by Doug Kelly
“What is it?” Kevin inquired.
“What is it going to be,” replied Dylan.
Kevin lifted an eyebrow and waited for the answer as Dylan slowly caressed the sapling, looking for any imperfections in its trunk.
“This is going to become a bow. My silent killer,” Dylan said, as he slapped the tree with the palm of his hand. “Primitive bow making is a hobby of mine.”
“Could you make me one?”
“Yes, find another tree like this one while I get started.” Dylan handed Kevin a leaf from a branch of the tree for reference.
Dylan withdrew the fixed blade knife from the sheath strapped to his right thigh. Kneeling, he chopped carefully around the circumference near the bottom of the tree, wielding the thick blade until the sapling fell over. Dylan estimated a distance of six feet from the bottom of the freshly cut sapling and hacked through the wood once again. There were no small limbs to remove on the bottom six feet of the trunk. Kevin motioned for Dylan to come deeper into the thicket. He had found another sapling. Dylan repeated the process on the second sapling, and then they hiked back to Richard, taking the wood with them.
As they walked back toward the front end of the little island, Dylan noticed an area between the island and the shore that became marshy and shallow for half the island’s length. It would be possible to walk across to the small road and only get your feet wet for the length of this narrow wetland. He saw many cattails and suspected there would also be frogs. This reminded him that they should set some lines in the river and try to catch some fish.
“Let’s take these saplings back to where we left Richard. They can dry by the fire and then I’ll carve them into bows.” Dylan gestured toward the water. “We need to get some lines in the water to catch some fish.”
“We don’t have any bait,” said Kevin.
“I know. Let me dump these saplings by the fire and we’ll get started.”
Dylan and Kevin continued toward the camp. They saw some driftwood in a pile with a few hatchet marks. There appeared to have been a feeble attempt to chop and split the wood into smaller pieces. Richard was smoking, standing with his back toward them.
“Nice fire, asshole,” Kevin said, loud enough to startle Richard and make him jump to attention.
“Don’t burn this wood,” Dylan said, as he placed the two saplings on the ground an obvious distance from Richard’s pile of driftwood.
Dylan told Kevin that he heard frogs in the marshy water. He wanted to get the frogs, use their entrails as bait, and eat the legs. They approached the marsh as silently as pumas in a nighttime jungle. Dylan hoped the water was cool enough to slow down the cold-blooded amphibians. The frogs were well camouflaged, and the men’s grab-and-snatch technique yielded few results. They finished the frog hunt by chasing some of the remaining frogs from the marsh onto the grassy area and grabbing them on dry ground. After they caught about a dozen frogs, Dylan bound their small ankles together using a long flexible grassy weed. Dylan then directed his attention toward the cattails in the shallow water. He guided Kevin back into the swampy area to harvest the marshy plant. Dylan used his knife and they each harvested a full armload. Kevin grabbed the frogs and they walked back toward Richard with the soon-to-be entrees of frog legs and cattail salad.
Richard was fumbling with scraps of wood and his lighter. There was still no fire. Dylan took the hand axe and split some of the dry driftwood into small splinters. Then he took his knife and made a little pile of fine shavings from the driftwood. Around this, he placed small twigs, and nearby placed some larger branches waiting to be fed to the fire. Richard handed his lighter to Dylan, and with a few sparks from the flint, the small bird’s nest of wood shavings began to smoke. Dylan gently blew on the base of the smoking pile and a tiny flame appeared. He sprinkled more wood shavings on the flames, and added small twigs as the fire grew. After the twigs began to burn, he added a few larger branches to the fire. He then placed two big pieces of driftwood over the flames and, with a sigh of relief, considered his work with the fire complete.
“Cut the frogs’ legs off, but leave them bundled together,” said Dylan, as he handed his knife to Kevin. “When I get some red hot coals, I’ll roast them for us over the embers. Take the frogs’ entrails and use them for bait. Throw some lines in the water and hopefully we’ll have some fish for breakfast. I’ll peel the skins off the cattails and split up some of the food from the rafts.”
The fire continued to burn well. Kevin returned from setting the trotlines for catfish. Dylan got some bagels and small boxes of cereal from the rafts. Kevin decided he would wait until morning to filter more drinking water. There was plenty of water for their evening meal. Kevin decided that to filter water they would fill all their empty bottles at the end of the day. The bottles would be set upright and left undisturbed throughout the night, allowing the sediment to settle to the bottom. The settled water would then be put through the filter. By eliminating as much sedimentation from the process as possible, the filter should last longer. They discussed straining the river water through shirt fabric as an alternative to waiting for the sediment to settle, and agreed to do what was expedient.
The three men sat around the fire. Dylan poked at the burning wood and brought a pile of glowing embers closer to him. He fastened the bundle of frog legs to the end of a stick and held them near the coals. He pushed the end of the stick into the soft ground at an angle to keep the frog legs at the correct distance above the red embers, and slid a piece of wood under the stick for additional support.
“How do you like your steak?” asked Dylan, with a failed attempt at humor. The others, apparently hypnotized by the fire, said nothing in reply. Fatigue was settling in.
