15 January 2013

Einar went and Bud followed, leaving Liz and Juni to stand staring at one another in the dim glow of the candles they’d lit upon waking, Juni full of questions that she was almost afraid to ask and Liz fearing for the future safety of her friends, now that Kilgore had been “discovered.”  Juni broke the silence.

“That’s my survival instructor.  Kilgore.  He ran the class I took down in Arizona.  They act like they know each other pretty well, but of course he’s the one who they hired to track Einar down a couple of years ago, who nearly got blown up in that rocket strike and testified before Congress about the whole situation....”

Liz nodded, unwilling to volunteer any information, wanting instead to hear what the reporter already knew, or had surmised.

“It sounds like they must have served together in one place, maybe both, which means they already knew each other when Kilgore was hired as part of the search…”

Just thinking out loud, didn’t require a response, and Liz did not give one.

“But how did he know where to find you?  Can’t have just stumbled upon the place.  He’s been here before, hasn’t he?  Has to have been, it’s looking like.  That’s where you got the rifle, some of the things that…”

The severity of Liz’s countenance stopped her in her tracks at that point, some speculation clearly much better done in silence, and she hoped she had not already gone too far…

The two men did not go to the woodshed, Einar instead leading Bud to a spot in the timber where they were out of easy earshot of the cabin but where a heavy screen of small, close-growing evergreens shielded them somewhat from the bitter wind of the early, still mostly dark morning.  Hard to talk out there, the cold almost enough to take a fellow’s breath away, but Einar hadn’t wanted any more of the conversation to take place in front of Juni.  Already she knew too much, and as he was not yet certain of her ultimate fate, he wanted to exercise at least some measure of caution.

“You really came up here to deliver that news?  Risked a trip to my basin for that?”

“Sure.  Thought you ought to know.  May have an impact on this thing with you, and pretty sure will have an impact on us all, long-term.  And I really want you to consider coming down there and doing your duty as a soldier and as a leader of men, if things really do head in that direction.  But mostly I came for that girl, Juniper.  Didn’t figure she’d actually be able to find you, so I guess I underestimated her a bit, there, but knew she’d be trouble and figured I’d better warn you.  Figured she had designs on coming up here to look for you, from the first the day I saw her in my class and recognized her as the writer of that previous article.  Clever and determined, that one is.”

“She didn’t exactly find us, and almost certainly wouldn’t have.  We found her, but she was already a little too close for comfort at that point, couldn’t be allowed to wander freely about until she saw something, and besides, we didn’t recognize her until we’d already made contact.”

“Real surprised she survived that initial contact.  Must be slipping, Asmundson.”

Einar glared and the tracker grinned.  “Don’t you try and deny it.  That won’t work with me.  Might work some with your Lizzie just because she cares so much for you and wants to believe in you—though I doubt it; she’s awful sharp—but I can see it, have seen it plain as day last couple times I’ve been up here.  Slowing down, losing strength on a curve so steep that you can’t begin to keep up, but this time—well, it’s amazing you’re still on your feet, really.  Never quite seen anything like it, and that’s no compliment.  Don’t have to be that way, you know.  All in your hands.  You can fix it, and probably should.”

“Not sure it’s that easy.”

“Did I say anything about easy?  Gonna be anything but easy, and it’s gonna hurt like heck, both body and brain and you may not get through it at all, but knowing you, that’s not something that ought to bother you too much, is it?  Any of that.”

A noncommittal shrug, eyes going distant and grey, and Kilgore knew what he was thinking, let him alone for a long minute to be with the thoughts.  Long enough.  Wind was a fearsome, killing thing, even broken by the considerable shelter of the trees.  He could feel the heat leaving his body at an alarming rate under its lashing, and, in the slowly strengthening light of morning, all but see it leaving Einar’s, as well.

“You’re freezing, man.  Why don’t we go back inside?  What’s your bride gonna do to me if she finds I’ve let you freeze solid out here while we were talking?  Wouldn’t be pretty, I can guarantee you that!  Contents of my brain pan splattered all over them nice clean cabin walls with her war club, and you folks left with a major cleanup job…though I’m pretty sure the raven would help, wouldn’t he?  Either way, I’d rather not find out, not today.”

