She knew there was no way I could get over so she went without me; she didn’t even have the guts to tell me. I move another few feet and then look again. The coat isn’t fully covering the barbs. My confused brain is unable to understand what that means. I do understand, though, that there is no way I’ll make it over. I start back down and consider my choices: sit down and die or go someplace and die. There doesn’t seem to be a “don’t die” option.
The gate. Which way is the gate? There’s probably no more than one chance in a million that I can get through the gate if I find it. I probably have a better chance of following the road back to the barn. Don’t sit down and die, Zach. It’s not over until it’s over and it’s not over until you’re dead.
My foot contacts something solid. I am on the ground. I jam my fingers under my armpits, stagger back a few feet and attempt to think about which way to follow the fence line.
Someone groans. I turn around and spot a piece of clothing sticking out of the snow. I get closer and find a leg attached to the clothing. It’s Tanya’s leg. The rest of her is buried, or being quickly covered by the snow fall. She groans again. I drop down next to her and brush away snow until I find her head. She is on her back; her body twisted. I dig around her and find that she landed on a log. I shouldn’t move her but then when it comes right down to it, we’re both dead anyway. I’m the walking dead and she’s the lying dead. It’s just a matter of time. I stand and then bend over to get a grip on her shoulders. Blood rushes to my head. The resulting pain is brief before my world fades away.
When I awake, I’m lying in the snow next to Tanya.
How long was I out? Is she dead? I struggle up so that I’m kneeling behind her and then dig under her shoulders and lift. She makes a very painful groan and then settles onto my lap. I take off my glove and wipe the snow from her face. My fingertips are white against her red skin. I realize two things immediately. First, she is alive. Second, if I live through this, I’ll lose my fingers. Lord, take my entire hand, but keep her alive.
Can I carry her? There is a very small part of me that is pessimistic. It’s buried quickly as I maneuver to sit her up, her back to the log on which she landed. She could have a broken back, broken ribs, broken anything and it wouldn’t make a bit of difference. It has to be done or death is certain. One of her hands is gloveless. The glove she dropped is barely visible under the snow. I retrieve it and put it back on her hand.
I get in front of her–crouched low so as not to get blood rushing to my head again–and start pulling her forward onto my shoulder. I’m cold and stiff but I feel strong, as long as I don’t have to feel my face. Once I’m sure I have her properly balanced, I begin pushing myself and my load to my feet. When I get there my head is fuzzy and pounding. I stand still until the fuzziness dissipates and the pounding eases and then begin walking, keeping the fence to my left. I pray I’m going in the right direction. I’ve found over the years that when I hike I have a tendency to wander to the left, like a car that pulls to the left when you let loose of the steering wheel, so it would only be logical that that is the direction I went when we left the road.
I use the fence for balance and as a guide so I don’t get myself wandering off into the wrong direction again. But my mind isn’t always with my task and I find myself drifting away from the fence several times. The second time I totally lose sight of it. It bothers me that I cannot remain focused. Am I becoming delirious? I turn left and get myself back to the fence in short order.
Touch the fence . . . touch the fence . . . touch the fence. I say those words in my head over and over until I stumble up onto the road and discover the fence is nowhere in sight. I drifted away once more despite my mantra. I know it’s the road because there are truck tracks in the snow. I stare at them a long time, trying to understand why that’s strange. I give up and step into one of the tracks and start walking.
Touch the fence . . . touch the fence . . . touch the fence.
It’s hard walking in the tracks with Tanya over my shoulder. I need to switch shoulders, but I’m afraid that once I put her down, there will be no picking her back up.
Touch the fence . . . touch the fence . . . touch the fence.
I stop and consider if I’m going in the right direction. My mind clears for just a few seconds and I understand that I did, in fact, turn correctly, and I also know I don’t need to be thinking touch the fence any more. I continue forward and wonder if I’ll ever see Becky and Christi again. A picture of them forms in my mind and I keep on struggling forward.
