|
|
Post by FOTH on Jun 26, 2013 15:38:37 GMT -6
It has been pointed out to me that I have been somewhat lax of late in posting regular chapters, so will do my best to post one every two days, if not daily.Considering how much we're paying you, you should be ashamed. 
Seriously, you've done great keeping this story going. Thanks. Thanks for reading.  The only pay I ask is the participation of the readers...I don't at all mind writing for free, but wouldn't want to do it for nothing. That would be discouraging. ____________________ This time, knowing the place even through wind-blown snow, Einar did not long hesitate upon reaching the mine entrance. Did not have time to hesitate, with the storm swirling so about them and Liz already showing signs of being fairly seriously affected by the wind and cold. If he was, himself, showing the same signs he didn’t feel it, entire being engaged in guiding his little family up through the timber and over to spot where he knew shelter could be had, keeping alert all the while for signs that the enemy might have got there first. Which they seemed not to have done, no disturbance in the snow around the small, well-concealed side-entrance to which Einar led them and nothing, when briefly he left Liz in the shelter of a cluster of small firs and circled around, at the main entrance, either. They ran for it, then, Einar taking Liz’s hand and leading her across the narrow open area before the timber which sheltered the entrance, running, stumbling, leaning hard on one another and gasping for breath in the still, windless silence of that underground place as the storm raged on outside and they began shivering as some of the heat of their quick escape started to leave them. Will was whimpering in his blanket and Liz brushed the snow from it best that she could, unwrapped him and put him to her breast for the meal that he surely needed after their run through the cold, child growing calm as he warmed against her. Einar, meanwhile, was doing his best to shake the remaining snow from the blanket, wanting to keep it as dry as possible and seeing—could not feel, fingers numbed with cold—in the diffused light finding its way in through the low opening through which they had entered, that already it was damp in places with melted snow. They had no light, and no means, save the fire flint and bits of tinder in the pouch round his neck, to produce it, and he knew that soon they must be moving even deeper into the mine, both to prevent their heat signature being picked up by anyone outside and—more urgent at the moment—to reach a spot where less of the outside air was finding itself in and temperatures were a bit higher in order to keep them from freezing and ensure that those heat signatures went on existing, in the first place. It would have to wait a minute though, all of it, for at that moment Einar found himself feeling terribly ill, heart racing, erratic, chest hurting and breath coming only with difficulty so that he had lean hard against the rocky wall and lower his head simply to remain conscious, all the while fighting to keep his eyes open and ears sharp so he might listen for sounds of pursuit from outside. Seemed a near impossible task, against the howl of the wind and the hollow, roaring blackness that rushed up at him from all around, assailing his senses, and he sank to his knees, upper body held rigid as he gripped the pistol for all he was worth, still guarding the mine entrance, waiting for any pursuit that might be coming. It had been too much, that desperate dash up through the timber, and if ordinarily he would not have liked to admit as much, there was no concealing it now. Liz was at his side, one hand on his shoulder as she cradled Will with the other and her eyes showing white in the dim light seeping in through the entrance. She was saying something, telling him to lie down, but he didn’t want to do it. Could not leave his post, not yet. She tried to insist, but he shook her off. “No, no…I’m ok. Happens sometimes. Just got to…” he went silent, face drawn and grey in the dimness as he strained his abdominal muscles, pressing, attempting to gain some renewed control over the chaos in his chest and restore something like a normal heart rhythm. The exercise worked, more or less, allowing him to stand up straight once more, sight and hearing slowly returning. Even as his senses returned he found himself feeling dreadfully cold all of a sudden, drained of the energy that had allowed him to guide them with such speed up to that spot, but still he fought the urge to sit down, to let his legs collapse under him and to close his eyes for a while. