Shortage (Best Laid Plans Book 2)

by Nathan Jones

  After a bit of consultation while putting on the last touches Lewis rethought standing it on end and instead tipped it sideways so the door was pointing straight up, kind of like a freezer. That would help them get to it when the snow started piling up, and it would also be less vulnerable to being blown or knocked over.

  It was a bit after noon by the time they finished, and during the work they'd shed winter gear until they just had their coats on. Trev was even considering doffing that while standing in the sunlight looking at the finished product. He couldn't help but feel proud of it, even though it wasn't exactly a difficult bit of construction. “Now we've just got to fill it,” he said, clapping his cousin on the shoulder. “Speaking of which, now seems like a good time to go fishing.”

  “Mind going solo?” Lewis replied. “I want to do another patrol of the area and look for good places to put up watchposts. Also I can keep an eye on the road and make sure nobody's coming along it while you're standing less than a hundred feet away by the river.”

  Trev grimaced. He hadn't thought of that, but Huntington River was actually at a lower elevation than the highway so it would be really hard for him to watch for danger while fishing. He'd also be in plain view of people coming along the road for quite a ways. “Yeah, that would be a good idea, although I'll try to find a more out of view spot. I'll listen for your whistle while I'm fishing just in case.” He hesitated. “Um, all my fishing gear was in the lean-to before your renovations.”

  “It still is. I've got it stowed under my cot where it won't accidentally get stepped on.”

  He nodded at that and hurried to the hideout to gather up his gear. It was just where Lewis had said, still in good shape even after years of neglect. Or at least neglect on his part: his cousin had probably diligently maintained his things in his absence. Trev also gathered up his Mini-14 and some spare mags and picked up one of Lewis's metal buckets to carry anything he caught. Optimistically speaking he hoped to fill it up, but then again he'd never fished at this time of year and didn't know if he'd even catch anything.

  The last thing he did before setting out was head a short distance from the hideout and spread his coat flat on the ground, then pull out one of his cans of bear spray.

  He was about to start spraying when he saw Lewis hurrying towards him, a look of alarm on his face. His cousin had been checking his G3 while also preparing to set out, but for some reason this had caught his attention. “What are you doing?”

  Trev paused with his finger on the trigger. “Using one of the cans of bear spray Matt gave me. We've mostly been using it for self defense, but I figured up here I'm actually more likely to use it for its intended purpose. I was going to spray my coat to keep away any unfriendly visitors.”

  He almost thought Lewis was trying not to laugh as his cousin slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. “That's not its intended purpose, man. You're supposed to spray it in the face of an attacking bear.”

  It was hard not to glare. “Do you think I'm an idiot? Of course I know that. I just figured if bears don't like it then smelling it will keep them away.”

  Lewis carefully plucked the can out of his hands, as if afraid he'd still use it on his coat. “Actually it's the exact opposite. It's an irritant when it gets in your eyes, nose, or mouth in spray form, but once it's sprayed on something it's basically just hot sauce and can attract bears. You remember the Metz's going on a camping trip when we were younger?” Trev shook his head. “Well they had the same idea you did and sprayed their tent before going on a hike. When they came back it was crushed flat from bears rolling on it, curious at the smell.”

  “Well okay then,” Trev said, feeling like an idiot. He took the can back and put it in his pocket. “I guess I'll just bring it with me.”

  His cousin nodded, still trying not to laugh. “Good luck with your fishing.”

  Trev shrugged back into his coat and started down the gentle slope to where the cliffs began, heading along the familiar path which squeezed through a gap in the cliffs that was traversable with a bit of climbing. There was a good sized overhang below the cliffs there that was nearly a cave, and they'd speculated it would be good for camping in, or for watching the road while well hidden by the screen of trees on the slope below. But with the hideout so close they'd never actually used it.

  As for the slope it was incredibly steep and treacherous, with a bed of fallen pine needles and mulch that might be a few inches to a few feet deep with no way of knowing until you put your foot down, which slipped easily on the mud below. It was also criss-crossed by deadfall everywhere that had to be carefully maneuvered over and around, and the icing on the cake was the snow that was already accumulating in the shade under the tall trees and making everything even more slippery.

