Mountain Refuge

[suvalley]

I'm thinking that whatever has happened, ought to be a clarion call to Einar. He cannot function without strength in all his senses. And those will not return to full force unless he commits to attaining good health. In fact, he was just figuring that out, when he was blind sided. One could hope it was Liz and her rabbit stick, but I don't think so. He's going to be beyond freaked when, and if, he fully returns to what passes (to him just now) for full awareness

[FOTH]

Apr 13, 2013 19:06:12 GMT -6 icefire said:

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

Could be...

Apr 15, 2013 8:47:59 GMT -6 suvalley said:

I'm thinking that whatever has happened, ought to be a clarion call to Einar. He cannot function without strength in all his senses. And those will not return to full force unless he commits to attaining good health. In fact, he was just figuring that out, when he was blind sided. One could hope it was Liz and her rabbit stick, but I don't think so. He's going to be beyond freaked when, and if, he fully returns to what passes (to him just now) for full awareness

He is not going to be too happy, that's for sure.

Thank you all for reading. My internet connection at home is temporarily down, so posting times may be somewhat random over the next few days.

Thanks for your patience!

_________________________

It was too dark for Einar to get much of a look at his captor, so dark, in fact, and so silent that he wondered at first if he might not be dreaming the entire thing, having fallen asleep in the snow and woken in the sort of nightmare that often plagued the passage of the dark hours, but he knew that were this the case, he almost certainly would not be capable of asking the question in the first place, but would find himself wholly lost in the thing. Which made it real, and meant that he must escape. Difficult to do, knowing so little about his situation, but it was plain that first he must free his arms, which upon a bit of cautious experimentation he found to be bound tightly behind him, lashed at wrist, elbow and above, entirely immobile save for his fingers and rapidly becoming a source of some rather significant pain. That presented a challenge. Not easy to fight when you can’t move, and at the memory of how he’d come to be in such a predicament a brief wave of panic passed over him, for he knew what came next. The sudden and unexpected knock in the head, capture without any chance to resist, and then, the cage. Well, they weren’t there yet, and weren’t going to get there, if he had anything to do with it.

First, he had to locate his captor. Struggled to slow his respirations, still an involuntary trembling that had seized him in response to the pain and the cold, and when after some time he succeeded, he heard breathing. Someone was over there. And approaching. Shifting position as much as his current situation would allow, Einar prepared to spring at the man, take him under the chin with his head and hopefully knock him out, but he was never allowed the chance.

Apparently able, at least to some extent, to see in the dark, Einar’s unseen assailant knocked him onto his back in the snow and kicked great heaps of the crusty, re-frozen stuff over him, but instead of gasping and cringing as others might have done, Einar just lay there and grinned.

“Oh, so you like the cold, do you…?” The voice came low and gravelly from somewhere very nearby, and Einar did not recognize it “Like it even though it’s killing you right now, or is about to be. Is that your deal? Don’t care if you do die? Thought you had a family down there.

Einar shrugged, shook his head. Not falling for it. Not being tricked into admitting his identity, no way. Though of course, the man almost certainly already knew.

“So, you do like the cold. Seems we’ve established that. Though with proper time, I believe I could change your mind. But we don’t have that kind of time. What about heat, then? Probably just the opposite, isn’t it? Bet you can’t stand too much heat…” The man had a lighter. Knew how to use it for things other than its intended purpose—and in places not yet beginning to be numbed by the cold—and Einar very decidedly did not like the heat, but managed to keep silent. Would take more than that to get whatever it was this man might be wanting.

“Tell me. Who’s been helping you? Sheltering you? We know somebody must have been, not just now, but earlier. Names. Give me two names.”

Nothing. He made no response. Question came again, and with it, a tightening of the ropes. A twisting. Cutting into his wrists, exposing bone, but no blood came. He would have felt that, warm in contrast to the increasingly bitter chill of the night, but did not. The tightening continued, and he was able to separate himself, for the moment. Remain detached, observing the unfortunate man’s torments from a distance, regretting but not really feeling them, not as others might have done. Knew it couldn’t last, and it did not, trance broken by a heavy boot on his back, bound arms pulled up nearly over his head from behind until he was sure they were about to come out of the sockets, only he knew they probably wouldn’t, because they hadn’t before… Wished they would. Might ease the strain of it. Still he said nothing, and the man raised his arms higher. He vomited—not much in there, probably a good thing—wanted to scream, but kept silent. Could last longer than this, and intended to do it.

