by Will Decker
With everything inside the cabin, I moved over to the cot and plopped down. Almost immediately, my thoughts returned to Sandy, as I couldn’t help but wonder why she was leasing a cabin. Who or what was she hiding from? And more importantly, did I sense an attraction on her part, or was that just my writer’s over-imagination? Would she welcome me back if I showed up on her doorstep unannounced? Or would she ask me to leave?
Although I had many more questions than I had answers, it was time to get back to work. It was too late in the day to go out for firewood, so I decided that I should probably dig out the wood box first. If I warmed the cabin with the meat still inside, it was likely to thaw and spoil. And if I took Fred’s advice seriously, I couldn’t leave it outside at night or wild animals would find it and drag it off.
Heading out the door, I hung a left toward the firewood instead of a right toward the snowdrift. It suddenly seemed more important to bring some wood in for the night. After several trips to the sorely depleted woodpile, I had a nice neat stack built up next to the cookstove. With that chore out of the way, I headed toward the drift. At some point in my train of thought, I decided to leave the wood over the windows for the night, and tackle that chore in the morning.
The drift was intimidating in size, and I backed away from it, working my way through the snow in front of the cabin until I was far enough back to appraise the situation. With a better view of the snowdrift, I decided that my best bet would be to climb up it to the roof of the cabin. Once up there, I figured I could push the snow off the roof with just using my hands and arms while clearing the chimney for the fireplace at the same time.
After several unsuccessful attempts before almost burying myself in the drift, I went looking around the woodpile for a shovel. After several minutes of fruitless foraging, I started wondering if he had stored all the tools together with the chainsaw. If I could just find the chainsaw, I would probably find the rest of the equipment, too. This didn’t necessarily mean that I would find a shovel. However, it would give me the chance to take stock of what I did have on hand for future use, in case I needed something.
Inside the one room cabin, it didn’t take much searching to discover the wooden box stashed beneath the cot. It was a fair sized locker; very similar in style to the footlocker that I’d had when I was in the Army. Having found it, I quickly grew excited with the anticipation of exploring its contents.
Dragging it out from under the cot, I noticed with some relief that it wasn’t locked. Throwing the lid back, the first thing I saw was a bright red chainsaw. Beneath it laid an axe, fuel, oil, and kerosene for the lantern. Last, but definitely not the least valuable of its contents, was a collapsible G.I. latrine shovel. It wasn’t much of a shovel, but it was better than nothing.
With the shovel in hand, I got to my feet and turned toward the door. As I passed the cookstove, I hesitated for a moment, contemplating fixing myself a cup of coffee. No sooner had the thought entered my head, however, than I worried that I didn’t have the fixings. Almost jokingly, I said aloud, “Sandy, you might just be getting a visitor yet.” It didn’t pass my notice that I was smiling at the thought as I headed back outside to tackle the snowdrift.
After more than two hours of strenuously throwing snow down off the roof, the light suddenly began to fade on me. By the time I’d scrambled down off the roof, it had already disappeared behind the hulking cliffs to the west. It had taken much longer than I had anticipated that it would. But then, I hadn’t figured on doing it with such a small shovel.
In the dark gloom of night, I stood back from the huge pile of snow that had landed to the left of the door, and checked my overall progress. Although I hadn’t reached the wood box, I had cleared the chimney sufficiently to use the fireplace. For now, that small accomplishment was satisfaction enough. Tomorrow, I could pick up where I’d left off.
With thoughts of a warm fire blazing in the hearth, getting out of my sweat soaked clothes, and getting into something dry, I was quickly drawn toward the door. Yet, even before I could get inside, I noticed that the coming darkness had brought snowflakes with it, and rapidly falling temperatures.
After closing the door tightly behind me, I hefted the wood I’d brought in earlier, from the cookstove over to the fireplace. There was a stack of faded yellow newspaper tucked neatly in the corner between the cookstove and the back wall. From this, I grabbed several layers and placed them around the wood in the fireplace. The wood was surprisingly well seasoned; it took off on my first attempt to light it. By now, though, the sweat covering my body was turning chilly, or I might have pondered the firewood longer. Even as a city boy, I knew that it took months for fresh wood to season.
