by Melinda Minx
“This looks like a good tree, huh?”
“It’s not so big,” Noah says, sizing it up.
“That’s okay,” I say. “Never take more than you need from nature. You know what I mean?”
“Like how I gotta eat all my gross vegetables?”
I nod. “Sort of like that. You kill a tree when you cut it down, so there’s no need to take more than we need.”
My left arm is hanging at my side, and I clutch the axe in my right. The shoulder cut from the glass doesn’t seem nearly as bad as the fresh gunshot wound. Once I swing the axe, though, both wounds flare up, stabbing me with pain all over.
I get a good swing in, cutting partially into the wound, but I stagger back, shocked at just how messed up the wounds have made me.
“What’s wrong?” Noah asks, shouting over the wind. “Your arm hurts?”
I smile at him “Just some scrapes. I’ll be fine.”
I swing again, bracing for the pain. It comes, but it doesn't catch me so off guard this time. The axe sinks deeper into the wood. A smaller tree like this, with two good arms, I’d probably only need six or seven swings to bring it down. I’m going to need at least 10 at this rate.
“Brody has some medicine,” Noah says. “Over there.”
He points to the fire.
Medicine?
“You wanna go get it for me?” I ask.
He nods.
The fire is in clear view, and I can see him the whole time. There should be no real risk. I watch as Noah’s figure shrinks toward the fire, and I take two more swings while he’s gone. I use his absence as an opportunity to grunt and swear with each labored swing.
Noah comes back holding a metal flask. Just the kind of medicine I was expecting. He holds the flask up to me.
“Thanks, buddy,” I say, smiling.
I open the flask and take a whiff. It’s strong, that’s for sure. I take a big swig of it, letting it burn in my stomach and numb my pain. I take another small swig, and then I start to take off my coat.
“The cold will get in!” Noah shouts.
“I know, buddy,” I say, “but I gotta get some of this medicine on my arm.”
Getting the coat off fucking kills my wounded left arm, so once I get my right arm free, I get Noah to hold on while I gently back myself out of the coat. The warmth seeps away almost instantly, and I regret not doing this by the fire. But I need to get this tree down fast, or the fire will be gone soon. I can’t risk the fire going out entirely. So long as the fire keeps going, if I was to pass out from the pain, I could at least tell Noah to just keep adding more wood to it if he gets cold. Getting that wood ready is priority number one; I can warm up later.
The sleeve of my shirt has a big hole in it, and the fabric all over the sleeve is stained and stiff with partially frozen blood.
I use the corner of my axe to cut a hole in the sleeve right near the shoulder, and I tear the entire sleeve off and hand it to Noah to hold. “Band-aid.”
“Big band-aid,” he says.
I take the flask into my right hand, and I carefully pour some of the liquor onto my arm. It stings, and I wince a bit, but the pain is nothing compared to what I feel swinging the axe. The alcohol I drank has hit my head already, and it’s insulating me a bit from the worst of the cold and pain.
I move the bottle to the exit wound and pour some more liquor onto it.
Finally, I pour most of the remaining liquor onto the bloodied cloth, and then I hand Noah part of the cloth.
“I know you don’t know how to tie your shoes yet, buddy,” I say, “but hold this, and I’ll walk you through it.”
He holds the cloth loosely in his hand and nods.
“Hold it really tight, okay? I need to get it tied nice and snug.”
I wrap the free end of the cloth around my arm. Each tiny movement of the cloth against my skin hurts like fuck, but I try to hide that from Noah. I see the cloth slide a bit in his hand.
“Hold tighter,” I say. “Like you’re holding onto me and we’re sledding down a cliff from the Road Runner.”
He squeezes tighter, and I pull against him, getting the cloth tight around my arm. I’m hoping it will apply enough pressure to keep the wound mostly covered and stem any bleeding that may still be happening.
“Keep holding,” I tell Noah.