Just when Einar was certain he was about to pass out, the man gave him a hard shove with his boot, released his arms and sent him face-first into the snow. Sprawling. Relieved. Able to breathe again.

That didn’t last, either.

“Don’t think I haven’t read your file. Know all about you. All of it. Now talk. Give me the names.”

It went on all night, stand up, sit down, a quick twist to the ropes on his arms if he did not comply with suitable speed, and then sometime many hours into it, when he no longer had the strength to stand, even had he wanted to do it, his captor unwound the ropes binding arms behind his back, allowing the blood to begin returning and bringing with it an excruciating hurt the force and presence of which Einar had quite forgotten could exist.

And in the midst of this, the only thought that would come to Einar’s addled brain was, yeah, good, nothing’s frozen, may not lose my arms… But even the cold comfort of that thought was soon wrenched from him as the man—not even allowing time for the blood to make a full return, let alone a few blessed minutes of respite after the pain would have begun subsiding a bit—returned, barked a few questions whose words Einar could not begin to untangle or understand, and immediately set about trussing him up again, back bent, wrists bound to ankles behind him in a position all too familiar to him. Didn’t think he could take it, not a moment of it, not after what he’d already experienced that night, but he did, silent and staring as he was raised off the ground, rocks heaped on his back for weight, unable to breathe.

How long this went on Einar could not begin to estimate. After what seemed like hours of it he felt himself weakening, a tremendous sense of physical despair welling up and threatening to drag him under, body reaching the end of its endurance even though his mind was willing and able to stay the course, and gradually, that feeling of despair began creeping over from body to mind until he thought surely he could go on no longer, did not want to go on any longer, wanted it to end. Wanted to talk.

But, he did not. Even when the man gave him the opportunity, once more repeating his questions. And then, after a time of silence, Einar lingering somewhere on the border of unconsciousness and knowing he had to stay awake lest he die in the snow, a strange thing happened. Without a word, the man lowered him to the ground, loosed the bindings on his arms, ankles, rolled him over, hoisted him up into a sitting position, and draped a coat around his shoulders. Shivering and dazed, Einar turned away when the man offered him a sip of water from his canteen. His captor laughed, tone entirely changed, easy, relaxed.

“Aw, come off it. You can trust this stuff. I’m not really the feds. Or those other guys, either. Just having a little fun with you, here. Testing you out. Didn’t mean any harm. Well, not too much. You can call me the Watchman.”

Einar stared.

“Hey, you really think ol’ Bud Kilgore would leave this place entirely in your care while he was away, right now? Not a chance in deepest, darkest Hades,my friend. Nope, I’ve been watching. Watching you, watching the watchers, making sure this place stays as safe as can be expected. I’ve been around. And will be. Good thing, too, ‘cause you’ve gone way off course, here. Ought to be able to bring a one-man army of doom and destruction to bear on any group of guys—feds or otherwise—who might threaten the place, really ought to, with your experience and all, but instead here you are barely able to walk ten paces without falling down all dizzy and useless. I ought to be able to snap you in half with one hand, you know, skinny and scrawny as you’ve let yourself become. Must have some steel in them ragged bones of yours, that’s all I can say, or you’d never have survived tonight. But steel or no steel, you’d be useless against an invading force or any size. Yep, good thing I been around. Better get it together, Asmundson. Now. On your feet, and let’s get you down to that house, before you really do freeze.”

Light was just beginning to show when the man led him down the hill, arms freed but nearly useless, bloodless as Einar fought hard just to keep on his feet, his erstwhile captor from time to time supporting him when he seemed about to fall. At the bottom, just before the timber began thinning and the house came into view, the man handed Einar back his knife and pistol—magazine was empty; he could tell by the weight—and helped him, when he seemed quite unable, to get the knife back onto his belt.

“This is as far as I go,” he growled, pulling a worn boonie hat down closer over his eyes, giving Einar a shove and watching as he paused at the clearing’s edge, cautious if still somewhat confused, listening, waiting for several long minutes before scraping together enough strength to go stumbling out into the open area before the house, heading for the back porch. Reached it, fell on the stairs but got himself up again and continued until he stood at the door, hands braced against it, listening to the sounds within.

[icefire]

Whew! It WAS the "other Bill"! Maybe what he just put Einar through will be just what was needed to make EA realize just how desperate his condition is, and that he HAS to eat and rest if he's going to be able to recuperate enough to be of any help to his family.

