6 March 2012

Bud did not wake for some time and with Liz and the baby sleeping, as well, Susan took the opportunity to try and engage Einar in a serious conversation about what he might do to alleviate some of the inevitable difficulties that would come with his making an effort to eat more and bring himself back from the starved state that had so nearly taken his life over the past months, and though Einar believed himself pretty well versed in such things, he gave her his full attention. Couldn’t hurt to get another perspective on things. And Susan certainly had a perspective. Had, he came to find out, been waiting to share it with him since his first and only visit to her house many, many months before when he and Liz had briefly stayed there early that past spring, and now with nothing to hold her back, she made sure he was well aware of the perceived seriousness of his situation, and all the steps he needed to take in order to remedy it.

Only trouble was that she seemed to want his participation, not just his ears, and that was proving more than a bit difficult, weary, cold and shaky as he remained. Mind wanted to wander as he listened, eyes to search out the intricate detail of spruce bark and carpenter ant trail on bare wood which graced the opposite wall, plumb their depths and lose himself for a time in the soft crackling of the fire, but this did not satisfy Susan, who apparently wanted some sign that he was not only hearing her, but heeding. Resolving to act. Yes, he smiled at her--pleasant face she had; he’d never really noticed that before, soft, kind eyes but deep with a wisdom that does not come without great cost, gentle but resolute face ringed with silver-frosted black curls, a real, genuine, earthy look about her, someone he could probably get to know and like, given the opportunity--I will act. I will do that. But she seemed to want specifics. Couldn’t blame her. He liked specifics, too. She was waiting.

“Guess I may have kinda dozed off there for a second or two, not really sure what the question may have been…”

“With your eyes open? You’re dozing with your eyes open? You look wide awake, to me…”

“Oh, you’d be surprised. Fella gets pretty good at dozing with both eyes open, one ear to the ground and the other to the sky under certain circumstances, and it’s a habit that never goes away. Only way you can hope to get any rest at all, lots of times.”

“Yes, I’m sure that’s true. If you need to be sleeping right now I don’t want to prevent you, but I was just saying how it would be a good idea if you had a plan to help reduce the swelling in your legs and everything as you start to get more to eat, since it sounded like that swelling was a major reason you quit eating again, last time. The trouble it gave you with movement, and the pain…and I was asking if you had any ideas.”

“Oh. Yeah, used juniper berries once or twice, last time. Those things work, help a lot of that extra fluid to come out but they make me pretty sick at the same time, so much that it’s hardly worth it if I had to do it more than a time or two. Kinda hard on my kidneys, too. I could feel it.”

“Yes, I’m sure it would be after a day or two, and your kidneys are going to have to be working hard enough, just filtering everything out as you start eating again. If you’re finding that your legs and things swell easily right now, that may be a sign that your kidneys are already under a lot of strain…yes? You’re nodding…”

“Yeah, I know that’s a concern. Had a lot of trouble at the start of the winter, some pretty scary stuff where it seemed things were starting to shut down, but it passed. Don’t figure I can use the juniper too often, though. Got to limit it to every once in a while.”

“Well then, I wanted to suggest you try dandelion root sometimes, because it’ll have a similar effect without being so harsh on your kidneys…though of course dandelions are a little hard to come by this time of year, with the ground all frozen solid and covered under several feet of snow! What about Oregon grape, though? I see that you and Liz managed to harvest and save a good quantity of those bright yellow roots…what for? Their antibiotic properties?”

“Yeah. The berberine in those roots has saved my life more than once, I’m pretty certain. Used it every day for long periods of time when I lost my toes, have used it to treat cuts and things for Liz, too, and as a wash for her since the birth. And I used it to help shorten the course of a bout of Giardia that I ended up with once, a good while ago…it did help.”

“Right. But you know, it’ll help that extra fluid pass, too. Might be a little hard on your kidneys just like the juniper, but at least you could alternate the two, maybe, to make things a little easier on your body. And spend a good bit of time with your feet up, too, during the worst of it. That’ll probably help as much as anything, really, but I’m guessing that’s going to be a hard one for you to do, isn’t it?”

Einar laughed, shook his head and scrubbed a hand across his face. “That one’s not happening, no. Not likely. I can’t sit still like that, not for anything.”

“Not to save your life? So you’ll be around for that little boy over there…”

“I don’t think it’s a matter of life and death whether or not I sit around with my feet up! No, sure don’t think so.”

