I thought about it for a few minutes, everybody else was silent, pondering. Finally I spoke. “Hey old man,” I said to my uncle, “what about the Gator?”
He said, “Yeah, I was thinking about that. If time wasn’t an object, you could just take a chainsaw with you and cut your way around or through the fallen trees, but that could take you days to get all the way up there, heck, it would be quicker walking.”
“I could take the stump jumpers,” I replied.
Uncle Andy thought about it for a moment and said, “Well, at the very least it may save you a couple miles of walking.”
Doc was looking confused so I said to him, “Doc, I can get there . . . but my real concern is getting her back. Even for me, hiking from the cabin all the way up that road, and then cutting cross country through the brush to find where the helicopter landed is going to take awhile, two to three days at least. Then you have to figure in that if her information was accurate, she can be anywhere in a roughly ten square mile area. Now I can probably eliminate a lot of that area just based on its inaccessibility, but we’re still talking a big search area. What Uncle Andy and I were talking about was taking his Gator—basically it’s a six wheeled, four-wheel-drive utility vehicle—as far up the logging road as I can to save time. The problem with that are the trees across the road. I either have to go around them if possible, or take a chainsaw and cut through them. That part of the idea is an unknown; there could be fifty trees across to the logging road in the first mile, or I may not run into any for ten miles. The ‘stump jumpers’ that I mentioned are an idea that my uncle came up with a few years ago. Basically it’s four boards—two by twelve’s—eight feet long each. Instead of spending an hour cutting through a big tree, you spend five minutes cutting through some of the limbs that stick up and then set two of the stump jumpers on each side of the main trunk. They’re kind of like ramps that allow you to drive up and over the fallen tree. They don’t always work in every situation, but they saved us a heck of a lot of time in the past.”
“Take me with you,” said Doc.
I shook my head. “No, you’d only slow me down.”
Michelle looked at me and said, “I’m going with you.”
I shook my head again, wheels turning, the internal chess match trying to think several moves ahead. “No, you have another important job to do; you need to go get those radios.”
Her eyes sank, but she knew I was right. A third shake of my head snapped out the weariness and I said, “Doc, I’ll go look for Emily. You need to stay here and help Amy and Sally get this campground ready for . . . everything.”
My uncle put his hand on my shoulder. “Well in that case, I’m going with you.”
“Nope, you’re going with Michelle.” He started to argue but quickly saw the wisdom in what I suggested.
We were all silent for a few more minutes, everybody lost in their own mixture of adrenaline withdrawal and tiredness. Finally Michelle stood up and said, “We need to get going.” I shut down my laptop, unplugged the power cord and walked out to my truck. Doc asked me to wait a minute while he ran to his RV. He came back a few minutes later with a little nylon pouch. I didn’t open it, just waited for him to explain.
“There are several different types of medicine in here, antibiotics, painkillers, an EpiPen for potential allergic reactions, Tylenol, a few others. Just in case.”
I nodded and climbed into my truck, Michelle was already in the passenger side. Before I shut my door Doc leaned toward me, offering his hand. I shook it as he said, “Thank you,” over and over again.
We made it back to Walter’s house around 9:45 PM. I had to run back down to the marina with the keys to let Max out. He was both happy to see me and pissed that he was inside for so long. When I returned to the house, Bernice had a big supper of biscuits, rice, and venison all ready for us. As we ate, we made plans for the next few days. I would head back to the cabin tonight, and tomorrow morning I’d pack up the Gator and start the search for Emily. Also leaving tomorrow morning would be Michelle and Uncle Andy. They’d be heading to her office, picking up the radios and whatever else may be of use, then on to her house a few miles away to pick up “stuff”, as she put it. Walter and Bernice would be staying in this area, helping out at the campground as needed.
Michelle and Uncle Andy walked me out to my truck, all three of us quietly considering the risks we were about to undertake. Max was pacing back and forth along the truck, sensing that tension.
“Uncle Andy, hold on to my shotgun, but make sure you take extra ammo for it, a lot of ammo,” I looked at Michelle and said, “What about you, how many spare mags do you have?” She was about to answer when my uncle interrupted with, “Eric, we’ll have plenty of ammo with us, remember, I’ve been saving up for a rainy day.”