I stick my end underneath and form the first part of the knot. I get Noah to move his arm around as needed, and finally I secure a tight knot that will hopefully not get loose over time. It’s not like I’ll be moving the damn arm at all anyway.
Noah helps me to get my coat back on. I zip it up, but still feel like I’m freezing. I gotta get this tree down, fuck the pain.
I swing. Again and again. It feels like a new bullet is hitting me with each swing, but I get a rhythm going. I imagine it’s some new fucked up competitive event: “Competitive one-handed bullet wound speed chopping.”
If it was an event, I’m setting the record.
“Stay next to me,” I tell Noah. “The tree is going to go down soon.”
I’m not exactly going for insane precision on this cut, so I want to make sure Noah is nearby if he was to be in its path as it began to fall.
I swing one last time, and the tree starts to tip. It falls away from Noah and me, and crashes into the snow.
“Yeah!” Noah says.
I smile. “Alright, buddy, your first lumberjack job is to go break off any small branches that you can. Gather them up into a bundle, and bring as many as you can back to the fire.
Noah walks over toward what was once the high part of the tree, but it’s not been brought to the ground. He snaps off some small twigs.
“Here’s a trick,” I say, stepping on a slightly thicker branch. I reach down and pull up on it as I dig my boot into the branch. It snaps off in my hand. “This helps you break thicker branches.”
Noah starts to use the trick, tearing off small branches from the tree.
I swing my axe down into the thicker ones, freeing them from the tree. Once we each have an armload of lumber, we head back to the fire.
I show Noah how to lay extra wood into the flames, carefully so that he doesn’t risk burning himself.
We load some smaller branches and a few thick ones into the flame, and I feel the warmth wash over me. My wounds are killing me, but at least I’m feeling my toes and fingers again.
“You did a really great job, Noah,” I say, smiling.
“Is your arm okay?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “It will be good.”
We awake to the silence of fresh, white snow. The storm is over, and the sun is starting to show over the horizon. The fire is still letting off some weak heat--not entirely dead.
I see that Noah is still asleep, but I wake him up. We have to make the most of daylight, getting down to lower elevations and hopefully to civilization.
My worst fear is put to rest: the arm feels bad, but not worse. I worried that I’d wake up with a fever, or that my arm would start to feel as if it was rotting off my body. But no, it’s just the regular pain. It’s not infected yet, and so long as Noah and I make steady progress, we should be able to reach the road before sundown.
28
Elisabeth
“Liz, wake up!”
Jane is shaking my shoulders. What time is it?
“The police just found them!”
Them? Noah’s--
“Noah’s fine. Jack saved him!”
I jump off the couch. I was awake all night, and then all day. I must have collapsed. Jane wasn’t supposed to let me sleep.
“Where…?”
“Come on,” Jane says, taking my hand.
We get into her car, and she races out of the driveway before I can even get my seatbelt on.
“You said Noah is fine,” I say. “What about Jack?”
“They’re taking Jack to the ER,” Jane says. “But it sounds like he’s alive and well.”
My stomach knots up with worry.
“If Jack was hurt badly, how the hell could he have gotten Noah down the mountain?”
Maybe the police found him, collapsed in the snow, with Noah crying beside him? Maybe he made it as far as he could, but he couldn’t make it any further. All of the worst case scenarios play through my mind.
But Noah is safe. The worst that could have happened did not happen. Jack is alive. Noah is safe. I repeat it to myself over and over in my head like a mantra. It keeps me calm as we reach the hospital.
“Is Noah--?”
“They’re checking him out here, too, but he’s fine,” Jane says.
We rush into the lobby, and I nearly shout who I am to the receptionist. They bring me through, and after winding through several hallways, I see Noah wrapped up in a blanket and sitting across from a nurse.
“Mom!” he says, looking up at me.
The nurse smiles and lets him go. He jumps off the chair and runs toward me. He crashes into me and hugs me tight. I hug him back, squeezing him tight enough that no one could take him from me again.
