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Post by suvalley on Mar 12, 2013 20:09:51 GMT -6
This in and out of delirium is a bad bad sign. He must have rest, food, nutrient rich liquids, or his entire system will continue to crash right into heart failure-which is sounds like he is already experiencing. I feel for the young one, to not know his father  |
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Post by FOTH on Mar 13, 2013 15:43:20 GMT -6
I have nothing for today, but back with another chapter tomorrow.
Thank you all for what you have to say, and for reading.
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Post by FOTH on Mar 14, 2013 15:36:15 GMT -6
FOTH: "He's definitely not moving--or thinking--as quickly as he'd like to be at the moment. 
But would still have a pretty good chance, at least so far as he's concerned, if only he could make it up into the timber...
Thank you all for reading."
That shows how far wrong his mind has gone. With the fresh snow and all the open country between him and the trees, and the drones, helicopters, and searchers on foot, he has no chance at all in trying for the trees. His only hope is to stay hidden where he is, and leave no sign anywhere of his travel either to or away from there.
Sad he's allowed himself to get into such poor shape, both physically and even worse mentally. Yeah, not thinking real logically right now. Heading out into the snow would certainly be a mistake. Einar is in such bad shape, that his mind has taken him back to that cage in the jungle. Maybe, though, he will realize that in the shape he was in, he He NEVER would have been able to free Andy and escape with him. Maybe the realization will come to him, and he'll be able to FINALLY lay that ghost to rest. Icefire, that's one thing he never had found a way to do, yet. He knows the facts, knows the condition he was in and that they probably both would have died if he'd stayed and insisted on trying to take Andy. But no matter how many times he goes over it in his mind, it seems surely there must have been some way he could have made things turn out differently for Andy, and the fact that he didn't stick around and find a way to make that happen--well, in his mind, he's not much better than a murderer. How does a person get past that? Especially when he's convinced he is right about his understanding of the situation, and so isn't sure he has any right to get past it... This in and out of delirium is a bad bad sign. He must have rest, food, nutrient rich liquids, or his entire system will continue to crash right into heart failure-which is sounds like he is already experiencing. I feel for the young one, to not know his father :( I hope it doesn't prove to be as bad as that. He is a pretty resilient creature. But is really struggling right now, and seems to be in a pretty quick downward spiral. Not going to do a lot of good to have food and rest available, if he can't allow himself to partake of them... |
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Post by FOTH on Mar 14, 2013 15:36:57 GMT -6
Seldom, in that winter season when Susan’s greenhouse business was only open two days each week, did guests arrive unannounced at the house during one of the other days, but that day happened to be one of those rare occasions. Both Bud and Susan knew the identity of the owners of the tan pickup—supposing that it was being driven by its owners, and not some federal contingent which had co-opted the vehicle for their own purposes—and knew that they were not to be feared, except for the possibility that they might accidentally discover the identity of the guests staying at the place. The couple, though friends and members of Susan’s church, were not part of the inner circle with which Bud and Susan might have trusted such knowledge. Which necessitated a delay, and Bud, after hauling the unconscious Einar to a back bedroom where any noise he might make could be masked—hopefully—by the running of the washing machine, hurried out to create said delay.
After whisking Liz and little Will down to the basement with strict instructions to stay there until she returned to them—Liz wanted very badly to stay with Einar, but Susan pointed out that should the little one take a notion to cry, there would be no explaining the sound to their guests, and the basement would prevent any such risk—she hurriedly neatened up the kitchen, hiding all evidence of their breakfast guests. That task accomplished, she and started a load of laundry before cautiously entering the room where Bud had deposited the fugitive.
Einar lay in a crumpled heap on the bed where Bud had dropped him, barely appearing to breathe but definitely alive, for even in unconsciousness he put up some resistance when she did her best to straighten his limbs and get him under the blankets. Gently inspecting the wound where the butt of her pistol had struck home—it had been a quick action, one she had the next moment realized might well have killed him, but it had seemed better at the time than two to the chest and one to the head, less likely to be final—she found that the bleeding had stopped, and was glad. No time now to do a proper job of dressing it, but she would see to that just as soon as their uninvited guests left. If he let her, for surely he would be waking by then, and would be none too pleased with the entire situation.