  The path down to the river at the base of the slope looked as if it hadn't been maintained in a while, and possibly not even used. There was a spring higher up the mountain that they usually drew clean water from, saving them from having to purify river water, and if Lewis had just been here for collecting firewood he might not have even gone down to the river at all.

  Still, even in poor condition it was far, far better than trying to trailblaze down the slope, and with just a bit of effort Trev was able to make it down to Huntington River. In some places the terrain around the river was flat and meadowy, or even a bit marshy, but here it went from steep slope to flowing water with no transition, the riverbanks thickly clustered with trees and deadfall and in a few places with fallen logs stretching all the way to the other bank. In his braver youth Trev had used logs like those, or maybe those ones themselves, to cross the river, but now he preferred the slightly safer path of rocks.

  At the moment he had no intention of crossing, though, and instead he found a nice little curve in the bank where he was obscured from the road unless someone was directly in front of him, and at that point he'd be able to see them too. Once satisfied the area was safe enough he braced himself against a tree leaning out over the water and prepared his pole.

  Trev had only fished during the summer before now, but while Lewis was his usual fishing buddy they'd both also gone more than a few times with his uncle Lucas, Lewis's dad, who was an avid fisherman and fished year round. Since there was plenty of time to shoot the breeze on those trips they'd heard all about fishing in cold weather from the older man, gleaning the experience and skills he'd acquired over the years.

  The most important things to be aware of were that trout were cold-blooded and their metabolism slowed down in the cold. They still had to eat, but it could be harder to get them to take the bait and you had to search for the right conditions.

  Trev followed all his uncle's advice today, waiting until the hottest part of the day, finding a place where the river ran slower and deeper so the fish didn't have to expend as much energy going after the bait, and moving his line very slowly to make an easy target they might go after.

  Lucas had been a good teacher and Trev's listening seemed to pay off, because after only a few hours of patient effort, moving from one good spot to another but always aware of the highway on the other side of the river, he caught five trout that were quite a bit bigger than he was used to seeing in the summer. Maybe it was the extra months of growing and the fact that there was nobody around to fish them, but he almost never had success like this. After Lucas's warnings about cold weather fishing being more challenging he had to wonder if he was lucky, or if the high price of fuel before the Gulf refineries attack keeping tourists and regulars away all summer had more to do with it.

  Either way he wasn't complaining as he gutted and scaled his catch and packed them in snow in the bucket to take back up to the hideout. Then, after cautiously looking around just to be safe, he picked his way up the treacherous bank to where the path began and started up. At this time of day it was warm enough that the exertion made him start to sweat, but removing his coat and carrying it would've just made the climb even more awkward so he kept on.

  T
rev had just made it to the cliffs and was doing his best to scale the gap one-handed when a sharp crack reached his ears. In that odd way in the mountains it echoed and reverberated confusingly, making it hard to trace exactly where it had come from, but Trev was pretty sure it was from above, near the hideout.

  He immediately dropped his bucket of fish and unslung his .223, then wedged himself farther back into the gap facing outward and began panning the lower slope and the parts of the highway he could see with his scope, just to be safe. To his relief a few moments later he heard Lewis's famous piercing whistle, letting him know that not only was it his cousin who'd fired the shot but that it was safe to keep coming without getting his head blown off.

  He retrieved his bucket and rushed the rest of the way up the gap to the gentle meadowy slope leading to their hideout. A year ago the exertion combined with the thinner air at this elevation would've left him heavily winded by the sprint, but in his current shape he just needed a few seconds to steady his breathing as he looked around warily.

  Lewis was entering the clearing from the south when he arrived, to the left of the path Trev had taken and farther down the meadow to where it curved down past the cliffs in a gentler but still steep slope to the river below. His cousin looked like he was in a good mood, and from his forced nonchalance as he cut across the meadow to meet Trev he had a feeling it was big news.

