by Nikki Lewen
It’s slow, tedious work moving them both along, and at this rate, it’ll take most of the day to travel a distance, that’s normally covered in hours. By midday and only halfway to her destination, a rhythm of sorts develops. It consists of dragging the stretcher for about an hour, taking a long, replenishing drink of water, checking Caleb, and then retracing the clearly obvious marks, that weighs heavily on her fear of being discovered. Jogging back and forth without him, she covers the evidence knowing his survival depends on how fast she moves. Determination drives her forward as every muscle aches, but—relentlessly—she pushes on.
The canteen taken from the Splitters has long been empty, and she’s down to the last of her supply. She drinks more than usual, but under these circumstances, it’s needed. Sweat soaked through all of her clothes hours ago, and her hands, even though calloused from years of hard work, have begun to blister. They burn with pain and she swears never again to forget gloves when patrolling. She travels these woods constantly, day in and day out, going from shelter to shelter, keeping each site maintained, observing any changes in the mountains, looking for signs of intruders, and scavenging for food and water.
Routines keep her alive and provide the sanity needed to survive. Each outing gives her a reason to get up in the morning and move on. Often, she stays longer in her home shelter because of its comforts, but getting complacent is dangerous and she always forces herself out, sometimes patrolling for weeks at a time before returning. She lives, surviving alone, and wonders about the meaning of it all, but like now, she perseveres with each step, each minute, and each grueling hour. It’s what she knows, simply—keep going, but as the day lengthens, she’s forced to stop.
Even though they’re nearing her destination, she’s so exhausted that tears threaten to break free. “Why’s life so cruel?” she laments. She’s been alone for years, and now, finally finding another, someone she knows even, he’s in terrible shape and may not survive. She’s practically killing herself trying to save him and the enormity of it is overwhelming. Losing control, sobs rock her body. Curling into a little ball of sorrow, her bleeding hands ache and fatigued threatens to end her attempted rescue. The heavy stretcher’s been dragged through rough mountain terrain for eight hours and she’s unsure if she can continue the grueling trek.
Lying on a side, feeling sorry for herself, she allows her mind to wander. She misses her dad, she misses her husband, and she misses what life used to be. After a few more minutes of self-pity, she forces the nonsense to stop by sitting up. She eats another confiscated ration and verbally berates herself for acting like a fool. Standing, she rubs her neck, straightens her back, and refocuses the effort. She’s a survivor and needs to act like one. Looking at her bleeding hands, she decides to use what’s left of the gauze and medical tape to protect them from further damage. The plan was to save the supplies for Caleb’s wounds, but what’s the point if she can’t get him there?
Hours later, and only a few hundred yards away, she stops again, but this time out of caution. She never approaches any shelter the same way and practices extreme patience. No one has ever discovered any of her hideouts, and even now, the same care that’s kept her alive is what she’ll use. After collecting a few dead branches and fern fronds to tuck him beneath, she starts a perimeter inspection. Relief washes over her, as all looks well, and she can approach the site. She’s made it; and never, in all of her life, has it been so difficult.
The spot holds a special place in her heart and the first time she visited, was as a little girl with her father. He’d known about the location all along, but let it be a surprise for his kids. When it first came into view, they ran ahead to check it out and explore. Back then, the small cave-like structure—about seventeen feet wide and eleven feet deep—felt like a fortress. It formed when a mudslide had broken off an enormous slab of rock, which settled across two huge boulders, butting against the base of a cliff.
Her dad had known it would excite them and over the years, the cave became their secret hideout deep in the woods. They played there for endless hours and with every visit, they brought tools and supplies to work on it. After cleaning the rubble out from the front of the opening and digging the floor deeper, they could easily stand inside. Her father, a skilled tradesman and talented engineer, who could build or repair just about anything, played a huge role in its remodel. He split logs and formed timbers to help support the roof, added a wooden floor, then cut and chiseled shelves into the boulders along the sides and back wall.
Their cave became a special place and sometimes they’d camp overnight. As they got older, the kids would hike to it by themselves, spending weekends or holidays tucked away. For the final touch, her dad constructed a wall in the front with two small doors. One door sat against the boulder on the right and the other against the left. Between the doors he made a small sliding panel that could be opened for either light or air.
In those days, she never imagined her childhood play-place would turn into something so important. Now it’s an essential part of her survival, especially since its existence is completely camouflaged by a huge fallen redwood. When the tree fell, it’d taken several others with it, making a considerable mess. Seeing the tangle for the first time, she thought the cave was destroyed. Upon further inspection, she discovered that, not only was it still intact, but by climbing over and through the mess, access was still possible.
Crawling inside now, she leaves her backpack and heads back to Caleb to finish the job. She struggles through the last of the remaining distance and when close enough, she grabs a few things from inside and returns to work. She unties Caleb from the stretcher and carefully peels off his filthy clothes and blood-soaked bandages. He’s covered in cuts and bruises and besides the nasty side wound, it looks like his ribs also took a brutal beating. She uses the cave’s emergency water supply, almost an entire bottle of hydrogen peroxide, and every iodine swab she has to clean him. After scrubbing out the wound, she inspects it thoroughly. It looks terrible, but not as deep as she first thought. The rest of his cuts and bruises aren’t life-threatening and should heal just fine.
