Page 34 of Protecting the Flame

“Before…?”

“Before we leave.” She didn’t want to do that at all, but it paid to think ahead. There were three of them—four, if you counted Rachel—and they would need to start thinking about calories. Staying warm burned a lot of them, and they had limited rations. As it was, they’d be skimping if this went on for more than a day, as seemed likely. When Rachel woke…if she woke…that would be another mouth.

Will listened and then said, “We’ll burn a hell of a lot more calories walking in the cold than staying put. I read a story not long ago. Outside magazine, I think. It was about this thru-hiker on the Continental Divide. Veteran, knew what he was doing, but also went ultra-light so he could make better time. He told people where he was going and when he ought to arrive; he even had a sat phone, I think. Then it snowed. One of those freak October storms. A helluva dump, I guess. Anyway, when he didn’t show, people started looking along his route. Search planes, the whole nine yards. Turned out they were looking in the wrong place. Even so, this guy managed to survive until late February.”

“Holy cow.” Five months? “How did he do that?”

“Luck. He kept a journal. It’s all in there, what he did, how he tried to get out. Because he knew the area, he made it to a campground and eventually sheltered in one of the cement-bottomed latrines. In a woodshed nearby, he found a couple pounds of horse oats. He still had a camp stove, so he lived on oatmeal and water for months. He tried making skis, too, but that didn’t work. All he could do was sit there and write in his journal and daydream about food. As time went on and no rescue showed up, he started thinking maybe suicide was an option. He tried, too, by cranking up the woodstove so he’d asphyxiate. Only the latrine was drafty, and he survived. Another time, he cut his wrist with his portable saw. When he woke up still alive, he sewed himself up with fishing line.”

My God. “What happened? Did they find him?” They must have. Will said the hiker kept a journal.

“They found him…in April. An early spring hiker came on the latrine and there was this note warning people not to open the door because there was a dead body inside. They finally brought the body down in May.”

“If you’re trying to boost my morale, you’re totally failing. Why are you telling me this?”

“Because that guy was an experienced hiker in an area he knew well, and he still died. We are lost. We haven’t a clue where we are except, probably, somewhere in Montana. But we could have crossed the border into Canada. I know you keep thinking I’m this indispensable guy, but I know wilderness medicine and basic survival skills. I know how to navigate but need a map or some idea of which way to head. So, I’m not a Superman here. I’m only a guy who knows things. You know quite a few things, too. Don’t tell me they don’t teach you basic survival in the military. You’re the hunter, too, not me. I know how to fish and set a snare, but that doesn’t mean I’ve ever caught anything. Plus, we have Mattie to consider. She’s a tough kid, but if she’s spent one day on a trail, I’ll eat my hat.” He let out a small grunt. “I might do it anyway if we get desperate enough. We also have to worry about Rachel. I sure don’t want to be delivering a baby on the trail.”

“It’s better to deliver it here?” But it was a rhetorical question, and she knew it. “Have you ever done a long-distance hike?”

“If you mean days, yes. But months?” He wagged his head in an emphatic negative. “You?”

“No.” But how hard could it be? Hadn’t there been some woman who’d up and decided to hike some really long trail? Yeah, that was right. Reese Witherspoon had starred in the movie. She’d read the book and, if she were honest, the book had ticked her off. Like, that woman would never had made it if a bunch of people on the trail hadn’t rescued her butt several times over. (Seriously, who tossed away a hiking boot because they were pissed?)

Will was right, she did know a few things: how to build a fire, make a solar still to turn her pee into water, construct a basic debris shelter, catch fish with a safety pin and line made out of her hair. If she had to, she could choke back a worm (a task assigned by a truly sadistic sergeant; the worm had been disgusting, but she learned you didn’t chew worms. You swallowed them whole and tried not to think about it). She could ice-fish and set a snare; she knew how to clean whatever she caught. Sarah had taught her well, too.

So, if I had to, I might make it…if I knew where I was going, if I tried hard enough. And to hell with his stories of experienced hikers caught in snow. She was already in the shit. They all were. “We can’t wait too long, Will. We’ll never be stronger or in better shape than we are right now. Waiting means we only break down more.”

“As anxious as you are to be moving and doing, and believe me, I understand that, I’m saying that if we do decide to leave, we need to pick the right time. We shouldn’t leave too soon, but we don’t want to wait so long that we’re boiling bark to stay alive either.”

Or eating each other. She pushed the morbid thought aside. “Well, we’re not there yet. We may not get there at all.”

“From your mouth to God’s ear.” He paused, and she sensed he was thinking about the menorah, how she’d not said the blessings or even admitted there were any to say. Or that could be her guilt talking but, seriously, no matter what Mattie said, miracles were in kinda short supply. Finally, he said, “Okay, we’ve had enough doom and gloom for one night, don’t you think?” She was about to agree when he went on. “Before we settle down, I want to do a quick exam, make sure you’re okay. Good time for it, now that Mattie’s asleep. Just because you keep saying you’re fine doesn’t mean you are. Trauma’s funny that way. You can have a splenic or liver tear and not know it until you’ve bled enough into your abdomen where you’re in more pain than you can possibly imagine.”

She thought back to that tiny pink smear on her panties. “But blood is an irritant. If I was bleeding into my belly, I’d be pretty sick already.” She remembered this from basic. “Besides, I don’t have stomach pain. My ribs hurt, that’s all. They might be cracked, but there’s nothing you can do about that either, right?”

“No, not really. You get a pneumo because one of your ribs makes shish-kabob out of your lung, that I can treat. Is there a reason you don’t want me to examine you?”

She lied for the second time in as many minutes. “No. Can I ask you a question?”

“Is it a diversionary tactic?”

“Yes.”

He let out a low laugh. “At least you’re honest about it. Shoot. I’ve got nothing but time.”

“How come you switched from oncology to wilderness medicine?”

“I told you,” he said, easily. “I got tired of death.”

“But why? You must’ve known going into it from the beginning that you’d see a lot of death.”

“I did.” He was silent so long she was about to ask more when he said, “I started out in the military, too, as a matter of fact.”

“You’re kidding. Which branch?”

“Air Force. I know, small world. I was a flight surgeon for a while because what I wanted to be an astronaut. Actually, I really wanted to hang out with Captain Kirk or Jean Luc-Picard, but I was about two centuries too early, so…you take what you can get.”

“No way.” She laughed, though it was cut short by a needle of pain. “I wanted to be Luke Skywalker, and that wasn’t happening, plus I needed college first, so…” She concentrated on taking a breath that didn’t hurt. “I went in because I didn’t know what else to do.”

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