Mountain Refuge

[FOTH]

Spring was coming to the aspen groves and patches of dark timber that ringed Bud and Susan’s mountainside home, snow beginning to disappear from the sunnier slopes and the remainder developing a hard crust every morning which allowed all but the largest and heaviest of animals to walk over its surface without so much as leaving a mark, except to the trained eye. Einar, watching from a window that morning as Bud traveled almost effortlessly across the crust between garage and greenhouse, wished they, too, might take advantage of conditions to make their escape and return to the vast freedom of the high country. It would work just fine down low, he knew, but once they got up into the timber up higher, snow would be a great deal less crusty, might very well still exist in a good many places as powder, and they’d leave tracks.

Not worth the risk, especially if the house and surroundings were being watched. Of course, if the place was being watched it would possibly eventually be raided and searched as well, at which point they would surely have been better off taking their chances up in the timber… Einar shook his head, lowered himself so that he was sitting beneath the window, back braced against the wall. Really shouldn’t be looking out the windows, anyway, on the chance that the place was being watched. Not unless he’d first gone to some effort to disguise his appearance, which, apart from wearing a bulky and unbelievably warm olive green alpaca wool sweater over his elkskin vest after Susan’s repeated insistence that she wasn’t going to have any guest of hers freezing to death in her living room—which he’d had no intention of doing, but his continuous shivering and the purple hue to his face had told her otherwise—he had made no attempt to do. Best be very careful then, with the windows. Which made it difficult to properly watch the place, leaving him to rely far more heavily than he might have wished on Bud’s word that things were quiet outside, when he reported in after his frequent patrols.

Only the knowledge that Kilgore was rather beyond competent at such tasks—had tracked him down, after all, and more than once—and also that he would be just as concerned about Susan’s safety as Einar was about that of his own family, allowed Einar to relax somewhat and let him take care of security. This, though, was acceptable to Einar only because he saw himself as having little choice, and with every passing hour, he found himself wishing more strongly to be out of that situation, his restlessness growing.

The past night, at least, had been quieter than their first, Einar’s exhaustion overcoming, at last, a rather dedicated determination to stay awake and watchful. When Liz, after feeding Will and getting him settled in for the night, had realized that her husband seemed little inclined to wake that night, she had left Will tucked cozily into the bed and joined him where he lay curled up on the floor, dragging a heavy quilt over the two of them and rejoicing when morning had come without any major disturbance. Einar had been somewhat less joyful, hating the thought that he’d been sleeping on duty and scrambling up as soon as he did wake to make his rounds of the house, checking to be certain that they were still alone and finding, in the process, the spot where Kilgore had stashed his knife and rifle.

Delighted at the recovery of the weapons and only slightly concerned that the tracker would again attempt their removal—the man, after all, had perhaps not been entirely unreasonable in having some concern; best remove a man’s means of resistance, after all, if you’re planning on sticking him with a bear dart and being around when he wakes—he had carried them with him, the entire situation seeming slightly less disturbing for their presence.

Still he paced uneasily about the place, stopping frequently to listen, to feel for vibrations that might be coming up through the ground and avoiding, as a rule, not only Susan with her frequent if gentle offers of food and drink, but his own family as well. Didn’t like that last part, especially when Will crawled excitedly in his direction from time to time, anxious to tell him, in a stream of babble which was increasingly beginning to resemble words, about one fascinating discovery or another, only to reach the spot and find that his father had moved on, not wanting to be distracted from his watchfulness. Not good. Not the way he wanted to be with the little one, and when next Will headed his way, he made a point of keeping still, lowering himself to the ground and allowing the little one to climb up on his knee.

“What is it? What’re you trying to tell me? Want to see out the window, is that it?”

To which the child gave something that sounded most definitely like confirmation, reaching and straining for the windowsill so that he very nearly lost his balance. Bracing himself against the wall so as to help maintain his own equilibrium, Einar lifted the child so he could see out. Momentary contentment, and then Will was fumbling with the window latch, making clear attempts to get it open as he had seen Susan do earlier that day while dusting in the living room. Einar chuckled, showed him how it worked.”

