Out of the Wild: A Wilderness Survival Thriller

by Hunt, Jack

  “Hey!” her father piped up.

  “It’s all right, old man.” The two of them huddled together in front of the fire with their hands out as she layered up the fire with more wood, making it piping hot. It crackled and popped, and smoke swirled above them.

  The smell of burning wood filled the air.

  While they warmed themselves, Kara assisted Frank in creating a splint. Without the flexible aluminum splints that some hikers might take with them in the event of a fall, they would have to improvise. There were no poles or anything rigid that wasn’t bulky, so they had to opt for sticks. It required having one on either side of the leg so the splint acted almost like a tong, splinting the injured leg to his good leg.

  “We can use some clothing for padding,” Frank said. “I’ll get that while you cut the limbs off that branch.” Frank ventured off to where the packs had burst open while she used her knife to slice off the smaller limbs.

  All the while Callaway observed her.

  Still shivering he spoke. “What you did back at the lake. Were you trying to kill us?”

  “That depends, were you hoping to kill us?” she shot back.

  “Touché,” he replied, a smile flickering as he rubbed his hands together and stretched them out toward the golden blaze. He glanced at Henry. “I can see where your daughter gets her spirit. Still, it was a stupid move. Do you think I would have left you out here to die? C’mon on now. I’m surprised you think so little of me.”

  “You allow hunters to kill bears and wolves while they’re denning, I didn’t expect any different,” Henry replied.

  “That’s Indi talking. Not you, Henry. Besides, it’s legal.”

  “Doesn’t make it right.”

  Callaway scoffed. “You’re a walking contradiction, a complete hypocrite. You used to take hunters out to the very places you now condemn. Remember, I didn’t set up the legislation. And besides, would you deprive these Alaskans of meat?”

  “Don’t give me your excuses.”

  “You choose to kill with a credit card, they do it with a gun, how’s it any different?”

  “Those hunters don’t kill to survive. It’s a sport and you know it,” Henry shot back.

  “I think that’s a broad and unfair statement to make.” He chuckled as he looked over at Kara. “What about you, sweetheart? You seem quiet on the matter. Do you share your parents’ views?”

  She didn’t say anything. It was a complex issue, a conversation that would never be won through arguments. It rarely ended in agreement. Like politics or religion, she’d always steered clear of it. The reality was even though she saw both sides of the coin, and could understand where her father and conservationists were coming from, there was more to it than she cared to discuss.

  “Nothing to say?” he asked.

  “I think we have our own survival to deal with right now,” she said as she got up and went over and measured the sticks against her father’s leg.

  “Damn right about that,” Callaway replied as Frank returned, his face a picture of confusion as if he’d entered a conversation he didn’t understand. He dumped several shirts next to Henry. Frank dropped to a knee and examined them, he placed a couple on either side of the good leg, then discarded them and tried again.

  Henry tapped him on the shoulder.

  “I know I’m the one with the memory issues but I think you have them on the wrong leg.”

  Frank chuckled. “I’m just checking. No point in me tying it all up on the bad leg only to remove it if it’s not right. I want to make sure it all goes together and looks correct.”

  “Uh-huh, a likely excuse.” Her father managed to summon a smile but it vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by pain.

  “I’m going to need to prod and poke a little,” he said. “It will hurt like hell but I want to see if I need to create a traction splint.”

  “A what?” Kara asked.

  “Sometimes when a bone is fractured, the muscle can contract and cause the bone to overlap, though it tends to happen more with thigh bones.” He handed Henry a piece of thick material from one of the seats of the plane and told him to bite down on it. All the while Callaway and Paul looked on, intrigued. Her father stuck it in his mouth and gave a nod. Frank touched the leg in a few different places, causing her father to cry out.

  “I think we’re okay. Should just require a straight splint.”

  They spent the next few minutes getting the thick sticks in place with padding and wrapping everything up so that both legs were together. “That should do it,” Frank said. “We’ll perform a check on the nerves and blood vessels just to make sure that the swelling doesn’t cut off circulation to the limb.” He turned and collected a few Tylenol and ibuprofen out of the medkit and handed them to her father along with more water. “It’s not ideal. Ibuprofen can interrupt blood clotting, but because you’re in pain, it’s probably best you take them for now.”

  Kara scooted in and adjusted the emergency blanket around his shoulders to keep him warm. It would soon get colder and keeping him dry and warm was critical. “We need to build a shelter,” Kara said. “Maybe use some of the metal sheeting off the plane and…”

  “Listen to Ms. Know-it-all. Got it all figured out, haven’t you,” Paul said.

  She ignored him and instructed Frank on what was needed.

  “That’s it, Frank, do her bidding like a good little bitch.”

  “Would you shut the hell up?” Frank said.

  Paul laughed.

  Over the next half an hour they gathered what was needed to create a lean-to shelter just in case it rained. The season they were in saw a good amount of rainfall, and the last thing they needed was to get wet. To insulate the shelter they gathered more branches and covered them with plane debris to ensure they were at least dry. While she was doing it she glanced at Callaway.

  “You’re going to a lot of trouble for someone who wants to get out,” he said.