“Sorry fella, but I just wasn’t prepared to lose another husband. Not today,” she explained, securing Einar’s arms against the event of his premature wakening and pulling the quilt up to his chin for warmth. Already he was beginning to shiver in that room where little of the stove’s heat tended to reach, and she wanted, if at all possible, to prevent his slipping further into hypothermia while he was out. “And you’ll realize at some point,” she went on, “what a mistake it would have been for you to head out there today, you really will. Out into that snow where everybody can follow your tracks. You just can’t be doing that down here. Too risky. Now,” moving the quilt and adding a final wrap to the cords on each wrist, hating to do it but knowing it would take a lot to hold him, should he begin waking, “you sleep, get some of that rest you’ve been needing so badly, and we’ll work as fast as we can to get rid of this company, Ok?” No answer, and she left the room, drawing the blind and closing the door behind her.
Just in time. Bud had only been able to hold them off so long, and as she entered the kitchen they were at the door, a couple from church who had been out of town for several weeks and had wanted to catch up, for some reason not thinking to call ahead. Serving them peach cobbler and coffee at the supper table Susan did her best to make pleasant conversation, wracking her brain all the while for the best and most expedient way to empty the house. Finally settling on a planned appointment in Clear Springs that afternoon—wholly fictitious but not unconvincing—she impressed upon their guests the need to be moving on, only she made the mistake of naming a time several hours in the future, which the two of the, rather enjoying the telling of their travel adventures, took as permission to stick around for another hour or so. Susan, house always open to guests, could hardly hurry them too much without fear of arousing suspicion, so she retired to the kitchen to prepare some sandwiches, the noon hour having come. But excused himself, following her.
“What’d you do with Asmundson? He gonna come dashing in her any minute, or have you got him adequately contained?”
Susan saw the concern growing on his face as she described the situation in the bedroom. “Good try, but no way that’s gonna hold him if he wakes up in one of his states and is determined to get out of there! Which you can be pretty sure he will be.”
Bud left Susan to the lunch preparations, retrieved a small item out of his pack near the door, and went to make sure Einar would not be waking prematurely, at all… The fugitive, fortunately for Bud, was still out cold when he slipped into the room, allowing him to do his deed—nefarious thing, and one over which Einar would almost certainly have fought him to the death had he been awake to know what was happening, but Bud had a lot of people to protect, a great deal at stake, and had not quickly been able to come up with a better solution—and and hurry back out again undetected.
Thus it was that Einar came to be waking in that room after his rather long and sound sleep, but he knew nothing of this background, remembered, freeing himself, finally able to move his arms, none of the events leading up to it, from which he might have under other circumstances taken clues as to the meaning of his current plight, and being quite thoroughly convinced that he’d just managed to free himself from the ropes of his captors, he had little thought but to finish making good his escape.
First he had to be able to move, though, which little detail seemed to be presenting an almost insurmountable challenge just then. Had somehow managed to scrape together enough strength to break the ropes and free himself, but that frantic, adrenalin-fuelled series of actions had seemed to leave him entirely drained, muscles unwilling to respond when he did his best to press them into service and the world losing its shape around him whenever he tried to raise his head. Never mind such things, he would just roll. Could always do that, and he did, falling some distance and ending up face down and somewhat stunned on a hard, unyielding surface which did not at all seem to resemble the jungle floor, let alone the water he knew lay beneath his enclosure. Which was too bad. He could have used a drink water about then. Really could have used it. Might have helped clear the horrible, pervasive fog that seemed to be surrounding his brain and leaving him unsure of everything, world not quite real and his own place in it a matter of doubt. Maddening, it was, if not terribly surprising after his ordeal over the past…who knew how long? No water. A man needs water, even if he’s not to have food. Which is why he was sure water would have helped, had he been able to work his way through the bottom of that cage and fall into it. Or, more likely—he managed a bit of a smile—that water would have drowned him before ever he managed to benefit from drinking any of it, the way things were going. Still couldn’t really lift his head, much less stand as he would have needed to do in order to preserve himself from drowning in that stinking, thigh-deep swamp muck, so it was just as well he’d ended up here, on solid ground. But must not stay. Soon they would be back, discover what he had done and it would be too late.
Creeping, dragging himself. It was all he could seem to do. No strength in any of his limbs, and something way beyond dizziness knocking him back to the ground every time he pressed the matter and tried to rise. No wonder, he supposed—didn’t remember anything of what had happened there in the interrogation hut this time, which he figured must mean it had been pretty bad—but knew he must keep moving if there was to be any hope of escape. Surroundings were not making any sense. The place was too big. Couldn’t be the cage. In the cage, he could not even stretch out to quite his full length, and here he was crawling. Must have been left in the larger hut they used for interrogations, which was strange, but not an unwelcome discovery. Meant he was that much closer to Andy’s enclosure, to successfully getting the two of them out of there, and the thought of it lent him a fierce new energy, door had to be close, and he would find it. Only, someone was coming.