“Hands aren’t strong enough yet to do it on your own, I’m guessing, but you tuck that bit of information away in your head, and it’ll be there later when you need it. Always good to have more than one way out of a place, isn’t it? Yep, never too early to learn that one.”

Will wasn’t listening, though. He’d watched with rapt attention Einar’s demonstration of window latch mechanics, had given it a try himself, but now his focus had been drawn to something outside, but when Einar looked, he could see nothing out of the ordinary. It was, he suspected, the outdoors itself which was drawing him, the newness and fascination of the house having worn off somewhat and the child wanting to be out and in contact with a world which was the only one he’d ever known in his brief life, so far.

“Don’t blame you, kid. Rough on us wild critters to be confined like this, isn’t it? Don’t worry. We’re gonna get out of here sooner or later, and back to what we know. Just waiting on a snowstorm, that’s all. Waiting for the weather to change.”

And, thought Liz, who had been listening in from the next room, hopefully waiting on a few other things, too...

[FOTH]

Juni’s memorial had been heavily attended by men from the several agencies assigned to the Mountain Task Force. They had, in fact, been keeping her under fairly close surveillance ever since the time nearly two years prior when she had become the only one ever known to secure an interview with the fugitive Einar Asmundson, and live to tell—and write about—the tale. If she could find him once, they had reasoned, perhaps she might be able to do so again, might have some clue as to where he was staying.

Their watchfulness had grown as winter approached, the general consensus being that—especially if the woman Elizabeth Riddle, known at one time to have been staying with him and known also to be expecting his child, had given birth to a living baby—he would not have been spending the winter in the high country wandering about and practically living as an animal as he had done before. One thing to do that as an individual on the run, but if he now had a family, they expected he surely would have fallen back on the local resources they suspected must have aided him in the past, hiding his family, if not also himself, with one of them for the harsh winter months. Which had provided a unique opportunity for those still hoping to secure his capture, and they’d redoubled their efforts at local surveillance. And in doing so, had lost track of Juni, who had seemed to simply drop off the face of the earth. No credit card purchases, no cell phone use—the device had, in fact, been found out behind a motel in Clear Springs, offering no clear leads as to her whereabouts—and no sign of her for nearly two months.

Now, with spring coming and the opportunity to use the winter to their advantage quickly slipping through their fingers, Juni’s reappearance seemed to offer something of a last chance. Even if she was rather past a state in which she could be brought in and questioned. Despite the fact that she had already left this world, they knew there were ways in which she could still speak to them, and the advantage, in this case, was that she was not equipped to refuse, as a living person might have been.

To this end, they had, before releasing it for burial, sent her body over the objection of the county coroner to the FBI Crime lab in Virginia, where every advantage of modern technology had been applied in an effort to discover where she had spent the past several weeks, and with whom. Results had been somewhat inconclusive—no human DNA present except her own—but one thing had been certain: her diet over the past weeks had in no way resembled that of either a lost and semi-starved backcountry skier, or a young woman living in close proximity to human civilization. There had been none of the usual processed packpacking foods, nor any sign of the sorts of things a person might be expected to eat had they been staying in even a remote cabin or house where one of the locals might have Asmundson stashed for the winter. Her diet had, in fact, apparently consisted almost entirely of berries which were not in season, a few starchy roots whose source had for months been covered by numerous feet of snow, and a baffling variety of big game meat.

While there were things they could not be sure of, it was clear that the young reporter had been eating the meat of elk, bighorn sheep and at least one other variety of large, hoofed mammal over the last twenty-four hours of her life, and they knew it was nowhere near reasonable to think that a young woman traveling alone in the snowbound high country would have been able to locate, kill and carry meat from all of those animals, over the course of the several weeks for which she had been missing. She had not been alone up there, and in addition to the mystery of her stomach contents, they had found on her clothing and sleeping bag animal hairs ranging from bear to elk to wolverine, which suggested that not only she had contact with the fugitive family, but had stayed some time with them wherever they were staying. Which was appearing more and more to be some remote location nowhere in proximity to civilization, rather than the cabin of some local sympathizer.

