by Hawk, J. K.
Fish on the other hand was my primary source of protein in the beginning. The brook trout that spawn in these rivers and streams were small yet plentiful. The few larger ones I caught, ten to fifteen inches, ended up in the smoker. Fish jerky is not my most favorite of meals, but it seemed like a regular old lobster boil come dead of winter.
Old hunting lodges and camps litter these mountains and lakes for miles. It amazed me that I was the only person who thought to escape here. Or maybe I was just the only one who had made it. Daily I would thoroughly scavenge those forgotten cabins for anything of use. At the top of my list of necessities was, food, weapons, ammunition, and first aid. There was but one old cabin that was a haven for any survivalists. A dusty vault of Preserved fruits, veggies and meats packed in re-sealing canning jars. In the loft I found a sealed, air tight metal canister which contained about ten pounds of corn seed, an unmistakable godsend. Those dried kernels became the start of my exorbitant seed collection which has helped me survive all these years.
There was one day, mid-autumn, that fate provided me with a different bounty. While foraging, I had come across an old black bear as he tromp his way through the forest. He proudly wore a heavy dark winter coat that had all but just grown in. The only distinguishing mark was a large scar that traced across his face, the remnants of a great old bear fight. Like myself, he was also scavenging, looking for fatty morsels to help him survive the coming months of hibernation. Undeterred, the bear moseyed his way up along a crystal-clear spring fed stream that cut its way through the sharp granite ledges of Bag Mountain. I followed quietly, staying to the opposite side of the water-flow and at a safe distance behind the massive furry beast. He knew I was there, and if he wanted to he could of easily taken me down, yet he paid me no mind.
Unlike the old bear, I was losing energy fast. It had seemed like a whole day was wasted on the attempt to exploit his foraging skills. Yet my aching legs and back was worth the trek up the mountain, for soon Old Scarface turned his interest to a tall dead pine tree that hung over a small gorge in the brook. The crack-ridden granite slabs to either side dropped down a good fifteen feet to a deep and cold pool of water.
His nose twitched and contorted as he sniffed around the base of the tree before driving his razor-sharp claws into the dry-rot. A magnificent display of strength as he tore chunks out of the trunk as if the wood was nothing more than a clump of sod. It only took a few minutes of mauling before his nose dove into the hollow center. It was then I realized what he was after as a dark cloud of honey bees rose about him and like precision missiles dove one by one into his fur, stinging madly. Maybe it was his fur that protected him, or he just felt no pain, because he never flinched as the swarm desperately attempted to scare him off.
I was in no rush and let him eagerly munch on the sticky honey-combs as the viscous fluid matted the fur around his face like globs of golden-glue. I was more than willing to share since he had just as much right to the feast as I. But starving, was far from an option, and when I felt that he had his fill I fired off a shot above his head. Quickly he pulled his nose from the tree and scurried off into the woods, never looking back even as the bees followed with precision after him. Quickly I jumped across the small ravine and moved up next to the old tree. The bee's that remained behind immediately targeted me, their stings felt like a red-hot needle jabbing repeatedly into my flesh. At least these were just honey-bees and not those damned ghost-face hornets. Large like a bumble bee, yet black with a menacing white face painted on their head. They can be both inquisitive and aggressive at the same time, commonly striking anything and anyone without provocation. Vicious little bastards.
Quickly I gathered a few good large chunks of comb, storing them gently in a moose skin pouch, and headed back towards the cabin. It was a long hike down Bag Mountain and back up the next. As a treat, I indulged myself with a large plate of honey-comb when I arrived back home. The busy day and full stomach had taken its toll on me as I woke the next morning with my face resting upon that very same plate. It must have taken most of that morning to scrub off that sticky mass, but was well worth it.
amid 1st Wolf Moon;
That first winter was better than I had ever expected, of course the heavy bounty I had obtained prior made it all the more easier. I used those cold months to read old books left behind by my pop, as well as normal day to day chores. On the warmer days, I would trudge through the deep snow, scavenging what little I could, what the animals had left behind was of course buried in three feet of snow. I even attempted ice-fishing on Bug-Eye Pond, yet I found it to be grueling, backbreaking work which yielded little results. Chiseling through almost two feet of hard-packed ice and snow with a rusty pole and mallet proved difficult at the very least. It became clear that fishing would remain a summer task.
So I spent most of my time at the cabin, puttering around to find things to keep my mind off the extended silence. Loneliness set in fast, which I found extremely hard to bare. At times I would converse with myself, along with random inanimate objects. It was like I was Tom Hanks lost on some Island, unfortunately I had no Wilson to keep me company. Other tasks to keep me busy included a majority of home improvements and tool repair. The old snow-shoes that hung above the fire place consumed a lot of my time. The webbing had drastically frayed and split which took me many hours of twisting and trying to make them new again. It was worth the effort for they have become a necessity in the deep mountain snow.
Some nights I would just wrap myself up in my blankets to wait out the snow and windstorms. At all cost I attempted to remain inside as much as possible, and yet when nature called I found myself baring my ass to a shower of stinging ice needles. The blistering cold could freeze snot in seconds and hurricane force winds, reaching up to a hundred miles per hour, whipped through the valley with ferocious anger. The thunder of falling trees and ghostly howls added a creepy soundtrack to nature’s wrath.