Finally, Richard asked, “Can we split this stuff up now? I’m starving.”
They each ate an even share of the bagels and boxed cereal taken from the hotel, and devoured the frog legs. Then Dylan pointed to the cattails.
“The cattails are peeled and ready to eat,” said Dylan.
He was first to try a cattail. He took one gingerly from the pile and slowly chewed. Kevin was next, and apprehensively took a bite of the cattail shoot.
“Not bad,” said Kevin, “but I’m still hungry.”
“I never thought I would eat something like this,” Richard said, as he tasted the white and green shoot.
The sun began to set in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains shortly after the meal. Each man placed his raft where he chose to sleep that night. Richard stayed near the upstream end of the little island. His raft was closest to the fire and remained in the open. Dylan and Kevin suggested that he move to a more concealed location, but Richard had no further energy to expend. He would sleep right where he left the raft. Richard sprawled awkwardly in the raft, covered himself with a tarp, and promptly went to sleep.
Dylan and Kevin both retreated to a thicket of shrubs and small trees farther away from the campfire, and the seclusion gave them a sense of security in the unfamiliar world of their new nighttime surroundings. Eager to rest, Dylan and Kevin settled into their rafts. Dylan chose this opportunity away from Richard to discuss long-term plans.
“Have you thought about what you are going to do when you get back home to your wife?” asked Dylan.
“Yeah, I thought about it. I live in an urban area. It’ll be bad. My wife and I discussed staying in a cheap apartment for a while to save enough money for a down payment on a house. That might have been a bad idea.” Kevin paused and thought about his wife. “I hope she’s okay. She’s there and I’m here. There’s nothing I can do for her. It’s just us in that town, no family.”
“Let me tell you what I was thinking.” Dylan cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and spoke. “From what you have told me and what I’ve concluded is going to happen, your situation in Omaha is bleak. Consider where you live and ask yourself how you’re going to get food and water. Your neighborhood, if not your apartment building, is going to become a war zone. I bet your wif
e has already heard gunshots. It’s only going to get worse. Think about it, Kevin. I killed someone with a baseball bat today. Did I ever think that would happen to me? We need to stick together. Forget about Omaha and go to Kansas City with me.”
“I’m not going to abandon my wife.”
“No, you got it wrong. We get your wife and bring her with us. There is no safe place for you in that town.”
“What about Richard?”
“We bring him, too. I wanted to ask you first.”
“What you said about cutting him loose from us still stands?” asked Kevin.
“I’ll give him a chance. If he jeopardizes us or our ability to get back to our families, he is gone…just like that,” Dylan said, snapping his fingers.
“Your place is better, right?” asked Kevin.
“Let me explain,” said Dylan. “My house is in suburbia. I wish it was a rural setting but it’s not, so I’ll have to deal with that. However, I’m away from the urban area. My subdivision is located close to farmland and an enormous county park. That open parkland is next to my house. It’s a new subdivision and not all of the lots are developed. Therefore, I’ll have the advantage of low population density. The parkland I’m next to has an artificial lake. The lake is fed by a small stream a short distance down my street. I’ve seen deer, turkeys, geese, and ground hogs, you name it and I have seen it walking through my backyard. That’s food and water, Kevin. Let me tell you something else. I’ve been stockpiling food, the kind of food that will last for years, and seeds, too. We’ll have time to learn to grow our own food.”
“Will you help me get my wife?” asked Kevin.
“Yes, I’ll help you get your wife and bring her to Kansas City with us.”
“I like your plan,” Kevin said, nodding with approval.
Both men hung their heads and thought about what they had discussed. Traveling and surviving with a group could have its advantages. To survive, they needed every advantage they could get. Dylan’s proposal offered several safety advantages and Kevin could not think of any reason not to accept the offer.
“What did you say?” asked Kevin.
“I didn’t say anything. I’m just thinking about how we can make this work and I’m glad you agreed,” said Dylan.
The men continued with their private thoughts, each thinking about travelling home and all the obstacles they would need to overcome.
“What?” Kevin asked again.
“I didn’t say anything. Get some sleep, you’re hallucinating,” Dylan said, with a chuckle.
“Shhhhh…” Kevin held his index finger to his lips.
Dylan froze in place. He could hear the voices now, too. His eyes were wide open and he could feel his heart trying to beat out of his chest. One of the voices sounded like Richard, very scared. The other was a deep voice, giving commands. In the dark of the night, Dylan reached for the pistol hidden on the floor of his raft. His hand coupled with the handle of the pistol like they were old friends. Positioning the pistol in front of him and away from Kevin, he brushed his trigger finger across its safety. The pistol was now ready to kill, and Dylan dreaded what he slowly began sneaking towards, still hidden by the brush. Stealthily, Dylan and Kevin edged forward, inch by inch, on their bare feet, toward the voices. Each step felt like an eternity as their toes felt for dry twigs that might snap and reveal their presence. From a crouched position, Dylan leaned around a bush and saw Richard cowering in his raft. There was enough light from the campfire for Dylan to see a tall skinny man with tattoos on his arms, brandishing a machete at Richard.
“Where are the others?” said the tattooed man with a threatening voice, while pointing the machete at Richard.