A change in their theory, but as their local investigation had been going nowhere at all, it was welcomed. Was the clue they had been looking for, and breathed new life into an investigation which had for some months been stalled. He was up there, their fugitive, was alive and doing well enough to have taken and preserved all manner of big game, and this young reporter had apparently been in contact with him not too long before her untimely death. The first thing to do, they reasoned, would be to make a trip to the site of the avalanche and see if they could find her backtrail, and the man to take them there was Bud Kilgore, who had recovered the body.

The call came late that morning, Bud being summoned to Mountain Task Force for a meeting and perhaps, they’d said, a job which might keep him for a week or so, and though they had refused to give further details over the phone, he had strongly suspected it must be related to Juni’s death and the pursuing of some lead they believed it gave them. Silent as he packed his kit, Kilgore ran through the possibilities in his mind. Most things, he could handle, could lead them astray in ways which they wouldn’t even expect, throw them onto false trails and protect his guests and their future, but one major concern revolved around the possibility that perhaps this “job” was simply a ruse designed to get him away from the house so they could search it without his objection or presence. This, he doubted. Had they suspected him of harboring the fugitives, the likely response would have been a midnight raid with all the force they could bring down. Knowing him and his capabilities—and those of the fugitive they sought—they never would have risked tipping him off to their possible actions, and spoiling the entire thing.

That was the scenario he quickly spelled out to Einar as he packed to leave, doing his best to reassure the man that the place would be safe in his absence, that Susan knew where everything was kept, and how things worked, and would show him as needed. “Should be back in a week or so, it’s looking like, and I want you to stick around until then if you would. Even if it snows. With things all uncertain and the feds likely out in the backcountry trying to recreate Juni’s last days, I’d hate for your family to end up crossing paths with any of them, understand?”

Einar nodded. Had no liking for the situation, but understood.

“Good deal. You watch over this place then, take care of your family and mine until I get back, and take care of yourself too, man. I mean that.”

With which the tracker was gone, an embrace and a quick kiss for his bride on his way out the door, and they all watched as he crept down the driveway in the old pickup truck, each alone with his or her own apprehensions about the coming days.

[FOTH]

Pretty chaotic day here, and I don't have a chapter ready, but am working on it and will post tomorrow.

Thanks to all of you for reading.

[kaijafon]

I see that a VERY large shipment of Nutella has been stolen in Germany I think...only caught the tail end of the story.... hmmmm, wonder if someone is gonna stock Einar up....? Seems it was enough to make 10's of thousands of sandwiches...



lol! thanks Chris for the story

[FOTH]

Kellie, yes, I read about the Great Nutella Robbery--5.5 tons of the stuff, what a dreadful thing for the people who lost it. Must be one hungry thief!

www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/wordofmouth/2013/apr/09/germanys-nutella-heist-gastronomic-robbery

Hey, I'd love to have a basement full of Nutella...just bury the semi trailer, cover it over like a root cellar, add some barrels of water and a spoon, and you'd be set to hibernate for a very long time!


_____________________

While Einar’s main concerns focused around a potential raid in Kilgore’s absence—his thought being that the tracker might have been called away precisely to clear the way for such an occurrence—Liz was increasingly concerned that he might not be around long enough to find out. Though keeping diligently to his duties that day, patrolling the house and doing what he could to keep an eye on the outside without actually exposing himself to potential detection—must work on a disguise, he told himself, something which would allow him to leave the house without too much worry—he did not look right to Liz, even in comparison to his condition since their arrival at the house, and she wondered whether the trouble might be due to lingering remains of the bear dart, or to something more worrisome.

