Northern Lights
A Scorched Earth Novel
Boyd Craven III
Contents
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
About the Author
Copyright © 2016 Boyd Craven III
Northern Lights
By Boyd Craven
Many thanks to friends and family for keeping me writing!
All rights reserved.
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* * *
Tom’s a prepper, and with his three friends, they embark on a fly-in fishing trip to Northern Canada to have a long, relaxing vacation. Things turn deadly when an EMP leaves them stranded and alone a thousand miles away from civilization. Winter is coming, and they only brought enough supplies for two weeks.
In a hostile land, there’s no room for mistakes or illness. One wrong step can prove to be as deadly as the wildlife that has no fear of humans, and that views them as more than a potential food source. Escape by boat or over land would be near impossible.
So much to do, so ill-equipped, and so little time. Follow the four friends in their journey of survival. Survival isn’t just an option—It’s life or death.
1
It’s all about the weight. That, and the fact that I am the heaviest in our group. I know, that doesn’t make a lot of sense, but when you are hiring a float plane to fly some friends to a remote hunting and fishing camp, I guess it makes sense. Weight means the pilot has to burn more fuel, too much weight means all kinds of nefarious things when it isn’t handled properly, according to my pilot, Bill. Everything from takeoff and landing distances, to going through too much fuel too fast, running out and crashing. We don’t want to crash so we were mindful… And weighed in with our gear.
Tracy and Brian were the first two to make the trip to Pringle Lake, in the Northern Territories of Canada. They had their packs and rods. That was it. The bush pilot plus them and their packs weighed enough that he could make the trip and have about an hour’s worth of fuel remaining when he landed. The three-and-a-half-hour round trip was done, and the pilot refueled while Jordan loaded his gear and the food. We had enough dried goods to last us the two weeks we’d be down there… But weight restrictions.
When Bill made it back it was my turn. I’d already weighed in earlier in the day, and everyone had had a laugh at my expense. I’d done my calculations and I’d come in gear plus my body weight at exactly the 350-pound limit. Jordan had been exceptionally biting in his remarks about me packing down to the last pound, but that’s what a good prepper does. Since we were heading into the northern territories, I wanted to be ready for anything.
“Hey Tom, you never told me why you’ve got half your stuff in buckets,” Bill said, passing me on the dock so he could start the refueling process.
“Got some gear packed into them,” I told him.
“They make good camp stools, when you’re sitting outside by the fire pit,” he said grinning.
“They do.” I could just as easily have stacked them into one, nesting them in layers, but the four buckets I had packed contained a small supply of food plus my camping/fishing gear.
One of them also held my camp gun, a .22 that folded up into its stock, and about 500 rounds of ammunition. Since I was about 230lbs and a tad overweight, I had about 120lbs that I could take in with me. The first thing I weighed at home was a case of Miller, and then figured there wouldn’t be enough for the 2-week trip without having Bill fly us more out the first week, so a few pounds went into three bubble wrapped bottles of Jack Daniels.
I might be roughing it, but there was no point pretending I wasn’t going to have a good time. The other gear I packed was just as vital and potentially life-saving. See, I’d gotten into prepping when I was a young kid. I’d loved to trap, hunt, and fish from a young age. I’d grown up in a sleepy little town near Argentine, Michigan, and I spent many an afternoon at the back of the property, trying to figure out the wildlife, making forts, or camping.
We didn’t own a lot of land, but it was wild land, untamed, and my little sister used to joke that we called it the ‘underworld’ because it was where no other men had trodden. I did though, and I used to make little first aid kits, and then a fire-starting kit… then I learned how to snare animals; pests at first and then rabbits, squirrels and even birds. Soon a snare kit went into my kits… and it started being half a backpack full. These days my kit consists of a few buckets and a backpack for the basics I expect I’ll need for two weeks.
A heavy Coleman sleeping bag, a pillow… both of which have been shrunk in size by a glad vacuum seal bag, food, snares, my gun, various knives, a camp hatchet, machete, tackle, bug spray, and three rods. I did remember to bring clothes but I will admit, they were almost an afterthought as was the lightweight spring jacket. That had been the biggest point of Jordan’s ribbing. It was summer time and I was packing a jacket.
Didn’t it get cold heading up towards the North Pole? Besides, it was the only waterproof coat I had and I don’t like the plastic ponchos that don’t breathe. When they asked what was in the buckets and if I could take some of their gear since I was flying last, I got on the scale with all of my stuff and told them sorry, but no. I’d literally taken over two weeks to weigh, pack, and get everything perfect. I even cut 2lbs of body weight by fasting so I could have the room needed for an emergency radio. It might seem a little weird, but they were my quirks, and being single I didn’t see any reason to change my weirdness to please somebody else.
“Once I fuel her up, I’m going to head to the bathroom. You need to go before we take off?” Bill asked me.
“No sir, went right before you landed. Truth be told, I might crawl in and take a nap if you don’t mind?”
