Service.
ATTENTION
Try this trail only in you are in top physical condition,
well clothed and carrying extra clothing and food.
Many have died above timberline from exposure.
Turn back at the first sign of bad weather.
We were both in top physical condition—I’d given Jody several thorough examinations—but we didn’t have a cracker between us, no water, and hardly any clothes apart from what we were wearing. I had a brace of firearms in case some local bear decided to get in on the act. I wasn’t planning on crossing the timberline—the trees gave us cover, and if necessary we could get to the Canadian border on foot in a few days. But right now, with first light in the sky and one very fucked-up young man on my hands, I urgently needed shelter. Food? Roots and berries? Roasted squirrel? Yes, if it came to it. I’ve done the survival stuff.
We walked on. The trail was easier as daylight penetrated the trees. There wasn’t much chance of meeting anyone up here—maybe the more adventurous tourists would go hiking later in the day, but by that time I intended to be well out of their range. All that really worried me were police dogs. We hadn’t left too many tracks behind us, but you can’t run from a well-trained nose. Two men who haven’t had a shower since fucking, both of them sweating, leave quite a trail behind them.
I heard a thud—Jody had walked straight into a tree, forehead first. It would have been funny if we’d just been out hiking, but now it worried me. He seemed confused, and he didn’t feel any pain from the graze. A trickle of blood ran into his eyebrow; he didn’t even wipe it away.
He was shutting down, near exhaustion.
I took off my shirt and pulled it over his head, dressing him as you’d dress a child, his arms weak and floppy. I held him, trying to warm him, but he was like
a rag doll. “Jody! Come on, man. Look at me! It’s Dan! Come on, Jody, please!”
Nothing, just unfocused eyes and an open mouth.
I could make some kind of shelter—there was the forest floor covered in pine needles, enough fallen branches to construct a cover, and we’d lie together until he slept and hope for the best. I’d find food and water. We’d make it. Wouldn’t we?
A couple of weeks ago, I’d have sat down and despaired. Who cares if I live or die? The sooner I’m off the face of this godforsaken earth the better. Forget it all, the grief and disappointment, and join Will. Not that I believe in the afterlife or anything like that, but at least we’d have something in common. We’d both be dead.
Now, in the White Mountains with corrupt cops at our heels, with a freaked-out hustler who may quite possibly have been telling me a pack of lies for the last few days, I wanted to live. Now that the odds were really against me, all that was left was my training. And what’s the prime objective? Survive.
Thanks, Uncle Sam. You took everything I had to give, you chewed me up and spat me out and now here I am with a man in my arms, and I am damn well going to protect him and serve him. We’ll make it to a place of safety and we will get justice. Bring on the New Hampshire police, bring on the helicopters, the dogs, the fucking grizzly bears, I’ll take ’em all, and I will fucking win.
I propped Jody against a tree, wiped his forehead with a tissue and went to look for wood. Build a shelter, get him in it. Survive.
And there, not more than twelve feet away, was a
cabin. Shielded from the track by a big granite outcrop, shaggy with moss and ferns, a perfect little house made of logs, neatly overlapped at the ends, shutters over the windows, enough crawlspace underneath to keep the whole thing dry. The roof looked sound. In a couple of months when the hunting season got underway we’d have company. Now it was empty.
The padlock was strong but the fixings were as soft as butter. A screwdriver would have made a more elegant job, but my bare hands did the trick.
I couldn’t see much
ATTENTION
Try this trail only in you are in top physical condition,
well clothed and carrying extra clothing and food.
Many have died above timberline from exposure.
Turn back at the first sign of bad weather.
We were both in top physical condition—I’d given Jody several thorough examinations—but we didn’t have a cracker between us, no water, and hardly any clothes apart from what we were wearing. I had a brace of firearms in case some local bear decided to get in on the act. I wasn’t planning on crossing the timberline—the trees gave us cover, and if necessary we could get to the Canadian border on foot in a few days. But right now, with first light in the sky and one very fucked-up young man on my hands, I urgently needed shelter. Food? Roots and berries? Roasted squirrel? Yes, if it came to it. I’ve done the survival stuff.
We walked on. The trail was easier as daylight penetrated the trees. There wasn’t much chance of meeting anyone up here—maybe the more adventurous tourists would go hiking later in the day, but by that time I intended to be well out of their range. All that really worried me were police dogs. We hadn’t left too many tracks behind us, but you can’t run from a well-trained nose. Two men who haven’t had a shower since fucking, both of them sweating, leave quite a trail behind them.
I heard a thud—Jody had walked straight into a tree, forehead first. It would have been funny if we’d just been out hiking, but now it worried me. He seemed confused, and he didn’t feel any pain from the graze. A trickle of blood ran into his eyebrow; he didn’t even wipe it away.
He was shutting down, near exhaustion.
I took off my shirt and pulled it over his head, dressing him as you’d dress a child, his arms weak and floppy. I held him, trying to warm him, but he was like
a rag doll. “Jody! Come on, man. Look at me! It’s Dan! Come on, Jody, please!”
Nothing, just unfocused eyes and an open mouth.
I could make some kind of shelter—there was the forest floor covered in pine needles, enough fallen branches to construct a cover, and we’d lie together until he slept and hope for the best. I’d find food and water. We’d make it. Wouldn’t we?
A couple of weeks ago, I’d have sat down and despaired. Who cares if I live or die? The sooner I’m off the face of this godforsaken earth the better. Forget it all, the grief and disappointment, and join Will. Not that I believe in the afterlife or anything like that, but at least we’d have something in common. We’d both be dead.
Now, in the White Mountains with corrupt cops at our heels, with a freaked-out hustler who may quite possibly have been telling me a pack of lies for the last few days, I wanted to live. Now that the odds were really against me, all that was left was my training. And what’s the prime objective? Survive.
Thanks, Uncle Sam. You took everything I had to give, you chewed me up and spat me out and now here I am with a man in my arms, and I am damn well going to protect him and serve him. We’ll make it to a place of safety and we will get justice. Bring on the New Hampshire police, bring on the helicopters, the dogs, the fucking grizzly bears, I’ll take ’em all, and I will fucking win.
I propped Jody against a tree, wiped his forehead with a tissue and went to look for wood. Build a shelter, get him in it. Survive.
And there, not more than twelve feet away, was a
cabin. Shielded from the track by a big granite outcrop, shaggy with moss and ferns, a perfect little house made of logs, neatly overlapped at the ends, shutters over the windows, enough crawlspace underneath to keep the whole thing dry. The roof looked sound. In a couple of months when the hunting season got underway we’d have company. Now it was empty.
The padlock was strong but the fixings were as soft as butter. A screwdriver would have made a more elegant job, but my bare hands did the trick.
I couldn’t see much
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