Either way, she could not help but notice that his eyes seemed unnaturally bright, staring, skin appearing nearly transparent and the expression on his face one of muted desperation, as if some part of him must be quite well aware of the direness of his situation, even though she was well aware that he never would have admitted to it, had he been questioned. She’d only seen him like that a few times in the past, always when things were going quite badly and needed an immediate change. But with Kilgore gone and Einar, for all practical purposes, left in charge of the place during his absence, she did not know exactly how to go about precipitating that change. With the rabbit stick stowed away in her pack in the bedroom, she figured it might be best to try talking. Not that he normally listened, but she was short on other ideas.

“Up there after that ‘class’ you did with Juni…you’d agreed to eat, remember? To get stronger. It was your idea, not mine, and you were really committed to doing it. What happened to make you change your mind? Wouldn’t this be a good opportunity to get things on the right track? The perfect opportunity, really…”

He shifted position, looked uncomfortable, which she was sure he must be, sitting there on the hard floor with his back to the wall and all his bones sticking out the way they were, but she knew it wasn’t the physical discomfort which was bothering him.

“Might have worked out there, that plan I had, but here in this place where I’m stuck and can’t leave because the weather won’t cooperate and making tracks might be a disaster…well, sometimes it seems like the only thing I’ve really got left. Only way to kind of keep things in order and maintain some sort of discipline.”

“What does? The starving? The almost dying every few days, only to bring yourself yourself back just enough so you can do it all over again?”

“If that’s how you want to put it.”

“That’s how it is.”

He shrugged.

“It’s not true, you know. Not all you’ve got left. You’ve got me, and you’ve got Will, and two good friends in Bud and Susan, two people who are willing to risk so much to make sure we’re safe, here… And as far as discipline, aren’t there other things you could do, instead?”

A faint spark of something in his eyes at that. Humor, almost, she could not help but think, a suspicion which was confirmed by a slight twisting at one corner of his mouth, as if he might be trying not to smile. “Here? No, I don’t really think so. This is not the place for other things.”

“I didn’t mean those sorts of things! I was hoping you might be able to be disciplined about eating, letting yourself get some rest, to consider that your challenge, maybe gaining a little weight even. Goodness knows it would be challenging enough. Probably a lot more difficult than going on the way you’ve been going, in some ways.”

“It wouldn’t be the same.”

“It might if you would let it. If you would be willing. Give it a try?”

“Maybe when Kilgore gets back. Right now, I need to be able to focus. Keep things in order. When he gets back, we’ll see.”

“You don’t have that long.”

Frustrated, he wanted to get up and walk away, but did not. “Sure I have. Got this far, haven’t I? It’s not good being here where life is so easy. The daily things we have to do, I mean. Gives folks way too much time to worry about things with no cause. No cause at all.”

“No cause? I’ll show you the cause. Come with me.”

Not much choice with her dragging him by the arm like that, not unless he wanted to forcefully resist, which he did not especially want to do, so he went, Liz brushing right past the startled raven where he sat guarding the place from his post on the couch and leaving Will to gallop along behind on hands and knees as she hurried him to Susan’s bathroom, and the mirror. “Here’s your cause. See that guy in there? Look at him. Now what do you suppose your reaction would be if you saw him walking down the street one day, or in the woods? Honestly, what would you think?”

“Oh, don’t know that I’d pay him much mind, really. Just looks like a regular guy going about his life. Guess he is kinda scrawny and ugly, but never cared too much about such things, myself.”

“Kind of scrawny? Is that really how you see him? Here, take off this sweater. Have a better look.”

He did. Easy enough for him to ignore such things when by himself, even when his bones were digging into the bed at night and hurting him, or when he bruised a knobby elbow against his own ribs doing nothing more than walking across the clearing, but here with Liz standing beside him, the true situation was a big more difficult to dismiss. He shrugged. “Yeah, guess I see it. Kind of looks like something you’d find in a prison camp, doesn’t it? Looks like one of the ones who probably isn’t gonna make it.”

“Right. That’s right. So that’s what I see when I look at you now. A little worse every day, a little closer to not making it. That’s why I need you to make the decision to do things differently for a while, quit relying on the hunger as a form of discipline and put that effort into eating. Do you see it?”

