was only partially intact. The ribbing and gunwales were unbroken but there was a gaping wound in the middle of the hull. The paddles were long gone. So too the small metal first aid kit. No clean bandages. No astringent or antibiotic cream. Not even a fucking aspirin.
I searched for water. The cooler we’d brought was gone and with it the water and whatever food was left. The upright refrigerator mocked me. The Snows always emptied it of perishables and shut it down when they left the place. We had not even bothered to open it. Inside I found four small bottles of store-bought water along with two jars of pickles, squeeze bottles of both mustard and ketchup, and three cans of beer. In the freezer compartment there were several empty ice cube trays and a mushy warm Ace reusable cold compress. I brought out the water, twisted open one bottle and then bent to Sherry, offering it to her lips.
“Ah, room service,” she said, but could not smile at the joke this time. “Anything up there from your vantage point that looks hopeful, Max? The view looks pretty dismal from down here.” She turned at the hip to take in the crushed outbuildings but winced at the effort. “At one point I thought of a signal fire but figured we could burn down everything we’ve got left to sit on and still not raise anybody’s attention.”
She wasn’t just being cute. If the hurricane had done any significant damage on the coast there would be plenty of emergencies for the authorities to handle in their own backyards, never mind some idiot who went frontiering out in the Glades without so much as leaving a word behind with a destination in mind. Who would miss them? And where would they look? Maybe if the river ranger at the park went out to my cabin to check on me. Maybe if he realizes my canoe is missing. Maybe if Sherry’s supervisor couldn’t contact her to come in for post- hurricane duty. Lots of maybes that could take days. I looked down at the stained bandage around Sherry’s leg and didn’t think we had days. From what little I knew about compound fractures, the sharp edges of the broken bone could be doing even more damage on the inside with every movement. Since the bone had once been exposed, infection was not just a possibility but a certainty. I sat back down next to her.
“I don’t think we can afford to stay here, Sherry.”
“Yeah, I figured,” she said. “No communications link. Not much in the way of passing traffic.” This time she found a way to tighten those laugh lines of hers but then turned her head to the bleak horizon.
“We walkin’ or ridin’?”
“I’m going to search what’s left of the utility room. There might be something we can use to patch the canoe. If we can get her floating, we’re riding,” I said, trying to at least match her formidable gumption.
“You’re thinking maybe that last camp we passed? That one in the trees? Might have been sheltered at least a little bit?”
“You’re way ahead of me, as usual,” I said and meant it.
“No, Max,” she said, turning back to find my eyes. “Not ahead. Just right with you.”
This time I did lean down and kiss her lightly, on the mouth.
“OK then,” I said and untied the flashlight from her belt. “I’ll be right back.”
The bunkhouse was completely gone, as if it had been swatted off the deck by a giant hand, only a few iron post anchors left bolted to the flooring where the corners of the building used to be. The utility building was flattened but there were still gaps of space under the collapsed walls, the largest made where an interior wall was still propped up off the deck by the generator. The heavy piece of machinery was bolted to the plank flooring and was close to one of the foundation posts. It had stayed put. I lifted a sheet of wood siding and shoved it aside, then sent a beam of light into the gap and start rooting around. After coming up with busted cans of paint, shattered jars of roofing nails, a
I searched for water. The cooler we’d brought was gone and with it the water and whatever food was left. The upright refrigerator mocked me. The Snows always emptied it of perishables and shut it down when they left the place. We had not even bothered to open it. Inside I found four small bottles of store-bought water along with two jars of pickles, squeeze bottles of both mustard and ketchup, and three cans of beer. In the freezer compartment there were several empty ice cube trays and a mushy warm Ace reusable cold compress. I brought out the water, twisted open one bottle and then bent to Sherry, offering it to her lips.
“Ah, room service,” she said, but could not smile at the joke this time. “Anything up there from your vantage point that looks hopeful, Max? The view looks pretty dismal from down here.” She turned at the hip to take in the crushed outbuildings but winced at the effort. “At one point I thought of a signal fire but figured we could burn down everything we’ve got left to sit on and still not raise anybody’s attention.”
She wasn’t just being cute. If the hurricane had done any significant damage on the coast there would be plenty of emergencies for the authorities to handle in their own backyards, never mind some idiot who went frontiering out in the Glades without so much as leaving a word behind with a destination in mind. Who would miss them? And where would they look? Maybe if the river ranger at the park went out to my cabin to check on me. Maybe if he realizes my canoe is missing. Maybe if Sherry’s supervisor couldn’t contact her to come in for post- hurricane duty. Lots of maybes that could take days. I looked down at the stained bandage around Sherry’s leg and didn’t think we had days. From what little I knew about compound fractures, the sharp edges of the broken bone could be doing even more damage on the inside with every movement. Since the bone had once been exposed, infection was not just a possibility but a certainty. I sat back down next to her.
“I don’t think we can afford to stay here, Sherry.”
“Yeah, I figured,” she said. “No communications link. Not much in the way of passing traffic.” This time she found a way to tighten those laugh lines of hers but then turned her head to the bleak horizon.
“We walkin’ or ridin’?”
“I’m going to search what’s left of the utility room. There might be something we can use to patch the canoe. If we can get her floating, we’re riding,” I said, trying to at least match her formidable gumption.
“You’re thinking maybe that last camp we passed? That one in the trees? Might have been sheltered at least a little bit?”
“You’re way ahead of me, as usual,” I said and meant it.
“No, Max,” she said, turning back to find my eyes. “Not ahead. Just right with you.”
This time I did lean down and kiss her lightly, on the mouth.
“OK then,” I said and untied the flashlight from her belt. “I’ll be right back.”
The bunkhouse was completely gone, as if it had been swatted off the deck by a giant hand, only a few iron post anchors left bolted to the flooring where the corners of the building used to be. The utility building was flattened but there were still gaps of space under the collapsed walls, the largest made where an interior wall was still propped up off the deck by the generator. The heavy piece of machinery was bolted to the plank flooring and was close to one of the foundation posts. It had stayed put. I lifted a sheet of wood siding and shoved it aside, then sent a beam of light into the gap and start rooting around. After coming up with busted cans of paint, shattered jars of roofing nails, a
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