Alone in the Wild

by Jesse Wiley

“It’s a bit late for that.” A breeze sweeps over the valley, and you shiver in your wet clothes, collapsing by the side of the pond. You feel pain in your leg and pull up your legging. There’s a bad scratch running down your calf—probably from the trek across Laurel Hill. It burns badly, and it looks very red and swollen.

  Chills run through your body. You huddle into yourself, wishing you’d waited longer before diving into the water.

  “Here.” Tatsa hands you a blanket. “You look cold.”

  “I’m fine.” You wrap the blanket tightly around yourself. “I just need to warm up.”

  She doesn’t look convinced. “Should we go on? Your clothing will dry sooner if you’re moving.”

  Walking is the last thing you feel like doing with the pain in your leg. “Actually, I’m a little tired,” you lie. “Maybe . . . we could stop here for the afternoon to catch our breath and rest? Snap can catch us a rabbit.”

  “We should really keep moving.” Tatsa looks off into the distance. “If you need time to rest, that’s fine. Stay and dry off in the sun. I’ll go hunting with Snap.” She takes her bow and quiver out of her pack and disappears into the woods with Snap bounding at her heels.

  You sit there in the sun, hoping it will warm you up. As the afternoon wears on, your chills only get worse. Soon you’re trembling and your forehead is burning up. Your leg throbs. You wish Tatsa would come back soon.

  Eventually, she returns with two rabbits. As she gets closer to you, she can see that you’re in distress. “Oh no. You don’t look well.”

  “I’m fine,” you insist. “Really. I just . . . need more rest.”

  “I wish you didn’t jump into that water. We could have boiled it and washed in it afterward.” Tatsa pulls out a pot she found alongside the Trail. You wish she had told you this sooner, but you’ve both been dehydrated and exhausted.

  When she cooks the rabbits, you can only force a few pieces down. Chills rack your body, and pain shoots up your leg to your knee.

  “We should move on. It will be dark soon. We need to find a clean water source and better ground to make our camp for the night.” Tatsa puts out the fire.

  You place a hand over your hidden wound. Should you ignore your increasing pain and feverish state, or tell Tatsa about your injury?

  To ignore your illness, turn to page 96

  To tell Tatsa, turn to page 131

  Return to page 135

  After careful deliberation, you finally tell Tatsa and Bawagap that you would love to accept their invitation to stay in the village.

  Tatsa and her family are so excited that you’ve decided to stay.

  “We’ll ride horses and also fish and dance and move our village when the seasons change.” Tatsa smiles. “You will not regret your decision—I promise.”

  “No. I don’t think I will.”

  While the idea of never seeing your parents again fills you with sadness, the West is so massive and filled with dangerous and treacherous paths. Life is hard on the Trail, and many people die. Injuries, sickness, animal attacks: to travel the Oregon Trail is to accept the risks involved.

  In the end, you know you’ll be happy here with Tatsa and her family. Tatsa has already become like a sister to you—the sibling you’ve never had. The Agaidika Shoshone have welcomed you with open arms, and you haven’t felt this at home in a long time.

  Your journey on the Oregon Trail ends here.

   THE END

  Return to page 118

  You stumble to your feet and drag yourself over to an enormous pine tree.

  “Come on!” Tatsa waves her arm. You see her jumping down into some kind of hole. She motions at you. “Hurry!”

  With Snap yelping and Tatsa shouting at you to follow her, you’re completely disoriented. The tree doesn’t provide the protection you need. Hail pummels down all around you. Thunder booms, and lightning strikes down only feet away. One hailstone hits you on the shoulder, and you fall to the ground with a cry.

  You sink back against the tree trunk and huddle into a tight ball. Your arm is on fire; it might even be broken. You wish you’d followed Tatsa.

  Suddenly, a hailstone the size of a baseball knocks you in the head. You are concussed, and it will be days before you wake up. Your journey ends here.

   THE END

  Return to page 46

  You take Tatsa’s advice. The fire glows temptingly, but you listen to Tatsa and keep your distance. You need your feet.

  It’s torture, but your body warms up slowly. You wonder if you’ll ever stop shivering. Your teeth clack.

  Tatsa finally returns, but with no food. Snap hangs his head.

  “You won’t be able to walk for another few days, at least. You were under the snow for hours. I’ll head out to hunt again after I warm up a bit.” Tatsa pulls off another large piece of tree bark from a nearby pine and lays it over the snow for both of you to sit on.

  You start to rub the skin.

  “Don’t!”

  “Why?” You pull back, startled.

  “That can make it worse.” She kneels and tries to fan hot air onto your skin. Still, you feel nothing.

  Tatsa peels off the bandage. When she pulls back, her eyes widen. “Oh no.” You both gasp in horror. Your toes have turned a purplish-black, spreading down to the rest of your foot.

  “Gangrene.” Tatsa’s face fills with fear.

  Soon, you have no feeling in your foot. There’s no cure.

  Your hard-fought journey on the Trail ends here.