“Dad’s okay?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Noah says. “We lumberjacked a tree together and made a fire. Brody’s gone.”
I see Jane tense up at the name.
“Gone…” I whisper to her.
“He’s dead,” Jane whispers back.
I feel relief at that. I shouldn’t feel relieved at someone’s death, but--
“What about Aldus?” I suddenly ask, still clutching tightly to Noah.
“They’re looking for him,” Jane says.
“He’s not going to get away with this, will he--?”
“No,” Jane says, shaking her head. “That cop, Willis, got the guys to admit that Aldus had a boat waiting for them near Anchor Point. The cops there found it, and it links back to him. He’ll get locked away for this.”
“Where’s Jack?” I ask, looking up at the nurse.
“Dad’s getting his arm fixed,” Noah says. “He got hurt.”
I bite my lip and look at the nurse. She nods. “He’s in surgery. I don’t think it’s anything too serious...the frostbite did get him, though. Luckily no fingers.”
“No fingers?” I ask. “That means…”
“I think they need to remove a few toes,” the nurse says. “Nothing some thick boots won’t fix. Luckily, Dad took good care of Noah, and he doesn’t have a scratch on him. Dad kept him nice and warm, too. There are some other wounds as well on his arms and shoulder. We’ll need to treat and monitor those.”
A few toes. I wince thinking about losing toes, as if it is just some trivial thing. It’s not like I’ll love Jack any less, I just don’t want him to be in pain. Though if a few toes are all we lost as a family, I should count us lucky. This whole incident could have ended so much worse.
“When can we see him?” Jane asks.
“Once he’s out of surgery, he’ll be in recovery for a while and he’ll need to come out from under anesthesia,” the nurse says. “At least a few hours. I’ll let you know as soon as he’s ready for visitors.”
29
Jack
I hear a loud beeping. Then I hear voices. They are mumbling, but I can’t really make them out.
I try to open my eyes, but I can’t. My thoughts--everything--feels so hazy and murky. I realize I have no sense of time or place. I don’t remember the last thing that happened to me. I remember fishing. I remember sledding with Noah. At the edge of my memory, I remember something really bad. Something that shouldn’t have happened, but what?”
Then I hear a familiar voice. It’s Jane’s.
“He’s out cold,” she says.
They are talking about me? No shit I’m out cold.
“We’ll wake him up again when Jack wakes up,” Elisabeth’s voice says.
Oh, they’re not talking about me. They must be talking about Noah.
Noah. It starts to come back to me now. The bad thing was related to Noah, but Jane and Elisabeth are talking about him as if he’s totally fine.
Relief washes over me. I don’t even know what I’m feeling relief from, but I just know it feels good. I know that whatever bad thing happened is over, that we got through it.
Or at least Noah got through it. Maybe I’m in some kind of coma that I’ll never wake up from. Maybe I’ll hear them talking like this for the rest of my life, and maybe I’ll never wake up.
“Jesus,” Jane whispers. “Turn on the TV.”
I hear new voices, coming from the TV.
“We’re live from the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport, where Aldus Renshaw’s private jet has been blocked from taking off.”
“Do we know where he was trying to go?” a man’s voice cuts in.
“No, we don’t--”
“That bastard!” Jane says. “They’re going to roast him! They got him, Elisabeth.”
Aldus. I remember a lot more now. He sent Brody to kidnap my son. An image of Brody’s body lying in the snow flashes through my mind. Then I remember getting shot.
I’m in the hospital.
I try to move my finger, and I feel it twitch. If I was in a coma, I’m waking up from it.
“Aldus Renshaw hired men to kidnap his own nephew. We’re just hearing from our sources that he was trying to fly to the Cayman Islands. His accounts there have been turned over to the authorities, and sizable transfers had been made just this week to all three men involved in the Alaskan kidnapping.”
“Are the police on his plane?” the man’s voice asks.
“Aldus is refusing to open the door,” the woman answers. “He’s--”
“We’ve just gotten reports of gunshots!” the man shouts.