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Post by FOTH on Mar 16, 2013 15:50:25 GMT -6
Guests finally gone, Susan retrieved Liz and Will from the basement, Bud going to check on the presumably still-sleeping Einar. Liz put a hand on his arm, stopped him.
“Better let me do it, don’t you think? He can wake up pretty hard after this sort of thing, and maybe if he hears my voice…”
“Oh, no ma’am don’t you worry about any of it, he’s perfectly harmless. No danger at all.”
Liz couldn’t tell whether he was joking, or serious. Hoped he was joking, for otherwise it must mean that Einar was still out after all that time, which seemed a rather bad sign for him, and she hurried after Kilgore, Susan following.
Footsteps drawing nearer, stopping outside the door to the hut, light seeping in and Einar lunged at the dark figure in the doorway, still weaponless but ready to make best use of his hands, knew how to do it…but nothing happened. Other than a quick fall back to the hard floor, where he lay scrambling and scrabbling to get his legs back beneath him so he could make a run for it, but without success. Meanwhile Bud opened the blind, flooding the room with a soft, spruce-filtered sunlight that left Einar blinking in wonderment and confusion. It was gone, the jungle, the stinking, steaming water beneath his cage, the ropes, vanished before that flood of dappled, dancing sunlight, and Einar’s relief was tempered only by a deep, persistent ache at the remembrance that he’d been so close to escape, to perhaps finding a way to do something for Andy…
But all that was gone now, and he smiled wistfully at the green-golden light streaming in the window, beautiful sight and he might have become entirely lost in it, but had to drop his eyes for he was growing terribly dizzy. Did not at all understand, in the absence of the cage with its dreaded ropes, what could be making his body so heavy, useless, unresponsive. Figured it might simply be the lingering effects of the dream—he’d experienced that before, the thing manifesting itself in a number of different ways—but really, that ought to be fading by then. And it wasn’t. Still couldn’t get anything to cooperate. He looked in confusion at the nearest person, who happened to be Susan.
“Can’t walk. Can’t… What happened here?”
Susan took his arm, helped him up but saw that he genuinely couldn’t stand; she was supporting nearly all of his weight, lowered him back to the floor, looking concerned. “I did it,” she confessed. Gave you a real solid whack to the spine with my .45. You were going after Bud. I had to protect him. I’m sorry…”
Faint hint of a smile from Einar as he allowed himself to slump over against the wall, thoroughly worn out from his efforts at standing. “He’s got…good woman. Don’t be sorry. But I ought to be able…”
Not able to do much at all just then it seemed, for again his legs collapsed under him when he tried to rise, rest of him following so that he lay flat on the floor on his stomach, and Liz watched, growing increasingly worried. She didn’t like the way his voice sounded, words indistinct, almost slurred, and wondered if Susan’s quick action with the pistol might have caused some graver injury than they had at the time realized. Bud knew better, and what was more, he had the answer. Didn’t want Einar to know it, but figured Liz and Susan might as well stop their worrying—especially his Sue, who was now needlessly concerned that she might have caused the man some permanent damage—so he pulled the thing from his pocket and showed them.
“A dart!” Susan was aghast. “You could have stopped his breathing, you know? Or his heart. The way he was already compromised and barely getting by…it’s a wonder he woke up at all!”
“Hey now, settle down there girls. It’s not as bad as all that. See, I figured it’d take six or seven of him to make up one decent-size bear, so I was real careful to only give him part of the thing this time, instead of two full darts, like I had to do that time out in the hills. He was already down this time, not going anywhere and not even moving around yet after that blow to the spine, so it didn’t take nearly as much. He’ll be alright, and should get over it a lot quicker than before. Just gonna be groggy for a while, and probably pretty weak and clumsy, but I figured hey, won’t do him any harm if he ends up lying around for a day or two, anyway…”
Einar, meanwhile, had remained silent and unmoving in his position against the wall, drifting again, near something like sleep, but taking in every word, and understanding more than the trio—Liz excepted—would have expected him to be capable of, given the circumstances. But most of all he was cold, the extent of the thing suddenly seeming to overwhelm him and add to the difficulty he'd been having getting his limbs to work, so that all he could do was to lean against the wall and shiver and glare at Bud, furious, but unable to do much about it. They tried to help him back into bed then, Susan and Liz, but he didn’t want to go, resisted, so they dragged him. Pulled the blankets up over him and held them down so he couldn't go anywhere. He fought it for a while, but nothing was happening except that the world was dimming as he felt himself close to losing consciousness, so after a time he stopped. Gathering his strength for the next attempt.
