Page 62 of Trapped: Until The Darkest Of Night

I pull her cross-country, right through the thicket of conifers, deadwood, blueberry bushes, and ferns. It’s an arduous journey and the spruce branches keep slapping me in the face with their sharp needles, and I’m sure Lou fares the same.

“It is summer. How can you freeze to death in summer?” she asks again a few minutes later. She doesn’t let go of the subject. If her interest in it didn’t annoy me so much, I’d probably be happy she’s talking to me.

“When you fall asleep and don’t realize your campfire is going out and the temperatures fall below zero—for example.”

She says nothing more.

I gently stroke the dead rabbit’s abdomen to empty the bladder before I tie a string around the hind legs and hang the animal upside down from a spruce branch. Lou is sitting in her camp chair by the fire. When we returned from trapping late in the morning, I attached the two chains together and connected one end to a steel ring on the underbody so she can move in a larger radius or even sit by the campfire when I’m in the forest. And today I had to go into the forest more often, not only to check the traps, but also to dispose of our garbage. I can’t burn everything in the campfire. I wash the cans in the lake and store them in the storage compartment until I return to civilization. The cardboard from frozen goods I fold and store away as well, but I also have to bury some things.

After hanging the rabbit, I turn to Lou and find her narrowed eyes on me. Maybe she imagines I could hang her from a branch that way too—no idea what’s going on in her pretty head.

I turn my back on her and remove my sharpest knife from my belt, a killer knife with a curved blade and a finely serrated edge that would require a permit in other countries.

“What’s that bowl for?” I hear Lou suddenly ask.

I tap my foot lightly on the tin container that I placed under the branch earlier. “To catch the blood.” I make a clean cut down the rabbit’s throat and step back as the animal bleeds out. “We can make soup out of it, it’s incredibly nutritious.” I turn to Lou with a grin and laugh when I see her upper lip curl up and her nose wrinkle. Obviously, I have no intention of doing it, but it is true.

Without explaining it to her, I walk a few steps through the spruce tree line with the full bowl, pour the blood into the water, and rinse the bowl.

When I return, Lou looks at me questioningly. “The bowl is empty,” she states.

“Did you seriously think I’d make you blood soup?” I tap my forehead. “I collected the blood because of the animals it might attract like wolves and bears.”

I go back to the dangling rabbit and make two incisions on the inside of the thighs. I grab the first cut with one hand, separating the fur from the meat while continuing to cut with the other. I turn to Lou for a moment, but she looks away. Naturally. Most people can’t butcher or gut the animals they eat. It’s satisfying to me, not because of the killing, but because it makes me independent of everything else. As a child, I depended on the monster’s favor, receiving only his leftovers or nothing at all, and in the slums, I lived on the garbage of others for years. Hunting gives me a sense of security that no canned food can match.

After loosening the fur, I pull it upward like an upside-down sock, separate it, and cut open the abdomen to gut the animal. I hear the chain jingle and suspect that Lou is disappearing into the RV.

I cut up the rabbit with a small hatchet, put the legs on a skewer and hang them over the fire. I place the rest in a freezer bag and stuff it in a tiny gap between lemon ice cream and frozen donuts. Lou is sitting at the front of the table since her chain doesn’t reach all the way to the back. My gaze lingers on her wrists. She hasn’t needed the bandages for a few days, but I now notice how red the skin has become.

I grab two black cloths from the hanging cupboard next to the bunk and sit down on the bench opposite her with a, “Unfortunately, there was no princess pink!” She eyes the cloths suspiciously and then me.

“Don’t worry!” I hold up the fabrics. “I merely want to tie them around your wrists so the skin doesn’t get infected again.”

“I can do it myself.”

“Sure, but not as well as I can.”

She bites her lip, looks out the window, and holds out her hands to me.

“Lou, I’m not doing this to annoy you, it’s just difficult to do with one hand.” I carefully push the steel ring up a little and wrap the soft cloth around her wrist. Glowing sparks leap through my veins as I wrap the fabric around it a few times. Glowing sparks, affection, and desire, all together. Not as wild and blazing as before, not as stormy, but gentler.

I tie the cloth with a double knot and repeat the whole thing with her other wrist. “It’s easier if we do it on both so…” I stop.

“So you don’t have to consider which wrist you use.” Lou turns her head and narrows her eyes at me. “I get it.”

Nodding, I slide the cuff back into place and stand. “I’ll fix you something to eat and then we’ll go outside. The shanks are almost ready. Which one you want?”

Lou puts her hand on her stomach and makes a face like she’s disgusted.

“You must eat. You promised! So, tell me?”

“Toast,” Lou chokes out like it’s hard to even say the word.

I stare at her for a long time. I can only hope that she will actually eat something.

The shanks are tender without that typical gamey flavor so many people don’t care for. Still, I chew on them like they’re tough as leather. The reason for this is Lou. She sits lethargically next to me in the camping chair with a plate with cheese toast and lemon cookies on her lap, but doesn’t touch anything. Every second that goes by, I have to pull myself together not to yell at her.

Fucking hell, Lou! I slathered on an extra teaspoon of butter and used the Gouda that you like!

---