I continued after nodding, “Don’t take any chances—get in, get out, come home. Your lives are a lot more valuable than those radios. And just . . . just be careful OK.”
Michelle said, “About the radios, I doubt if you’re going to have a signal all the way up there, the repeater towers are kind of sparse in that area. Take one of the portables with you, put fresh batteries in before you go, but don’t count on it. When we make it back from our trip we’ll try and contact you.”
“Good idea,” I said, but added, “Just remember, don’t worry if I don’t answer. Like you said, it’s unrealistic to expect I’d have a signal all the way up there. And . . .” I emphasized that word, drawing it out . . . “don’t do anything stupid like trying to come after me. I’ll be fine, OK? . . . OK?” I repeated it again until they agreed. “All right, I need to get going.”
Uncle Andy gave me a quick hug; Michelle’s lasted longer.
I opened the door and Max jumped in the front seat. I followed him in and turned the key. The engine caught and rumbled to life, growling like an angry bear awoken too soon from hibernation. A glance at the faintly glowing amber instrument panel showed an outdoor temperature that was still hovering around forty degrees, but my tiredness was making me feel it more.
“Do you still remember the combination to my gun safe?” Uncle Andy asked. I nodded. “Take whatever you think you’ll need.”
I shook my head and answered, “I’m traveling fast and light for this, I probably won’t even take the CZ.”
“What do you have in mind?” he asked.
“Probably just the 10/22 with the folding stock in my BOB.”
Uncle Andy scratched his head and yawned as he replied. “Yeah, that would be a good idea, fast and light.”
He thumped the side of my truck and said goodbye again as I was pulling out. Michelle stood there, unsuccessfully trying to hide a worried look on her face as I headed down the driveway.
So there you have it Mr. Recorder, that was today, or rather yesterday, since it’s now almost 1:00 AM. I’m tired, I’m tired of talking, I’m just . . . tired. Good night.
Chapter 14
April 21st
*click*
I am packed and loaded. It’s about 9:30 AM, and I’ve only been up for about an hour. That’s OK, I’d rather be well rested and a little late getting started then on time and tired. The Gator runs on diesel; it’s got a ten gallon tank which should be plenty to get up there and back several times over, but that’s assuming a straight uninterrupted run. I’m taking another five gallons with me. I’ve got the stump jumpers packed, and I’ve checked what Uncle Andy calls the “crash kit.” That’s basically a field repair kit for the Gator—tire plugs, fix a flat, basic tools—stuff like that. My main backpack is also in the cargo section, wrapped in a garbage bag in case it rains. The pack itself is made by Osprey, and fully loaded it tips the scales at just under thirty-two pounds, not including any water in the hydration bladder. Do you remember way, way back almost four days ago when I didn’t have a care in the world and was planning on going camping for a month? Yeah, me either. Anyhow, where was I. Oh yeah, the Gator. I’ve also got a chainsaw, extra chains, gas, and bar oil stowe
d, as well as a nylon tow strap. The front of the Gator has a medium duty winch mounted on it, really just enough to help it along if it got buried in the mud, but its real use, as we found out a few years ago, was pulling some trees out of the way. I hope I don’t have to do that too many times though. The weather this morning is cold and clear, the outdoor thermometer on the cabin porch showed twenty-nine degrees when I got up. It feels like it’s going to warm up though. I took a long hot shower a few minutes ago, shaved and changed into clean clothes. Max is bouncing off the walls. He loves going camping. Heck . . . if I even touch my backpack at home he starts whining. Well, I think we’re both ready so I’m going to head out.
*click*
Whoops, my last minute mental checklist pointed out some glaring omissions. I had to go back inside the cabin, fire up my laptop and hook it up to Uncle Andy’s printer. I opened up the GPS mapping program again and printed off several pages, both satellite images and topographical maps from several different viewing heights. I also remembered this time to grab my GPS unit that I had left sitting on the breakfast table . . . twice.