“Guess so. But I’m not even doing anything now that we’re here. No getting firewood, no climbing the cliffs, just sitting around all day. So things will start to get better on their own. Probably already have.”

“I don’t think so. Will you step on the scale for a second?”

He pulled back. “No, no…that bothered you last time. Rather not do that.”

“I need to know. We both need to, so we can know when you’re making progress. Come on, step up.”

He did. Three pounds fewer than when they had arrived several days prior. Liz didn’t even know how that could be possible, turned to him with tears in her eyes as she handed him his sweater. To Einar, the number meant nothing. Except that he did not like to see her cry. Hated to be the cause of that. Figured he’d give it a try, eat her food, at least for a day or two, and figure the rest out as it came. Which it would be doing without too much delay…

[suvalley]

There appeared on my FB feed today, a photo of two survivors of the Bataan Death March. I bet they're fat, next to Einar. I honestly don't know why Liz just doesn't throw in the towel. She has a son to raise up, because at this rate, an emaciated, starving wreck for a husband is.....worthless. And a danger. She knows that, right? I am finding myself not so enamored of Einar's sheer grit and determination

[paradox]

i don't want to tell you how to write, of course, but personally i'm thinking it would be more enjoyable as a story, at this point, for Einar to have some kind of epiphany, allow Susan to do some IV nutrition & fluids, get back to healthy and go on with his life teaching Will (and us!) the ins and outs of mountain life. but that's just me.

[gipsysmith]

I have to agree. As wasted as his body now is he cannot fight for his family. His muscles cannot fight anymore. Perhaps a wakeup visit from "Bill" or something else to prove even to EA that he has let himself go too far and can no longer protect his family.

[FOTH]

Apr 9, 2013 17:31:23 GMT -6 suvalley said:

There appeared on my FB feed today, a photo of two survivors of the Bataan Death March. I bet they're fat, next to Einar. I honestly don't know why Liz just doesn't throw in the towel. She has a son to raise up, because at this rate, an emaciated, starving wreck for a husband is.....worthless. And a danger. She knows that, right? I am finding myself not so enamored of Einar's sheer grit and determination

Weights of the American survivors of the Bataan Death March (I got curious and researched it, after your post) seem to have ranged from somewhere in the area of 70-104lbs.

Einar may be less useful than he is capable of being, but I don't think he is necessarily worthless. He provided for his family through the entire winter up there in the basin, after all.

But, I am sure Liz is getting very frustrated and must wish the situation were different.

Apr 10, 2013 17:48:10 GMT -6 paradox said:

i don't want to tell you how to write, of course, but personally i'm thinking it would be more enjoyable as a story, at this point, for Einar to have some kind of epiphany, allow Susan to do some IV nutrition & fluids, get back to healthy and go on with his life teaching Will (and us!) the ins and outs of mountain life. but that's just me.

Things would get interesting, alright, should anyone try to hook Einar up to an IV--interesting, but I don't know about enjoyable. I just can't see him going for that. As far as eating and growing stronger so he'll be more ready for the challenges of mountain life, yes, he'd really better be doing that.

Apr 11, 2013 10:33:45 GMT -6 gipsysmith said:

I have to agree. As wasted as his body now is he cannot fight for his family. His muscles cannot fight anymore. Perhaps a wakeup visit from "Bill" or something else to prove even to EA that he has let himself go too far and can no longer protect his family.

Might take something like that, because right now, it's too easy for him to overlook the fact and keep telling himself that things are not so bad, and that he's capable of doing whatever needs to be done.


Thank you all for reading, and for the discussion.

[FOTH]

If Bud Kilgore had hoped to guide a few agents on a fruitless day hike or two through the high country before returning fairly promptly to his contraband houseguests, he was in for a bit of a rude awakening at the scope of the apparent mobilization when he arrived at Mountain Task Force headquarters that evening. Buoyed by an increasing conviction that the young reporter had met with their fugitive before her death in the avalanche—where else does a lone individual come into contact with not only several types of big game meat not usually available up so high that time of year, but the hair of said animals, as well?—agents were preparing to take full advantage of the fact before time and the weather could intervene to render their new bit of intelligence worthless. Wishing very much that they could interrogate the young woman, they had done the next best thing in sending off all of her clothing and possessions for a full forensic analysis the likes of which no locally was equipped to conduct, and the results had been quite telling, if perhaps not as informative as they might have liked.