“It might be. If you stop eating again because of the trouble you have with your legs and things as you start getting more nutrition, that may well be the end for you. Your body can’t take much more of this. I see you. I think if you let me take your pulse right now, I’d feel all sorts of irregular beats, slowing down and speeding up, things like that, wouldn’t I? And even when it’s not irregular, it’s scary slow, and getting slower. Yeah, I thought so. You know that’s not normal, don’t you? This needs to be resolved. You need to do whatever it takes to turn things around. I know it’s going to be difficult, but you’re not a guy who backs down from a challenge, I’m real sure of that. You’ll manage this, and you’ll do it for that little guy over there, and for his mother. Right?”

Einar nodded, got to his feet and took another small helping of soup. Didn’t figure it would be anything near that simple, but yeah, he’d do it. Had to do it. Had traplines to run with little Will, an entire world to show him, and as he watched the sleeping forms of mother and child, seeming to breathe in concert though Liz’s breaths were, he knew, far deeper and slower than those of the infant, he was so overcome with love for them and with a soaring sense of joy at the thought of that child’s future up in his own beloved hills that when he turned back to Susan, it was with tears in his eyes. He didn’t need to speak, for she read the message loud and clear. Wished Liz was awake to do the same, but had no doubt that she would be seeing a good bit of it, in the days to come.

Comments from 5 March

Anonymous said…

Thanks FOTH, looks like a successful rescue has helped slay some of the demons of a long ago failure.

Mike

That may be.

Sixfifty said…

Thank you, FOTH, for the wonderful chapters. I am overjoyed to see Einar aware of his condition and willing to start healing himself

Sixfifty

He’s probably headed in the right direction, at least. Thanks for reading!

philip checking in....

was off line a whole week from now, due to changing location IN the house.....

I still lack the ability to move back into small beginnings.

More as I know of it...

Philip

Philip, I hope things are going alright for you--good to hear from you! Look forward to hearing more soon.

Nancy1340 said…

Nice change in E's attitude. Thanks.

Thanks for reading!

5 March 2012

Bud Kilgore’s leg was broken. Susan, inspecting it, had little doubt and neither did Bud once she started poking, prodding and gently manipulating the limb. It was the same leg he’d injured more than a year previously, and though the break seemed to be fairly minor and uncomplicated--not even needing to be set, really; Susan believed the break to be only in one of the bones, the smaller one, his biggest problem at the moment being the swelling--they both knew that it presented a major challenge when it came to the two of them walking out of there. Which left Bud a good bit more ornery than his usually-ornery self, grumbling and groaning as he finished warming by the fire. The process took him a while, body temperature having begun to dip somewhat dangerously during the last half of the long haul up from the basin, but he was strong, well-fed and had been protected not only by his layers of warm, waterproof clothing but by the reasonably generous layer of fat which his body always packed on at the start of the winter months, and he would, given time, be just fine.

Einar was a different matter, remaining cold and unresponsive even after Liz had spent the better part of an hour working to get him warm again, and she worried that the dehydration which was evident in his sunken features and in the white, slack look of his skin might prove a bigger problem for him this time than the cold. Not much she could do about that until he woke, but after a few half-hearted efforts to rouse him she gave up on that idea for the moment, left him to sleep in the knowledge that he likely needed rest nearly as badly as he did water. Susan was, in the meantime, tending to Bud’s leg, splinting it with willow wands leftover from Einar’s earlier snowshoe project, several of the straight, round sticks on each side and wrapping them in place with elastic bandages from their medical kit. Kilgore sat silent through the entire process, sipping nettle tea and chewing on the end of a willow stick in the hopes that its salicin would serve to bolster the anti-inflammatory tablets Susan had given him, which might be helping the swelling just a bit but didn’t seem to be doing a whole lot for the pain. Pain he could take, but it wasn’t just his leg that hurt him that morning; all over, his body seemed bruised and battered, as he supposed it very well ought to be, after his being dragged all the way up from the basin over fallen trees, rocks and other obstacles. Scraping with his teeth at a shred of willow bark, freeing and wadding it into a ball in one cheek, he glanced at Einar. Poor devil. I really worked him to the bone last night, right to the brink and then to go and ask him to carry out a rescue like that one…well, kinda hope the crazy buzzard wakes up long enough for me to let him know it wasn’t intentional, at least. Wasn’t intentional. Went a bit too far with this one.