Yet these were just some of the minor discomforts of those storms. One storm, one of the last of that first winter if I remember correctly, was the scariest I have ever endured, even to this day. The storm began early in the afternoon, and lasted for three depressing days. Pots and pans had unfortunately become my privies during that dreadful period, for which the smell quickly became quite unbearable.
On the first night, the wind violently threw a large branch through the kitchen window. For a moment I thought something had exploded as I ducked for cover from the shower of splinters and shattered glass. When I composed myself, I rushed to remove cupboard doors to use in boarding up the destroyed porthole. The force of the wind pushed back the doors with such strength that I could hardly hold them in place as I fumbled with the hammer and nails.
The second night was the worst, or what I believe to be the second night. Huddled in bed I listened to the wind and stared at the lantern that burned next to me. My eyes welled up with tears, it was all too much, the seclusion. A life sentence in nature’s prison. The temptation to end the torture was great, yet a greater fear of the afterlife held those temptations at bay. Then, like a flick of a switch, the entire camp lit up with a bright blue light. I froze in place and the shivering subsided as my stomach crawled up into my throat. For a moment it was unclear as to what I had just witnessed, but then the low rumble of thunder eased my spastic heart. Snow-Lightening, something I had not observed since I was a kid.
Jumping out of bed in excitement I dashed over to peer out the front window. The effects of snow-lightening is a brilliant display of nature’s true power. The bolts spider out across the sky within the gray mask of falling snow, just barely bursting through the fog. Brilliant flashes of blue and purple, and every large and small object would cast an eerie yet remarkably complex shadow across the landscape. A smile of excitement crossed my face with the next flash, like the snap of a camera an instant visage of a blue forest burned into my mind. The next flash, however, subdued my excitement completely. I saw something, something or someone in the dance of light
and shadows. My eyes were playing tricks on me, I had thought as I strained in an attempt not to blink, waiting for that next flash to illuminate the area.
It didn't take long before the next blinding-purple burst of light scorched the landscape and revealed a lone figure, standing knee-deep in the snow. It was but only ten or even fifteen feet away from the door. My hand slowly reached over to grab the pistol from my nightstand, my eyes never leaving the window. A series of delayed vibrant flashes lit up the area for a good ten seconds, but it seemed like minutes. This time I had a good look at the figure.
It was a tall and anorexic looking man, wearing nothing more than a pair of stained overalls which hung from his frail form like a child wearing his father’s clothes. He was an older man with a receding hairline from what I could see. He was staring, almost with curiosity, into the sky. With each successive flash of lightening, like nature’s own strobe-light, the spiritless figure swayed back and forth in awe and stupor. Clumps of snow were quickly building up on his right shoulder, which abruptly ended with the remains of a bloody stump. His arm, recently torn from its socket by something with great strength.
The flashing subsided and I dug in to find any shard of courage left within me. Slowly I cracked open the door and the abrasive wind pushed it into me like a freight train, how the infected could withstand natures wrath so easily was a mystery to me. But I braced the door with what strength I could conjure and slowly raised my gun out the crack as I waited for the next flash to provide a clean shot. My eyes squinted with the next blinding flash, yet they remained opened just enough to see the same lone figure standing just before me. His mouth agape and releasing a foul stench as he moaned and moved forward into the doorway. My finger snapped the trigger back as I stumble down onto the floor in shock. A direct hit and his body slumped down into the entryway as black and putrid blood poured from his cheek and pooled upon the floor.
I know that I had shouted something, but for the life of me I don't remember what. Most likely it was simple, like “Shit!” or “Fuck!” Yet when the next flash came, I definitely used the F word. The howling wind must have muffled its approach, yet luckily the bright blue flash revealed a charging, large dark mass just beyond the tree line. It was no human, but an enraged black bear. Another succession of flashes revealed a scar across its face and bleeding gash on the neck. Scarface was quickly charging forth through four-foot snowdrifts with little resistance. He was at a full demonic sprint, and the door was still ajar with me sprawled out on the floor.
Straight into the waves of snow that blew through the doorway I opened fired, letting the remaining five rounds fly into the darkness like angels of death. I slid my ass back further into the cabin in a desperate attempt to widen the gap. The five hundred pound beast toppled over his creator with such force that it shook the floor-boards. My heart pounded like a jackhammer in my chest. Two out of the four shots hit the beast, one to the shoulder, the other straight through its left eye. His paws quivered in the snow dusted floor for a few moments before falling completely stiff.
conclusion;
Whilst others boarded up their homes or made their way to federally designated safe-zones, I took my chances in the womb of Mother Nature. Such a massive disaster would only bring out the worst in people, and I could have no part of it. My fellow humans became the decoys that allowed my escape and thus far my survival. I owe them my life, and I hoped that if there is a higher power above, that he has forgiven them for all of their sins.
Although my story is short and absent of the majority of pain and suffering that the rest of the world has felt, it is still my story. More importantly, unlike the rest of the world, I am still alive to tell it. Even if it is only to a young girl whose own stories outweigh mine in both pain and tragedy.