No response, the other man lost in thought or, more likely, in an increasingly impenetrable haze brought on by his falling body temperature and soon to be quite unreachable if something wasn’t done, and Kilgore was on his feet, hands beneath Einar’s arms as he helped the much lighter but somewhat resistant man to stand, gave him a rough shove in the direction of the cabin.

“Got some stuff for you.  You’re getting lax about that, too.  Didn’t search my pack.”

14 January 2013

No chapter for tonight, but I will have one for tomorrow.

Thanks to all of you who are reading.

13 January 2013

The look on Bud Kilgore’s face when he emerged into the cabin and saw Juni standing there beside the stove with Liz, warm clothes halfway on as the two of them prepared to go out searching for Einar, was absolutely priceless.  The complete and utter bafflement that seized hold of his features as he glanced from Liz to Juni and back behind him at Einar nearly set the latter to laughing despite being a good deal more than half frozen after his long stalk through the snow, Liz appearing ready to join him, but Juni wasn’t laughing, having recognized Kilgore and appearing nearly as confused as he.

Quick to regain his composure though still quite baffled about the details, Bud stepped forward and laid a gloved hand on the young reporter’s shoulder.

“Asmundson, Ma’am, I’ve come to reclaim my student.  Young lady, you’ve created quite a stir down there.  Got folks out looking for you, and though they’re not headed this way yet, it may come to that.”

Juni just stared, half expecting Einar to do something sudden, restrain his prisoner, run the man through with an atlatl dart, something, but he just stood there, looking more relaxed than he’d done in days.

“Oh, yeah, we’re acquainted,”  Einar responded to her unspoken question. 

She nodded slowly.  “I see.  How did you know…you’re really here looking for me?”

“Found you, didn’t I?”

Juni could’t deny that, wisely kept quiet for the moment but Kilgore seemed to have moved on, his focus once more on Einar.

“What you got going here, anyway?  Never figured you for the sort, Asmundson…”

“What sort, Kilgore?”

“Sort as could make a thing like this work out.”

Einar just shook his head, gave another humorless grin and told the tracker he’d better watch himself before the lady of the house took offense and found him with her rabbit stick—a credible threat if Kilgore had ever heard one, and he was relieved when in the next moment, Einar saved him from having to further explain himself.

“What about this big news you said you had?”

“Right.  Looking like things are about to go hot down there.”

“With the search?  Right now in the middle of winter?”

“Oh, spring’s almost here, that’s for sure.  And no, not with the search.  Lot of rumors flying around down there right now about upcoming executive action by the President to go around Congress and dictate a bunch of gun control measures he’d never be able to get them to approve, just ram the stuff down everyone’s throats, and the consequences be hanged…I’m telling you, that’s not the only thing gonna end up getting hanged, if he’s bold enough—and stupid enough—to try anything like that.”

“Nope, I imagine not.  Who is the President down there these days, anyway?”

“You buzzard…”

“No, I mean it.  We don’t exactly get the daily news up here, other than superb up-to-the-minute weather and a vague idea of what next spring’s elk calving season might be like…”

“You lucky dog.  Yeah, guess it would be that way up here, wouldn’t it?  Well, as for the election, it’s the same clown as we got in there last time, all over again.  Guess we’ve finally reached a point in this country where there are more takers than producers, and they voted him in again thinking they’re gonna get more free stuff, is all I can figure.  Like that stuff just comes out of thin air, from the ‘government.’  That’s the tipping point, I’d have to say.  When the voting majority starts believing that.  Doggone point of no return, politically.  We’re through.  All gonna fall down, fall apart, and it’s got to, I’m afraid, before anything can really start to change.  Gonna be one heck of a mess, but it’s got to come, sooner or later.  And that imposter in the Big House seems pretty intent on seeing it come sooner.  Really pushing the issue, not waiting for the slow dominoes of the collapsing economy to finish doing their bit.  Seems bent on stirring up open conflict, sometime here in the next year or two.  Sounds like fun, don’t it?”

“Sounds like hell.  We’ve both been there.  We know how ugly this thing can get.  Will get.”

