Endure (End Times Alaska Book 1)

by Craig Martelle

  Our snow machines outside let everyone know that we had arrived. We greeted everyone as they walked into the dining room. Many wouldn’t look at me.

  Shame was good. It meant that they had a conscience. I always had a hard time with passive aggression. I’m not sure how I would have responded to a stare-down either. I wanted this community to thrive, be the bedrock of a surviving world.

  It wasn’t enough to just exist. The Community of Chena Hot Springs was fully self-sustaining. It needed a little care and feeding, and then it could be whatever these people wanted it to be. We had no indication of when help would come, so we had to plan for the worst, hope for the best. Maybe the youth of today needed a timeline that was better defined.

  Although it took most of an hour, we finally had everyone assembled. Everyone had eaten what was provided, without complaint. I urged everyone to take their own dishes back to the kitchen, rinse and load them into the dishwasher. Maybe coerce, or strong arm were better terms.

  “Let me tell you a story,” I began. People relate better through stories than other things we do to provide motivation. “Last week, when we came up here, we were so happy to meet all of you and see what you had accomplished here. We rested and enjoyed ourselves. We enjoyed your company.

  “After we went back home, I was motivated to find more survivors, and tell them about a great place that still existed. A place where they could get back to how things were. How they could forget about the trials of living in Alaska without power, without help.

  “The first person I found had been murdered. She was killed by people who preferred the new world, the world where they used violence to become kings. They gathered cash and jewels. They even grabbed a slave. I didn’t know this when I stopped to talk with them. Their answer?” I pointed to the cuts on my face. “They shot me. Twice.” People in the room looked shocked.

  “I tried to run, but they chased me.” I paused to let that sink in. “So I killed them. I killed both of them and left their bodies for the ravens to eat.”

  “Why would you do that? Why would you tell us?” Amber asked.

  “I’m telling you because not everyone is like us.” I gestured to include everyone in the room. “Some people are takers. They take from others. The only thing they give is pain.

  “We’ve been here a few hours and we’ve done some dishes and picked vegetables. We don’t need anyone to wait on us. We can take care of ourselves. But you know what? Isn’t it better to do a little something for someone else? If you expect to get waited on, then you become a taker. If you appreciate it and help out, you’re a giver.

  “This world that’s crashed down around us. There is no room for takers. We can’t live with people like that.” Some of them saw my words as a threat. They weren’t, but perception becomes reality. I had to dispel that. “There’s more to the story,” I continued. “After those two men died, I went to their house. There was a young woman. She was their slave. She couldn’t get out of that house fast enough. The only thing she wanted to do was get away from all humanity. She went to her family’s cabin in the woods. I don’t know if she got there or not or how she is.

  “When help comes, what will they find? Not her. She’s probably gone forever. But what will they find here?

  “If you want, I suggest you take a snow machine and go to the city. See for yourselves what our world looks like. See what the total destruction of civilization looks like.

  “What do I want? I want you to appreciate what you have. I want you to embrace your roles to help each other. If you’re a taker, leave now, because we just can’t have that.”

  Colleen stood up and walked over to me. She gave me a hug and then turned to face the group.

  “This man saved me. He saved me, and he saved that young woman, and he didn’t need to do any of that. He could have taken anything from me. There’s nothing I could have done to stop him. But he didn’t. He shared his family with me. He shared the fresh vegetables you gave him last week. And he asked me to come here. Take a hot shower. Relax in the pool. Enjoy more fresh vegetables.

  “I lost my husband and my son in the city. They were there when it happened. They never came home. He couldn’t do anything about that.” She pointed at me. “But what he could do, he did. And he’s done the same thing for you and what do you do?” She was starting to get red in the face. Her eyes narrowed.

  “You act like a bunch of spoiled kids!” I hadn’t expected that.

  “I am embarrassed for him. What did he do? He cleaned up your tables and personally did your dishes. He didn’t complain.” Now I was getting embarrassed. The reason I cleaned up was very selfish. I wanted a good meal and there wouldn’t be one if the chef was unhappy. I intended to clean up after lunch, too, because I had high hopes for dinner.