A good two hours later Einar woke, rolled with some difficulty to his side and began the slow and laborious process of exchanging Liz’s last batch of hot rocks, which had by then begun to cool, for warmer ones from beside the stove, barely able to lift the things but making some progress, nonetheless. Liz saw, hurried to him--baby in her arms--and began helping, surprised and overjoyed to see him taking an active interest in the warming process, rather than simply dragging himself out into the tunnel to lie in the snow, as he’d seemed rather more inclined to do at such times, lately. He stopped, laid a hand on little Will’s sleeping form and smiled up at Liz, wanted to take the child but he was still shaking too hard, a bit unsure of himself.

“Still…just a little chilly for...some reason. Could use one more batch of these rocks I think, and then I’ll be ready to...”

“A little chilly? My goodness, you understate things! Yes, I bet you are a little chilly! Here, let me help you with the rocks. Your fingers ended up just slightly frostbitten again even with your mittens, and it’s going to be hard for you to grip things for a day or two.”

He nodded, allowed her to help with the rocks. Couldn’t seem to remember much about the past night but an enormous weariness was on him, weighing him down like a huge, heavy bear or buffalo hide and preventing him from rising or even thinking too seriously about attempting it, but for once the feeling wasn’t a terribly bad one, and he felt little need to resist, lying back down with eyes half closed and a bit of a smile on his face. Which delightful repose did not last long, Liz propping him up and insisting that he drink something that seemed at once scaldingly hot and sickeningly sweet and he wanted to let her know that he was fine, absolutely, entirely fine and without a need in the world but she was terribly persistent, hurting his side and shoulder the way she was lifting him and he took the pot--fingers were, indeed, frostbitten, pained him terribly as they contacted the hot metal--and choked down a few sips of its contents. After which Liz was happy, and he, exhausted, sank back to the floor and closed his eyes.

Having been up all night waiting on the men to return Liz was, herself, badly in need of lying down and closing her eyes for a while, and Susan, seeing the trouble, offered to stay awake with everyone for a while so she could lie down with little Will for a nap. Grateful and exhausted, Liz pressed Einar to take one final drink of the honey-sweetened broth she’d made him, checked to make sure the bear hide was well tucked in around him, and curled up in the bed. Which--Bud napping, himself, after the medications given him by Susan finally began to have the desired effect--left only Einar and Susan with their eyes open, and Einar’s were barely open. At least, that was, until the smell of Susan’s midday soup reached him. Gritting his teeth to avoid crying out at the hurt of moving he got himself to his hands and knees, shakily rising, falling again and catching himself against the wall. Susan saw where he was headed, took the soup pot.

“Want some?”

An eager nod. “Would you mind?”

“No, of course I wouldn’t mind! Here, let me get you a bowl.”

Watching Einar as he started on the stew, Susan took a risk, decided to try speaking to him again as she had shortly after their arrival nearly a week prior.

“You’ve got a long way to go, haven’t you? Coming back from the edge of that abyss…”

Another three bites before he could stop long enough to give an answer. “Yeah, guess so. Guess I better get busy. Spring’ll be coming in a couple months, and I got to get out on the trapline before then, take some good furs before they start losing quality with the warmer weather.”

She took his nearly empty soup pot, ladled out another serving. “I know you told me before that you were troubled by the swelling in your legs when you tried to start eating again, and if that happens this time, you can make things a little easier on yourself by…”

“Oh, I’ve done this before. Come back from it. This isn’t the first time, so I know what to expect.”

“Have you? I know you’ve been in some pretty tight situations before, both in the distant past and more recently since you’ve been on the run, but somehow I doubt any of those situations were just like this one. You’ve very efficiently--and intentionally, I would have to say, which is the real difference--worked your body down until there’s almost literally nothing left, and that may be somewhat different than what you’ve experienced before, when you were on short rations or even no rations for a time, but trying your best to get ahold of more to eat. Don’t you think?”

Einar shrugged, pinched his collarbone and ran a hand over the painfully protruding bones at the back of his neck. “Yeah, guess it’s a little different. Don’t believe I was down this low in weight, even after my unfortunate little experience in the jungle, though would have been pretty close….if I’d been out there for another two or three weeks with no time to stop and look for stuff to eat…”

“Right. I thought so. This is new territory for you, then.”

“Only as a matter of degree. I can…”

“You can stop trying to downplay how serious it is, that’s what you can do, for starters. The sooner you allow yourself to recognize that, the sooner you’ll really be ready to do what you need to start turning things in the other direction, and I’d say you had better start doing that pretty soon here, if you don’t want it to be too late.”