  “Hey, how'd the fishing go?”

  Trev grinned at his own good news. “Five big ones,” he said, lifting the bucket.

  Lewis grinned. “In this cold? That's awesome! We'll have to take advantage of the fact that the fish are biting like that with however many warm days we've got left.” He paused and significantly hefted his bulky .308 on his shoulder. “Of course first we should be thinking about big game.”

  It was Trev's turn to be delighted. “That shot earlier?”

  “An 8 point buck, pretty impressive size,” his cousin confirmed, finally letting his exuberance show. “Just standing there at the edge of the meadow a stone's throw away like he'd never even heard of humans. It was a clean shot but I still wanted to make sure he was out of his misery before coming back for my skinning knife and a tarp.” He waved impatiently. “I'm glad you got back when you did, I could really use your help.”

  “Sure,” Trev said, trying to hide his sudden uncertainty. He'd gone with his dad and uncle on a few hunts when he was younger, but they usually hadn't brought down anything and the one year his uncle had he did the gutting and skinning himself. He'd kept Lewis there to observe as he instructed him, but Trev's dad had felt a bit squeamish about that and kept Trev away until the job was done.

  The biggest thing he'd ever cleaned was a fish, and he'd never skinned anything. Still, there was literally no time like the present to learn so he tossed the bucket of fish in the icehouse to stay frozen and went to fetch his own knife, the one Razor's thug had left in his backpack down in Aspen Hill Canyon. He just hoped it was sharp enough: Lewis had spent some time last night while their food was cooking sharpening his own knife to a keen edge, but that was another skill Trev didn't have yet and after a brutal climb from the valley he hadn't been in the mood to learn.

  He could honestly say it, he wasn't sure he could survive up here without his cousin. But it was as much a desire to share the load as any fear that he might end up alone that made him determined to learn everything he could. As much as he regretted not gaining these skills before the world ended, he didn't intend to put off learning them any longer.

  So if he had to he was ready to get elbow deep in guts.

  Lewis led the way down the meadow to where the deer had been standing beside a small thicket, probably nibbling at the few remaining leaves among the undergrowth. It was a bit sad to see the majestic animal sprawled dead on the grass, shot clean through the neck, but at the same time that was a lot of meat sitting there. Trev's stomach grumbled at the memory of roasted venison from when his uncle had brought down the deer years ago.

  His cousin paused to stand silently beside the deer for a moment, and Trev wondered if he was observing the old Native American tradition of thanking the deer for the gift of its meat. Trev was certainly thankful, although not in such a formal way. Then his cousin knelt down beside the deer and pulled on a pair of plastic gloves before looking up at him. “Step one is the trickiest,” he said with a grim attempt at a smile, “and lucky for us we get to do the most unpleasant thing first. Gutting.”

  Trev made a face. “You know how?”

  “I've seen plenty of videos and I watched my dad do it that one time. If everything goes right nothing is ruptured and we get the innards out clean in one piece and toss them off the cliff for any scavengers to find. If things go wrong . . .” he trailed off and shrugged. “Well, we salvage what we can. Watch this time, you'll get to do it next time.”

  He watched his cousin make careful cuts to expose the innards enough to get everything out in one piece. Then, not looking quite as confident and definitely a bit squeamish, Lewis reached right deep inside to detach everything, working with both hands for what seemed like forever before reaching for his knife.

  “Ugh.” Trev didn't so much say the word as it was forced from his gut as he watched his cousin carefully cut everything free and roll it out in one piece. In spite of himself he stumbled a few steps back.

  Lewis grinned over at him as he removed the dirty gloves, that task at least complete. “Suck it up. This meat could mean the difference between life and death as it gets colder. Not to mention a good meal tonight.”

  Trev reluctantly returned to keep watching. Even with the smell and the mess he wasn't really in the mood to complain. He knew how important this was as much as Lewis did: not only did it mean immediate food and a hide they'd be able to make use of, but it meant that if they could do it once they could do it again and learn to survive in these mountains even when the supplies they'd brought were gone.