Within minutes, the cabin was feeling much warmer inside. While it threw its heat outward, probing into the cold damp corners of the cabin, I dug in one of my boxes marked clothing. Retrieving a pair of dry denim jeans and a flannel shirt, I hesitated while debating whether I should put on thermal underwear first. If I dressed too warm now, I would never acclimate to the cold in the cabin. The sooner I acclimated, the sooner the cabin would feel comfortable to me, even when bathing. Moreover, it would mean using less firewood. And the less firewood I used equated to less physical labor and more free-time to think, which, when I got right down to it was the main reason I was here.
After donning the dry clothes and slippers, I hung the wet ones, along with my snowsuit, near the fire to dry. Exhausted, I turned toward the remaining boxes and contemplated putting the stuff away. Because the lantern wasn’t very bright, I considered waiting until morning. With the boards off the windows, much more light would come in, and the cabin would be a much brighter place.
With a shrug of defeat, I reached for the first box and begrudgingly opened it. My hunger and fatigue would have to wait just a short while longer; until I got my stuff unpacked, there wasn’t anything to eat. Nor were there any blankets for the cot; both of which, I was certain that I would need before morning.
As I came across bedding, I made the bed. When I came across foodstuffs, I replenished the shelves. It didn’t surprise me that there were items left behind from the last people to have stayed in the cabin, if what Fred had told me about their leaving was true. But that didn’t explain the large volume of items with old expiration dates.
It seemed strange to me that so many supplies had been left on the shelves, if the former occupants had really left at the end of the month, as Fred had clearly said they had. After a month of occupation, the supplies should have been almost depleted. And when he picked them up, there wouldn’t have been any reason to restock the shelves.
The only explanation that seemed to make any sense was if the former occupants had left near the middle of the month, and not at the beginning as he’d said. It didn’t make sense, and it meant Fred had lied to me.
That opened up many other trains of thought, none of which was very pleasant. And none of which instilled me with confidence in Fred’s eventual return. I quickly determined that these thoughts were better left undigested. It would be a long night, interrupted by many trips to replenish the fire. There would be plenty of time later to worry about all the different scenarios that explained the extra supplies. In the meantime, I would accept them and be glad of them.
The last box I came across contained my typewriter. I wasn’t sure what had possessed me to bring it; I hadn’t written anything since the tragedy. Unable to bring myself to face it now, I left it in its box and slid it into the corner by the faded stash of newspaper.
Turning back towards the center of the cabin, I realized that I needed to do something with my meat allotment. The cabin was feeling comfortably warm, and the snow had already melted off the packaging. Since I couldn’t leave it in the cabin to thaw, I would have to take it outside. Despite Fred’s warnings, I didn’t have any other choices. If the meat thawed, it would quickly spoil and become useless to me.
Slipping my boots and a sweatshirt on, I was suddenly struck with an inspiration. The s
now from the roof was more than eight-feet deep just outside the door. If I jammed the packages of meat into it, it would refreeze in no time. Moreover, because the snow was covered with my scent, any stray animals might not want to get to near to it. It should be safe for the night. In the morning, I’ll find the wood box and store it properly. One night in a snow bank won’t hurt it.
Stooping down, I picked up the mound of packages and then pulled the door open on the night. By the light that filtered out from the open doorway, I could see that the falling snow had grown much heavier in the last few hours. Already, there was nearly two new inches covering my tracks from earlier. In addition, the wind was starting to kick up. By morning, it could be a full-blown blizzard. I made a mental note to check the short-wave radio for a weather forecast later.
After stuffing the meat into the mound, I hurriedly worked my way around to the right hand side of the cabin. The cold quickly cut through my thin sweatshirt while the wind swirled its crisp fingers around my neck and down my collar, sending chills down my back. Grabbing an armload of wood to take back in with me for the night’s heat, I spun around toward the open doorway. Something caught my eye.
