SURVIVING ABE: A Climate-Fiction Novel (14 page)

Detouring around another deadfall he paused for a breath then did a double take.  There, right ahead, something big had crossed his intended path.  He knelt by the tracks to figure out what had tromped this trail in the snow.  Well over a foot of snow had accumulated in the valley bottom, more in the drifts.  Other than sculpturing by the wind the snow was unmarked except for what looked like drag marks made by some animal’s hooves as it walked.

The big
, messy parallel lines were punctuated with impressions of packed snow in the shape of the hooves that had made the tracks.  Gus built concrete structures for a living, so tracking didn't happen to be on his resume, but he could make some educated guesses.  After looking at a fairly clear impression he knew either a big elk or some rancher's stray cow had made these tracks.  He also noticed little BB like snowflakes were just starting to accumulate in the deep impressions.  That lead him to believe only a few moments had passed since the tracks were made.

He found that walking in
the trail that the animal broke made moving through the snow far easier.  First through a clearing and then into the tree line on the far side, Gus followed the tracks before stopping.  Just inside the tree line he stood very still, listening for any sound other than the wind through the trees. Five more steps and he stopped again.

Snow swirled through the trees on the gusting wind, limiting how far he could see for minutes at a time.  Waiting for the wind to ease made the minutes go by like hours.

Gus sensed or heard something, and stopped in mid-stride, as his ears strained to make sense of what he was hearing.  On the edge of audibility came faint noises carried by the wind, and almost masked by it.  After what seemed a lifetime or two he moved a few yards forward to the next snow-covered tree.

Once there,
slowly—ever so slowly, he eased his pack into the snow, ready to draw his bow.  Gus checked to see that he had the arrow nocked properly.  He took a steadying breath, then released half of it as he pulled the bow to full draw, and sidestepped out to see around the tree.

The bull elk stood no more than forty yards away chewing acorns with
his head in motion as he stripped them from a branch in the oak brush in front him.  Gus's left arm, holding the bow, rose to adjust for the range and windage of the shot, without any conscious thought from him; it was all muscle memory honed from hours of practice each year.

The bull must have sensed
his presence, as his head craned around to look his antler raked the snow on his back.  Just as the back of Gus’s right thumb barely touched his check, the bull's eyes met Gus's over the tip of the arrow, and time froze while predator and prey took stock of one another.

Gus relaxed the
draw slightly as the string slipped smoothly from his fingertips. The arrow shot out on a line for the far horizon at first, but then the apex of the arrow's trajectory was past.  The arrow appeared to dive, but not for the sweet spot just behind the bull's front shoulder.

At the Sheriff's office Jennifer and Andy found Sam waiting on them.  He explained the procedure and gave them their now typed statements from last night to read and sign.  Briefly he told them that the day had brought a growing number of calls to the Sheriff's Department due to flooding of low-lying areas and intermittent power outages.  Though officers had been called in on their days off the backlog was growing, along with the response times for emergency assistance to arrive when citizens placed a call.

On the drive back to Jennifer’s home they noticed some standing water and Andy said, "Seems to me the ground has to be saturated by now, anymore rain won't be soaking in."

"Some creeks are already out of their banks, according to Sam, and the County is in the moderate flooding stage.  If this keeps up I'm betting we’ll be in the major flooding stage later today."

"Think I can trade my bike for a boat around here?"

"You can trade for anything here, but I bet boats of any type will be going at a premium today.  Anyway, you better rest up first; I can tell you're sore by the way you get in and out of the truck.  Please, go ahead and use the washer and dryer for your clothes if you want, but the important thing is to relax and let your body heal.  You really do look like you were hit by a car."

"Yeah, well you should see the car."

"Speaking of who we should see, do you want to go to a doctor and have that knot on your head checked out?"

"Not really.  I don't have a headache anymore, so I think my head is in better shape than the rest of me.  I feel better than I look, apparently.  At the Sheriff's office they were doing double takes."

"I'm sure the story of Jeff taking a bat to you has made the rounds, and all cops want to see the evidence of a crime.  It's their nature."

"That's probably true, I hadn't thought of it that way.  What about Sam telling you that the hill the store sets on could be cut off and isolated from the flooding?"