[ebb]

If that aint a wake up call I don't know what is!!! Hope it isn't lost on Einar. I watched a movie the other day and the main character was Einar, he was played by Robert Redford. he had almost as many ghosts as our Einar, but he seemed to conquer them in the end.

[gipsysmith]

Hope that is enough to break through to him

[FOTH]

Yes, hopefully Einar does get the message this time...

Thank you all for reading.

_______________________

Susan had gone out looking that past evening when, after nearly two hours, Einar had not returned, Liz wanting to do it instead but the older woman insisting that she must stay inside, concealed, had to be there for Will and must not be spotted about the place. A less experienced tracker than her husband, Susan had found no sign of Einar on the crusty snow over which he had ascended, and near dark, she had given up the search and returned to the house. She and Liz had spent a restless night, worrying somewhat that Einar might have met with a federal patrol and been captured or worse, but perhaps even more concerned that he could very well have simply run out of energy somewhere on the slopes above the house, and be lying there dying on the snow. In either case, there was not much they could do other than to pray—and to increase their own watchfulness, should someone decide to raid the house—and this they did, keeping vigil through the night.

It did not take the women long, watchful as they had been, to hear Einar on the porch, Susan quickly checking to see that the guest was not an unwelcome one before easing open the door and letting him in. Quite a sight in matted, partially frozen clothing with dried blood caked along one cheekbone and down his neck, he nearly fell with the support of the door taken away, caught himself, bracing gloved hands against the back of a chair until Liz could set Will safely on the floor and run to him, and then he was in her arms.

“Where were you all night? What’s happened?”

Freeing himself from Liz’s embrace he took a step back, hesitated, words coming with difficulty. “Captured me, and they tried…but I didn’t…” With which he collapsed on the hard tile floor of the kitchen, triumphant smile stretching frost-cracked lips even as a tear rolled involuntarily down one cheek at the hurt, on top of everything else, of his hard landing, consciousness rapidly fading…

Liz was kneeling beside him then, raising his head and trying to get him to take some water while Susan brought a blanket, seeing that he was beginning to shake and look very cold as the warmth of the room crept in around him and began loosening chilled muscles. Einar choked on the first sip of water, managed to get the next one down and then gently pushed Liz’s hand away, not wanting to try any more just then. Took too much effort. All he really wanted was to sleep, but the women wouldn’t let him, insisting that his wounds must have attention. He wanted to tell them that everything was fine, that he’d had worse, but they didn’t really seem to be listening. That, or he wasn’t actually speaking, which latter possibility he finally concluded to be the case, but could not seem to remedy the situation. No matter. Let them do their work, since they seemed so determined that it must be done.

Susan—determined, indeed, as Einar might also have been, had he been able to see himself at that moment as they were able to see him—filled a glass bowl with warm water and added a few drops of tea tree oil to act as a disinfectant as they began cleaning the dried blood from his face and working downward, trying to assess his injuries. As they worked, they discussed the situation, agreeing that it made no sense at all, the notion that someone would have captured Einar only to release him. They never would have taken that risk, not even in the hopes of capturing others to whom he might potentially lead them. And certainly had Einar been accosted and somehow managed to escape, the house would have been the last place he’d ever think of going, no matter what his captors might have done to him, or threatened to do. Of this, Liz was certain. While neither spoke the notion aloud—communicating it instead with nods and whispers—the likelihood seemed to exist that Einar had inflicted the injuries on himself in some sort of dream-struggle during the night, a possibility which both considered fairly likely, until after much soaking and loosening they eased the bloody, badly torn and partially frozen shirt from him, and saw the rope wounds on his arms.

Susan shook her head. “He couldn’t possibly have done this in some dream-induced state…”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. Probably not during a dream, but if he woke…”

“But why? And how?”

Liz shrugged. “No telling, exactly. But it wouldn’t be the first time.”

The burns however, when they found them, told a different story. Liz knew he never would have done that, and needing to know the truth of the situation she pressed him some, who did this, who had you? But all he could do was to mutter indistinct words about the VC, the dai ta behind his metal desk in the Big Hooch, and something about a tractor battery… Seeing that such questions were fruitless at the moment, Liz soon abandoned trying, went back to helping Susan dress his wounds.