“Yep.  Can’t dispute that.  And most folks don’t know.  Had too many years of peace and stability here on the home front, and people forget.  Send a few guys from every community off to war in faraway places every decade or two, see some horrible images on TV, some flag-draped caskets coming home, lose a relative here or there, the others come back with stories most of ‘em will never tell except to other guys who were ‘over there,’ and, the average civilian—well, he’s got no idea what it’s like to be in the middle of it.  To have it come sweeping through your town, past your doorstep…you know, peace and stability and all are great things, they’re what we want for our country, for our neighbors and kids, part of why we fight, really, but too much of a good thing can be awful doggone corrosive, in this case.  Especially over time.  Leave people all soft and self-indulgent, whole generations of them just going about their neat, comfortable little lives and taking peace for granted!  It’s gonna be one incredible mess down there if this thing actually comes to the sort of open conflict it’s starting to appear we might be headed for.”

“You really think it’ll go that far?”

The tracker shrugged.  “Anybody’s guess, but mine is that there’s a good probability.  We got a whole class of ignorant, arrogant, manure-for-brains politicians down there right now who seem to have no clue what may come of their tinkering and tampering and trampling, no idea the level of commitment some folks have to seeing that their rights aren’t stomped into the ground and lost for future generations, and worst of all is this joker in the Big House who thinks he’s got a mandate to take unilateral action of some sort, should Congress not be able to muster the votes to pass his bill.  It comes to that—and they try to enforce it—I can tell you this thing’s on.  Gonna go hot.”

Einar nodded, not so sure, himself, of the prospects of any such thing—the complacency of the masses could not, in his experience, be underestimated, the desire to preserve the status quo almost always preventing talk from spilling over into action, even as the dominoes fell and one liberty after another was snuffed out, sometimes irreparably, at least so long as the present system remained in operation—but contemplating it, figuring that there really might be a tipping point out there, a conglomeration of circumstances under which a certain segment of the population really might be stirred to action, to resistance, and this—well, who was to say this might not be it?  Kilgore was talking again, and he shook himself, focused on the man’s words.

“So that’s the other part of it.  Of why I came up here this time.  Wanted to see if you’d consider coming down for a while should this thing really get started, maybe helping to train folks, boost morale on our side, lead folks…”

“I’m not a leader.”

“You were.”

“Never was.”

“Not how I remember it.  Not in the ‘Nam and certainly not out in the Bundu, a few years later.  And besides, people respect you.”

“For what?”

“For this.  What you done up here.  Defiance, escape victory.  It’s the stuff of legend, by now.  You’re the stuff of legend, and folks look up to you.  Would follow you.”

At that Einar laughed, a hollow, derisive sound.  Dismissive.  “You’re kidding.  Look at me.  Some legend…”

“Ugly as a mangy, hairless three-legged dog with half his face chewed off in a fight, that’s for doggone sure.  But this ain’t about looks, Asmundson.  It’s about guts, resolve, determination, and folks know you got ‘em.  You could bring that to them, all of it.  Inspire it in them, bring ‘em up a few levels and help turn this into something cohesive, something with a chance of…some sort of success.”

“Barely keeping myself alive right now, Kilgore.  Lousy example I’d be.”

“That could change.”

He shrugged.  “Best head outside.  Looks like we’re getting a little low on firewood…”

12 January 2013

Bill Priday said…
Am I the only one seeing the humor in all this? I sure hope not! Great story, Chris, and don't apologize for missing days, please! It makes me feel guilty, like you think you're obligated to do this. WE are the lucky ones, to be blessed with having access to your amazing talent WHENEVER and HOWEVER OFTEN you choose to give us the gift of another installment!

Thanks again,
Bill

Thanks, Bill.  No need to feel guilty about it, I enjoy writing.  When I miss too many days, it’s a bad thing for me, too.  Glad you’re enjoying the story.   I appreciate knowing that.

Elsa said...
Bill I am glad that you found this chapter humorous too. I started laughing out loud and had to read it to my husband. As I read it to him I realized that unless one "knows" Einar and Kilgore then the scene that was so funny was actually rather grim.

Thank you so much Chris for the great story. We are willing to wait (rather impatiently), but still wait for the great continuing saga of Einar.