   THE END

  Return to page 73

  You’ll let the fire die out. You’re getting colder by the minute. You need to build a shelter, but you also don’t want to risk any wayward sparks shooting out and setting your clothes on fire. You huddle near the lowering flames and ignore your hunger. Finally, you fall into an uneasy sleep.

  * * *

  In the morning, you wake up ice-cold, but at least you are dry. The fire has fully died out. You check to see how many matches you have left—only four. You’ll need to conserve them or find another way to light a fire. Buck Sanders always carried flint and steel, just in case. Now you know why. You wish you had that. Maybe you can find a way to recreate that effect by banging sharp rocks over dry kindling.

  Right now you need to find water—and food. Your energy is very low and you feel another headache beginning to form. In searching for your wagon train, you’ve lost track of the river. You won’t last more than a day or two without drinkable water.

  You try to retrace your steps. After hours of looking, you finally stumble across a small river—much smaller than Little Wind River. It’s shallow, and you could cross it easily. You drink heavily and stop to rest.

  You follow the river for the next few days. You devour anything remotely edible in sight: dandelions, white flowers growing among the rocks—even bugs when you’re desperate. You’ve become so weak and ravenous that you can hardly imagine taking one more step. Then, you realize that you’ve wandered out of the rocky hills—you’ve been walking into a flatter prairie for the past several hours.

  Uneasiness flutters through your stomach. You stop and look around at the nothingness around you. Today is the first day that the sun has shone for a full day since you became separated from your wagon train. You check your location and stifle the oncoming panic. Now you have absolutely no idea where the Oregon Trail is . . . or how to get back to the nearest landmark.

  The sound of a horn catches your attention, and you turn around to see several small wagons in the distance.

  “Hey!” You wave wildly. “Hey, I’m here! I’m here!” You bolt across the prairie toward them. It’s your parents—they’ve found you!

  As you run closer, you see that it’s not your wagon train. It’s an entirely different group of people. You nearly collapse upon reaching the wagon train captain and his family, all of whom are startled by your arrival.

  You learn that they are not going west when the wagon train captain, Sam Jones, t
ells you that they’re headed back East to Independence, Missouri. They’ve encountered too much hardship along the way, and everyone has voted to return home.

  “Come with us, if you want.” Sam tips his hat. “If you have relatives back East, you can stay with them and write to your folks. They’ll get your letter once they reach Oregon City.”

  You’re not sure what to do. You do have aunts and uncles back East, but you still want to find your parents. What should you do?

  To go back East with the wagon train, turn to page 83

  To find your own way West, turn to page 33

  Return to page 115

  You tell Tatsa that you should find another water source and she agrees.

  “Fish don’t even drink gray water,” she jokes.

  As you continue down into the green valley, you find another creek with clear water. You both drink heartily, Tatsa fills up her waterskin, and you rest under the shade of the trees. You catch trout for dinner and roast it over the fire.

  “I think we’re close now.” Tatsa looks at the map. “My parents have a trading station just outside Oregon City. We should reach it within the next few days.”

  You smile. “I hope so.”

  Over the next couple of days, you make your way out of the Cascades, heading due west, into rolling foothills. Soon enough, you find yourselves in a lush valley rich with flowers, trees, and meadows. You start to see farmhouses dotting the landscape. You come across a large farmhouse with a hanging sign that reads TRADING POST. Tatsa stops short, staring hard at a woman tending to the garden in front of the house. Suddenly, she lets out a cry.

  “Pia! Pia!” She rushes forward to embrace her mother tightly. They sob, overjoyed. Tears spring to your eyes at the emotional reunion. A tall man comes running from the stables at the noise and stops in his tracks before rushing to hug his daughter. “Appü,” Tatsa hugs him.

  You wipe your eyes. You’re so happy that your dear friend has finally found her parents.

  After a long time of hugs and tearful, joyful reunions, Tatsa turns to you and motions you to join them. “Come meet my parents!”

  Tatsa pulls you into a hug with her mother and father.

  “Pia, Appü, this is my good friend who’s helped me get to you.” Tatsa takes your hand. “We’ve traveled on foot for a month or so, after . . . after Dommo and the rest of our family died.” Her eyes drop.

  Pia looks at Appü, their joy turning to utter dismay. “Our sweet boy.” They hold each other, grieving their loss.

  After a moment, Tatsa’s mother wipes her face and touches your shoulder gently. “Thank you. We’re so happy to have our daughter back with us. You must stay and rest and eat. We want to know all that’s happened to you.”

  In the end, you stay with Tatsa’s family longer than you expected. You love her and her parents so much, you almost don’t want to leave.

  * * *

  One morning nearly a week after your arrival, you’re helping Tatsa with chores in the house when you see Tatsa’s mother talking with a family from a wagon train just outside. She’s selling them goods for the final leg of their journey. Maybe they have heard something about your parents. You race outside and catch the family as they’re loading up their wagon.

  “Excuse me!” You gasp for breath. “I’m sorry to bother you, but did you ever happen to meet a John and Anna Winters on the Oregon Trail?”