“Aw, it’s not…”

“Yes, it is. Look at yourself. I don’t know what you weigh, and can’t really measure that up here, of course, but I can say that you don’t have anything left to lose. You’re living off of what little is left of your muscles and organs right now, your brain is shriveling up, your kidneys and liver aren’t functioning correctly, your heart is shrinking and it’s going to give out on you one of these days…come on, you know the facts.”

Einar nodded. Sure, he knew the facts. No denying the facts, nor did he especially want to try, just then. And Susan could see it.

“Alright then, if you’re through arguing with me, let’s get back to business, here. Before Bud wakes up and you two start in on each other, because I imagine you may have some things to say to one another, too, after last night…

4 March 2012

There will be no chapter today, but tomorrow I am back with another. Thanks for reading, and I hope everyone is having a good weekend!

3 March 2012

Back on his feet as the door swung open, wouldn’t do to have them carry him and besides, he had to help get Kilgore inside but it didn’t last long, not even long enough for Liz and Susan--rushing out as soon as they saw the situation--to reach him before he was on the ground again, Liz’s eyes wide and scared in the lamplight as she looked down at him. A time of confusion, then, words rushing back and forth over him without making much sense, light growing brighter as Susan brought a candle outside and hurried to disentangle the straps that had served as hauling harness and he tried to tell Liz what had happened, but she didn’t seem to be hearing, simply cradling his head in her arms as she worked quickly and efficiently at the fast-frozen ties and allowing her tears to overflow only when she had freed him and could begin easing him into the cabin. Which was when, trying again to make her understand that everything was alright, was so very right and everyone would be fine now that they were home, Einar realized that he hadn’t been speaking at all, had merely been thinking the things, and no wonder she hadn’t heard him… So he gave his best attempt at a smile to let her know everything was alright, tried to rise in the hopes of reinforcing the point, and promptly passed out on the floor in front of the stove.

By that time Susan had got Kilgore largely untangled and begun doing her best to drag him through the snow to the door but he was a good bit heavier than Einar, the well-attached snowshoe contraption which had served as improvised neck brace and helmet on the journey further impeding her efforts and Liz rushed to help her, depositing the rather groggy but increasingly conscious tracker beside the stove, also, and shutting the door to preserve what warmth remained inside. Will, who had been hastily deposited in the bed when the commotion started outside, was rather uncharacteristically sleeping all by himself and very peacefully where Liz had left him, and she made a quick check on him, adjusting the rabbitskin blanket to keep out the cold drafts that had entered with the door being open and prayed that he might remain for a time quiet so she could tend to his father.

Muninn, who had grown increasingly restless as Susan and Liz kept their long vigil through the night, had proved inseparable from Einar since first lighting on his shoulder as Liz dragged him inside and now he sat overlooking the barely conscious man, black eyes deep and quiet as he silently observed. Einar was awake again, or something like it, eyes wide and glassy as he stared at the raven perched on the side of the bed near him, a dazed smile gracing cracked purple lips and then he lost contact with the world again, out cold but with such a peaceful look on his face--hard lines relaxed, the strain that appeared always not far below the surface there eased--that for a moment Liz feared him actually gone, his struggle ended for good but he was breathing, if barely, beginning to shiver in stove’s warmth and she knelt beside him, struggled to get him out of snow-encrusted clothes and wrapped in a blanket so he could continue warming.

The movement had roused him sufficiently that Liz was able to get him to swallow a quick spoonful of honey and a bit of water so his body would have some energy to work with as he began warming--he was dreadfully dehydrated as well as being seriously hypothermic; she could tell by looking--and then he was asleep again, or unconscious--must have been unconscious, she decided, for he didn’t even stir when she cleaned him up, treated and bandaged the open wounds on his hips and collarbone where the harness had apparently cut into him as he walked, and for his sake, she was glad. She was sure she saw exposed bone in one spot, hardly understood how such could have happened when he’d clearly been wearing the parka, but did her best to thoroughly clean the wounds, hoping to prevent infection. Though a good dry blanket and the heat of the stove were helping, Liz could see that the measures she’d already taken were not going to be enough, and with Susan working over Bud and little Will mercifully remaining asleep in the bed she stripped down and crawled in beside him, dragging the bear hide over the two of them to add extra warmth as she curled herself around his half frozen frame, sleep, Einar, sleep and get warm. You’ve had a long night.