Elsa

Thanks for reading, Elsa!  I’m glad the exchange between Einar and Kilgore had you laughing—guys like that know you’ve got to find humor in the grim stuff, and tend to get pretty good at it…but I never know if my/their sense of humor will come across as humorous to others, or simply as weird.  : )

I haven't got a chapter for today, but do have one almost finished for tomorrow…

Thank you all for reading, and for the comments/discussion.  They make it all worthwhile.   

11 January 2013

Nothing happened, no further motion, no dark patch presenting itself a target against the faintly starlit snow, and Einar, waiting, quickly beginning to grow cold and lose feeling in fingers, hands, knew he must act soon or risk finding himself incapable when the time came.  Not a good situation.  Ought to have been able to lie there all night if need be, waiting out the enemy until at last some untimely movement or sound gave away their position, but at the moment he could not do that, and had to look at things realistically.  The only chance, it appeared, lay in his moving again, working his way in behind the spot where he was pretty sure he’d got a fleeting glimpse of someone, and hoping to take the man by surprise and with enough silence that the action did not attract the attention of any others who might be stationed nearby.  Stretching, flexing already-numbed fingers, he started out crawling low through the snow, knife in hand and dragging the rifle as he eased his way through the tangle of trees, pausing frequently to listen to the night.  Several times he thought he heard stirring in the timber just the other side of the cliffs, the faintest rustle as if someone were shifting position before settling in again, and guided by these tiny clues he made his way over across the base of the cliff band, nearing at last the spot where he believed he’d originally seen the that faint, tenuous flash of movement.

There!  Another rustle, and with it this time came an exhalation of breath, soft but distinct, and not ten feet from his present position.  Keeping his gaze to the timber and allowing eyes to adjust, as well as they were able, to the darker darkness of the shadows there he was able to slowly begin making out a form, human, well-camouflaged in white coveralls as it sat hunched over on what appeared to be a foam camping pad, watching the cabin.  Easy enough to deal with this one; though knowing he was no longer as strong as he was used to being, Einar knew also that his reflexes remained sharp, motions quick and sure enough to take the man silently and definitively.  But it would only work if he was alone, or supposing he had no companions near enough to hear the inevitable crunch and scrape in the dry, cold snow which would mark the struggle, short as it would hopefully be.  Had to be.  Well, he had to risk it.  Sure couldn’t use either of the firearms and risk drawing the attention—and the fire—of what might well be a dozen or more men; better to seek them out one by one and thus improve his chances if and when it did come to an all-out fight.

Good, cold logic, a plan of action, and it might have served him well had not his intended target just then shifted position again—getting cold, it seemed, needing to move—slipping off the edge of his mat, tipping backwards into the new snow and swearing softly as he did so in a voice Einar could not possibly have mistaken for any but that of its owner. 

“Doggone you, Kilgore.  What’re you doing up here right now?”

The greeting, suddenly as it had come and from so close a quarter, proved to thoroughly startle the tracker, who came up with a pistol in his hand but already Einar’s was jammed against the back of his neck.

“Whoa there, Asmundson.  Take it easy man.  Had just been planning to watch the place through the night, make sure everything looked Ok, then come in closer and ‘haloo’ at you guys come daylight, but you beat me to it.  How’d you know I was out here, anyway?  Some kinda early warning system, or what?”

Einar relaxed a bit but did not put away the pistol, gave a humorless grin and thumped himself in the side of the head.  “Yeah, in here.  Early Warning System Version 4.0—it automatically upgrades for every decade it’s in operation, seems like—set to ‘super fine, continuous operation,’ and the off switch went missing somewhere years back, haven’t found it again since.  Heard you crunching through the snow.”

“Crunching!  I’ll have you know I was doing nothing of the sort.  Barely making a noise at all.  Man, you got it bad, don’t you?”

“Keeps me alive, Kilgore.”

“Yep.  If it don’t kill you, first.”

Einar glanced at the surrounding timber, letting his eyes cover the area nearest the clearing before sweeping out into the darker recesses, lingering here and there as he sought anything that might be out of place.  “You alone up here?  Where’s your bride?”

“Yep, all by my lonesome.  Sue stayed down behind this time, had to keep things under control with the business and make excuses for why I’m not down there.  Supposed to be out on a three week long desert course down in New Mexico, that’s where I’m supposed to be, teaching, but looks like I must’ve took an awfully wrong turn, somewhere between here and there.  Never seen this much snow in the desert, before.”