  “It’s just until help arrives.”

  “Help arrives. You think help is coming?” Paul asked.

  Kara stopped what she was doing and gave him a confused expression. “Someone knows you’re here, right?”

  He snorted and shook his head.

  “Callaway?” she asked.

  Callaway was poking the fire with a stick, lost in thought.

  “Callaway!”

  “Of course no one knows we’re here. You think I’d broadcast that?”

  “But the drone?”

  “The drone went down the moment you took us down,” he said. “It wasn’t streaming video, it was recording, and we certainly didn’t tell anyone we were heading here.”

  “But you said you heard the mayday.”

  Paul laughed. “Yeah, we heard it.” He eyed Frank, and Frank, who was standing there with a sheet of metal in hand, went back to covering wood. Her eyes bounced between them, suspicion building.

  “Okay, but someone would know you’re missing.”

  “Who would?” Callaway asked. “Anyone who knew where I was heading was told I wouldn’t be back for five days. I was up there to hunt, and do business,” he said, glancing at her father. “And I own the place. I come and go as I please.”

  “So you didn’t file a flight plan?”

  “For this?” He laughed.

  She shook her head in disbelief.

  Callaway unzipped his jacket and reached inside. He pulled out a very wet looking brown envelope. He laid it down next to the fire for it to dry out. She couldn’t believe it. Out of all the things he’d managed to salvage, that was it? It had no meaning if they didn’t get out of this alive.

  “You might as well throw that in the fire,” her father said.

  “You’ll sign it.”

  “Yeah, and hell will freeze over,” he shot back.

  Kara observed him, her mind running amok. If no one knew they were here, did they even know where here was?

  “Where are we then?”

  “About twenty-five m
iles northeast of the Chickaloon River, a long way from Kansas, darlin’.” Paul laughed as Callaway stretched out his hands again, the flames reflecting in his eyes.

  “I’d show you a map, but we don’t have one,” Paul said, bringing up the issue. “But you should, shouldn’t you?” He laughed as if finding something amusing. “I mean, it’s mandatory, a part of every good survival kit.” She glanced at Frank, and he nodded and asserted that there was a map and compass in the survival kit but it was stored in the rear compartment and God knew where that was now. They’d already searched through the swath of brush behind the plane. Something bright orange should have been easy to find. They’d found the medkit but that was stored separately.

  While survival kits varied from pilot to pilot, legally they had to carry the bare minimum, which meant rations that could last a week, an axe or hatchet, a first-aid kit, an assortment of tackle, a knife, a fire starter, mosquito head nets, two signaling devices such as smoke bombs or pistol shells, snowshoes, sleeping bag, blankets and usually a PLB, though that was often kept in a float vest.

  “I’ll go take another look,” Kara said.

  “Yeah, you do that,” Callaway replied.

  Paul went to get up. “You want a hand?”

  “That depends, you want your dick cut off?” she retorted, pulling out her Leatherman.

  “Oh honey, that will only get you so far.”

  Her father reacted. “Hey. Hey. You touch her and…”

  “And what, huh?” He smiled but Callaway nudged him and Paul sat back down. For someone that had nearly lost his life, Callaway was a lot more controlled, at least he appeared that way. Sometimes the silent ones were dangerous.

  As she walked away Paul tossed in one more comment for good measure. “Best of luck finding it.” He said it in a way that made her wonder if he hadn’t been the one responsible for its disappearance along with the antenna and the PLB.

  As she trudged through the forest and looked out toward the steep slopes, she thought about what Callaway had said. Twenty-five miles could be hiked in eight to fourteen hours depending on the terrain, but this was no ordinary terrain. Between them and the Chickaloon River were miles of mountain range, snowcapped peaks, treacherous ice plains, and forest full of wildlife. Bears were notorious around these parts. It was the reason why hunters flocked to the area for both bear and caribou. Realistically by herself, she was looking at a day or two, then if they added dragging her father into the mix, a few nights camping, and another thirty miles downstream to the community of Chickaloon, they could be looking at a journey that took from three to four days. As she rifled through clothes and scanned the grass, Frank emerged from the forest, looking warily back through the trees. With the fire in full bloom, and the sun beginning to set, it was easier to see the camp just inside the trees.

  “You’re wasting your time,” he said.

  “It has to be here.”

  “Not if he removed it.”

  She glanced at him. “You think he did it?”

  “That antenna doesn’t just unscrew, and I noticed the batteries were gone as well. Purposely taken and in light of them showing up and wanting your father to sign, it seems pretty clear to me.”

  She studied him and then looked through the trees.

  “So why not take the medkit, as that was still there?”

  “Perhaps he figured it was in the survival kit. There is some medical gear in there but not as much as in that one. And let’s face it, maybe they didn’t expect us to survive.”

  It was a bold accusation. “The only thing holding up the purchase of the company is us. Seems like a stretch. Going to all that trouble just to own a company. It doesn’t add up, especially when he said he needs my father’s connections, the relationships he’s developed with the people.”

  Frank looked over his shoulder. “He needs that, yeah, but Callaway wants more than that. Your father owns parcels of land that Callaway’s company wants so he can begin drilling for oil. Henry knows that. That’s why he won’t sign.”