Kilgore, meanwhile, had finished waking and was none too happy about the situation, sitting up while Susan had her back turned to add wood to the stove and bellowing loudly, “Hey now, what’s all this? What’d that bloody, blasted buzzard do to me, this time? Knew something like this’d end up happening if I turned my back on him…”

Which drew a bout of relieved laughter from both Liz and Susan, who had been growing increasingly alarmed at his lack of response but had known little they could do--other than to keep him warming--to help improve his condition.

“What the heck you girls laughing about, anyway? Doggone scoundrel busted my head, feels like, and my leg don’t…” a groan as he tried to move the leg, Kilgore quickly lowering his head, lying back down to prevent passing out at the hurt of it, “yeah, looks like he managed to bust my leg, while he was at it.”

Susan was at his side, offering him a drink of hot broth, which he eagerly accepted, beginning to be aware of just how cold he’d somehow managed to get. “We don’t know what happened. I was hoping you would remember! All I know is that a little while ago we heard somebody at the door, and it was you and Einar, and he’d hitched himself up to you with paracord, had it all tied around your middle under your arms, and looked like he’d been hauling you. He hasn’t really been awake yet for us to ask him about it, but it looks like the two of you had quite a night out there.

“Well that kinda explains why my shoulders are killing me like this, then. Wonder where it…aw, yeah, guess I do remember that part… You know, we were way up on the ridge other side of the basin when it happened…”

“The ridge on the other side of the basin?” Liz asked, sounding somewhat alarmed. What were you doing way over there? I thought the cache was a lot closer than that…”

“Ma’am, that cache had very little to do with my reasoning when it came to getting your man out there last night, if you hadn’t yet figured that out. Very little at all. Was just trying to get the poor fella’s head on straight, before we had to leave out of here in a day or two. Don’t look like things went exactly according to plan. Guess my…foot got caught on something under the snow because the last thing I remember is seeing that big black space yawning all wide open and full of falling snow below me in the headlamp…remember thinking, oops, hope I don’t get hurt down at the bottom of this, because that fella’s in no shape to mount a rescue…and then nothing. Guess I kinda…gosh, am I cold! Kinda hit my head down there on the rocks, lost the rest of the night somehow.”

“Yes,” Susan began checking his leg, noticing a good deal of swelling down near the ankle where the majority of the pain seemed to be centered, “I’d say you did, and it looks like you did something to your leg in that fall, too. Looks like it would have been a long walk back up here, if you’d have had to walk it. I’m glad Einar was able to bring you back to me, tonight. We’ve only been married for…what? A little over a week now if I’ve got the days right, and I’m really, really not ready to lose you yet!”

“Crazy old buzzard…yeah, guess he did me a pretty good turn, here. Can’t hardly figure how he did it. Kept trying to fall asleep on me during our little hike…found him crouched in the snow one time trying to dig a hole with his snowshoe, shelter, grave, who knows? But when I asked him about it the stuff he said wasn’t making any sense at all, and he had to be getting pretty near the end of his rope by the time I fell. Crazy buzzard.” He dropped his voice, speaking confidentially to Susan. “He gonna make it?”

“He’s pretty bad off it looks like, but you know him. He’s a tough one. Now hold still, why don’t you, and let me take a better look at this leg.”

2 March 2012

Above the willows the going become more difficult, partly because of the steeping of the terrain, the way the timber closed in and seemed to conspire with the deep snow to make Einar’s job nearly impossible and partly, though he was too far gone to realize and correct the situation, because he’d so thoroughly exhausted the small supply of energy given him by his earlier meal down in the basin, and had nothing left with which to work. Still he kept himself moving, having to stop with increasing frequency, fumble with the headlamp until he got it turned on and follow the traces--hanging onto them, pulling himself, using them as a guide lest he wander off course and walk headlong into a tree while attempting to cover the three feet which separated him from the tracker--back to his burden, freeing the still-unconscious man from the branch or bush which had most recently entangled him and starting out again, following his own tracks back to the point where he’d stopped and leaning into the improvised harness.

Steep. Kilgore kept digging into the deep snow on that slope, slowing him to a crawl by which they inched painfully forward, Einar digging his spear into the more solid layer of snow beneath and grabbing a tree branch in the other hand, grunting, pulling, finally getting them moving again and as long as they kept up some forward motion he knew they’d eventually make it, get past the terrible steepness of that section and on to something a bit more manageable but before that happened it all became too much, body out of energy and locking up on him. Weary, strained and focused as he’d been on simply putting one foot in front of the other, he hadn’t even felt it coming until he was on the ground with his limbs stretched out all straight and stiff and useless, head back and mouth open as he tried his best to fight it, but to no effect. Knew he must rise, commanded his body to move, legs to lift him, but nothing would respond in the slightest and then the thing was over and he could move again, weak, exhausted and drifting somewhere near sleep, trying to make some sense of the world through the fog that had come over him in the wake of the incident. Had to get up. Felt all hollow and sick inside when he tried, head fuzzy and limbs aching fiercely but he made it to his feet, not at all sure of himself but sure that he must keep on moving. Pulling. Destination was up there, and he must reach it, must get his companion to friendly territory just as soon as possible, before the enemy tracked them down and took them. Again. The rest of it didn’t matter.

Only it did matter some, because he couldn’t seem to get the load moving, not this time. Strength just wasn’t there, and no matter how hard he struggled and strained, his burden remained stuck fast. Headlamp on, he turned to try and figure some way out of the situation. And saw the problem. The tracker’s snowshoe head-protector had hung up fast in the gnarly remains of a long-dead old fir whose still-sturdy remains barely protruded from the surface of the snow, and he worked to break the entanglement, finally succeeding only to have the same thing happen again just as soon as he’d once more begun pulling. The area was littered with fallen, buried trees, their branches just waiting to grab and hold anything that slid past, and the knowledge sent Einar into something of a frenzy, stomping and breaking and trying to locate anything that might be in their path, clear a way so they could pass through and on to--hopefully--easier going beyond the windfall area, but after several minutes of this, panting for breath and barely able to lift his legs anymore, let alone bring them down with enough force to break the offending obstacles, he shook his head and gave it up for lost. No way he was going to clear enough of a path to get them out of there without hanging up every three or four steps and probably causing a fair amount of injury to his cargo in the process, which left only one way, as he saw it.

Checking to be sure that Kilgore’s pack and his own snowshoes were securely lashed to the tracker’s body he got down on hands and knees beside the man, lashing his arms together at the wrist and getting his head through the loop thus created. Tracker’s weight seemed to be crushing him already, mashing him into the snow but Einar didn’t quit, did not dare allow himself time to contemplate the thing, grabbing nearby branches and hauling himself laboriously to his feet where he stood gasping and shaking for a moment before shifting the tracker’s weight slightly, grabbing hold of his legs to keep them from dragging on the ground and setting off. One…two…three…a stumble, mustn’t let yourself go down…four…five, he counted off the steps, breath coming in ragged sobs by the time he’d reached twenty and his legs giving out at sixty three, but it was enough, had got them through the worst of the deadfall and he sank to the ground, freed himself from Kilgore’s limp-armed grasp and got the man rolled once more onto his back, snow brushed from his face and snowshoes, pack and other gear lashed again to his chest, ready for more pulling.

The light of morning was beginning to show by the time Einar began working his way up through the final band of timber below the cabin-clearing, just the faintest hint of grey but it seemed to him the lifting of a darkness much greater than night, a sign of hope. Made the traveling slightly easier, too, as trees began to show themselves a bit more clearly--headlamp had died hours previously--but only slightly, for his eyes hadn’t seemed to work quite right since the strange episode in the snow some time ago, waves of dizziness assailing him and turning the world into a strange, contorted place which seldom made much sense. Didn’t matter. Morning was coming, he recognized the place despite its strangeness, and they were almost home. Safe.

Nearly out of the timber and Kilgore was half waking, groaning, and Einar stopped, checked on him and cleared away the snow that had crusted itself around the exposed bits of his face where the balaclava did not cover it. The tracker was shivering, had, it seemed, finally begun to be affected by his long hours of immobility in the cold, despite being well dressed in warm things and insulated somewhat from the ground, but there was little Einar could do about it, knew Kilgore ought to be alright until they got to the cabin, where he could be warmed. Einar didn’t like the fact that he’d remained unconscious for so long, figured it meant he’d likely sustained quite a blow to the head but the groaning and twisting seemed to be good signs, meant he was beginning to come around just a bit. Perhaps he would be near waking by the time they reached the cabin. Perhaps they both would, for he was himself drifting rapidly towards sleep, head bowing until it touched his knees and a great sigh escaping as his body relaxed for the first time in hours. Snow in his face. Wide awake again, much as was possible under present circumstances at least, and he was on his feet. Keep moving. Now is not the time to sleep. Not yet.