“High desert.  You can just say it’s high desert.   Almost might as well be, this time of year.”

In the beam of his headlamp, Kilgore cast a critical glance over Einar’s features, face more hollow and pinched than ever, eyes sunken, wide, white and staring with a hint of desperation which could not be entirely concealed even when the man gave it some effort, hands like the claws of some great bird and all the veins and tendons standing out in sharp relief on the near-fleshless bit of lower arm that protruded from his sleeve.   A man, Kilgore thought to himself, clearly in the last stages of starvation, and though it was not the first time he’d seen the fugitive in a similar condition, the obvious deterioration since his last visit was a bit shocking.  “Game getting scarce as the winter goes on?  You folks finding enough to eat?”

“No, we’re fine.  Had a lot put away from the fall, frozen and hung in trees, and there’ve been occasional rabbits, squirrels…stew pot is never empty.  Might as well come in for a bowl, since you’re up here anyway.”

“Sure.  But first, I got news.  Some that concerns you immediately, some not so immediate but probably a lot more concerning—for all of us—in the long run.”

“Yeah?  Let’s have the immediate stuff.”

“Girl’s gone missing, and it’s the talk of the town down below there.  Young reporter, name of Melton.  You’ll remember her, as one of the very few folks who’ve met you and lived, since this whole thing began…”

“I know her.”

“Well, she apparently took off on a solo snowshoeing trip here a few weeks back, didn’t leave a timeline with anyone far as when she was to be expected back and apparently has a pretty solid history of taking off on her own like this, at least over the last couple years, but finally a few of her acquaintances managed to get themselves all worked up about it, anyway.  And now a search is on, so I wanted to warn you that you may start to see searcher-types in the air soon, maybe on the ground even, but probably not this time of year, unless they get a solid lead.  You’ll start to see ‘em, but best not go shooting too many of them down or anything, because they’re not out here for you, but sure enough would be, if they started losing aircraft to steel-tipped crossbow bolts and the like!  So just wanted to caution you to behave yourself, soldier, and to watch where you leave tracks and trails, too, ‘cause they’ll be on the lookout for things like that.”

The slight smile that had softened his features at mention of the crossbow now faded. “What about your trail, coming here?”

“Storm covered it.  That’s why I had to travel in the storm.  Was real careful.  Gonna have to wait for the next one before I leave out of here, though.”

Einar gritted his teeth, grimacing slightly at the thought of another guest, but figured if it had to happen, Kilgore was more or less alright. 

“My suspicion,” the tracker continued, “is that she’s out here looking for you, this missing girl.”

“Yeah?”

“Probably wants to do another story or something, though I wouldn’t put it past her to want to come out here solely for the sake of living a month or so in your territory, getting a feel for what it’s really like stuff like that.  Back six months or so ago she attended one of my survival courses when I was still running them, after she’d got that interview with you published, the one with the wild-looking photo of you as a mountain man all scrawny and sinewy and wrapped in tattered furs carrying the bloody haunch of a young mountain goat…yeah, she came to one of my week-long courses and I got to say was one of the more serious-minded and dedicated civilian students I’ve ever had go through there, seemed hell-bent on pushing herself just as far as she could and getting as much as possible out of that week, and she did it, too.  Heard later from other guys on the circuit that mine wasn’t the only course she attended.  So if she’s out here somewhere, I’d say she actually has a fair chance of still being alive and maybe even just fine.  Good a chance as anyone who isn’t you, I’d have to say.”

“Sounds like it.  Now.  Let’s get inside.  I got news for you, too, and a real big mess to sort out unless you want to turn around right now and head back down the hill.”

“Can’t.  The tracks.”

“Right.”

“And besides, you haven’t heard the half of what I came up here to tell you, either.  The big news.”