Touch the fence . . . touch the fence . . . touch the fence.
Light! Suddenly I can see more than what’s within a few feet of me, even with the heavy snowfall. Is it becoming daylight? Could that much time have passed? The light is moving and I become aware that it is headlights and they’re behind me. Get out of the way and then flag them down. I turn around to face the lights–two glows suspended in the snow. I cannot see the vehicle. Move! Get out of the way! My inner voice is screaming at me from somewhere inside my pounding head. Flag them down! I carelessly rush off the road. The road here is on a rise. I stumble and pitch forward. Protect her. Don’t let her get hurt anymore.
We drop like two sacks of potatoes. She goes one way and I slide and tumble until my feet strike something. For a few seconds I swim in multicolored swirls of pain which soon turn to black.
Chapter 32
When I become aware again, I’m on my back. I don’t feel snow falling on my face. I open my eye, blink several times, but see nothing. Am I totally blind now? I don’t hear anything either. Am I dead? I roll to my side and then to my hands and knees. If I’m dead then there is snow in heaven, or hell as it may be. It’s not deep, but it’s definitely there. I feel around for Tanya but find nothing but more snow. I start to rise and my head strikes something. I drop back to my hands and knees. I’m not dead. One of the signs of death is no pain, I’ve been told anyway, and there is still plenty of that. When the pain eases I feel above me. I’m under a tree.
I feel around until I conclude which way is out and then crawl in that direction. I remember tumbling off the road and being unable to control Tanya and then falling past her. I surmise that I went farther down the bank than she, and thus under the tree, so I start feeling my way up. It suddenly occurs to me to open my eye. That reminds me of a Three Stooges comedy routine where Curly is screaming, “I’m blind! I’m blind!” Moe knocks him alongside the head and says, “Open your eyes, Stupid.”
If it didn’t hurt, I’d laugh.
I see a dark area about six feet up the bank. I struggle toward it but the snow gets deep rather quickly. It takes me a minute or two to dig my way close enough to see it is Tanya. She is face up, pointed down the slope. I grab the hood of her coat and drag her down through the snow and underneath the tree.
I have no more energy, no more drive, and no more self preservation. Survival of the fittest! I know where I fit in that hierarchy. I sit with my back against the tree and Tanya’s head in my lap. I don’t know if she’s alive. In a way I pray she isn’t, that she has been lifted of her pain and misery and taken to God’s house. I can’t feel her breathing or her heartbeat. I can only feel the constant pounding in my head as I sit and await my own peaceful sleep.
Chapter 33
There is no animal that considers the next meal more than does Smilodon, and who communicates with its brethren more effectively.
–from the journals of Zechariah Price
“You do not like green eggs and ham?” Christi asks.
“I do not like them, Sam-I-Am.”
“Could you, would you, with a goat?” A brilliant white rope leads from her hand to the collar of a goat.
“I would not, could not, with a goat!”
“Could you, would you, with a mouse?” Now the goat has turned into a mouse.
“I would not, could not, with a mouse!”
“Could you, would you, with a fox?” A fox appears at the end of her lead in place of the mouse
.
“I would not, could not, with a fox?”
“Could you, would you, with a sabre-toothed cat?”
I come awake, I think? I try to open my eyes but I can’t. They must be frozen shut now.
I listen. There is no sound.
I feel. There is no pain.
I’m dead!
Where’s the white light?
Where are Grandpa Price and Great Aunt Myrtle? Aunt Myrtle said she’d be waiting for me. Can one think when he’s dead? Maybe I’m not dead yet.
I reach for Tanya. She’s gone. I can move my arms, but there is something over my hands and I don’t think they’re gloves. I rest for a few seconds; moving my arms is very tiring.
