“Ha ha ha, jerk,” Tomek sneered.
Drake remained silent, shivering as he too was cold from the swim, but for some reason this time being soaked was not as harsh as his first fall into the river. Drake held tight just looking down at his brother with delight. Given that his ribs were not throbbing at the moment, he forgot about the challenges he and his brother still faced.
“Aren’t you going to say something?” Tomek said, beginning to think his brother’s stare was bordering on creepy.
Drake smiled, turned to walk away, and said,
“Happy Memorial Day.”
17 Sun Rise
Opening the hollowed-out oak tree door to the cabin was a welcome sight for both of the twins. Having restlessly battled for almost 40 consecutive hours, the brothers were cold, wet, hungry and hurting. Entering their home again instantly made them forget the two remaining troubles that awaited them in the woods.
There was something about the smell in the hill residence. It could have been from the birch bark and alabaster that lined the walls and ceiling for years, or just the fact that there was little to no airflow. The cool dryness of the stale-smelling home was so ingrained in their heads that even the slightest whiff of something similar out in the wild would make them think of home.
The twins were quick to strip themselves of their wet clothes and find clean, dry replacements from their stash of surplus camouflage fatigues. While the fire in the wood stove had gone out shortly after they originally left the cabin days before, the ground was well-insulated and it had not been anywhere near freezing outside. The semi-warm cabin was a pleasant and welcomed comfort.
Tomek sat on his bed fumbling with Magee’s handgun, which he had taken out of his brother’s soaked backpack as quick as Drake had set it down. Removing the magazine and each of its rounds, he meticulously dried each one of them by hand, polishing the brass to make them appear brand new.
“What is your fascination with the guns, man?” Drake asked.
“Well, it seems to me they have been a big help. I mean, if not for this gun right here, we might both be dead,” Tomek reasoned, proud to prove his point.
“If not for gunshots going off we would not be able to track these people as well.” Drake reminded him while quietly sitting in pain watching his brother complete the cleaning and reloading of the pistol. “What now?”
“I am going to keep it right here just so we both know where it is at,” Tomek said, walking by Drake and lying the pistol down in a cubby about the size of a small bucket they had dug out of the side rock wall years before.
“Why there?” Drake asked, knowing there was no better hiding places inside the cabin but wanting to see if the two of them were again on the same page without discussing it. Tomek ignored the question, only looking at the cubby and working out the perfect placement.
“Be gentle when you set it down there.” Drake warned his brother.
“Why?” said Tomek sarcastically? “It is not going to go off. Quit worrying.”
“You know damn well why you had better be gentle. That is the entire reason you are using that particular cubby, isn’t it?” Drake asked, knowing that his brother could not ignore that comment.
“Yep, great place for a gun, huh?” Tomek replied, smirking.
Drake knew that the cubby was probably the perfect place for a weapon and was a little annoyed with the fact that Tomek had come up with using it. In an attempt to prevent his twin’s ego from overinflating, Drake just rolled his eyes and offered a resigned “Yep.”
Drake then headed over to the hand-built hickory medicine cabinet to look for what was left, if anything, of Uncle’s old supply of medicine. Disappointed in only finding a large supply of penicillin, he turned around to talk to Tomek.
“Grab me a beeswax candle from...” Drake stopped his sentence short in the observance of his twin brother already fast asleep in the cot.
“Never mind. I will get it myself,” he thought.
Reaching above the cots to the cupboard that held the candles was painful, but the stretch did have a therapeutic feel to it. Bumping his leg into Tomek’s cot caused his sleeping twin to roll over and mumble in his sleep something about “killing the girl.”
Drake rolled his eyes and felt somewhat sorry for his brother who seemingly could not even rest in his sleep without dreaming about their next fight.
Lighting the candle, Drake was able to see for the first time the extent of the damage done to his ribs. Magee had shot him just above his left nipple. Without the tactical Kevlar coat of Ravizza, the lead round would have disintegrated Drake’s heart, causing an instant death. While instant death was certainly not the outcome, a large dinner plate-sized blue and purple contusion was. Feeling around with his fingers, he could not confirm any actual broken bones. Drake began to think that he may have escaped the entire ordeal with just muscle and tissue damage. Drake knew that without some sort of medical intervention, the muscles in and around his wounded area would tighten up, rendering him useless in the remaining fights against Henderson and the sheriff.
“Healing oils. I need to make Uncle’s healing oils,” he thought to himself, as he began rounding up the supplies located throughout the cabin. This task in itself was not an easy one. Moving around basically underground in the dark of the glowing candle to collect items strewn about, with an intense pain that was almost more than he could handle.
Having collected what he believed to be everything he needed, Drake sat down at the main table they used for making weapons and eating meals during the cold months. Drake lit another beeswax candle he and Uncle had made from last year’s abundant supply that was gathered from their colony of hives kept in the orchard. Each handmade candle being four inches around and three inches tall would provide several hours of both heat and light. Right now it was the heat that interested Drake.
Placing the candle inside of a baking pan they used for roasting meals, he lit the wick that was also handmade from multiple braided strands of a willow tree. The light of the second candle now burning on the small table was enough to cause Tomek to roll back over and face the wall while grumbling about the girl again in his sleep.