Which big news ended up all but forgotten for the moment when Einar led Kilgore in through the tunnel to a startled reception by the two women, who had just recently wakened wondering where Einar had gone…

10 January 2013

Einar had been sleeping lightly, cold again after having at some point disentangled himself from Liz’s embrace and rolled to the edge of the bed where the hides did not so thoroughly cover him—the night was full of shadows, and he did not want to be so close to her should he accidentally fall asleep and find himself facing some of them—and troubled by a series of vivid dreams which had crept in to leave him waking wide-eyed and staring whenever he did doze.  It was in this context that the sound reached his ears, a movement in the snow outside, something between a scrape and a crunch and so faint as to be somewhat past the edge of normal hearing, but there was nothing normal about Einar’s hearing on most days, and especially not after having just wakened from one of those dreams.  The entire world was alive with sounds for him, soft, slow monotony of Liz’s breathing, gentle, reassuring, Will’s still-faster rhythm weaving in and out of her own as he, too, slept, and across the room the sound of Juni stirring slightly in her sleep, fabric of her bag rustling softly.  Then there were the routine sounds of the night—sigh of wind through the spruces, crackling of cabin logs as temperatures continued to plummet, a soft scouring sound as a skiff of newly fallen snow crystals, icy because of conditions, were caught in a stray eddy of wind and swirled against the back side of the cabin near where the tunnel connected and the hollow, almost electrical-sounding echo in his own head as he for a moment lost the rigid control he’d been maintaining over his body, and shivered violently for the passage of several seconds.  These sounds were all greatly amplified by the intense, crackling alertness that always attended the aftermath of such dreaming as he’d has that night, but were not unfamiliar.  Not a threat.

For a time he was unsure whether he had truly heard anything threatening, anything out of the ordinary, lying perfectly still and holding himself rigid against his own shivering, could have all been in his head, wouldn’t have been the first time, especially in conjunction with such dreams as had been accosting his consciousness during the dark hours, but then it came again, and he, devoid now of any trace of sleepiness, was sure.  Someone—or something, but if it wasn’t human, it had to be awfully close in both size and gait—was out there.  Was moving.  Approaching.

Swiftly and with more stealth than he was normally able to summon of late, Einar was out of bed and crouching on the floor, once more listening, not hearing the sound again but knowing he must go and investigate.  Slipping into a sweater—parka was too bulky, would slow him down and make some noise of its own, at least to his ears—he silently retrieved the rifle from its place in the corner, checking to see that one was in the chamber, which it was, always was but still he had to check.  Pistol already in his back pocket and knife ready to grab he crept for the door, ever so slowly ease open the tunnel easing it open, muzzle of the rifle leading and he following on soft, silent feet, crouching to hands and knees and pushing the door closed behind him. 

Out in the tunnel it was cold, still, not a sound other than the normal night noises he’d been hearing from inside, and for a full minute he waited, weight of the rifle beginning to drag at him so that he could no longer easily hold it up, but he didn’t feel it.  Needed to get some sense of the direction from which the danger might be coming, wanted to know before venturing out of the concealment of the tunnel but whatever it was seemed to have stopped moving, sensing, perhaps, his own motion or perhaps simply having reached its intended destination.  Frightening thought.  Even now, the man—or men, if indeed the intruder proved to be of the human sort—might be lying in wait with the tunnel mouth in full view, prepared to take him out the moment he emerged and then come for the others…  Sneaky buzzards.  Wished he had a third entrance.  Did not, though, and upon a bit of reflection realized that things probably weren’t quite as grim as he’d initially made them out to be, even should some shadowy adversary be lying in wait.

The area around the tunnel mouth was so heavily timbered as to prevent the snow ever getting particularly deep there, unless drifted in by the wind.  If one turned right upon emerging, instead of left as they usually did to begin making their way around the cabin, the trees were denser still, a stand of such thick, tangles little firs that he’d had rather a hard time pushing his way through, last time he’d tried.  Those trees, if he could reach them without being spotted, would give him the concealment he needed to put some quick distance between himself and the cabin, hopefully allow him to work his way around to a vantage from which he could look back and watch the place, spot and intercept whoever was sneaking around out there.  If indeed there was anyone at all.  Hadn’t heard a sound since entering the tunnel, not a whisper that seemed out of place, and was almost beginning to wonder whether he had imagined the entire thing, letting the dream-shadows run away with him again, when he heard it.