Unpacking the rest of the shelter’s first‐aid supplies, she opens a suture kit and bites a bottom lip, as her hands shake. The past day has physically, mentally, and emotionally drained her. Now, on top of that weariness, she needs to sew up the side of a man she never again expected to see, and do so, without much confidence in her medical abilities. Taking another deep breath, she steadies her hands, and dives in. As she snips off the remaining thread, she sits back, inspecting the stitches. They’re not quite even, but they’ll hold, allowing the wound to heal. Finishing, she covers the area with a sterile bandage and checks Caleb’s ribs. They feel intact, but she’s not sure. There could be fractures, so using an elastic bandage and struggling immensely, she wraps his torso, providing the area with some form of stabilization.
While still outside, she decides to trim his hair and beard, in order to better check his scalp and chin. Both are caked with blood and she wants to make sure nothing serious lurks beneath. Using the scissors in the emergency kit, which aren’t designed for cutting hair, she attempts to keep the cuts even, but it’s pointless. With all the dreadlocks and matted tangles removed, she pours the remaining water over the area, carefully checking for more injuries.
Combing through his remaining hair, she finds several small cuts, along with a few on his chin, but most have already stopped bleeding and don’t require additional care. As for his clothes, they’re too filthy and torn to put back on, so instead, she digs through the bag taken from the Splitters and finds an old long-sleeved t-shirt and a pair of sweat pants. Having him clothed again immediately makes her more comfortable.
As it gets later, she stands at Caleb’s head, bends over, and lifts from under his armpits. Part lifting and part dragging, she moves him closer to the fallen tree. She has to get him over it and then under a second to get to the cave’s entrance. At the first log, she props him up and
places his arms over it. From behind, she pins him against the tree while trying to get one of his legs up next. Every time she tries, his body slips. Her method isn’t working and after several attempts, she gives up and sits down by his side. They’re so close to safety, yet the last few feet seem impossible.
Completely exhausted and utterly frustrated, she sits contemplating a solution and decides on trying the rope. She loops it under his arms and around his chest and back. This time, she climbs the log, keeping tension on the rope. Once over, she wraps it once around the next fallen tree and returns to his body. Getting Caleb’s arms over the log, she pulls out the slack. The rope keeps him in place while she continues lifting from behind. When she gets his waist to the top, she climbs over.
While deciding on the safest way to proceed, she leaves his limp body lying over the log, head dangling towards the ground. When she starts to pull him the rest of the way, Caleb begins slipping. Even though she’s trying hard to be careful, she loses balance and his body collapses on her.
“Great,” she murmurs out loud, wedged between two logs and pinned under his dead weight.
Trapped and ready to be done with the whole ordeal, she wiggles and pushes until able to get free. Unwrapping the rope from the log and using what strength she can muster, she drags him inside, grabs a water kit, and immediately returns outdoors. She just wants to collapse and sleep, but first, she needs to clean the mess left behind and make sure they stay supplied. She gathers his old clothes, bandages, and hair trimmings, and then, walks away. Although, it’s getting dark, where she’s heading is close by. She works quickly and returns to the shelter, where she simply shuts the door and falls, face first, into a deep slumber.
THREE
With fluttering eyes, she gradually comes to her senses. She slept soundly, maybe too much so. Usually, when away from home, the slightest sounds wake her, but last night she didn’t move from the position she started in. Normally up before sunlight, she can tell it’s no longer dark as a tiny crack near the doorframe allows a sliver of light to penetrate the interior, illuminating the dust particles floating by. It’s just enough to signal the arrival of day. Rolling over onto her side, all the soreness from yesterday’s exploits take hold as she detects another’s breathing. She sits listening, before sliding the panel open.
Even with it open, not much light filters in, so she opens each door without making much sound. As the cave brightens, she peers around the dwelling she keeps maintained with precision. All the shelves are organized, packed tightly, and kept with enough supplies to last them both. There’s plenty of food and the water can be replenished, but contemplating today’s challenge, leaves her with more uncertainty.
Moving over to Caleb, she’s relieved knowing he made it through the night, but if he’s to survive, items not among the cave’s shelves, are needed. He’s feverish, pale, and has lost a lot of blood. Worried about his inability to fight infection, she knows what’s needed. Quickly she packs, grabs the crossbow and an empty water jug, and leaves the enclosure.
Once out, she scurries under the first obstacle and hides underneath the brush before climbing over the massive log. It’s later in the morning and this task should’ve already been done. Carefully scanning the area, she circles around before getting to the first collector site she regularly uses and maintains. Several old growth redwoods, with branches extending all the way to the ground, are kept trimmed so they never touch the forest floor but hang twelve to sixteen inches above it.
Before sleeping last night, she wrapped the clear plastic collection bags around the ends of several branches. In the dark, she hadn’t done the best job of keeping the tree’s vegetation from touching the bags’ insides, but, still, they were successful. The ends of each bag, furthest from the ground, contain fasteners that secure them in place. Opposite the fasteners, small stones weigh down the bags, and as condensation collects on the plastic, it flows to the bottom. She lifts the small pools of water that have collected and empties them through a drainage valve.