Drake then placed a small, six-inch terracotta flower pot they had used to grow a tomato plant the previous summer upside-down over the top of the candle with the rim resting on top of pan sides, allowing air to flow through the pan and up under the pot. Placing a Petoskey stone on top of the small hole in the pot kept the flame’s heat inside, causing it to quickly heat up the exterior of the pot itself.
Grabbing a larger terracotta pot, Drake again placed it upside-down over the smaller pot with the rim also resting on the sides of the pan. Leaving the small one inch hole on the bottom of the larger pot uncovered forced an abundance of hot air inside the pots to exit through it. The hot air that aggressively escaped through the second pot’s hole was replaced by air being drawn in from the bottom and rushing to feed the flame. This caused the unit to produce a soft but constant roaring “hiss” upon reaching the perfect internal temperature.
The simple homemade convection torch was, of course, taught to them by Uncle for times when they needed to centralize a direct heat source. The air escaping the top hole could quickly turn a metal rod red hot. Uncle used this method any time he may have needed to melt lead to fix a tool or for heating steel while forging knives.
With the terracotta pot convection oven now putting out heat at full capacity, Drake enjoyed the extra warmth it added to the room as he began separating fresh wintergreen leaves he had stored in a jar from their stems. Placing the small wintergreen pieces into a bowl as he ripped them up, Drake savored the fragrance they emitted. However, it was not the fragrance he was after.
Uncle and the boys had spent many hours walking in the woods collecting anything they were to find that may be useful along the way. Wintergreen was one of their most sought-after items. Chewing on the tasty leaves alone was a pleasure, but their real magic was held inside of the leafy stem
s themselves. Grinding and boiling the leaves released menthol. Menthol was very useful to them for many skin ailments, including rashes and the occasional simple sunburn. Upon coming into contact with the skin, the menthol would open the pores, providing an almost instant cooling sensation.
The final ingredient to Uncle’s healing oil was as simple and abundant as could be in their northern Michigan home. Rotten birch bark was not only littered across every acre of their valley but it also lined the walls of their cabin.
The key to using the birch was to find a dry piece that had decomposed to the point its physical structure was breaking down, causing the inside layers to become stringy and hair-like. The decomposing process stripped the bark of its protective layers and sugars, allowing the bark to release its natural anti-inflammatory properties.
Not wanting to pull a piece of back from the wall, Drake quickly, quietly and cautiously stepped outside the front door. Moving the oak tree door was more of a chore with his sore chest than he had imagined it would be, but he managed to do and returned with an old piece of bark from a nearby blow-over without waking up his brother.
Drake placed a glass soda bottle they had found years before on top of the terracotta pot’s hole. The bottle being about half full of water would quickly come to a boil, at which point he would place the string-like strips of birch into the bottle. Boiling them took a few minutes longer than the wintergreen, giving Drake a chance to go run their small kitchen hose out to the river. With the hose placed underwater and held there with a small rock, Drake returned inside where the other end of the hose came up from its buried position in the floor into the small sink.
Drake began hand-pumping the air out of the hose with an improvised vacuum made from an old hot water pad that Uncle had stuffed with a large sponge. Squeezing the bag over and over for about three minutes was all that was needed to have a steady constant supply of siphoned river water into their sink. With the cold water flowing in from the river, positioned in the sink was an old, rusted red tin coffee can. The can itself was not important, but it held inside of it a coil of copper piping about a quarter of an inch in diameter. One side of the pipe contained a funnel with the other being just an open spout with a cap on it, extruding out from the bottom of the can. Drake placed the hose in the can and it filled up quickly with the cold running water from the river. Leaking out of the rusted holes in the coffee can and out the top allowed the river to continually provide the condensing coil with chilled, flowing water.
Seeing that the bark strand had softened up and sloped down into the bottom of the glass bottle he knew it was time to add the wintergreen. In doing so, Drake was making sure to get every last leaflet and sprig in the bottle. Drake now had to just wait. He placed the funnel over the glass bottle and watched as the vapors produced from the boiling down of the ingredients nature had provided entered the funnel and came to rest inside the cooling coils.
Once inside the coils, the menthol, water and anti-inflammatory vapors would distill back into a liquid that had oil-like consistency. Drake watched closely, confirming that he had good water flow through the tin can throughout the distillation process, which was required in order to properly cool down the vapors inside the coil.
The coil began to make a popping noise and thump around inside the tin can. This allowed Drake to know that the coil was filling and soon would be ready to open. Pulling the cork stopper from the end of the tube allowed the oil to flow out into the bowl Drake had ready. Filling the bowl rather quickly, Drake set it aside and began cupping his hands directly under the spout and as they filled he splashed the cool oil onto his bruised chest.
The cool burning sensation as the menthol opened up his skin pores was a welcomed relief. The pores being opened allowed the birch to work its magic and enter the affected areas. As quick as the coil had begun flowing, it was soon empty again and Drake removed the funnel and bottle from the oven.