Not too far away this time and distinctly human, the footsteps crunched through some old snow, stopped, did not start again.  On his belly in the tunnel mouth, squinting into the faintly starlit darkness, Einar knew this could mean only one thing about the location of his adversary or adversaries, as there was only one spot nearby where the wind always kept new snow polished from the ground, allowing for the sound he had heard, instead of the much softer mute thud of a human foot in fresh powder.  Turning his eyes on the place but keeping them somewhat averted in the knowledge that one’s best vision, in such lighting, is on the periphery, he scanned for any unusual shape, anything that might give away more exactly the position of the intruder, but he saw nothing, and could not risk simply firing at random into the area and hoping he hit whoever it was; the timber could be teeming with the man’s cohorts, and he absolutely must not risk giving himself away. 

Only one thing to do then, and that was to try and work his way in closer, get to a place where he might be able to see something and determine more exactly the nature of the threat, and then he was moving, slithering on his belly into the soft snow beneath the firs, worming his way through as quietly as possible.  Which was pretty quietly, for in his rather skinny state he passed much more easily and flexibly between the close-growing little trees than otherwise he would have found himself capable of doing, and with an almost-smile creeping across his face despite the direness of present circumstances, he decided he might have to mention the fact to Liz, next time she got after him for not eating enough.  Liz. Wished she was out there with him, instead of fast asleep in a cabin which almost certainly represented the target of whoever stalked the night out there, her, and Will with her, for what chance would the two of them have should the place be stormed while they slept?  Even with Juni there to help—provided she would help—it was little more than a death trap.  Mustn’t allow that to happen.  Must find and deal with the intruders, before they could have hope of closing the distance.  If he could only find them.  Still nothing over where the crunchy snow should have been, nothing visible, only just then, peering at last through the final screen of firs before a small open area beneath the cliffs back of the cabin, he thought he saw a flicker of movement, just a tiny thing right on the edge of vision, but it was enough.

Rifle aimed in the starlight, pale, tenuous starlight—would much rather use a knife, and probably would end up doing so if the man remained stationary and he was able to approach, but for now must keep him covered and watch for a minute—he lay there waiting, praying there weren’t too many, for he had no chance now to return to his family, warn them, see them off into the timber before the shooting started…

9 January 2013

When evening came without any apparent letup in the storm, Einar found himself growing increasingly restless penned up as he was in the cabin, the place seeming to press in all around him as he longed for the stinging bite of the wind on his face, for somewhere to go and the challenge that would come of getting there, even if it was just to the woodshed and back.  They had plenty of wood though, thanks to his earlier expedition, and with Liz seeming to watch him more closely than usual, he knew his chances of slipping out unnoticed and thus un-followed had to be pretty minimal. 

Could simply go, let her know that he needed some space and air and head out into the storm, but knew this would not be in keeping with the resolve he’d expressed to her up at their last camp before returning, his determination to really make an effort to allow himself to grow physically stronger as she’d been urging him to do for so long.  He’d meant it up there, had even believed, himself, that it was the right thing to do and being a man of his word knew he must stick to the things he had told her, but that was, at the moment, his only reason for doing so.  Any conviction he might have had that such a path was the right one for him had managed to evaporate sometime after his third bowl of stew—desperation lessening, resolve returning, and with it a great shame that he had ever allowed himself to give in, to slip, for that was now how he saw it—and now all he wanted was the severe life and death challenge which he knew would be brought him by spending an unprotected night out in the storm, in his condition.  Might kill him, but it seemed at the same time the only thing with much chance of keeping him alive, of making life a livable thing, on an ongoing basis.  Foolish notion, he told himself, trying to believe.  He was alive, had to be doing better than he’d done in days, between Liz’s extra bowls of stew and her insistence that he did for the most part allow himself some rather unaccustomed rest and warmth, and he would stay that way—and maybe at some point start seeing the entire process as a good thing—if he could just summon the patience to see it through.

Which, resignedly bracing his back against the water barrel and wrapping arms around his knees as if in an attempt to hold himself in place, he tried very hard to do.  Could wait.  Knew how to wait.

