large meadow. It was a good position, or so I thought. It was protected by a fallen tree on one side, around which several new growth, four and five foot pines had rooted, providing decent concealment. Behind and to either side of me was a rough semi-circle of other trees and brush that similarly hid my presence. That’s where I stayed long past when it was Gabriel’s turn to stand watch. The way he had been looking the day before, it didn’t make any sense to wake him.

  In retrospect, my decision to let Gabriel sleep was probably a good one. That’s because in as bad shape as he was, and still is mind you, I’m not so sure he or any of us would have survived. I better explain that.

  Just before dawn, in that hour when the temperature seems to drop another ten degrees just to make every living creature even more miserable than they already are, I heard the sharp crack of a branch broken somewhere to the south of me. In that instant, the peaceful solitude of a wilderness morning transformed itself into something very sinister. My breath lodged in my chest, and I immediately dropped to one knee. My peripheral vision hazed up and then turned crystal sharp. My headache vanished. My back stopped hurting. My heart rate doubled, as did my respirations. As the seconds ticked off, paranoia did a low crawl into my gut, worked its way up my spine, and hunkered down in my head. That was the worst part — the mind tricks.

  At first, I swiveled on my knee facing south, looking for a threat. As the moments passed, I began to think: what if it only sounded like it came from the south? What if it was instead from the east or west? So I changed my position, changed it again, and then a third, and fourth time, always half expecting that when I did, I’d turn and find myself face to face with Mr. Ponytail pointing that shotgun at me.

  Next, the thought came into my head that maybe I ought to just get the hell out of there. As I mulled that one over, not by a long shot. 6itI realized that I couldn’t. I hadn’t planned for an escape route. How stupid is that? If I tried to leave, I would have been fully exposed. It also meant that if my hiding spot was discovered, one man could pin me down while waiting for others to finish me off. It’s a panicky feeling, being trapped. You just know they’re going to nail you, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

  What was probably only three minutes, but seemed more like twenty, yielded yet another sound. This one possibly a voice, a word or two, no more, it was hard to tell exactly. It could have been whispered, but it might, too, have only been my imagination. It also seemed like it came from the south.

  At this point, for some reason I couldn’t remember if I had a cartridge ready to go in my rifle or not. I didn’t want to lever one in, just to be safe, because of the noise it would make. If there was someone out there, there’d be no mistaking that sound. There’s nothing like it. So instead, I eased back the hammer and pushed on the safety. I had to engage the safety because my hands were shaking so badly I was afraid I might accidentally shoot myself if I didn’t. I told myself that if I have to pull the trigger, and it just goes click, don’t panic. Just lever one in and shoot regardless if someone else is shooting at me at the same time. After that, keep on shooting until the gun is empty. The pistol would be my last resort.

  I saw the first movement while looking off to the east through the branches of a small pine, while my back was up against one full grown. It was maybe thirty or forty yards off, and I picked it up at the edge of my vision in the gathering light of the morning. I knew enough not to suddenly turn my head or move any body part for that matter. Movement is noticed sooner than anything else, just as I had noticed it. So I slowly, gradually, turned my head until I could clearly see, first a set of legs, and next the whole man. He was walking basically north through the trees but not yet parallel with my position. He looked my age, but where I have dark hair, he had light. He was also carrying a rifle of some sort.

  As I kept my eyes on him, thinking, this isn’t too bad, he’ll never spot me, I heard someone say, “Shit,” and whoever said it was close by, too. Suddenly I was short of breath and had to gulp several deep ones just to get myself under control. It only helped a little.

  At that point, I heard another voice say, “Shut the fuck up man.” The words were said fast like and strung together in one stream of sound. He was a little farther away and to the west of me.

  The first voice, bitter and sneering, said, “You shut the fuck up. This is just a big fuckin’ waste of time. The kid and Eric’s little play thing are both long gone. They’re probably in Canada by now.”

  “You don’t know nothin’. Just shut up and do what you’re told,” the second voice came back at him. It soun
ded even closer now.

  I remember telling myself that meant there were three at least but probably more. I thought if I’m spotted, shoot the closest one and work my way out. Aft not by a long shot. 6iter that, run like hell north and east away from Anna and Gabriel. At least they might have a chance.

  After a few more seconds, I could hear their footsteps, slow and deliberate over a carpet of pine needles, approaching my position. At that point, the person to the west of me, voice number two, came into view about twenty or so yards off and swept on past. He looked like he was carrying a bow with arrows. By his position, and that of the one to the east, they were working in a skirmish line going from south to north. That meant that voice number one, the one that was closest to me, would pass by momentarily.

  No sooner had I formulated that thought in my head then I heard more footsteps and saw him not but ten yards away. He had his back to me going east around the end of the felled tree that protected my position. He was older, maybe fifty or so, wearing a dark green coat that hung to his ankles and a black watch cap. It looked like he was also carrying a machete in his left hand. As he turned north again, around the end of the log, he didn’t look in my direction. I granted myself a nervous smile. They hadn’t seen me. I thought, maybe I’ll get out of this alive after all.

  I let them get a good hundred yards away from me before making up my mind to sneak out of there and back to our camp. I was fairly certain that the searchers weren’t far enough west to have encountered Gabriel and Anna. If they had, I most certainly would have heard a shout, a shot, something to indicate there was trouble. There had been nothing of the sort.

  I duck-walked between two of the trees behind me and stood up with one of them to my back. I picked out a six-foot pine a short distance to the west as my first stop, and, as silently as I could, moved to it. I then walked to a much larger tree, being cautious of my foot placement because of some leafy ground cover nearby that would announce my presence if stepped on.