  No one would meet Colleen’s glare. Not even me.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come up here and yell at everybody. I’ve lost almost everything that was important to me. If it weren’t for my horses, I would not have made it. I still can’t believe that my family is gone.” She closed her eyes and stood there.

  Jo got up and put an arm around her, guiding her back to the table so she could sit. Amber took the floor and looked right at me. “I’m sorry. I failed you and I failed the Community.”

  I laughed, which took her aback. “No, not at all. It’s what we call growing pains. Everyone needs to figure out who they want to be. If help came today and somebody wrote a book about what you all did after the loss of Fairbanks, what would it say? I hope that it would say you learned and got better with each day. You helped. You built a sanctuary. You built a community.” I could see them thinking about what they had done, what they would do.

  But what could they commit to? I didn’t see them coming together. Not yet, anyway.

  Colleen stood back up. “If you’ll have me, I’d like to stay a few extra days. I’m tired of being alone.” Amber gave Colleen a hug and welcomed her. I watched the group. Two of the young men were put off. I wonder what they were thinking. Only one way to find out. I’d ask them.

  “Can you guys give me a hand, please?” As the old guy of the group, these two didn’t turn me down. They gathered up their dishes and walked with me to the kitchen. “What’s up? I don’t get the feeling you’re fans of the arrangement?”

  Anger. They looked at each other. They wanted to unload, but something was holding them back. “We can’t fix it if we don’t know what it is. Tell me,” I coaxed them.

  “You think we want to be here? A bunch of whiny girls. I came here to make some quick money, but this isn’t my life. I’m not here to play Little House on the Prairie.” And there it was. This young man wasn’t able to accept his role in a new world, even if it was only temporary. The other was Darren, our hunter.

  “I understand. Think what can be done about it. Darren, what about you?”

  “I went out to hunt, but couldn’t get a shot.” Looking at the floor, he shuffled his feet uncomfortably. “I don’t want to be here.”

  We had two very different problems. One was toxic. The other would be fine with a little attention. Both had egos that needed managed in a completely different way.

  “What’s your name?” I asked the first man.

  “John,” he said simply.

  “Do you think you can make it to Canada? Do you think you can go for help?” I asked. The easiest answer for me was to get rid of the problem. Unless something significant happened, John would be a perpetual burden on the Community. “It’s been well over a month and nobody has come? I can’t believe they don’t know, but how can we be sure?”

  John brightened. The wheels were spinning. “I can take a snow machine. It’s what, three hundred miles to the border from here? Over the hills to the Yukon River, then to Boundary, maybe Forty Mile?” He had looked at doing this. He had a way out if he wanted it.

  I wasn’t sure he would be able to bring help, but maybe it would give the others hope that we were doing something besides
carving out a niche in this new world. None of them had signed up for homesteading.

  “If you take Chena Hot Springs Road toward Fairbanks, you can turn off on Nordale Road that will take you to North Pole. It might be far enough from where the detonation happened to give you a free shot to the Alaska Highway to Tok and then Whitehorse. There are a number of small towns along the way. Each one could be an opportunity to find help.” I wasn’t sure if John could handle a couple hundred miles of snow machining Alaska’s back country. I knew that I couldn’t do it. Fairbanks to Whitehorse was seven hundred miles of open highway.

  “Okay. I’ll do it. For the good of the group,” he sneered. I thought the sooner we could be rid of him, the better.

  “You know, I should probably go with him …” Darren’s statement trailed off. Darren had not found his niche. John was dominating him. Without John’s negative influence, Darren would be a different person. I wanted the opportunity to help him realize more than being John’s lackey.

  “I think this is a one-man job. If John makes it, what, a week, two weeks? We should see help in less than a month. If no one comes after that, someone else may have to try it. We all need you. Both.”