*click*
Damn it, why is it always something. Like I need more problems in my life right now. Grrrrr . . . So I got my maps and GPS and went over my checklist . . . again. As far as I could tell I was officially ready to go. I powered up the GPS unit and waited . . . it normally takes a minute or two for it to lock on with enough satellites for a position fix. Five minutes later I was still waiting. Two minutes after that it finally said “ready to navigate,” I was about to change displays so I could get to the correct screen and enter in the coordinates where I’d need to get off of the logging road. My eyes went wide and I did a double take, looking again at the unit, not believing what I was seeing. Normally, once the unit has a position fix it will give an “accuracy” number at the bottom. It’s basically a variable distance based on the signal strength of the satellites and any interference, like tree cover or power lines. On the model of GPS I have, the accuracy as usually somewhere between ten and twenty feet. It was reading “accuracy 2477 feet.”
*click*
It’s a little after 1:00 PM and I’m stopping for a quick lunch. The GPS accuracy is still reading in the thousands of feet. I turned it off and on several times, the only thing that changed was it picked up the satellites a little bit faster. Crap . . . well it can’t be helped. If I figure that I actually left the cabin at about 10:00 AM, in three hours I’ve gone about five and a half miles. Not too good. The trees that I’ve cut through—so far about a dozen—won’t have to be cut again on my return trip, so that ought to speed things up on the way back. I stumped jumped eight to ten more also. Max has been having a ball though, jumping over fallen trees, chasing rabbits into brush piles, generally raising Cain in a good way . . . he needed to burn off some energy. I wish I could say the same. Cold pop tarts, a granola bar and a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos—yummy. Well my five minute lunch is over. Max has blood on his muzzle and a big smile on his face so I’d imagine his lunch is over as well. The temperature is up to over fifty now, still blue skies. Gotta hit the road.
*click*
Decision time. I’m about eight miles further up the road, and there is what looks like an avalanche of trees across my path. Not a real avalanche, it just looks like where maybe half of the hillside decided to fall all at once, probably during an ice storm last winter. Max and I have been exploring this clog, looking for the easiest way through. There isn’t one. No matter which way I slice it, it’s going to take me several hours at least to make a passable, um . . . “passage” through here. I looked with binoculars up the road and from my vantage point, it would seem that I have about a mile of clear trail on the other side of this logjam. At least from what I can tell with binoculars. So like I said, decision time. Do I lose a couple hours cutting through this mess to gain a mile of potentially clear road? Or do I cut my losses, park the Gator and hoof it? I guess it’s really a no brainer. Breaking out the backpack. Later.
*click*
OK it’s a little after dark now . . . I’ve used my GPS to get to the point where the logging road comes closest to the clearing that the helicopter landed in, about five miles west of me. Five hard miles. Plus or minus over 2000 feet of accuracy. Five miles of brush, swamps, briars and bears, oh my. I’m camping along the logging road for tonight. The tent is up, fire is going, extra wood is stacked. Life is good. Until I think about why I’m here and what has happened in the past few days. Crap. I’ve got water boiling for the Mountain House beef stew that I’m having for supper. Max is going to get dry dog food mixed with warm water. He actually likes it a lot. Well, not as much as he likes raw meat or Uncle Andy’s flap jacks though. It’s a beautiful night, crystal clear skies with stars glittering like . . . glitter. I never was a poet. There is a small stream nearby, and I’m going to refill my water before I leave tomorrow morning. My plans, such as they are at this point, is to get up early, pack and head west through the brush and briars, and oh yeah, did I mention bears. Max keeps looking towards the stream. Probably just a deer. Probably.