With his lower arms badly abraded and purple-black from the cold and extended lack of circulation, Susan decided soaking would be the best treatment for them, scrubbing a basin quite clean and filling it with water which Liz made certain was barely even lukewarm before lowering his arms in up to the elbows. Einar made no sound, no objection, face remaining a mask, furrowed, still, unchanging, but Liz could see from his eyes how it hurt him, wished there was some other way.

Susan, too, saw his difficulty, saw other things also, taking his pulse at the neck, examining the membranes under one eye—white, rather than a healthy and typical pink—and looking worried, leading Liz away into the pantry.

“Looks like he’s lost a fair amount of blood, Liz. He’s in shock, dehydrated, fairly seriously hypothermic and the pain can’t be helping, either. We need to get him some energy real quick, a spoon of honey or something, and water. Start him warming. And I’d like to maybe crush up some pain tablets and get him to swallow that, too. I think it would help him get through this. Help stop him slipping downward so fast like he’s doing right now. Things are really going to start crashing, if we can’t reverse the shock.”

Liz knew she was probably right, was pretty sure she could get him to drink some honey water, knew how to help him get warm, but wouldn’t allow the rest of it. “He wouldn’t like it, being tricked into something like that. Might never know the difference, but it just wouldn’t be right.”

Susan nodded. You two are a good match. You’re every bit as stubborn as he is, in your own way. Lucky guy… “We’ve got to get some water into him, then. A lot of water. If you can get him to drink, that may work, but otherwise, we’re just going to have to set aside his objections—no tricking him; we’ll tell him exactly what’s going on—and do an IV, if you want him to recover from this. If you want him to live. That’s what we’re really talking about. He was barely hanging on before, just trying to get through daily life, and whatever happened last night would have been awfully rough on the healthiest and most robust person, let alone someone…”

“Yes, I know. I know. I’d like to know what did happen. Obviously it wasn’t the feds, or we never would have…well, he’d be gone. Do you think Bud came back and did this? Or sent one of his friends…”

Susan had been wondering the same thing, only Bud had called the house at nearly half past ten the previous night, to wish her a good night and let her know it was looking like he’d be gone for several days. They had not, of course, been at liberty to discuss the situation at the house, but she highly doubted he would have left Task Force headquarters or wherever they had him staying, returned home to “visit” with Einar for the night, and gone back to work. Would have been too risky, possibility of his employers following him to the house, and she did not believe for a moment that he would have done that. Which left a lot of questions, and some potentially hostile force out there waiting to seize people who wandered into the woods, only to release them hours later. Bud had friends, she knew, who might be called on to do such a thing, that pilot Roger, several of the others who had been at the wedding, but how Bud could have contacted one of them and got them there so quickly was quite a mystery to her. Only when, several minutes after and in a great hurry to be allowed into the house, the raven returned, were they to get a definitive clue as to the identity of Einar’s captor.

[icefire]

Ah....Muninn must have "attacked" Bill and snatched something to ID him.

[grizz]

The Raven scavenge a boonie hat???

[suvalley]

Please, let some intervention take place! I can barely stand to read any longer.

[FOTH]

Icefire and grizz--yes, something like that!

Suvalley...I'm sorry.


______________________



After much flapping and pounding at the door Muninn was admitted to the kitchen, the rather irate raven having to deliver himself of the object in his beak before he could let loose with the tirade of rasping dismay with which he expressed his outrage at having been left up in the dark woods and then shut out of the house. “What have you got there, critter?” Susan retrieved the strip of cloth, examining it as a slow smile of recognition spread across her face. She knew that calling card.

While she had not seen the man, Bill Foreman, since his last visit to their house while her husband Bill had still been living—the two of them had served together, though she never knew the details—Susan well remembered his later leaving a photo of Liz there on her front porch while she had yet been unaware of the young woman’s whereabouts after going missing, the image confirming to her that she was safe, and with Einar.

The last time she’d heard from him had been at the wedding, when he’d somehow managed to leave a faded boonie hat decorated with a white feather on the front porch during the height of the festivities, all without being noticed by any of their guests. Bud still wore the hat. Susan had, from time to time after that, got the sense that the shadowy character might be out there somewhere, watching, protecting, though she’d never until that day got confirmation of his presence. Susan—and Liz, also, once the situation had been explained to her—felt a good deal more relaxed knowing Foreman was around, watching, presumably helping to guard the place in Bud’s absence—when he wasn’t busy capturing and rather forcefully interrogating folks who happened to wander up into the timber…

When the two of them got back to Einar he appeared to be asleep, head bowed so that his face was nearly in the basin of water and breaths coming at alarmingly great intervals, but when the raven sought to remedy this, landing on his shoulder and taking a clump of hair in his beak, the sleeping man’s response was instant and rather more forceful than either of the women might have expected.