  “No, I’m afraid not.” The woman frowns. “Our own wagon train was decimated by cholera early on. We’ve barely made it to this point.”

  Your heart sinks as you watch them leave. Now you wonder if your parents ever made it out of the river near South Pass.

  You tell Tatsa your concerns, but she shakes her head. “There are so many pioneers on their way to Oregon City. What are the real chances that they would know your parents?”

  You chew on your lip. “I suppose that’s true.”

  “And if there’s nothing for you in Oregon City . . .”—Tatsa spreads her arms—“stay here, with us.”

  Your eyes widen. “Really?”

  “Of course,” she says matter-of-factly. “You are family now. My parents know that. If you find you don’t want to continue on to Oregon City, then stay and make a life here with us.”

  You smile, but you’re torn. What should you do?

  To stay with Tatsa’s family, turn to page 103

  To keep going on the Oregon Trail, turn to page 105

  Return to page 135

  In a state of panic, you can only think of running in the opposite direction of the tumbling snow. The approaching avalanche bears down on you and Tatsa. Tatsa scrambles and swims with the wave of snow, screaming at you to follow her and swim, too. Then, the roar in your ears muffles her voice.

  Before you know it, you’re swept away by the avalanche. You’re knocked unconscious almost immediately.

  You wake up freezing cold. Someone shouts in your ears. Everything hurts, and everything feels numb. The next thing you know, a hand is pulling you out of the ice and snow.

  “Stay with me!”

  Tatsa huddles near you.

  Snap’s shockingly warm tongue licks at your cheeks. They burn and tingle.

  It’s only when Tatsa sets you by a large, roaring fire that you realize something terrifying: you can’t feel your feet or hands. While the rest of your body begins to revive near the flames, your fingers and toes remain completely numb. Tatsa removes your frozen moccasins and wraps your feet and hands in loose strips of a blanket. She orders you to keep away from the fire. She’s placed tree bark underneath you to protect you from the snow.

  “I n-need to get them w-warm.” Your teeth clatter. “Too c-cold . . .”

  “No, I have seen this happen before. If you heat your limbs now and they become cold again afterward, you will lose them to rot and decay. You will not be able to walk again. Is that what you want?”

  You shake your head irritably.

  “Your hands and feet need to warm up gradually, and stay warm. So keep them away from the fire. Close, but not too close.” Tatsa grabs her bow and rises to her feet. I need to find us food. It’ll help us warm up on the inside.” She disappears into the forest.

  You sit near the fire and close your eyes as the icy cold air blows in your face. No matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to get warm. Huddling onto your knees, you stare glumly over at the crackling fire.

  It couldn’t be a bad thing to just put your feet close to the fire for a little while, at least, could it? For just a few minutes, just until they’re not numb anymore.

  You look around. Tatsa is no longer in sight. She’s had far more experience out in the cold wilderness than you. Your thinking is clouded by your dropping body temperature. The parts of you that aren’t numb just ache.

  Should you get closer to the fire for a little while, or listen to Tatsa’s advice?

  To put your feet close to the fire, turn to page 23

  To listen to Tatsa’s advice, turn to page 60

  Return to page 36

  Finding shelter is the most important thing right now. Although your survival skills are basic, you remind yourself that you just traveled a thousand miles on foot. This gives you a boost of confidence. Your body can wait at least a few more hours to find food. It’s almost dark out, so building a lean-to is critical to surviving the night. It’ll keep you and your fire protected from the rain.

  You pick a good spot surrounded by tall pines to build a temporary shelter. You pick the sturdiest tree nearest the fire and start searching for long, thick branches to prop up against the trunk. About half an hour later, you have enough branches.

  You place them one by one against the windward side of the tree so that your shelter and fire won’t get destroyed by the mountain gusts. You weave the smaller branches together to lock them in place. You plaster piles of dirt you’ve dug up from the forest floor and wet leaves onto the walls to keep heat in. Inside, you pile up a small mattress of leaves, moss, and twigs to protect your
self from the cold ground.

  Thunder rumbles overhead, and rain starts falling not long after you complete your lean-to. You huddle inside and cover yourself with leaves. Your stomach growls louder and louder, but you know you made the right decision. You’ll survive the night and forage for food in the morning.

  Exhausted and bone-weary, you place a log on your fire, curl up in your shelter, and fall into a deep sleep.

  * * *

  When you wake up the next morning, the storm clouds and rain have given way to a fresh, clear sunrise. All that’s left of your fire is black carbon and ash.

  With your hunger more immediate than ever, you grab a walking stick from your lean-to and go off in search of more berries and flowers to eat. You come upon some bushes filled with red waxy berries—wax currants. They’re bitter and tangy on your tongue, but you eat as many as you can. As you continue to clean the bushes of their berries, you see a small lake nearby. Birds and several squirrels are drinking from it.

  You’re parched, but you shouldn’t drink water that has been sitting stagnant and still.

  You hear water flowing as you walk closer to the lake.