“Not at all,” he said and finished off the fueling and headed into the little building at the end of the large gravel parking lot.
I’d spent quite a bit of time in that building, watching old sitcom reruns like Cheers and Seinfeld while I waited for my turn. I was bored to tears waiting, but I couldn’t sleep. The receptionist was constantly on the phone with who I could only assume to be her husband or boyfriend, talking non-stop. That wouldn’t normally bug me, except as soon as I settled into a comfortable spot, the phone would ring again, somebody would pull up enquiring about a flight, or someone would start arguing about the weight limit restrictions.
Honestly, I knew ahead of time that their Otter was down and we were going in the smaller Cessna, so I had planned for it. The Otter would have cut the trip from 3 flights down to 1 or 2, but the outfitter didn’t charge us extra for that. In fact, they apologized profusely and told us that the part had to be ordered in because the airframe they used was from the 70s and they don’t make them like they used to… Great… Old and hard to find parts for…
I finished stashing my buckets, fishing rods and tackle box, and put my backpack behind the seat. I had room to spare if I could grease my way into the seat. The Cessna wasn’t meant for guys my size. Not that I was a big weight lifter, quite the opposite in fact, I could probably stand to lose twenty or thirty pounds, and that was something I was hoping to get a jumpstart on during this t
rip. Once I was wedged into my seat I sat back.
The waves on the plane’s pontoons were soothing as the plane rocked back and forth. I was starting to drift off when the door opened and Bill was standing there, holding out two Styrofoam cups. I took them and he got in and buckled up. He took one of the cups back and tilted it, and I bumped cups with him like two dudes clinking beer bottles together.
“Just because you’re roughing it doesn’t mean you have to live your life without coffee,” he grinned.
“Thanks. How long is the flight going to be?” I asked.
“Oh, about an hour and a half for you if the wind is at our backs like it was last trip. Three and a half to four hours overall for me.”
I eyeballed the coffee cup and raised my eyebrows at him questioningly.
“Hey, y’all have an outhouse there, and it’s my last flight of the day.”
“Yeah, just messing with you,” I told him.
Bill was older than me by at least twenty years, but it was hard to say exactly. His skin was tanned in a way that only comes from being outdoors all times of the year, and to be honest, this farther north and the UV rays were stronger than they were even thirteen hours south to where I was. He had crowfeet around his eyes and his hair and mustache were salt and pepper black on white. He wasn’t one of those guys who killed you in a handshake, nor was he overly competitive, but he was quiet and comfortable with silence.
“That’s no problem. So, you excited to get this show on the road?” he asked, checking off something on his clipboard and then flipping a few toggles.
“Yeah! Ready when you are.”
* * *
Takeoff was more fun than anything else you could do with your clothes on. It was nothing like a takeoff in a jet. At first, the waves on the lake bumped against the pontoons shaking things and giving me a minute’s worry, but it smoothed out as the plane gained speed and my stomach almost fell out as he pulled back on the stick and we took to the air gently. It was loud, but only about half as loud as the time I flew to Disney with an ex of mine.
Bill motioned for me to put on a pair of headphones and I did, adjusting the microphone so it wasn’t mashed against my lips.
“I’ll be able to hear ya with this on. Now, you have any questions about the trip?”
I’d researched them thoroughly, read everything on their website, looked at every picture and followed every blog that mentioned them.
“How good is the fishing?” Lame, I know, I asked it.
“You’ll be sick of catching fish tomorrow,” Bill told me.
“Really?” I asked, surprised.
“Really,” he said, putting the plane into a slow turn, “There’s so much walleye and northern pike in that lake. Nobody fishes it but us.”
“You mean the company?” I asked.
“No, guys like you and your friends. There’s only one cabin on the lake you know?”
I didn’t apparently. “No, I didn’t,” I told him, “So when we get sick of fishing, what do you recommend?” I asked him.
“Drinking games,” he said, a real talker.
“That’s not going to be fun with only one girl there,” I grumbled.
“Yeah, that’s going to make things interesting for sure. Even a week alone up here with someone else’s lady… I’ve seen it strain friendships. That’s why with a 2-week trip like you guys are taking, I’ll still be flying out in a few days to check in on you, and again next week and then the pickup.”
“Wait, you’ve had guys fight over somebody else’s wife?” I asked, curious now despite myself.
Not that I was interested in Tracy; I actually despised the woman and had almost cancelled out of my trip when Brian insisted she come. It was Jordan who’d convinced me to stick with it.
“Oh yeah, fist fights, and one time a guy even cut his other friend. That’s one more thing, I’m sure it’s been hammered home to ya, but I gotta say it again, don’t get hurt. Don’t do something stupid… because a few days seems like a short amount of time, but it’s not. Not if you flip your boat, break a leg or need stitches.”
“I’ll try to remember that,” I said, “I got some first aid stuff in my kit back there, just in case.”