  John stood tall and proud. He wanted the accolades. He wanted to be the hero. He didn’t realize that being a hero was lonely. In the Marine Corps, the most heroic acts went unseen. Real heroes did the right things because they needed doing, not because they were going to get a medal out of it. John would get eaten alive in the Corps. He was probably getting eaten alive here by the “whiny girls.”

  John’s departure was a necessity, whereas Darren’s was not. Once Darren made his first kill and was able to provide something to the Community, he would probably be fine. He just needed some confidence and a sense of belonging. Over time, he could become a bedrock of the Community.

  “Go get your stuff ready,” I told John. “You might as well leave this afternoon if you can be ready. You’ll be riding a great deal in the dark no matter what. Take the best rental sled and a sleigh. Take as much gas as you’ll need.” I offered my hand. John eagerly shook it. “Thanks, John. You’re doing something for us that no one else can do.” He smiled. Arrogantly.

  It didn’t cost me anything to stroke his ego. He truly was doing something for the Community simply by leaving. It was an easy way out for me, but harmony was fragile and I saw the chaos from the past week. Probably it was a lot of John’s doing, but maybe not. We went back to the dining room.

  “Hey everyone!” I said to get their attention. “John is going to take a snow machine to Canada to let someone know we’re here and to send help.” The looks on their faces was one of relief, but not because of the stated objective.

  “Please help John with two weeks of food, a tent, sleeping bag, whatever so he can get on the road sooner. The sooner he gets there, the sooner help will arrive.” I turned to Darren. “Let’s do some hunting. No time like the present.” John was out the door without another word. Darren remained next to me.

  I turned to Madison and Colleen. “We’re going hunting while there’s a little light left anyway. Could you please clean up? I promise that I’ll clean up after dinner.” The twins wanted to go with me. They were trying to climb my leg. I leaned down on one knee and gave them both a big hug. “I think we need your help with the dogs. Someone has to look out for them while everyone else is working. Can you do that for me?” They didn’t want to. They were of the impression that the dogs could take care of themselves.

  Amber inserted herself into the conversation. “I need some help in the lodge. Can you help me?” She didn’t even say what she needed, but the twins saw an adventure and off they went, including Phyllis and Husky. It didn’t take look for the dining room to clear out. Everyone helped by taking their dishes to the kitchen. I sensed a new energy from the group.

  I really wanted to go swimming. The hot water beckoned. A hot shower would have been nice, too, but sacrifices had to be made. Everything we needed to hunt was in my sleigh. Darren went to get the 45-70 rifle. I went to the kitchen to get knives that we’d need if we were successful in downing a moose. I grabbed table cloths as well to wrap the meat for the trip back.

  Hunting

  This hunt was all about building Darren’s confidence. I gave him the 300 Win mag and took my familiar 45-70 back. He liked the big hunting rifle better. For some reason, the scope drew him in. I preferred iron sights, but that was the Marine in me. I never used a scope when shooting the M16 and always felt comfortable. I’d qualified as an Expert multiple times, including a few high expert scores that I was proud of.

  Darren showed me to an area some miles from the resort where he had last seen a moose. Although it would be best to take a bull, the dogs needed the meat so even a cow would do. I would only shoot a cow without a calf, though.

  We stopped the snow machine on one side of a hill in a ravine. We unloaded our gear and trudged through the snow up the hill. This was slow going and I was huffing and puffing like a freight train. I wasn’t having an asthma attack. This was age and old lungs speaking to me. Darren was kind enough not to say anything as he waited for me. We crawled the last bit to the top so no animals on the other side would see us. We were rewarded with a clear view of an open area. The only animal in sight was a raven. Natives would consider that a good luck omen. I considered it a lack of moose.

  Going down the hill was far easier than going up. We continued around the hill to the next valley. This time we idled the snow machine on a shallow angle about halfway up the hill. Darren raised his eyebrows as he looked at me. “Sorry,” I whispered. We walked the rest of the way to the top and this time we saw what we wanted: two cows and one calf grazing the willows.