Susan went away and returned shortly with warm broth which she tried to talk him into drinking, but he adamantly refused. Which did not please any of them, but it was Bud who responded, leaning over him, face grim, threatening. “Still got some of those darts, you know. Want me to hit you with another one, and then we can stick a tube down your nose for this stuff and there won’t be anything you can do about it? Is that the way you want this to go?”
“Bud!” Susan didn’t even leave time for Liz to express her outrage.
“Well, do you see a better way? You gals want him to live, don’t you?”
Liz was on her feet then, angry. “No! No, not like that, I don’t. Not if you have to… I think you should leave the room now, both of you. We need to be alone.”
Susan hurried to do it, holding out her arms for Will, and Liz—though with some misgivings—allowed him to go with her. Bud, a bit more reluctant, followed.
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Post by FOTH on Mar 18, 2013 15:46:18 GMT -6
Einar wanted to get up, was trying rather desperately to accomplish it and fearing lest he injure himself falling against a piece of furniture, Liz helped him out of the bed and got him standing. He needed to get outside, told her so in the broken snatches of speech which seemed all he could manage just then, couldn’t stand the thought of not heading up a ridge and working himself to exhaustion to burn off the poison of the dart and free himself from the dreadful, crushing fog it imposed on his brain, but Liz explained that he mustn’t do that, couldn’t do it just then, lest he leave tracks and get them all caught. Near despair at the realization that she was right, he didn’t know what to do. She suggested a rest beneath the warmth of the blankets and some broth, but that seemed all wrong. And besides, the stuff was sure to be poisoned. Everything there was sure to be poisoned, and he wished she wouldn’t eat any of it either, lest Will end up with some of that stuff in his system. Who knew what it might do to a little guy like him? That suggestion brought a swift response from Liz.
“No, you don’t. That isn’t true, and I’m not going to let you believe it. Susan is our friend, and she is not trying to poison us. And neither is Bud.”
“He used the dart, didn’t he?”
“Yes, he did, and I so wish he hadn’t done that, but it seems he genuinely didn’t know any other way, not that involved keeping you alive. He did it to protect us. You weren’t in your right mind, were back there in the jungle, and because of that he was afraid you might do something that would get us discovered by their guests.”
“Wish he’d gone ahead and used one of the other ways.”
You think that now, but you won’t once the stuff wears off.”
“I did last time. For weeks”
“I know, but you did get through it, if just barely, and this time I’m here, so it isn’t going to be as bad. Now, try some broth. You need the fluids, and besides, you’re freezing.”
“Can’t. Poisoned.”
“No, it isn’t. Remember last time? It wasn’t poisoned that time, either. Nothing was. It was just the dart making you think so, and you have to fight that. It isn’t true.”
Too complicated. Everything was too complicated just then, including the memory—just returned to him—of the initial event which had apparently precipitated this current trouble, and he glanced warily at the window, looking for his knife and not at all pleased when it was nowhere to be found.
“Truck…guys came? What happened?”
“They came, and then they went. Friends of Bud and Susan’s. Will and I were safe in the basement. They’ve been gone for some time, now.”
“Where’s my knife? Rifle? Gone.”
“I don’t know. I think Bud has them. Try some broth, and then I’ll help you look.”
Not happening. He still didn’t trust it, wanted some water but couldn’t be sure of that, either. Not there in the house, where he couldn’t see its source. Could eat some snow, if there was a way for him to get outside, but Liz was right about going outside. Couldn’t risk leaving tracks. But he wouldn’t leave tracks, simply reaching out a window or door for a handful of snow. If there was a place where he could do so without being seen by whoever might be out there watching the house, ground, air, cameras in the trees, maybe all three… Would have to figure that out, but it, like just about everything else, seemed way too complicated just then. But if he knew nothing else for sure, he did know that he needed his weapons, had to be ready should things take a turn and men end up rushing the door intent on taking his family into captivity, and if Liz was for some inexplicable reason unwilling to help him retrieve the knife and rifle, he would simply have to do it himself. Which presented a challenge, but he was ready to meet it, swinging unwilling legs out of the bed, having to assist them with his hands to get them down to the ground, doing his best to lock his knees and stand and rolling to the floor when they did not respond as expected. This time, Liz stood back and let him be.
“Where are you going?”
“Got to find…rifle and…need to get this stuff out of me but at least this time…not in the water.”
“The water?”
“Yeah. Last time after the darts…ended up in the river and woke halfway in the water. Couldn’t get out for a long time. At least now…moving a little, but…”
“It’s got to be frustrating. Please have some broth, or at least water. You know it’ll help flush the poison out a lot sooner.”
“Need exercise. Work faster.”
“How are you going to get exercise though, when you can’t even...”