The clearing. Grey and smooth in the predawn light, it opened wide and welcoming before him, cabin not quite visible through the gloom but he knew it was there, sharp smell of smoke reaching his nostrils and spurring him on. Supposed the most sensible thing would be to go around back where he could drag Kilgore into the tunnel and enter without waking the womenfolk and for a brief moment he was inclined to try it but then his legs gave out again and this time refused to respond when he tried to rise, and he crawled forward in the harness, dragging himself and Kilgore and collapsing against the front door of the cabin absolutely spent, beating on its timbers until he could make out a faint stirring and scuffling inside, and knew he’d been heard…

1 March 2012

Once down out of the avalanche chute into which Kilgore had unfortuitously led them Einar stopped, lowered his burden--he’d hauled the tracker all that way by getting his arms beneath the man’s shoulders and linking hands on his chest, walking in an uncomfortable and rather inefficient backwards crouch and somehow scraping together the energy, after his small snack, to move the much heavier man that far through two feet of fresh powder, but his arms were giving out again and he knew he’d have to find another way--and tried to force his cold brain to function well enough to reassess their situation.

What they rather desperately needed was shelter from the wind and a fire and he knew he would be able to manage building and lighting one despite the numbed and awkward condition of his hands, had done it numerous times in the past under conditions occasionally worse than the present ones but still he hesitated, knowing that if he got the fire going, Kilgore secured under some sort of shelter and made as comfortable as possible and subsequently allowed himself to sit down near the warmth and rest for a moment, he’d soon be asleep or very nearly so, a nap which would have perhaps disastrous results. Especially if Kilgore failed to wake pretty promptly and get him back on his feet, and moving again. The fire would burn up its fuel supply and go out, himself too far gone at that point to realize or do anything about it, and they might very well both be dead by morning. Which was why, despite immediate fire and shelter being the best choice and the one he would have almost always made under similar circumstances, Einar decided to keep walking. Cabin wasn’t too far, really, and he intended to get them both back up there before he stopped for the night. Which left only the matter of how best to transport Kilgore, who was at that moment a dead weight with possible neck and back injuries whose nature and extent Einar really had no way to assess. Just gonna have to go for it, really. No way I’m building a backboard out here and strapping him to it, not in this storm and with the time I’ve got, realistically, before I end up in a state where I’m no good to either of us…

There were some things, though, that he could do to help protect Kilgore’s neck during the transport, reduce the chances of aggravating any injury he might have sustained and fumbling about in the tracker’s pack he took out an extra fleece shirt Susan had packed, rolling it up and curving it up and around Kilgore’s head and neck. Into the gaps left at either side between the injured man’s chin and his shoulders he stuffed spare pairs of socks--sure hope these don’t fall off and get lost--to further reduce movement, sliding Kilgore’s snowshoes in beneath his head to provide some sort of rigid support. Between the snowshoes and Kilgore’s head he slid his own sweater and a few hastily-broken fir branches to provide some padding and insulation from the cold of metal and snow beneath, finishing by lashing Kilgore to the improvised support with multiple wraps of parachute cord around his shoulders and forehead. The tracker’s down parka was a good one, ought to keep him warm enough to survive the journey even if he didn’t end up waking up and walking most of the way himself as Einar still hoped he might, and the hauling setup--with the exception of some sort of straps by which to do the actual hauling, which Einar still had to arrange--appeared functional. Would have to do. And the snowshoes, sticking out by several inches in the front, would theoretically even serve to shield the tracker’s head from direct impact with any fallen trees or rocks over which he might end up being dragged in the dark and storm on the long journey back to the cabin.

Time to get moving. Straps. He needed some sort of straps which he could hopefully wrap around his body to help him pull the tracker’s weight and again he returned to the man’s pack, finding more parachute cord and wrapping it six or eight times around his waist, making another such belt and securing it just below Kilgore’s armpits before tying the two together with additional cord. An awkward system and not destined to be particularly comfortable for either user, but Kilgore remained unconscious and Einar didn’t care. He just needed it to work. Knew he really had his work cut out for him if he was to drag that dead weight through the snowy basin and up the slope to the cabin, in the dark and through the ongoing storm, all without the aid of skis or sled or so much as a large slab of tree bark on which to lash his load, but he had no idea just how difficult the task was to be until, making sure everything was well secured, Kilgore’s pack tied to his chest and his hands tucked safely through its straps to prevent his arms flailing, catching on passing vegetation and perhaps being broken, he leaned into the traces and set off. Or tried to set off. Pulling, straining, bracing himself, nothing happened. The load was far more significant than Einar had anticipated it being--he, perhaps, gauging the limits of his strength more on memory than present reality--and he could see right off that no headway would be made so long as he was wearing his snowshoes. Too bad. Was going to be an awful lot of work, post-holing in several feet of fresh powder all that way, but he saw no alternative, removed the shoes and lashed them to Kilgore’s pack.