Though appreciative of Einar’s obvious efforts, Liz was perhaps a bit less reassured by his waiting than he might have hoped her to be.  She knew the look that was creeping into his eyes, the look of a trapped animal, and she did not like it at all.  Did not like the idea of going into the night with him in that state, because she had seen where it could lead, but not even these strong apprehensions could justify, so far as she was concerned, sending him out to die in the wind, just when a bit of progress was beginning to be made…

Liz sighed, turned back to Will, who was once more going at the raven, this time with perhaps a bit too much enthusiasm so that she was concerned he might end up aggravating the bird and getting a peck to the eye, picking up the child and attempting to turn his attention elsewhere.  No minor task, but at least it got her mind off Einar, with whom she was beginning to become dreadfully frustrated.  No way to figure him out, is there little one?  Too bad you can’t talk yet, maybe you could tell me something useful about how you guys think…  Or maybe not.  I’m not sure he knows exactly what he’s thinking right now, or why.  It wouldn’t surprise me if it was almost as much a mystery to him as it is to me.  Well.  Carry on.

Which she did, slipping Will into his buckskin sling to keep him close—and out of trouble—as she went about supper preparations.  Their supply of fresh-frozen meat continued to hold out fairly well despite having Juni around as an extra mouth to feed, and despite the fact that both before and after her arrival, they had been working pretty consistently to get the remaining stuff sliced and dried for jerky.  They’d had a good bit to begin with, and Juni had very nearly made up for her share with the fresh meat—rabbits, mostly, with the occasional squirrel or even grouse making up the remainder—that she brought in from her frequent short expeditions around the cabin, and as they had always eaten this fresh when it was brought in, this left a fair portion of the frozen meat yet to use.  That night Liz had chosen venison, good—any food was good, she had come to realize, after a long day living in the cold, a tremendous blessing and never to be taken for granted—if not such a treat as elk, but they were getting short on fresh elk, Einar having already turned most of it into jerky.  No problem, as the jerky would serve them well over the coming months to provide trail snacks and stews for both home and the road, and for that night, venison would do just fine.  More than fine, really, as they were all hungry after the cold and wind of the day, though most of it had been spent sheltered, more or less, by the walls of the cabin.  This hunger was especially evident in Einar, whose face remained painfully pinched and hollow despite several days of better eating, and though he was doing his best to conceal the extent of his need, she could see it in his eyes every time he glanced towards the stove.  It was a struggle she saw in his face each and every time she presented him with a bowl of stew—the desire, perhaps even the need to refuse, to resist, overcome with tremendous effort and at great cost—and though he had of late been winning more often than not, she knew there was no guarantee that things would continue to go that way.  Best get as much food into him as possible, while he was willing.

Supper finished, cleaning done and everyone thinking about settling in for the night, the wind still howled outside, perhaps somewhat less furiously than it had done during the day but still with enough enthusiasm to prevent any thoughts of the storm being over, and with the coming of darkness, already low temperatures plunged rapidly.  Everyone inside could feel the change, walls keeping out most of the wind but the little stove struggling to push back the icy chill of the night.

Eianr, quiet since before supper and growing increasingly withdrawn as night approached, wanted to sleep out in the tunnel that night, could feel trouble coming and didn’t want to be near Will—or either of the women—when it happened, mentioned the fact to Liz but, true to form, did not tell her why he wanted to separate himself for the night, assuming she would know.  Liz did know, or at least suspect, Einar’s reason for needing a bit more space, and though knowing she would eventually have to relent and allow him to do what he believed he needed to do in that regard, she hated the thought of him starting the night out that way, cold as he already appeared to be.  With much effort she talked him into coming to bed instead of heading immediately outside, willing that he should eventually end up in the tunnel if he was so determined to do it but wanting at least to get him a bit warmer first, give him a better chance of making it through the night out there.  Will, having worn himself out in another raven-chasing session after supper, was already asleep, and the two of them lay together beside him, Liz wrapping herself as well as possible around his cold-stiff frame and he marveling, as always, at her presence.

“You’re so warm.  How do you do that…?”

“I eat.  Enough to have some insulation on me, that is, as well as to produce energy for the day.  And you don’t, and you feel like a block of ice right now, but we’re going to fix that.”

“No fixing it.”

“Oh, yes there is…”

And so it happened that Einar, contrary to his initial intent, was still in the cabin when the storm ended, skies cleared and the visitors came.