  His cousin left the innards where they were for the moment and got Trev's help in rigging a pair of ropes tied to the ends of a sturdy stick, to hang the deer from a nearby leaning tree by its back feet with the stick keeping them spread. With some effort they managed to get the job done, then Lewis retrieved his knife and frowned at the hanging carcass. “I've seen people skin and quarter a buck in under fifteen minutes. Let's see if I can do it in a half hour.”

  That seemed impossible to Trev, but he watched in admiration as his cousin clumsily but with purpose cut the hide along the legs and then peeled it off in one piece, leaving the meat behind. He hung the skin from the tree, then had Trev spread the tarp as he began quartering the deer.

  Trev had thought this part, at least, would be messy and difficult, but as he watched his cousin cut free the shoulders and joint the meat, then get to work on the back straps, tenderloins, and ribs, and finally cut free the hams and joint them as well, it all seemed to go smoothly.

  “You got all that from watching videos?” he asked incredulously.

  Lewis smiled as he set the last ham on the tarp. All that was left hanging was the ribs and hips with a few scraps of meat, sinew, and cartilage, and the intact neck and head. In a pile with the innards were the discarded lower legs and hooves. “It helps to have a sharp knife and know exactly what you're doing. Copying what I saw seemed to work pretty good.”

  “Think you managed it in fifteen minutes?” Trev asked. He'd been so intent on the job that he hadn't really noticed the passage of time.

  “How should I know?” His cousin chuckled and motioned to the meat piled on the tarp. “Come on, let's get this packed in snow in the icehouse. Then we can gather up the rest and toss it off the cliff.”

  Trev glanced at the hanging carcass. “What about the meat on the neck?” There wasn't much, but there was some.

  Lewis hesitated. “Not sure,” he admitted. “In the videos it's usually kept intact to mount, or just discarded.”

  Fair enough. Trev grabbed one end of the tarp as his cousin grabbed the other, and toge
ther they carried it towards the icehouse.

  * * * * *

  Their first day on the mountain and they'd already bagged a buck and caught five fish. Trev wasn't sure whether to credit that to incredible good luck, divine providence, or the fact that with the lack of people able to get up here the fish and game were more plentiful. Maybe all three.

  What he did know was that he couldn't believe all the refugees starving in the valleys to the east and west weren't coming up here to enjoy the same bounty. Then again most of them probably didn't have the equipment or shelter to make it work the way he and his cousin were.

  After they'd tossed the rest of the carcass and washed up it was still sunny and fairly warm outside, so while Lewis scraped the hide to prepare it for curing Trev got a fire going in the old pit they'd used when a stove hadn't been available. Once it was crackling merrily, not smoking much with the dry wood he used, he cut strips from one of the shoulders and seasoned them with a rub made from the spices Lewis had brought, then got out the skewers they used to use for marshmallow and hotdogs years ago. The skewers were beneath his cousin's cot with all the other stuff they'd had in the lean-to, and after sitting them in the fire to sterilize them he skewered the strips and got them cooking over the coals.

  The smell was enough to lure his cousin away from his work and he came over, staring at the searing venison in anticipation. As soon as it looked done they were quick to pull off the skewers and dig in, tearing into the hot meat with their teeth and burning their mouths on the first few bites. Trev didn't think he'd ever had anything as delicious. Not in his entire life.

  Lewis finished chewing the last bite on his skewer in record time and leaned back with a sigh of contentment, crossing his hands behind his head. “Savor these moments, Trev.”

  “Okay, Mr. Greeting Card.”

  His cousin glanced over at him and grinned for a moment, then his expression grew serious. “I mean it, though. I know it seems like it's just been a bad thing and then a worse thing and then outright disaster ever since the attack, but we can't just look at the evil in the world.” He pointed vaguely in the direction of the little icehouse they'd built, where the rest of the venison and Trev's trout waited packed in snow. “We can conquer our environment, same as our ancestors did, and not just survive but thrive. The future might be difficult but there's more good times than bad ahead.”