Deciding to leave the oven going to heat the room, Drake tilted the other beeswax candles’ melted wax into the bowl of healing oil. Combining the oil and the wax made a cream like substance that could be rubbed on and into the skin, allowing hours of relief compared with the seconds that the oil alone provided. It also made the homemade medicine spill-proof, as well as providing it with a much longer shelf life.
Stirring the cream and applying it to his bruised body, Drake felt the cooling action and a sense of pride, as that was the first time he had made it alone without Uncle’s guidance. Lying there in his bunk Drake finally rested and closed his eyes and quickly drifted off to sleep only waking periodically to adjust his position on the cot as none of them allowed him total comfort with the soreness in his chest.
With each awakening, Drake would reapply a healthy coat of healing balm and as the sun began to rise he was pleased to find that for the first time in hours he could take deep breaths with little to no pain.
Getting up with the sun, opening the door and watching the sunrise crest the mountains, Drake remembered what he loved the most about their way of life here in the woods. It was something that maybe Uncle had forgotten over his years of pain. It was the fact that in the woods they were always alone, yet always together.
18 River Bend
Drake’s moment of enjoying the peaceful morning sunrise quickly changed as he glanced upriver. Slowly meandering its way, floating toward him, bobbing up and down in the gentle rapids without someone paddling it was their dugout canoe. Not wanting to lose the boat, he pondered his options. Drake was not looking forward to entering the river yet again to swim out and snag it before it passed by, but he knew without some luck that would most likely be his only choice. Or, perhaps, the river might help him out and so he began running downriver to cut it off at the bend, hoping it would wash up on the river’s sharp turn.
Running as fast as his injured lungs allowed him to breathe, he gained altitude on the hillside to avoid having to climb over the large riverbank-side rocks. The cold morning air in his lungs felt good against the pain of his sore muscles. Exhaling out the cold morning air and watching it become instant mist was equally painful. However, any pain and concern about his lungs was quickly set aside in his mind as the canoe continued to make its way toward him.
Looking down from his hillside perch the boat which was almost parallel with him on the river gave Drake enough height clearance to see what it was that set the boat free from its moorings where they stored it upriver at Shipen Run. Looking down into the cavity of the floating dugout was Deputy Henderson. Cold, shivering and balled up in the fetal position, she did not have the strength to paddle the vessel and was relying on the river to save her.
Just as Drake hoped, the boat came to rest on the shoreline at the river’s bend. Drake had watched every large stump and log that took the same path end up there over the years so the canoe doing the same was not a guarantee, but also no surprise.
Standing there a mere five yards away from the beached vessel, Drake reached for the throwing knife kept on his hip, only to realize that he began chasing down what he thought was an empty boat without gathering a single piece of weaponry or gear. Watching the boat while pondering what to do, Drake knew his chest was too injured to risk a hand-to-hand fight, even if it was against a woman.
His eyes remained fixed as there were no signs of movement. He knew at this point the woman was either already dead or incredibly weak.
“I should sneak back and get Tomek, or at least a weapon,” Drake thought to himself. However, he quickly ruled out the option of leaving as he heard Henderson roll to her side, moan and unintelligibly whine. Leaving his concealed position along the wooded bank, he grabbed a large rock about the size of his own head and stalked up to the side of the canoe.
Peeking over the side wall of the boat with the large rock above his head in his extended arms, ready to slam it down on the deputy’s head, Drake looked into her eyes, glossed over and distant, as if she was already on her way out of this world, Drake decided smashing her skull was
not needed and doing so in the boat could damage the bottom beyond repair. With his arms trembling from the pain of his bruise, Drake dropped the rock with a swift sigh of relief.
Thumping the side of the boat with his foot shaking her motionless body just a bit caused her to again moan. Reaching down into the boat, Drake removed the pistol from her holster and pointed it at her. Just as the rock would damage the boat, he knew a bullet would do the same. Having just killed Magee the night before with a firearm, Drake felt Henderson was deserving of a more honorable death. Tossing the gun out into the middle of the river, Drake decided he was done with shooting people.
Drake then placed his foot on the top edge of the boat and applied his body weight on it, causing the canoe to flip to its side and the deputy to roll out. Hitting the rocks and lying face down in four inches of river water caused Henderson to roll again to her back this time with her eyes open, looking around in a panicked state.
Drake quickly grabbed her by the throat with his uninjured left hand and arm, pulling her out into knee-deep water. Looking into her eyes as he held her head above the water, her limp body sank and the back of her ankles drug across the rocky river bed floor. The deputy’s eyes remained open, but she was in a distant state. Unresponsive and seemingly unaware of her surroundings, she provided no resistance as Drake continued to drag her out into the river until icy flowing water was just under his waistline.
Looking at her he could not help but to think how killing a girl might feel different than doing the same to a man. Was it the right thing to do? Should he show her some form of mercy? Standing in the cold river, his mind was quickly made up as he thought back to all the whitetail does and black bear sows they harvested over the years. Their insides were no different than a buck or bruins. They fed, ran, lived and tasted the same. Killing Henderson was no different than killing Magee, Ravizza or a trespassing hunter. Ending lives was part of their life now, and she was no different.
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