Better. Making progress. Terribly slow, exhausting progress, but they were moving, Einar panting for breath after the first ten or fifteen yards, needing a rest, needing to breathe but hardly daring to stop lest he be able to regain the lost momentum and then they were brought up short when Kilgore’s lashed-snowshoe head shield hit a buried tree trunk, and stuck fast. Flat on his face in the snow at the suddenness of the thing Einar lay there for a moment still, unwilling to move and not at all sure that he was capable of doing it should he try, but then he did try, made it to his feet and freed the snowshoes. Kilgore looked alright, wool balaclava and cinched down parka hood protecting his face reasonably well from the still-falling snow, and Einar was glad to see that the wound on his head had very nearly stopped bleeding. Now just wake up, why don’t you? But he did not.

Twenty steps. That was the rhythm into which Einar eventually settled, reaching at last a place he knew, bottom of the basin, and turning off the headlamp to conserve battery. The entire journey he could not do, dared not even contemplate, but twenty steps were possible, and that interval became his entire world, the thing which he strived for, the goal towards which he put every ounce of his prayed-for but badly failing strength, and each time he completed another set of twenty he would allow himself a brief respite, occasionally sinking to his knees and chewing on a bit of snow in an attempt to keep himself somewhat hydrated but more often simply leaning forward in the traces, Kilgore’s weight keeping him more or less upright until once more he summoned up the strength to do it all over again. Losing all sense of time Einar had no idea how long he kept at this routine, mind largely blank as he devoted all his energy to the motion of pulling, steering his awkward cargo through the timber and seeking out the most advantageous and least overgrown paths, but after a while he ceased to have the wherewithal to do even that, having to stop with increasing frequency and free the tracker from a tree or bush in which he had become entangled. At those times, struggling just to keep on his feet and wanting dreadfully badly to lie down in the snow and never move again, he would find himself enraged at the tracker, the snow, the timber that slowed their progress and he would want to shout, curse, cut the lines and march off up the hill by himself, forget the rest of it, but he never did, anger quickly passing and in its place remaining only a quiet resolve that said yes, you will continue. You will get him up this hill, him and yourself, both. Which he proceeded to do, tightening the lines around his hips--even through the thick parka the parachute cord wrappings had bruised and abraded them terribly; he could occasionally feel a warm trickle of blood as it traced its way down one leg or another, odd sensation when he was so numbed and cold all over--and crossing them on his chest, running them up and over his shoulders to additionally distribute the weight.

It was sometime shortly after they had left the basin floor and begun the steep climb which would eventually lead them to the cabin-plateau that Einar began having increased difficulty getting enough air. Trying his best to ignore the trouble and keep moving he was after a time beset by a crushing heaviness that started in his chest and seemed to radiate outwards, pressing the breath out of him and leaving his body covered in a cold sweat, vision going all strange and the darkened timber swimming maddeningly before his eyes in the unsteady beam of the headlamp as all the strength seemed to go out of his legs, leaving him to hang limply forward in the traces, most of his weight supported by them and forehead resting on the cool, snow-plastered trunk of the nearest fir. The moment passed and he could breathe once more, chest still aching and legs trembling, unsteady, but he was moving again, determined not to stop until his appointed twenty steps had been accomplished.

At times, mind increasingly wandering, disconnected, it seemed that Kilgore spoke to him, go, leave me, you can move faster without me and you’ve got to save yourself, got to be gone by the time they figure out what we’re up to and come after us, and it’s never going to happen like this, but Einar would just shake his head, grit his teeth and lean into the traces until they cut his shoulders, hips, pulling, pulling.

“I’m not leaving you here. You hang on, man. We’re gonna get out of this,” and he was grinning as he said it, a fierce thing, grim and terrible to behold but the joy that accompanied the pronouncement was real, a leaping, bounding thing that buoyed his spirits and lent strength to failing limbs, propelling him forward.

By the time Einar reached the willows the twenty step pushes by which he had organized his movements and tried to maintain momentum had been reduced to sets of five, steps sometimes so slow as to appear those of a man moving in his sleep, dazed, dreaming, and indeed he was, more of the time than not, but the sharp tang of the willows woke him, was real, he knew it, knew where they were and slumped forward for his brief rest, tears in his eyes at the realization that they just might make it…