Looking in the direction that Fred had taken when he left that afternoon, I thought I glimpsed a dark shadow darting across the fresh snow. With a sinking feeling that made no sense to me, I noticed that the snow had completely obliterated any tracks left behind by the tractor. I couldn’t explain the feeling even to myself, since I knew it would be folly to attempt to follow the tracks and hike out on my own. The only justification I could give to the feeling was the finality the snowed-over tracks meant to my decision to be here. If anything, it said loud and clear that there was no going back.
The night was completely black, as the moon hadn’t risen yet. When it did, it would cast a slight glow through the heavy clouds before reflecting back off the snow-covered ground. Through the falling snow and the darkness, I strained my eyes for a minute in the direction that I’d thought I’d seen the shadow. The wind was biting through my sweatshirt, and now it was making my eyes water. Had I seen anything? I couldn’t be sure. Maybe it was just a trick of my eyes and nothing more. But even if it were something, that wasn’t any reason for concern. These were the mountains. This was the middle of the wilderness. There were probably a great number of animals out there in the dark. Some were being hunted, and some were hunting. It was just the nature of the beast.
With my armload of firewood, I made my way back into the cabin, and closed the door securely behind me. The exertion of the day was taking its toll on my neglected and malnourished body. Though I needed desperately to eat, I declined the food on the shelves, opting for a cigarette and instant coffee instead, which has become my life’s blood since the tragedy.
It took but a few minutes to heat the necessary water in a kettle set directly on the open flames of the fireplace. With a cup of coffee, I sat down on the edge of the cot and lit my first cigarette of the day. Inhaling deeply, I could feel the smoke coursing through my lungs, easing the worries and tension from my body as the drug stimulated my heart. Pulling my ditty bag closer to my feet, I set to removing my personal effects.
I removed the gun first, followed by the box of ammunition. Briefly, I considered keeping it loaded by the door in case of an emergency. Then, for unknown reasons, I decided just to leave it in the bag. Although I was many miles from civilization, there didn’t seem to be any immediate threat that would require such deadly force. The most immediate threat to my life was the weather, and magnum or not, the gun could do little to protect me from it.
Pulling my shaving kit from the bag reminded me of the cold air against my shaved skin that morning, and I quickly threw it back into the bag. Unless a beard became uncomfortable, I would forego shaving for a while.
I got out my toothbrush and toothpaste next and then zipped the bag back up and kicked it along the floor so that it lay in the corner by the head of the cot, next to the wood footlocker. It wasn’t the most accessible, but it was still within reach while lying on the cot.
Finishing the cigarette, I flipped the butt into the fireplace and watched as the heat slowly consumed it. Feeling weak and exhausted, I stumbled across the room and dropped the bar across the door. On my way back to the cot, I stopped and turned the lantern down. By the time I reached the cot, feeling my way along in the dark, I was already asleep.
That night, instead of the usual nightmare that haunted my dreams, my subconscious thoughts turned to a woman that I had met only once, and that meeting was much too short. Dreaming of Sandy, I got the first real night’s sleep that I had gotten since the tragedy, which happened many months before.
**3**
It was almost noon when I awoke the following day. The cabin had long since grown cold, and I felt a gnawing hunger in my gut. The wood that I had stacked near the fireplace the night before was still there; even the cold of the night hadn’t disturbed my long-overdue rest.
Because I’d neglected to turn the lantern completely down, it had smoldered all night, filling the cabin with a sooty smell and depleting the small reservoir of oil. Fortunately, I remembered where I’d set the jug of oil, and felt my way through the dark to the cookstove, and the oil on the back shelf. Within minutes, I had the lantern refilled and lighted. Leaving it lit on the stove, I hurried back to the cot and got back in between the blankets. Even in my stockinged feet, the cold planks felt like bare feet on ice.