4th day, 5th Fish Moon;
Springtime is both relished and painstakingly loathed. Despite the cool fresh air and sense of renewal, it means work, and lots of it. Winter cleanup is first on this list, and thankfully I now have Mia to assist me. If we both stay productive, we should get it done in no time.
A chorus of chirping birds dance around the cabin like school kids on a playground. Small buds can now be seen on most of the trees, and the grass is getting greener every day. The snow is all but gone, except a few patches scattered throughout the forest and a nice cool breeze swims through the mountain-side fighting back the rapidly growing humid days.
The smell of freshly bloomed wild flowers fills the air, creating a sense of long needed tranquility. Mia and Nova have been spending most of the warm days exploring the area and playing in the ice-cold brook, all the while making sure to stay within ear shot of me. Although peace and new life has fallen upon the mountain, this warm weather may soon draw in the walking-blight, and we cannot take any chances. Our luck could run thin any day now.
Nova is getting so big, almost doubling her size since we found a month or so ago, and every day she begins to resemble the fierce beast that she is. She also eats more than we do, putting a big strain on our preserves. Hopefully her wild nature and hunting instincts will come in handy this summer. I'm sure her wolf senses will be a lifesaver for us.
Mia too has begun to fill in and grow into a healthy teenage girl. Her hair is growing back fast now, almost two inches since I chopped off her long golden locks. And, all the signs of malnutrition have faded, yet the strain over the last few years has aged her appearance. The mid-teen looks almost mid-twenties, but mostly in those beautiful yet torment ridden eyes.
The yard is looking much better, we spent most of the last week picking up branches and raking leaves. Today I started turning the soil in my garden since there is little time before the seeds need to be in the ground. My stockpile of corn has barely been touched, but now with another mouth to feed it is essential we preserve the entire crop.
It's hard to believe that the human race had survive all those years on chemically enhanced processed food, hell, maybe that's what began this plight. We even had the means to grow in small quantities of vegetables within our own homes, yet no one ever did. Sad but true, the end of man began with himself.
Corn, Beans, Carrots, Spinach, Peppers, Tomatoes and Wild Potatoes are the bulk of what I will grow this year, mostly due to the heartiness and quality of preserving them. There will also be some broccoli and lettuce to help us get through the summer months. Of course a good fraction of my crop will be of a special herb variety. I may have to plant little extra this year since Mia has come to indulge in it quite often.
Mia tends to sit and observe me throughout the day as I pull weeds and rocks from the soil, she seems to enjoy watching me break my back. I make fast work of plunging the hoe into the ground and overturning the dark, almost black, soil - good fertile soil. Mia has become quiet curious of my hard work, constantly asking questions, including a lot of redundant why's.
“What are you doing?”
I stood up and leaned on the hoe and stared at her beautiful green eyes.
“I'm getting the garden ready for planting.” I answered.
“Why?”
“For food, to prepare for winter.”
“We already had winter.” She naively giggled.
“True, but the summers are short. Before you know it the snow will be falling again.”
“Why don't we just go exploring, find food?” Mia Continued.
“We will, Mia, but the more, the merrier.”
She sighed in disgust and began pacing back and forth as Nova lazily laid about. An energetic girl and she bored very easily. I would have loved to spend the day exploring and entertaining her curiosity, but there was just so much work to do. And until now, I have had very little distractions from it.
“If you’re bored, you could always give me a hand.” I mentioned
“Can I?” she asked eagerly.
“Of course you can.” I said, smiling down at her. “How about gathering up those piles of leaves and dump them in the garden.”
“Your growing leaves
?” she responded with a bit of confusion, which made me chuckle a bit.
“No, Mia, the dried leaves will break down and act as food for the vegetables, make them grow big and strong.”
Without further interrogation, she eagerly dashed off to gather up the leaves as I continued to work the soil. It still surprises me the range of personalities she displays from one minute to the next. One moment a sweet little naive child, and the other a grown woman holding on to so much burden. It's hard to conceive a life where one loses their childhood in a swift fatal blow and has to mature overnight with little to no guidance.
Nova followed Mia around all afternoon, pouncing and nipping at her feet as she skipped back and forth gathering leaves and throwing them in the garden. By midafternoon my arms were exhausted and sweat poured down my face, I could taste the saltiness on my lips and feel its sting sweep over my eyes. I threw down the hoe and looked over at Mia who now rolled around in the last remaining pile of leaves playing with her pup.
“Break time,” I called out, “Let’s go for a swim!”
She stopped playing, and looked over at me with a concerned glare.
“I don't know how to swim.” She said softly.
“Well it's time you learn, besides, we both need a bath, we are beginning to smell worse than a pig-sty.”
“What's that?” She asked.
“A Pig pen.”
“Gross.”
“Yep, and you smell worse than me.” I joked.
“Hey!” Mia retorted, yet giggled still.
We hiked leisurely up the mountain along the brook, Nova as always following right at our footsteps. Mia looked nervous, lagging behind a bit as if to draw-out our climb. I think she was hoping I would change my mind and not force her in the water, but now is a better time than any for her to overcome her fears.