“Good, there’s supplies in the cabin, but they are the basics. Gauze, Band-Aids, stinger extractors. I keep telling the boss to get us a little more supplies but he won’t.”
“Worried about liability?” I asked, even though I was probably the only one of the group who’d actually read the waiver we all had to sign before coming on this trip.
“Yeah, don’t want some drunken hillbilly trying to stich himself up or kill himself ‘cuz he watched one too many episodes of House or General Hospital.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” I admitted. “What about hunting?” I asked.
“Upland birds, rabbits, and squirrels I imagine are good. Bears are active, so keep all your food locked up in the bear proof steel box and keep your garbage burned or buried. Moose have calves now… so stay away from any, otherwise they might stomp a mud hole in your ass.”
“So plenty of wildlife?” I asked him.
“Yeah, it’s one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been.”
I nodded and turned towards him. “You mind if I take a quick nap?”
“And miss out on all of this?” he chuckled, “Go ahead. I’m sure tonight there’s going to be plenty of drinking and campfires. Get your rest in.”
I was exhausted. I’d driven straight through for almost thirteen hours and waited another eight for the flight. It wasn’t long before I put the microphone up away from my mouth and leaned my head back. The constant sound and thrumming sensation of the motor soon had me out cold.
2
“We’re about to taxi in,” Bill’s voice startled me awake.
I sat up and rubbed my eyes, knocking the headphones loose a little bit. I fixed that and looked out the window as we were starting to descend. Everywhere I could see, lakes and rivers cut through an impressive amount of green treetops. We were still high up, but it was obvious to me that we were descending rapidly.
“How do you know which one? GPS?” I asked and Bill shook his head and pointed to his headphone.
It took me a minute to remember to put the microphone down near my mouth and I repeated my question, pointing to all the water.
“I’ve made this flight so many times I can do it without my instruments. We’ve got cabins on about half the big lakes we passed on the way up here, so you get used to it, just like driving a car.”
“That makes sense. Did we make good time?”
“About what I thought. You got about a good hour of sleep in, but I figured you’d like to be awake for the landing so I don’t startle you.”
“You’re right,” I admitted, “Thanks.”
The lakes grew larger and larger as we descended until it was obvious which one we were going to be landing on. At the northwestern edge of the lake, I could make out a small clearing in the trees and the blocky shape of a cabin. A long dock stretched far out into the lake and I could make out the two aluminum boats tied off on one side of it.
“Looks like they’re waiting for you,” Bill said and I squinted.
On the dock, three figures stood and waved. I almost waved back and then realized that there’d be no way they’d see me. Instead, I waited. The landing was as gentle as the takeoff, and by that I mean it was rough at first and then smoothed out. The plane rocked side to side as our wake caught up to us and Bill let it come almost to a stop before taxiing up to the dock. I opened the door and hopped onto the dock and threw the heavy rope I found there across the piton on the pontoon.
“I got that,” Bill said, “Get your gear, then I’m going to borrow your outhouse. Coffee.” He explained.
“Ok. Hey, guys!” I said turning to greet everyone.
“Hey, hey,” Brian said, holding his hand out.
The handshake turned into a hug and Jordan was next, a cold Budweiser can offered up in h
is free hand. What a friend! I took it and then hugged him too.
“You two get any fishing in yet?” I asked, watching as Bill finished tying off the boat.
“Limited out,” Brian said sheepishly.
“All of you?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Tracy said, “of walleyes at least. I’ve got some ready to go into the frying pan. Mr. Bill, you staying for dinner?”
Bill hesitated and then looked at me. I shrugged. Personally, I think her cooking tastes like death, but I wasn’t about to be a critic. I had cans of spam in one of the buckets just in case.
“Sure, I’ll stay for a piece of fish or so,” he said after a minute and then handed me gear.
No shaking hands or hugs for Tracy. I tolerated her, berated her in my mind, though never in public, much.
The buckets were the easiest and Jordan took two of them right off the bat and walked into the cabin. I took my pack and two buckets, leaving Brian to grab a duffel bag with the coat and clothing. It clanked as the bug spray hit the can of Coleman fuel I had stashed between layers of sweaters. They must have worked themselves loose, but since I didn’t smell anything they were merely noisy instead of leaking, which would have sucked.
“Come on in; me casa su casa,” I motioned for Bill who seemed to be watching Tracy walking away slowly.
The view wasn’t that great.
* * *
The death that was served to me on the plate wasn’t horrible. In fact, it was pretty good.
“This is great,” I told Tracy, “I didn’t know you knew how to fry fish up like this.”
“I looked it up before the trip. I figure that on my cooking days I can at least serve something edible.”
“Not like that one time you burned the noodles cooking Easy Mac?” Jordan said and started giggling like a girl.
“You microwave Easy Mac, don’t you?” Bill asked us.
Northern Lights: A Scorched Earth Novel Page 1