In addition to hairs from bear, deer, elk and wolverine, there had been found on her garments bits of bark from scrub oak, chokecherry and aspen, as well as a strange green substance which with some effort was identified as a lichen which grew in evergreen trees. These things, they surmised, could have been picked up at just about any point along the way on her hike up into the area or her descent before the slide hit, but the fact that all had appeared on inner garments which would not likely be exposed while trekking through the snowy high country had seemed to further confirm her presence in some type of shelter where the hides of all those animals had been present. Which shelter, it seemed to all involved, must surely represent the object of their search. It was to this end that they called in Bud Kilgore, experienced tracker, backcountry guide and the man who had found and recovered the young reporter’s body, wishing him not only to lead them up to the place where last the woman had been alive, but hopefully to be able to puzzle out from that spot here back trail, leading the all the way to the fugitive’s lair.

Reviewing maps with the searchers and listening as they solidified their plans to increase surveillance of the entire area—drones, not helicopters, were to be used for the most part; no sense unnecessarily spooking the fugitive and sending him out on the run again—Kilgore silently bemoaned the implications of this latest development in the search. Though he could more likely than not keep the men from locating Einar’s cabin, what he could not change was fact that with the entire area suddenly crawling with searchers, both land and air, he and Susan could expect to have houseguests for some time to come. No way would it be safe for the little family to venture out again until things began settling down some, storm or no storm, and he knew Einar wouldn’t like it. Would feel—and with some justification—even more trapped than he already did. Bud just hoped the man would be able to find the patience to wait it out, rather than obliging him, for the safety of them all, to employ another bear dart and close him up in the basement for a while with no avenue of escape. Could come to that, and Kilgore dreaded the day he might be called on to take such action, knowing it would probably be the end for Einar, try as he might to do it the right way. Just hang in there, fella. This will pass, and meanwhile, you’re pretty safe there at the house so long as you don’t do anything foolish.

Foolish actions of the sort feared by Kilgore were the last thing on Einar’s mind just then, besieged as he was by both Liz and Susan, one leading him to the table while the other brought food, and in keeping with the concessions he’d just made to Liz, he sat with them, prepared to eat. Much as he would have preferred to go his own way, watch at the windows or, even better, disguise himself in some way and head outside to patrol the place while the women enjoyed their meal, he knew it was time. Was accustomed to ignoring the signs and pushing onward, but knew that there were limits even to this familiar endeavor, and he’d been running up against them for days. Admitting this, as he’d learned in the past, always led to a feeling of exhaustion as he ceased struggling with his usual intensity, a sensation which this time brought with it an almost irresistible urge to sleep. Which he must not do, not now with Kilgore so recently departed and their danger growing, and he blinked hard, sat up straight in the chair and focused his attention on the rather humorous interaction between Will and the raven, who were contending over a piece of buttered toast. Will, never having owned such a treasure before and liking the way it felt on gums itching from the imminent emergence of his first tooth, had no intention of giving it up to the raven, but Muninn had other ideas. Not quite bold enough to brazenly hop in and seize the toast while being watched by three mature humans—including Susan, who held Will on her lap—who he knew to be rather protective of the little one, the raven edged closer inch by inch, tilting his head and watching with shining black eyes as the little one gnawed and drooled all over his prize.

Muninn was making headway and might have seized the toast before anyone could move to stop him, had he not been distracted just as he approached his target, stopping, tilting his head the other way and flying to a side window, where he set up a cry of alarm. Echoing far more loudly in the enclosed space of the house than it had ever done in the somewhat more poorly sealed and insulated cabin, the raven’s sharp rasping got the attention of all, Einar rising in sudden alarm and motioning for Susan and Liz to get down. Hurrying to the window at a low crawl, Einar carefully peered through the curtains, letting his field of vision go wide, focus loose, looking for movement but detecting nothing. By that time the raven had calmed down, flapping over to perch on the back of a dining room chair and stare critically at Will’s toast, dropped and abandoned in the hurry. Slowly Einar stood, back to the wall, breathing hard from the effort.