Within minutes, my hunger got the better of me, and I was working up a blaze in the old cookstove. It took but a few minutes to get it going, once I got up the courage to leave the warmth of my bed for a second time. While warming my hands over the rapidly heating metal surface, I debated lighting the fireplace, too. The fireplace lost out however, as I determined to feed the hunger in me before it dissipated. I had not felt the need for food for so long that I had forgotten what the feeling was like. Since the tragedy, I had lost more weight than was healthy, but it isn’t easy eating when you have no desire for food. I’d been eating for the sole purpose of sustaining the life within me, not to nourish it.
With the fire going, it didn’t take long for the cabin to grow warm and the coffee to boil. Instinctively, I reached for my cigarettes, and then immediately pulled my hand back as if a snake had bitten it. I hadn’t started smoking until the tragedy, even though I knew Amy would not approve.
Acting rashly, I grabbed the pack and added them to the flames in the stove. Later, I vowed, I would find the rest of my stash and burn them also.
Warmed by the stove and the coffee, I decided to get dressed and bring in some bacon from my stash in the snowdrift. The thought of bacon and eggs frying was almost more than I could handle. With my mouth watering and my stomach growling with anticipation, I hurriedly pulled on my snowsuit and boots. Looking forward to the bright sunshine, I lifted the bar from the door. The thought of bacon frying was quickly becoming too much to resist, as I knew there was an abundance in my meat allotment. In fact, if I wasn’t mistaken, the bulk of my allotment was bacon.
As I pulled the door inward, I wasn’t prepared for what my eyes beheld. During the night, snow had piled up more than halfway up the doorjamb. Before I could leave the cabin, I would have to find the shovel and excavate a clearing. Fortunately, sometime during the night, the wind died down, and now the sun was shining brightly. From my vantage place in the doorway, I couldn’t see a single cloud in the clear blue sky.
Turning back into the cabin, I retrieved the little shovel from where I had left it the night before and started working my way out, being careful not to let the snow fall back into the cabin. While I worked, which took me better than an hour, I had to leave the door ajar. My precious heat from within the cabin quickly dissipated.
Out of breath and sweating despite the cold, I finally reached the remainder of the firewood stacked next to the east end of the cabin. Already, I felt exhausted, and I hadn’t even eaten yet. If I intended to live comfortably for the next month, I s
till needed to clear the wood box and cut more firewood. Looking at the small pile, most of which I would take back inside with me, my spirits flagged for a moment. My neglected body was feeling the effects of the laboring, and my mind was protesting what still needed doing.
But looking at it wasn’t getting the job done. Grabbing an armload of wood, I headed back inside the cabin and fixed me another hot cup of coffee. Within minutes, the funk that had threatened to settle over me was dissipating. The coffee was good, hot, and everything I needed for the moment.
While I drank my coffee, I suddenly remembered that my entire reason for having gone out in the first place was to fetch a slab of bacon, and my stomach was voicing its anger at my forgetfulness! Hurriedly, I drank down the coffee and forced myself back outside. The shovel was by the wood where I’d left it. With it grasped in both hands, I headed toward the drift next to the door, which had grown by more than three feet in height, and viciously attacked it.
Within minutes, my muscles were screaming with the renewed activity. Stepping back from it for a moment to catch my breath, I turned my attention to the wood covering the windows. Using the shovel as a pry bar, I quickly removed the panels from the windows. By standing them against the logs, I found I could push them down into the snow alongside the front of the cabin. If I needed them again, they would be close at hand.
By using handfuls of snow, I was able to semi-clean the exterior of the windows before picking up the shovel and returning to the drift that contained my sustenance. Hunger and exertion were taking their toll on my fatigued body; I needed desperately to eat. For just the briefest of moments, though, I leaned up against the wall of the cabin and breathed a deep resounding sigh. The amount of work that needed doing was overwhelming. For the first time in months, I had more to worry about than my mind could comprehend, and that gave me relief. The sun was shining, it was calm, the scenery was breathtaking, and there were fresh tracks leading away from the front of the cabin!