  I pointed and Darren looked at the moose through the scope. I saw him put his finger on the trigger. “Wait,” I asked. “Which cow is the mother?” He looked hard trying to decide, then shrugged. He took his finger off the trigger.

  We waited. The moose split up as darkness descended, casting long shadows into the valley. The calf and one cow were close together, while the second cow angled up the hillside. I pointed and nodded.

  Darren aimed. I put my gloved hands over my ears. The rifle bucked as the round raced toward its target. The moose dropped straight to the ground. The other cow and calf bolted over the hill. The rifle’s report echoed a few times and receded into the distance.

  Silence and calm returned. The shadow of the evening crept over the downed moose.

  I slapped Darren on the back. “I’ll get the snow machine and meet you over there.” The shot wasn’t long, maybe a hundred yards. Darren got up and shook off the snow. He looked amazed, then a smile slowly split his face. I pointed to him. “You are the man.”

  I was feigning confidence. I had never field-dressed a moose, but we had to get it done before we headed back to the lodge. Not taking the meat now would be a waste, and we couldn’t have that. The moose died for us and should be celebrated for its sacrifice. That’s how Native Americans see it and they’ve lived off this land for ten thousand years. I would follow their lead, and hopefully, the land would take mercy on me.

  Fighting a Carcass

  A real moose hunter once told me that you don’t gut the moose. Skin it on one side, remove the meat, then flip it over and work on the other side. He said by doing it that way, you can get it done in just a couple hours and the meat isn’t tainted. That’s the approach I wanted to take.

  We started skinning it and things progressed rapidly, until we started losing feeling in our fingers. It was cold and it wouldn’t be long before the meat would get stiff.

  “I want to share something with you,” I started. Darren nodded, but kept skinning. “I’ve never done this before.” He looked at me, then started to laugh.

  “Well, we’re doing it now, aren’t we?” Just what the doctor ordered. Darren seemed like a new man. I felt sick to my stomach.

  The lights of the snow machine shone on our work area. There was blood everywhere
. My hands were stained with it. Hunks of flesh clung to the skin where I hadn’t been too smooth with my knife. I butchered off one of the front legs. They are held on by muscle and tendons. There is no shoulder blade with a ball and socket.

  I wrapped the leg in a table cloth and put it on the sled. We had to work the back leg together as it was a massive hunk of flesh. A great deal of meat clung to the over-sized bone. We muscled it onto the sleigh.

  As we started cutting slabs of meat from the ribs, it became an exercise in production. I forgot that this had been a living animal only an hour earlier. We didn’t bother cutting too closely to get every bit of meat possible. Speed was more important at this point.

  We finished the one side. If anyone had been watching as we tried to flip the moose over, they would have been well-entertained. It would have brought to mind two monkeys with a football. The moose was not cooperating. We struggled mightily, as two whalers fighting Moby Dick!

  Or two idiots who had no idea what they were doing. We eventually persevered, but I had to sit down and get my breath back.

  “Well, that sucked,” I panted. Darren looked at me, shrugged, and started skinning the other side. My head was swimming and I was starting to get really cold. We needed to make quick work of this and get back inside.

  I dug in the best I could, trying to improve upon my efforts from the other side. I got the technique down of how to hold the knife, how to keep pressure on the skin to make the cuts more effective. The second side went much quicker than the first. We were putting the finishing touches on everything right at the three-hour point. And more importantly, it was dinner time.

  With our towed sleigh loaded, we carefully re-traced our track down the hillside and onto one of the many trails around the resort. We took it easy, with two of us on the snow machine and maybe seven hundred and fifty pounds of moose on the sleigh, it was all the snow machine could handle.

  It took almost no time to get back, as we had not gone too far. When we pulled up outside the main lodge, Madison’s snow machine and sleigh were gone. I wondered where she had taken it. When we went inside, a bit bloody from our experience, she quickly came up to me. “John took my sled.”