My eyes pop open. I see the light from the screen, and I manage to look over toward it. At first it’s just a bunch of colored blobs, but slowly my eyes begin to focus.
“Jack’s awake,” Elisabeth says, and then she’s right at my side.
I look at her, forgetting Aldus for the moment.
“A single gunshot,” the anchorwoman says. “There was only one shot fired.”
“Was it the police, did they--?”
Both Elisabeth and I are looking at the screen now. She’s grabbed my hand.
“Nurse!” I hear Jane shouting. “He’s awake!”
A single gunshot.
I try to say something, but my voice just comes out as a dry croak.
“You’re still coming out of anesthesia,” Elisabeth says. “Don’t try to talk. Just wait it out.”
“The door just opened,” the anchorman’s voice says.
I look at the screen, and I see--from a camera down on the runway--a small group of men and women exiting the door of Aldus’s jet, stepping onto a metal stairway pressed up against it. Some are sobbing, and others have a shell-shocked look on their faces that I know all too well.
“We’re getting reports,” the anchorwoman says, “that Aldus Renshaw has...committed suicide. His secretary is refusing to--”
Jane turns the TV off.
“Fuck,” I whisper. It comes out this time.
“Really Jack,” Elisabeth says. “That’s your first word after waking up?”
She smiles at me, and I feel my lips twitch into a grin.
We’re safe now. For real this time.
Epilogue
Anchorage’s Junior Lumberjacking competition falls just a week after Noah’s twelfth birthday. Had it been just two weeks earlier, he’d needed to have waited another year to compete.
“You don’t have to win your first time,” Jack says, putting a hand on his shoulder.
“I know,” Noah says, “but I’m going to try to. You got second on your first time, Dad.”
“I didn’t win, though,” Jack says, smiling. “And I’d been doing this for almost 10 years by that time.”
“It’s been almost 10 years for me, too,” Noah says.
“That doesn’t count!” Layla says, furrowing her brow.
“It does!” Noah says, pointing at his sister. �
��I’ll show you!”
“Alright, alright,” I say, putting a hand on both of them. “Calm down. We’re all going to do our best to have fun today.”
Noah rolls his eyes. “Mommm! It’s about winning, not just having fun!”
“Having fun is the most important part,” Jack says. “If you win, but you aren’t having fun anymore, then why bother doing it?”
“Yeah!” Layla says, flashing a teasing smile at Noah.
“Sorry,” Noah says. “I just practiced a lot, I don’t want to let you guys down.”
“You won’t let us down, sweetie--”
“Mom!” he snaps.
He’s getting to that age where I can’t call him ‘sweetie’ without him fighting back. Not like that will stop me.
“I think you can get at least fourth place,” Layla says. “That’s almost a bronze metal.”
“Medal,” Noah says. “And there is no bronze medal. I gotta wait until I’m in the Olympics for that.”
Jack and I give each other a look, and Noah laughs at us. “Relax,” Noah says. “I know there’s no lumberjacking in the Olympics...at least not yet! There used to not be snowboarding in the Olympics either, but things can change.”
Jack sighs. “If only they had made it an Olympic event 10 years ago, your dad would be a gold medalist.”
“You’re a gold medal Dad,” I say, grinning. “And a gold medal husband.”
“Mom!” Noah says. “That’s sooo cheesy.”
Layla laughs.
“Don’t encourage them,” Noah says.
“I’m a Dad,” Jack says. “It’s my job to make Dad jokes, and to set your mom up to make Mom jokes.”
“Do they always have to be so lame, though?” Noah asks, frowning. “Aunt Jane always gets to tell funny jokes.”
Jane is walking back from the concession stand, holding a tray of drinks and some popcorn. “Did someone say my name?”
“Yeah,” Noah says. “I was just telling Mom and Dad about the jokes you--”
Jane’s eyes widen. “Noah, I told you not to--”
“Are you telling Noah dirty jokes?” I ask, glaring at Jane.