Narrowly missing Einar’s wild grasp the raven took wing, heading for the wall as the water basin went the other way, overturning and splattering all over the kitchen. It was quite a ruckus, Will laughing from his spot on the couch and Liz going to Einar as Susan hurried to clean up the spilled water and restore some semblance of order to the place. Einar wasn’t laughing, leaning heavily back against the wall and wildly scanning the room for the source of the chaos, gaze settling at last on the bird. Realization dawning, all the starch seemed to go out of his bones and he slid down limply to the floor, giving the still-laughing Will a weary grin before allowing forehead to rest on his knees, apparently ready for sleep. Susan wanted to let him rest, but not just yet.

“We need to bandage your arms. Will you come back to the table?”

“Oh, they’re alright. Lot better than they were.”

“They’ll be even better if we can bandage them and keep them clean. Come on, up you go.”

Einar went, sitting quietly aside from his shivering, which was still quite intense, as Susan applied a strong smelling green salve—comfrey, he was pretty sure, with something else added—and wrapped the worst areas of his arms in gauze, covering it with flexible camouflage wrapping to hold it in place. Einar smiled at this detail, joking in broken sentences that by the time she got finished, he would be all set to go back out in the timber and move around unnoticed.

Liz, meanwhile, lacking the usual hot rocks with which she would have surrounded Einar to help him warm after a night such as the one he’d just had, prepared two hot water bottles earlier given her by Susan as the next best alternative. Over Einar’s half-hearted objections—gonna have me roasting here pretty soon, not used to this much heat—she wrapped them close to his torso where she knew they ought to help complete the warming process, gently securing them in place over bandages with wraps of soft flannel. This task completed, she brought over a pot of tea to which she had added a generous amount of honey, pouring Einar a mug of it and offering to help him drink, considering the condition of his hands and the fact that he remained rather unsteady.

Shaking his head and grinning, Einar grabbed the mug himself, inhaling its steam and enjoying a quick sip before hurriedly setting it down lest he lose his grip. “Got anything to…eat around here? Long night, kind of hungry…”

Delighted at the request, Susan hurried to prepare a bowl of fruit—sliced bananas and strawberries—which seemed a good place for Einar to start, before trying the more substantial stuff that he really needed. The fruit smelled good, and Einar tried, but nearly choked on the first bite, had to stop after the third. Muscles just weren’t working right, body entirely out of energy. This did not bother him too greatly; the fact that he was trying, it seemed to him, ought to be enough, plenty, really, and he was content. Drifting. Ready to sleep again. Liz and Susan, though greatly encouraged at Einar’s change in attitude, were far more concerned just then with results. Perhaps, Liz thought, if she could get him to drink more of the tea, the situation would improve, and she tried, but he gagged on the stuff, coughed, couldn’t seem to get it down and finally she had to give up trying for fear of drowning him. Susan shook her head, sat down across from him.

“Einar, I need you to listen to me for a minute. Look at me. This is really important. You need some fluids, and it doesn’t seem to be working for you to drink right now. I’d like your permission to do an IV, just for a little while to help you get past the worst of the dehydration. I think it would really help with your level of alertness, and make it easier for you to stay awake. Is that alright with you?”

Susan thought she saw a moment’s wavering—he did want very badly to be able to stay awake, after all—but then he lowered his eyes, shook his head. “I can drink.”

[suvalley]

Having personally experienced delirium (brought on originally by fever from the flu) from dehydration, I am amazed he is able to concentrate long enough to understand Liz and Susan. I lost four days, with only snap shot fuzzy memories, and those all jumbled up, lol But I understand about not being able to eat-I couldn't either

Thank you, for providing another riveting chapter

[yikes]

Let's see now, Einar is dehydrated, so he has a low blood pressure. Any activity would cause his muscle cells to "re-inflate" which would lower his blood pressure even more. His stomach has shrunk to a very small size, so he does not have the ability to take in large amounts of water or food. He must consume small amounts and often, even though he may not feel hunger or thirst. To do that he must have on going motivation. Is the safety of Liz and Will enough or must Einar find it within himself? Can he transfer saving Andy to saving himself,,,or his family?