There’s a noise that moves from one side of me to the other. I try to turn my head to follow but my head doesn’t move; instead there is a flash of pain. It’s not nearly as bad as it was though. It settles quickly and I try rotating my head the other way. Again no motion, only pain. I bring my hands up to my head but they are stopped. Something is stopping my hands from getting close to my face. An invisible barrier, or at least invisible in my blind state. I feel all around it but I cannot envision what it is. I try grabbing it and lifting it away. My head lifts with it and a dozen of those red hot spikes drop me back to motionless.
I awake again. I feel the barrier around my head. This time I don’t panic. My conclusion is that I’m in a hospital bed. The hospital smell gives it away. I can’t see. I can’t talk. I can’t hear.
I can smell. Is that a consolation?
Where is Tanya? Is she alive?
I bring my hands together and try to understand what has been done with them. I remember seeing the white finger tips and realize they may now be gone. I move my feet and conclude my toes are much the same. How does one live with stubs for fingers and toes and three out of the five senses gone?
Throw me back out in the snow and let me die. Is there a plug somewhere I can pull?
“Mister Price.”
A voice! I can hear! Her voice is muffled as though I have pillows over my ears.
“Move your hand if you can hear me.”
I do not recognize the voice. I move my hand.
“Good. Just rest for right now. Someone will be in to talk to you shortly. I’ll contact them and let them know you’re awake. Do you have pain anywhere?”
How am I supposed to answer that?
“I’m sorry. Move your right for yes, your left for no.”
I move my left.
“Good. You’re being given morphine.”
I raise both hands. What’s wrong with me? Am I permanently blind and dumb?
“I know you have lots of questions.”
No Shit!
“Someone will be in to talk to you. I’ll go make the call.”
Someone who? You’re not saying the doctor will be in. You’re saying someone.
“I’m leaving now.”
Who is the someone? Am I in a hospital, or am I in the maternity ward at Sans Sanssabre? Who found me? How did they find me? Where’s Tanya?
The silence is paralyzing. Do they know what they’re doing to me? Much more of this and they might as well transfer me to the nut ward.
The next thing I know I’m waking up again. I didn’t know I went back to sleep. Like before I’m not certain I’m awake. I only have the antiseptic smell to clue me in. I don’t think I smell in my dreams.
I raise a hand and let it fall. Is there anyone here to notice? I hear nothing. Am I alone or is someone here, but looking elsewhere? I raise and drop my hand again. If this is Sans Sanssabre there may be a camera and someone watching from a distance. I alternate between one hand and the other every few seconds. I continue this for several minutes. I hear a noise, a door maybe.
“Mister Price.”
A male voice this time; not one I recognize; slight accent; German maybe, or at least European. I raise my hand.
“Good afternoon.”
Afternoon? What day?
“I am Doctor Weiss. Do you feel any pain?”
There is a slight ache at the back of my neck. No big deal. I’d rather get on to other things. I raise my left hand.
“I assume that means no.”
I raise my right hand.
“And that means yes.”
My right hand again.
“Good. You’re mentally alert. That is very good. I’m sure you are loaded with questions so I’ll try to anticipate what those are. I’m not going to pull any punches, Mister Price. You’re in bad shape.”
Were you Sherlock in your previous life?
“You weren’t far from dead when they brought you in. If it were up to me we would have flown you out to Seattle, but apparently there’s some kind of situation here, so here you are. I’m only equipped to handle births and any possible delivery complications. You see, Mister Price, I’m the OBGYN here at Sans Sanssabre.”
So with all our efforts, we got nowhere. Why are they letting me live? Where is Tanya?
“In laymen’s terms, your hands, or precisely your fingers–toes too by the way–are immersed in a regenerating fluid. It’s a development of Doctor Zitnik’s that is yet unproven. If it doesn’t work we’ll have to remove several, if not all, of your fingers and toes.”
I’m a guinea pig.
“I’m afraid there is nothing we can do to save your right eye. Whatever you ran into or fell into did a terrible number on your face. You’re lucky to be alive. As a matter-of-fact I’m surprised you are alive.”
So am I, Doctor. What else is wrong with me?
“Are you still with me?”
I raise my hand.