Normally, by this time of day, she would’ve already gathered the water and removed the evidence of the collectors’ existence. Although her system works best during daylight, she rarely accepts the risk of someone seeing them. Today, the kits have been out long after sunrise, which means they’re a little fuller than normal. Going from one to the next, she fills an entire jug. With the water stored, she repacks the collectors and moves on grateful they weren’t discovered.
A growling stomach reminds her to eat and that Caleb’s also going to need nourishment. Accompanying her thoughts of food, a rustling along the forest floor draws her attention. Remaining still, she determines its direction, sees a small bird hopping among the ferns, and quietly loads a slingshot. As the small creature carelessly hops closer, she releases the shot with deadly accuracy, and it falls to the ground.
“Thank you, little one,” she says softly, bending to pick it up before leaving in the opposite direction.
With the patrol finished, she feels comfortable enough to head back. Along the way, she cleans the small bird and rubs it with a pinch of salt. Back in the shelter, the tiny morsel gets further prepped for cooking. She tosses all the skin and bones into a pot of water, along with dehydrated mushrooms and a single packet of seasoning. While waiting for it to cook, she eats another ration while preparing a list. When the soup finishes, she adds a few crushed aspirins to the broth before letting it cool. Then, painstakingly careful, with Caleb propped up by blankets, she dribbles it down his throat.
She knows, the only way to save his life means leaving him and getting to her main shelter, which contains everything she needs. There’s no way to get him there and she never wants to drag that stretcher again. Besides the time it takes, the distance’s too great and requires cautious travel up, and over, several steep ridges. She’s uncertain about how long it’ll take and the ridiculousness of what she’ll face with this next feat is worrisome.
It’s nearly two days of travel one way and she’s not sure whether Caleb will hold up that long in her absence, but staying at his side would only mean watching him slowly slip away. She’s going to have to get there faster, and at least it’s a route she’s traveled since childhood. Her worry is for her body and she prays it can take another toiling expedition. She packs a small, light bag and debates carrying the bow. She never leaves the weapon behind, but knowing it’s faster traveling without it, she makes a decision. Instead, she grabs the recently acquired hunting knife and takes a good climbing rope from the shelter’s supplies.
She re-checks the cave, and even though it’s improbable he’ll stir, she sets things up in case Caleb wakes. Tying a piece of twine to the nearest door handle, she loops the other end around his hand. In the other, she places an emergency LED light and a full canteen within his reach. If Caleb wakes in the dark, he’ll be able to open the door, and at least be able to see around the cave’s interior. She dribbles another few sips of water down his throat, examines his bandages, and leaves. Even though time is against her, she still pauses, carefully listening, before leaving the protection of the fallen trees. She decides on the most direct route and takes off at a trot. Her body revolts at the movement, but ignoring it, she hopes it’ll get better as her muscles warm.
At her current pace, she attempts calculating how long it’ll take, as jogging should considerably reduce the travel time. Running is something she usually finds too noisy, but thankfully, the recent rain has softened the duff along the forest floor, so it’s not as crunchy. The up-hills are slow, causing her pace to reduce to a fast walk, but she makes it over the first ridge rather quickly, feeling confident. The downhill, although faster, is where she’s forced to concentrate. It’s easy to lose footing and fall, and if she has an accident, it could kill them both.
Traversing the mountainside, she pushes forward focusing on controlling her breathing while looking ahead. When she thinks about the distance still left, it’s depressing, and affects her confidence. Instead, she cr
eates small goals, setting her sites on upcoming trees or rocks. When she reaches the designated object, she scans ahead for the next, trying to ignore the pain and fatigue increasing with each step.
Three hours in, she really starts to struggle. Tired, thirsty, and hungry, she slows to a walk, drinks slowly and deeply, and feels the heat generated by her thigh muscles. Eating, she stops, and drops the pack and rope. Having the weight off provides some relief, while she contemplates what’s next. The more direct route, which allows for a quicker arrival, has its risks. The slopes are steeper and harder to navigate, and in her current location, impossible to hike down. Forced to repel instead, she fashions a harness, finds an anchor tree, and starts the descent.
At the bottom of the nearly vertical slope, and grateful to be there, she releases from the rope. The only way back up will be using the same line, which requires leaving it for her return. It’s a necessary risk, and hopefully no one will come by in her absence and discover it. She allows herself to walk for thirty minutes before picking up the pace again. Her muscles scream, but she forces them to work. Hours later, and knowing the destination is getting closer, she slows. She never likes leaving her home, but staying put isn’t safe.
Even though she’s been pushing a relentless pace all day, and is ready to rest, safety is still, and always, a priority. Instead of using the main entrance, she uses one of the hidden tunnel accesses and finally gets to where she calls home. Inside the bunker, she drops everything, starts heating both food and water, and strips out of her sweaty, smelly clothes. She stinks and needs to wash, but first priority is replenishing the calories she burned and the water she lost. With this accomplished, the next task begins with her flipping through reference materials and taking notes.