April 22nd
*click*
It’s April 22nd, 6:30 AM, it’s starting to get a little cloudy, although the temperatures didn’t drop much during the night . . . it’s still around forty-five degrees. I slept really good last night, and I feel awake and energized. Max started a low growl sometime in the middle of the night. Whatever heard him must have decided that there were easier prospects for food then inside the dark green tent. I think I was asleep by 7:00 PM last night. Put me in a tent in the middle of nowhere on a cool night with the owls hooting all around, and I’ll be out like a light before you know it. I got out of the tent around 5:30 AM, dug a little trench up in the brush and used the facilities, then washed up with some anti-bacterial baby wipes I brought with me. Useful little things, although the ones I brought make me smell like a nursery. After cleaning up I lowered the food compartment of my backpack down from the tree limb where I had hung it out of the reach of bears. That’s one of the things I love about my Osprey backpack. It’s built as a modular system, with three separate sections. You can run with all three for extended trips or mix and match as the situation arises. I keep all edible things in the center compartment, that way I’ve got the rest of my supplies in the tent with me and I can hang the center section up off the ground out of the reach of bears. Truth be told I do have some small consumables in the top section as well—tea bags, foil packed instant soup, a few pieces of hard candy—that sort of thing. After reattaching the center section I grabbed my water filter from the upper compartment and refilled my supply from the stream. Instead of building a fire I used my trusty Pocket Rocket stove to heat up some water . . . it’s a lot quicker. When it was hot, half of it went on Max’s breakfast and the other half I added to an instant oatmeal packet for me. As soon as I finish packing I’m heading west. As a side note, just for grins I tried the radio last night—nothing—I’m too far out I guess. Or maybe they weren’t listening.
*click*
OK, according to my maps and intuition, the clearing should be less than a mile ahead. I’ve been trying to skirt the edge of this small ravine that works its way in the general direction I’d like to go. Thank goodness for TOPO maps. It’s a little after 11:00 AM, and I’ve been making progress steadily, backtracking occasionally to get around some of the more impenetrable thickets and swamps. I’ve seen several fresh piles of bear scat, and about an hour ago something large crashed through the brush heading away from us, I never saw what it was though. Max is shadowing me. When he was a puppy, the wolf part of him started showing through and he would circle around me at a distance of fifty to one hundred feet or so, “play stalking” me. That game gradually turned into one of his commands: “shadow.” When I tell Max to “shadow” he’ll roam around me, not always keeping me in sight, but always in his range of awareness. He also knows “guard the truck, easy, tight, wait, no, and protect.” When I whistle he comes, always. The comma
nd “tight” is like shadow, but he stays a lot closer. “Protect” is as of yet untested. When I give that command he’ll crouch and growl, lips curled back exposing his teeth. It’s truly frightening if he’s looking at you. He’s also very good with a few hand signs. “Wait, down, and come” are the three he knows best. Max has never been to any type of obedience school or law enforcement canine training center, he’s all natural. I’d much rather have a dog with a free spirit and a lot of heart than perfect obedience. I think I’ve hit the mark with Max. After a quick lunch of soup for me and some dry dog food for Max I’m going to push through again.
*click*
Well I started to record this and then noticed that the low battery icon was flashing, so I had to switch out with some new AAA’s. However I’m at the clearing. The GPS was practically useless in the thick brush, so once the ravine petered out I kept shooting lines at 280 degrees with my compass, putting me a little north of due west. I figured if I was going to miss the clearing, it would be better to miss it on the north side than on the south. It was so doggone thick and swampy in there I was half a wandering if I’d end up camping in the brush for the night. It made using a compass almost as bad as the GPS. No major casualties—unless you count the smashed radio. Right before the ravine ended I took a water break. When I went to take off my pack, I must have bumped it against a tree branch, and that was enough to knock off the radio that I had clipped there. Anyway, it fell and hit a rock. Figures. When I picked it up, it was making a strange jingle, like some BB’s in a tin can. And it wouldn’t turn on. The case is intact, but I must have knocked something loose inside of it. Maybe my uncle can fix it . . . he’s always been a whiz with stuff like that. Anyhow, I’m at the clearing . . . and I know they didn’t stay here, the question is where did they go. My plan is to travel north. Now that I’ve broken through most of the thickest stuff, what lies ahead should be fairly easy going. According to my maps, the first of several small lakes should be directly north of me. If I don’t find her there, I’m going to set up my camp and reevaluate. The cloud cover is thickening a bit and the occasional breeze is getting slightly stronger, something may be brewing.
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