“Your face was penetrated in five places, two major and three minor; minor means that you will heal but there will be scaring, unless of course Doctor Zitnik’s experiment works. His formula is also being applied to those wounds. Of the two major wounds, one is your eye.”
There is a pause. I get the feeling he doesn’t want to tell me something, or he doesn’t know how. I’m not so sure I want to know either.
“I said I’d be straight with you, so here it is. A stick, to put it plainly, penetrated your eye. At some point it was pulled out, or you pulled away from it, and your eye went with it.”
My stomach twists into a knot.
“You now only have an empty socket. But don’t worry, your other eye is undamaged. We made no effort in our bandaging to keep it uncovered seeing as you would be out for a while. We’ll be checking your wounds shortly and will restore your vision to your left eye at that time.”
There is another pause. I try to force myself to take it lightly, but it’s not easy. I think of the song, I Left My Heart In San Francisco, and then come up with, I Left My Eye In Montana. My writer personality starts to store that away for future use and then I remember what I saw impaled on one of the sticks poking up in the snow . . . my frozen, bloody eyeball.
“Shall I go on, Mister Price?”
I force my mind away from the memory and give the yes nod with my hand.
“The final penetration tore up your upper lip, took out three teeth and pinned your tongue to the roof of your mouth. We had to remove it.”
Remove what? The tongue, the roof of my mouth or the stick?
“You’ll heal but it’ll be a while before you do any talking. I doubt your tongue will return to its previous self, so you’ll likely be left with a speech impediment. I’d recommend a speech therapist.”
I’m half blind with no fingers or toes, and I’ll have a lisp and will whistle through the gaps where my teeth used to be. Is that it?
“Oh! You also frostbit your ears. Zitnik’s formula is being used there too, as well as the tip of your nose.”
No ears or nose either. I’m feeling very tired now, but I want to know what happened to Tanya. If she’s alive I’ll accept my new face with joy. If she’s dead I may as well poke out my other eye and go all the way to the brain while I’m at it.
“We have your head stabilized so that
you don’t injure yourself in your sleep. I’ll consider removing that in the morning as well. That’s about it. How long before you’re on your feet will depend on how well you heal and how well Doctor Zitnik’s formula works. I have no opinion either way, however early prognosis does look promising. I’m going to leave you with that. I’d ask you if you have any questions, however . . .” He laughs.
Is he aware that I don’t think it’s funny? I only have one question, Doctor Weiss. Where’s Tanya?
“I’ll talk with you in the morning.”
I lay for some time wondering if he has left. When I finally conclude he has, I’m glad. What’s the point of hearing anymore of his words if he isn’t going to tell me about my wife? It would have to be the worst, otherwise he would have said something, wouldn’t he have? It’s the only thing I can think of and it’s turning my stomach over and over. I reach up and try moving whatever is holding my head still. I get a flash of pain as my reward. It dies quickly and then I think about what I’m going to do if Tanya is dead. Who’s going to tell her mom or her sister? Who’s going to tell her daughters, our daughters? How am I going to take care of them with one eye and no fingers. They’ll be embarrassed to call me their dad, and to be seen with me, the man with no ears, half a nose and scars all over his face and who talks like a retard. My dad, the retarded invalid.
Will I be allowed to keep my daughters? Will I be considered incompetent? All of it is my fault. I had to go off and chase my dream. None of this would have happened if I had stayed at home like a proper husband and father. What in the hell got into me?
I continue to beat up on myself until my brain goes fuzzy. Sleep–that wonderful escape. I accept it, and as I do, slip in a wish that I never awake.
Chapter 34
I awake five or six times. Each time I lie in dark silence with my thoughts of guilt and self loathing. The time in between could be minutes or hours or days, however Doctor Weiss did say I’d get my sight, what’s left of it, restored in the morning. When is morning? How many more cycles of sleep and consciousness must I go though? Maybe he changed his mind and it actually has been several days.
Sabre-Toothed Cat Trilogy Page 28