"It could, but I've never seen it happen in the past.  Okay, here we are.  Make yourself comfortable.  I'll be back in four hours, or so."  The garage door on the front of Jennifer's townhouse rolled up as she pulled into her driveway.

"Jennifer, I do appreciate you doing this for me, see you soon."

Andy watched Jennifer drive off as the garage door came down.  He went to the pile of his wet clothes and gear on the floor on one side of the garage and began sorting the big pile into smaller ones.  Two loads through the washer and dryer did all the clothes and the lightweight sleeping bag.  The trash pile included his tent, a couple of books he'd borrowed from Jennifer's store, and some waterlogged food.  After he cleaned and dried his gear, and had everything except his clothes repacked on the bike, he swept up the mess he'd made on the garage floor.

Back inside he looked around at Jennifer's tastefully decorated and comfortable
home.  The thought that the minimalist concept appealed to him more on an intellectual level than in reality came to him while he relaxed on Jennifer's couch, waiting for the dryer to finish. 
Nothing easier to slip into than a bad habit; like being lazy
, he thought.  He rested physically, while mentally searching for the motivation to condemn slothfulness in general.

"
THWACK!" The arrow's impact with the bull sounded loudly above the wind in the trees.  That meaty slap initiated an explosion of breaking branches and pounding hooves, masked by a cloud of snow.  The sound of stampeding bull quickly faded in the distance, replaced by the lonesome moan of wind through a nearby stand of fir trees.  Like an echo, the moan came again, as the wind gust moved through stands of pines on down the valley.

Knowing there w
as no way to take an elk in this situation he had used the blunt instead of the broad head.  Letting up on the pull just before release, and hitting the bull in the ass, minimized any potential injury to the elk. Only the fletching showed above the snow after the blunt bounced halfway back to him, he walked over and retrieved the arrow. He smiled at the thought of framing it with a picture of an elk’s ass, as a wall-hanging trophy—if he made it home.

As the pack settled on his shoulders with the recurve now tied to it
, he thought taking the shot may not have been the most ethical thing to do.  He justified it by reasoning that the elk benefited from a lesson about how a bow hunter looks and smells, with only a bruised butt to show for it.  From the look of terror in the bull’s eye when it had recognized the danger of the situation, Gus guessed that bull would never hesitate long enough to give another human a shot again. "You're welcome Bull," he shouted at the departed elk.

