In hindsight, Purgatory had been living in luxury compared to living like a mountain man. Out here there were no wind turbines, no wells, no variety of people with invaluable skill sets. The gas had run out, and the ammunition was gone. Out here there was just me, the machete at my hip, the blades in my boots, and my own two hands.
The screams grew louder the farther I ran, accompanied by the clang of metal against rock. When I recognized the small clearing I’d passed through earlier, excitement pooled in my gut. Slowing to a jog, I came to a stop behind a large tree trunk.
Taking a minute to catch my breath, I glanced up through the canopy of tree branches to peer at the sun. It was nearly midday, the sun at its highest. I needed to be getting back, but I refused to go home empty-handed. Pulling my machete free, I stepped out from behind the tree and grinned.
The doe’s big black eyes connected with mine, and her screams died in her throat. The bear trap I’d set had clamped down on both her hind legs, breaking them and leaving her unable to stand; she could only flail uselessly against the rocky ground.
My steps were slow and deliberate as I circled her. She twitched nervously, and a high-pitched growl erupted from her as she twisted her neck, attempting to follow my movements.
“Never did like a noisy female,” I whispered.
Behind her now, I feinted left, and her head whipped in my direction. Lunging right with my arm raised, I swung down on an arc and embedded the blade in the back of her neck. Her head dropped to the ground with a soft thud, although she continued to twitch for several more minutes.
Taking a seat on the cold ground beside her, I pulled my flask from inside my camouflage jacket and took a long drink of water. There were several freshwater falls within these mountains, but fresh water didn’t mean clean water. Every drop drank was first boiled and cooled. Not such a big deal in Purgatory, but out here it was time consuming in a situation where every minute counted.
Hell, out here, every second counted.
We’d only made it six hours from Purgatory when we ran out of gas, but by then I’d already formed a plan, and had been purposely traveling toward the mountains. I’d just never expected it to be a permanent one.
We’d spent two days camping in a state park before setting out on foot with whatever supplies we could carry strapped to our backs. The first day we found several cabins, but none of them were habitable. Roofs had caved in, walls were crumbling, and weeds had grown up through the floorboards.
They were prefabricated structures used by seasonal campers or hunters, and without continuous care and maintenance, their condition didn’t surprise me. They’d been produced on an assembly line, profit above product, and not made to weather the elements. Taking what usable items we found inside them, we’d continued on.
Eventually the trails grew scarce and the cabins even scarcer. We hadn’t spotted a rotter in days, but the higher we climbed, the colder it became. Without decent shelter, and without the remaining supplies left in the truck, I’d had little faith either of us were going to last if we didn’t turn back.
On the sixth day, we’d come across another trail in the middle of nowhere and had mindlessly followed it until reaching the end. Surrounded by trees and rocky outcroppings stood a cabin, a log home a story and a half high with stone accents. Hand crafted from the ground up, whoever had built it had known what they were doing. It was a structure made to withstand the mountain elements.
I stopped keeping track of the days after that.
The sun rose and the sun set. Every day was another fucking challenge to get through. Wood had to be found and chopped. Food had to be hunted, dried or cooked, and stored. Water had to be collected and boiled. There was no one to trade with, no nearby towns to pillage, and no one to hand the work off to. Every day we worked just to see the next.
Turning to the doe, I scanned her prone body. “You done bleeding yet?” Black, unseeing eyes stared back at me.
Time to get to work before the meat spoiled. I got to my feet and pried the trap from her legs. After resetting it on the opposite side of the clearing, I pulled the rope wrapped around my shoulder free and set it aside. Maneuvering the deer onto its back, I pulled a small blade from my boot and cut the animal open from sternum to crotch. Blood gushed as I pulled her insides out, soaking the animal’s fur and pooling on the ground below. When I couldn’t pull anything else forward, I took my blade and started pounding the knife through the center of the pelvic bone and quickly finished the job. I hated leaving the mess behind; the blood and guts were a beacon to other wild animals and the possibility of rotters. Digging a shallow hole with my blade, I buried them as best as could, although there was nothing I could do about the blood.
Picking up the rope, I hog-tied her legs, finishing the job by bringing her hoofs above her head and tying her off in a ball of fur and blood. Unlike the smaller animals I usually caught, she was too heavy to carry, but dragging her back would be easy enough.
The walk back was quick and uneventful. I knew it by heart now—every tree, every clearing, even the larger rock clusters that were strewn around, I now recognized on sight.
The trees thinned out and the woodpile came into view first, and I nearly groaned at the sight of the pile of branches waiting to be chopped. Dropping the doe by the wood—a reminder to finish what I’d started this morning—I headed for the house.
The grass here was nearly to my thighs, and hiding behind it was the low-set front porch that spanned nearly half the cabin. Once on the porch, I balled my hand into a fist and pounded hard on the door, three hard, quick knocks.
We’d had to break the door open when we found the place, but I’d long since patched it over and fashioned a drop-bar latch, stolen from a tiny shed behind the house. It meant we couldn’t exit through the door and keep it locked, but these days I wasn’t allowing Autumn to do much leaving, with the exception of gathering flowers and weeds.
I heard the floorboards creak beneath her feet as she padded swiftly across the room. The latch moaned in protest as she lifted it, and the door squealed lightly as it swung open. The pungent smell of boiling plants wafted out to greet me as gray eyes scanned me up and down, before looking past me and settling on the woodpile. When she saw the doe, Autumn’s lips split into a smile.
“Good job,” she said softly as she placed a hand over her flannel shirt that covered her slightly rounded stomach.
Watching as she unconsciously rubbed her belly, a prickling sensation washed over me. Fear. Every day since the day we’d figured out why she’d been throwing up everything she ate, I’d felt nothing but fear. She could die giving birth, both she and the baby could die, and there was nothing I’d be able to do to prevent it.
“Are you going to stand out there all day?” she asked.
“No,” I muttered, then turned. “I’m gonna go string her up and finish the job.” I paused when I felt her grab hold of my coat sleeve.
“Eagle.” She pulled, attempting to tug me forward. “It can wait,” she said.
Reluctantly, I let her lead me inside to the piss-poor excuse of a couch left behind by the previous owner. Taking a seat on the threadbare cushion beside me, Autumn curled up against me and slid an arm across my stomach. Her fingertips tiptoed beneath the hem of my shirt until her bare skin was touching mine. Neither of us said a word, the only sound the hiss of boiling water from across the room.