  “And if we had died in the crash? How would that have benefited him?”

  “I don’t think that was the intention. It could have been a lot worse, Kara. I think he knew I could put that plane down and his timing of showing up meant he must have been tracking us,” he said looking around. “Probably among all of this is a tracker. No, this was about pressure, leverage, a means of pushing your father into a corner.”

  She shifted from one foot to the next. “So what do we do?”

  “Once their clothes are dry and it’s daylight, if no one flies over, we might have to hike out of this mess,” he said, lifting his eyes to the darkening sky. “Until then we are stranded with them.”

  16

  By six that evening, the atmosphere was uncomfortable. Returning empty-handed only added fuel to the flames. They had the small medkit, her Leatherman, and two flares remaining, so the evening wasn’t shaping up to be comfortable. Drinking water wasn’t an issue as the streams and lake were clear. Still, to avoid contamination they decided to boil the water using a makeshift pot that amounted to bending some of the plane debris to create a bowl. As for food, well, people could last weeks without food. That wasn’t her immediate concern, but rather a change in weather, grizzlies, and even more dangerous than that — Paul Ross and Hugh Callaway. There was no telling what those fools might do after their near-death experience.

  It would be a sleepless night.

  Tiredness would eventually kick in but she didn’t want to take her eyes off them.

  The four stared into the small pile of wood, watching the tongues of fire writhe, crackle, and consume, spreading its warmth. Kara had managed to find a few tops she’d tucked into a pack for the trip so she slipped into them, creating several layers. She sat close to her father, her eyes darting from the fire to the other three. “How’s your leg?” she asked, taking another look under the glow of the fire.

  “Which one?” He managed a chuckle.

  She gathered up the medkit and got another gauze ready for when she released the tourniquet. If it wasn’t checked there was a possibility he could get gangrene. Kara noticed that the wound wasn’t releasing as much blood as before. That was a good sign. It meant the blood was clotting. Still, she tightened the tourniquet, leaving it a little looser than before. “I’ll check again in the morning but that left leg should be good after a day or so.”

  “Let’s hope we’re not here that long,” he replied, making an effort to smile. “I’m getting hungry.”

  “Yeah, what can I get you, a burger with a side of fries?”

  His lip curled up. She felt her own stomach grumble. While the body could get used to not eating, the first few days would be harsh as it protested a change in routine.

  “We could find some berries and mushrooms.”

  “Yeah, and end up with a stomach ache and poisoned. No thanks,” Callaway said.

  “No, I’m serious.” He lifted a hand. “Frank.”

  He glanced over and her father gestured. Frank got up and came over. “What?”

  “You think you can take Kara to collect some bearberries, and bear’s head mushrooms?”

  “It’s nearly dark, Henry. Wait till morning.” He waved him off and returned to his seat. He looked bothered, more concerned than he’d seemed before. Maybe the gravity of the situation was beginning to sink in — that or the thought of eating something gross turned him off.

  “What are they?” Callaway asked.

  “Bear’s head? A fungus that grows on living and dead birch and oak. It looks white with spines that droop down. It’s edible but you have to cook it. Bearberries are exactly that, berries that bears eat. So can we. Cooked or raw. The leaves make a nice herbal tea.”

  Kara took hold of his hands, warming them in hers as Callaway looked away.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about the parcels of land?”

  He replied in almost a whisper, “Didn’t think it mattered. They were a gift to your mot
her. She had this grand idea of creating a conservation area for wolves. However, we decided to use them for additional locations for the business.”

  Kara shook her head. “I might not have signed had I known that.”

  “Yes, you would. Don’t worry, without my signature, yours and Frank’s don’t mean a hill of beans.”

  There was a stretch of silence.

  “Did I tell you I have an interview, three days from now?”

  He frowned, confused. “But you said—”

  “I lost my job, Dad.”

  A beat.

  “How?”

  She shook her head, her shoulders dropping. “It doesn’t matter.”

  He snorted. “Now you sound like me.”

  There was silence for a moment and then she looked at him.

  “You know it hasn’t been easy.” She struggled to get the words out, to be straight with him for the first time in a long while.

  “I know, but we’ll get out of this.”

  “I’m not talking about that.”

  He gave her a confused expression.

  “I’m talking about the years since mom died.”

  His features twisted, a frown forming. “Kara… this is really not the time.”

  Not raising her voice she replied, no malice to her tone, “There never is. But, that’s why I spoke to someone else.”

  He bristled. “Who?”

  “A therapist.”

  He scoffed. “California. How they love their therapists.” Her father shuffled his butt and tried to sit up a little straighter. “Let me tell you something. With all their degrees, they don’t know squat — all they do is mirror what you say? It’s a waste of time and money.”

  She sighed. “Well, at least they say something, Dad, and don’t just walk away.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You.”

  He looked uncomfortable and it wasn’t his injury. For the first time, he couldn’t hang up the phone, walk out of a room, or shut her down. “Are you bringing this up now because you know I can’t move?”

  “I’m saying it because it needs to be said, and because there’s a chance we won’t get out of this.”