“I don’t know! What do you want from me?”
“I saw you fellas hav’n some trouble with your rafts on the lake. I saw you come down here, too. I was think’n that since you didn’t know how to use ‘em right, I’ll just take ‘em off your hands…and those supplies, too. Get your ass up!”
The stranger never heard Dylan’s panther-like approach. He did notice Richard’s facial expression change as he glanced past the tattooed man and toward the dark woods. Richard saw Dylan with the pistol leveled at the intruder’s head. It was dark, but Dylan had crept so close, a blind man could have got a perfect headshot. It was doubtful that the intruder had a chance to see Dylan at all. Most likely, he never even saw the orange muzzle flash from the pistol. He was dead before he hit the ground.
“Richard, are you okay?” asked Dylan.
“Yeah…I’m…okay.” Richard held his hands up and looked at them. They were shaking violently. Kevin came out from behind the bushes and told Richard he would have to move back into the thicket and stay concealed. Richard stepped out of the raft and helped Kevin carry it into the dark wooded area. As he walked away Richard felt the warm urine that had soaked his pants go cool in the nighttime air. He hoped the other two men did not notice and was glad to be walking into the darkness. The three finally drifted to sleep in their rafts, covered by their plastic tarps.
Dylan was the first to wake the next morning. He remained under the tarp as his mind migrated from the world of peaceful dreams to his newfound reality. His body was motionless as he lay there, listening to nature’s morning chatter by the river. He closed his eyes and tried to identify all the noises from his new surroundings. There was an orchestra of songbirds, crickets, frogs, a few buzzing insects that had found their way under the tarp, and the perpetual sound of the river. He pulled the tarp aside and felt the cool morning air. He groped around on the floor of the raft to verify that the pistol remained where he had hid it, then he stood and stepped out of the raft, saying quietly to himself, “Time to start the day.”
Dylan walked out of the thicket and toward the smoldering campfire. He split a few pieces of driftwood and tossed them on the glowing embers to get the flames back, hoping there would be fish to cook. Then his attention turned to the where he left the intruder last night. He glanced at the lifeless body, and walked toward it. The sound of chopping wood had awakened Kevin from the short night’s sleep. He joined Dylan and they both stood staring at the man sprawled on the ground.
“What do you want to do with the body?” asked Kevin.
“Nothing. Let the buzzards have it,” Dylan replied.
Pointing at the body Dylan said, “This is the reason why we need to avoid people. I can’t imagine what the roads will be like. They’re probably full of desperate people like this guy.”
“What roads will be the worst?” asked Kevin.
“The interstates will be bad. You don’t know how happy I am that we’re not trying to travel on an interstate. Lots of people were stranded on the interstates and with every second that passes, they’re going to get more desperate. Then inside the towns, I know there’s going to be road blocks and traps set for the unsuspecting.”
“Dylan, I looked at Richard’s map. I hate to tell you, but the interstate stays by this river for miles. We’ll be right beside that interstate for…I don’t know how long. I saw a small town on the map named Cascade, downstream from here. We might be able to get there by the end of the day. Then next is Great Falls, and we’ll have five dams to get around in about ten miles.”
“Shit!” Dylan exclaimed. “There are five dams outside of Great Falls?”
“Yeah. I didn’t think you wanted to hear that. One more thing, Great Falls has a military base. There’ll be plenty of soldiers with guns that we need to avoid.”
Dylan shook his head and said, “Well, there’s nothing we can do about that. We’d better get busy. See if we got any fish last night and I’ll get more wood on the fire.”
Kevin went to the trotlines that he had set the previous day. Each line was tied around a large stick and the end of the stick was hammered securely into the ground. He pulled on the first line and it felt heavy. Kevin hauled the line in and revealed a large catfish. He pulled the fish up to dry ground where it flailed convulsively. Kevin grabbed
a large stick and hit the fish squarely on the head to kill it. He was able to retrieve two more catfish of similar size from the remaining lines, and the other fish met the same fate when he hauled them in. Kevin, now in possession of the switchblade that Dylan had acquired, used it to cut a long flexible branch from a small tree. He used this little branch to thread through their gills so he could carry the fish after he cleaned them on the riverbank. He carefully looped each fishing line, then wrapped them in an old shirt and placed the bundle in the raft. Kevin was afraid that the fishhooks, if left uncovered, could puncture the raft. He walked back toward the campfire with the cleaned fish hanging on the green stick. Midway to the fire, he stopped and focused on the ground in front of him. He noticed a camouflage backpack in the weeds and picked it up to take back to camp.
Richard was at the campfire, prodding the coals with a long stick. Dylan was cutting newly picked cattails to length and then peeling the shoots for breakfast. Kevin approached Dylan and dropped the backpack at his feet.
Looking at the intruder’s dead body, and then looking at the backpack, Dylan asked, “What did Santa Claus bring us?”
Kevin passed the fish to Richard, then dumped the contents of the backpack on the ground. There were clothes, a knife, some paracord, binoculars, and cookware. He tossed the knife and cookware to Richard and told him to cook the fish in one of the pans. He also placed the machete back in its sheath and gave it to Richard.