“Sure I can,” and he was on his feet, swaying, knees trying to buckle as he clung desperately and almost comically to the windowsill, face white and fixed with effort. Made it two steps before he had to resort to crawling, still a major improvement over his last sojourn out of the bed, and Liz could see that Kilgore must have been telling the truth when he’d claimed to have used only a partial dart, pulled it out before its full paralyzing potential could be reached. A good thing in most respects, as she doubted he would have ever survived the full dose at present, but at the same time, she wouldn’t have minded his staying in bed a bit longer. Say, three or four days longer… Would have done him some good, but had to be done on his own terms, if at all. Which she knew would almost certainly never happen. So long as he was conscious and capable of any sort of movement at all, he would be moving, and was, having slowly but persistently reached the door and raised himself far enough to get it open, going in search, no doubt, of his missing weapons.
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Post by pacnorwest on Mar 18, 2013 18:19:08 GMT -6
My heart hurts for Einar, for the only possible outcome will be all of his mind and strength used up to fuel his singlemindedness.
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Post by coltcowboy on Mar 19, 2013 12:01:55 GMT -6
Einar has become a major danger to everyone else. One definition for insanity is when you can no longer distinguish fantasy from reality. Everyone keeps hoping that they'll be able to get him healthy and then he will no longer be trapped in his fantasies. I think it's more likely he will continue to drag them all down with him.
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Post by FOTH on Mar 20, 2013 15:45:44 GMT -6
Einar has become a major danger to everyone else. One definition for insanity is when you can no longer distinguish fantasy from reality. Everyone keeps hoping that they'll be able to get him healthy and then he will no longer be trapped in his fantasies. I think it's more likely he will continue to drag them all down with him. So I guess Bud ought to do everybody a favor, and just go ahead and shoot him? |
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Post by suvalley on Mar 20, 2013 17:45:57 GMT -6
He is indeed, dangerous when he cannot distinguish reality from memory (or some version of that) I think those of us who feel invested in this marvelous novel, are frustrated that common sense seems to have deserted Einar, leaving paranoia and survival instincts in charge, so to speak.
I think he needs a good soak in a bathtub, and a good long look in the mirror at just how skeletal he has become. And, he needs to be brought up short that in his weakened state, he is no help to anyone. I am very surprised he hasn't been braking bones left and right, due to his prolonged starvation.
Other than that, write on, please! I can never get enough, lol
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ebb
Member
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Post by ebb on Mar 20, 2013 19:45:04 GMT -6
Survival instinct??? the guy is almost starved to death! paranoia OK I agree had has that in spades, but any real survival instinct is so warped from malnutrition and paranoia he is just lucky he is still alive and free and has gotten Liz and Will killed.
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Post by coltcowboy on Mar 21, 2013 14:51:45 GMT -6
Einar has become a major danger to everyone else. One definition for insanity is when you can no longer distinguish fantasy from reality. Everyone keeps hoping that they'll be able to get him healthy and then he will no longer be trapped in his fantasies. I think it's more likely he will continue to drag them all down with him. So I guess Bud ought to do everybody a favor, and just go ahead and shoot him? I don't mean to sound provocative. These are just my thoughts from having followed this story from the beginning. Einar's in a place/mind-set that I can't even begin to relate to. Everyone around him is trying to keep him alive despite himself. It seems that no matter what they do, he keeps coming back to that self-destructive mind set. Since I can't relate to Einar, I've tried to put myself in Bud's or Liz's place. (It's easier for me to think like Bud than Liz.) What are the options? 1. Liz has tried mightily to persuade him that he's over the edge and that he needs to come back for them. 2. Bud has tried to beat some sense into him on many occasions to no avail. 3. Juni tried to reach him and provide some type of closure reliving his past. 4. If I recall, Einar has prayed for divine intervention, to some degree. 5. Even the raven has tried pecking some sense into him. Where's he at? 1. He's emaciated at 66 lbs. 2. He refuses to do the basics required to live, namely eat and drink. 3. He's paranoid, with justification, but to an extreme that he has mostly lost touch with reality. 4. He has repeatedly tried to "escape" even though doing so would lead the Feds to all of them. This without regard for Liz or Will. What are the options? 1. Strap him down and feed him through an NG tube. Don't think that will be appreciated much. Though, if you could keep him from killing himself from trying to get out of the restraints you might be able to get enough nutrition in him to start thinking a little clearer. 2. Continue to thwart his escape attempts and cajole him into changing his attitude, eating habits. Hasn't worked so far. 3. Get him to Roger's plane and drop him in the high country. Pretty tough on Liz. Would give Einar what he wants...his own death. 4. Put a bullet in his head. To noisy, messy, and left with a body to dispose of. Besides, Liz would go over the edge. |
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