With the
elk hunt over and a story to tell, now was the time to find someone to tell it to, he resolved.  Of all the people he could think of for the first recital, he would prefer it to be a helicopter pilot engaged in rescuing him. As unlikely as that scenario was he settled on the reality that he had found a bull, and his arrow had been true to his aim.  When those two things come together during elk season he had to count it as one hell of a good day—even if it did turn out badly for him in the end.  But he wasn't dead yet, and he had gotten his shot at a magnificent bull.  Faith; there might just be something to it, thought Gus.  He wiped a little moisture from the corner of his eye and started walking.

~~~

After the bull had charged away Gus took advantage of the trail the elk had left in the deepening snow.  His quicker and easier movement through the snow lasted long enough for him to cross the valley bottom.  The thought came that by breaking trail that bull might have saved his life in repayment for his lesson on hunter awareness.  "Damn!  I hope I live to tell this story," Gus said as he trudged into the undisturbed snow where his path separated from the path of the bull.  Gus felt a kindred spirit had joined his for a brief time in the storm.  He and elk were at peace and each had gained karma from the other.  "It will be the last elk-hunting story of my life, if I'm allowed to tell it," he vowed to the storm.

The snow persisted
and visibility dropped at times, making it impossible to navigate.  During those times he held up, trying to find anything to use as a windbreak, until he could make out the stream’s course again, and only then did he continued on. During the periods of waiting he ate trail mix and energy bars and decided deep-sea fishing beat the shit out of elk hunting.  He planned on flying to Cabo San Lucas to spend a few weeks experiencing the advantages of taking up the sport, as soon as he could find an airport.

Midafternoon Gus
stopped at an area with good wind protection.  By his estimate he'd made only half the distance he'd set out to make, and he wouldn't make the other half before he wore out, or it got dark, or both.  Plus, he knew he needed time to build a shelter capable of withstanding snow-load and the wind, if he wanted to survive the night.  The wind had come from the SW when the storm first hit, but it had been almost imperceptibly shifting most of the day, and was now coming out of the ESE, according to the compass on the zipper-pull of his outer shell.

His limited weather knowledge came
from how it affected the concrete he and his crews poured every day.  Temperature, humidity, and precipitation were critical factors in determining the correct aggregate mix required for the concrete to finish and meet the strength-standards specified for the cured structure.  Based on what he'd learned through the years this storm had come in from the southwest, because it was warmer than the ones coming in from the northwest. Since most southern storms pass near the Colorado and New Mexico border region he assumed this one would too.  It would get colder, probably much colder, as the storm passed eastward and the wind came out of the north.  With that in mind he began looking for a site that offered shelter from the cold north wind he felt sure was coming.

Piny
on trees, junipers, and oak brush dominated the lower slopes he now moved through, as he started to climb out of the valley.  Ahead the side of the ridge was cut by a deep gully that looked promising, so he detoured over to check it out.  At the mouth of the narrow gully some boulders were jumbled together where they had fallen from the rimrock eons ago.  Two of the largest boulders formed a narrow "V" between them, offering protection from any wind direction, except south.  He decided to reserve a room for the night as soon as he stepped into the protected spot.

First
Gus got busy clearing enough snow from between the boulders to pitch the tent. Next, he collected firewood and anything else he found to improve his shelter and his chances of survival.  The gully funneled deadfall from the slopes above to an area jammed with a tangled mass of it, evidenced by the snow-capped humps of dead trees.

After he gathered a pile of the
longest branches he could find, he hauled them back to camp.  Fearing a heavy overnight-load of snow on the tent, he began using the branches to build a sturdy lean-to against one boulder and over the tent.  The snow pile, from his earlier diggings, and some shorter branches helped make the lean-to more wind tight.  Stepping back to see the results of his efforts, it looked like a tent pitched in a small snow cave between two boulders.

With s
helter checked off the list he decided to move on to providing warmth and hot food.  Any standing dry firewood that he could find he hauled back to the boulders, until he had a pile twice the size he estimated he would need.  Then with the last feeble light still making its way through the clouds he went through a stand of cedars stripping bark and breaking small dead branches off of standing trees.  He hoped this last load of kindling would be dry enough to get a hot fire going, so the rest of the firewood would dry and burn.

With
the driest twigs and some lint from the clothes dryer he started a fire in the Kelly Kettle and fed it the smallest pieces of bark and firewood until flames were coming out of the top. Seeing the flames, feeling the warmth, and being out of the wind-blown snow gave Gus a much needed boost in his morale.

While
the Kettle heated water for the evening’s meal he built a campfire just under the edge of the lean-to, so he would get the heat, but no smoke.  Then he used burning, finger-sized branches from the small fire already going in the Kettle to start the bigger campfire.  It took awhile, but once the larger sticks of wood began burning the heat from it was well worth the wait.

As Gus prepared a hot meal and warmed himself with the glow of the fire his thoughts wandered back over the day's events.  He remembered how the bull had just happened to be going in his direction, and had plowed a path for him to use, then he'd found a place to camp that offered excellent shelter from the wind.  Gus hoped that those two fortuitous events represented the beginning of a new trend of lucky breaks.  As he gobbled down the hot, freeze-dried stew he decided to stick with that positive thought, and hoped for one more day of good fortune.

By the time supper was done, coalmine darkness pushed back at the light from the campfire.  Unlike being at home with light and warmth just a flick of a switch away, dealing with this dark coldness, was a different matter altogether.  Even with a small campfire and a headlamp, the wind and blackness pressed in on him with a force the light could barely hold at bay. Somewhere inside his head he knew he was letting the storm get to him, the struggle between emotion and intellect probably instigated by being alone in a blizzard with the threat of imminent death.  This ordeal was beyond anything in his experience, not even his worst nightmares compared to this.

A contrary wind gust blew snow and smoke
back into the lean-to, breaking his adversary's hold on him, and he regained his purchase on reality.  Though he knew the situation he found himself in usually ended in death—he still had a chance.  He needed to keep his wits together to capitalize on that chance; now was not the time to panic and die.

The night passed in segments defined by temperature.  When he felt the cold creeping in he crawled out far enough to put more wood on the fire, a surge of warmth then brought some slee
p, until the cold crept back in . . .