“Something’s got that bird riled up. He can hear things way before we can a lot of times, sense things…you know how he would sometimes warn us up at the cabin? Figure I’d better get out there and have a look at things.”

Liz nodded. The raven had indeed warned them more than once of the threatening presence of both animal and human, and she knew it would be foolishness to dismiss his cry of alarm, under present circumstances. “Yes, I know there’s probably something to all of this, but wouldn’t it be better to stay in here where no one can see you, in case there really is someone out there?”

“Hard to say. Not if they’re out there quietly surrounding the place. In that case, I’d much rather make first contact when they’re not expecting it! Not let them get things fully in place, maybe give us a chance to escape. If I’m careful and go out through the back door on the garage where that brush kind of shields it, hopefully I’ll get to spot them before they spot me.”

“We have the driveway alarm,” Susan reminded him, “so I don’t think anyone’s driven up here…”

“Don’t figure they’d come by the road, if they were really wanting to keep an eye on the place. Wouldn’t want to tip us off. You’re right though Liz, can’t have them seeing me out there. But they could see someone else, someone who looks more like Bud, or one of his friends who might be staying up here...”

“You’re going to have to wear an awful lot of layers to come close to looking like Bud, or anyone who isn’t yourself, really!” Susan laughed. “How about you let me do it. They’d expect to see me here, because it’s my house.”

“This is one I need to do. Just got more experience in certain areas, and need to get my eyes and ears out there on that ridge. You stay here and watch the place from inside, Ok?”

Neither of them liked it, but had to admit that Einar was, for once, at least making some sense and seeming to be realistically assessing the situation—except, perhaps, for his physical capacity to meet potential invaders in any sort of hand-to-hand contact… But with there seeming little chance of dissuading him, both women began helping prepare Einar for the expedition.

Ten minutes later, clad in one of Bud’s Stetson hats, a bulky canvas jacket and two pairs of ski pants, Einar wrapped a scarf around his neck to further conceal face and beard, and headed out through the garage, armed with pistol and knife and accompanied by the raven.

[FOTH]

Despite the urgency of his mission, Einar was glad and perhaps even a bit relieved to be outside by himself, able to breathe again and move without being under the constant watchful eye of others. He had not gone far, however, in the blessed, quiet cold of that still winter evening, traveling cautiously beneath the brush until he was far from the house and in the timber, before he was rather forcefully reminded of the fact that it wasn’t simply the watchfulness of others which had been making it difficult for him to move freely. He was, in reality, barely able to keep on his feet, knees threatening to buckle beneath him after a few steps and a rising dizziness assailing his every move, threatening to halt him. Chest felt tight, breath coming with difficulty and had it not been for a gnawing anxiety which came with the lack of adequate oxygen, he would have felt rather like lying down to sleep. Disgusted with himself—had really believed the majority of his trouble lately could be traced to the fact that he was closed up in the house without useful work to do, and so was becoming soft—he gritted his teeth, squinted against the vertigo and went on, heedless of the fact that he was already stiff and nearly shaking with cold, despite Bud’s borrowed winter clothing. Didn’t matter, any of it. All that mattered just then was the mission, the need to scour that ridge for any uninvited human presence, discern its purpose in the area and secure the safety of his family.

All of which would be an awful lot easier to do if you could stand up straight and make it more than a few feet before the world started closing in on you, don’t you think? Those women are right, you know. This is absurd. Can’t go on this way, or you’re gonna get yourself killed, and worst of all, probably your family with you. Go on up that hill, finish scouting and then get in there and eat like they’ve been telling you. Yeah, I know, it comes with its consequences, that sort of surrender, but do you think this doesn’t? This stumbling around in a daze barely able to see straight while the feds potentially surround the place? Talk about consequences… Shaking his head, he continued up through the timber, Muninn flapping along beside him and occasionally going out ahead, scouting, sure, he believed, to warn him of danger should it be present.

Nothing on the ridgeline, at least not in area where Einar first met it, everything still save for a light but persistent wind which swept down from the higher peaks beyond, whispering in the spruces and setting their tops to swaying, all quiet when he paused for several minutes to listen. Continuing then on towards the spot where the raven had seemed to be looking when he’d raised his alarm in the house, Einar kept below the ridge’s crest, slipping from one clump of heavy timber to the next as he kept as sharp as possible for any unexplained sound or movement.

Darkness. It was coming quickly, especially there beneath the timber, and while Einar wanted to think it would be to his advantage, he knew he might well be seeking a foe armed with infrared scopes, night vision goggles and other technologies which would put him at a definite disadvantage. Hoped he might find them—if there was anyone to be found—before that time.

The snow was helpful, ground still thoroughly covered and its white surface reflecting just enough light, even beneath the trees, to allow him some measure of vision still, but it presented a challenge as well, crunching softly in places beneath his feet so that he had to take great care to stick to the more solid areas where the action of freeze and thaw had created an icy surface through which he would be hard pressed to break, even should he rise and jump up and down. Beneath some of the denser areas of timber where sun never reached, the snow was still soft and deep, trapping Einar temporarily as he crawled through these areas, and leaving him trying his best to avoid them. Tracks, though he was leaving some, did not concern him, as he was not going anywhere. Just up the ridge, and back, as Kilgore frequently did, so any tracks left ought not present much of a concern.

Pushing silently through a dense cluster of little spruces he felt open air ahead—nearly too dark to see the difference—and froze.

Something up there, he had a sense of it, couldn’t say why but was certain he was no longer alone on that ridgeline. The raven, unfortunately, gave no clue, encroaching darkness greatly limiting both his ability and his will to be up and flying, searching; Einar was on his own. Thought he detected movement over to his left, the sensation more feeling than sight, and he inched lower, dropping to a crouch behind the shelter of the nearest tree and working to slow his breathing so he could get a better sense of his opponent, how many they might be and whether or not his presence had yet been detected.

For a long time he waited, still, listening, finally creeping forward only after no sign presented itself, meaning to complete a circuit of the ridge, sweeping the place before heading back down. Wind coming up. Good for him, as it covered his movements as he crept with meticulous caution though a slash of oak brush which cut the timber there near the ridges’s summit, making slow progress while it blew and freezing as it abated, waiting for another gust.

Freezing. Was more than a figure of speech for him just then, chill of the night somehow having managed to work its way through his borrowed clothing and into his bones, stiffening muscles and leaving him always on the edge of shivering, the strain of resisting it only adding to an already pervasive exhaustion which threatened to leave him sprawled on the ground an entirely unaware of his surroundings before the mission could be completed. Which must not happen, and in an effort to bring himself back to full alertness he rolled over onto his injured hip, resting his full weight on the bruised, swollen area which had been most troublesome. Caught his breath, forehead pressed against the snow beneath him. No danger of sleeping, now. No chance of hearing much of anything, either, and for a time he lay still, waiting for a lessening of the hiss and sizzle in his ears, moving forward only after some measure of silence had been restored.

Perhaps it was because of the blood rushing in his head, the harsh struggle of his own breath in his throat and the blackness which rose increasingly to obscure what little vision he had left in the failing light, or perhaps it was simply due to the stealth of the other man—though upon later reflection he was to conclude it was almost certainly the former—but Einar never heard him coming, never had a chance to resist as he was knocked hard in the side of the head with some very solid object, laid out flat in the snow.


He awoke a short time later to a dim but quickly sharpening awareness of pain in his hip, arms—couldn’t move them when he tried—the realization that he was somehow missing most of his clothes, and the sensation of cold.

[icefire]

Perhaps the other Bill (I THINK that was his name) has decided to put in an appearance?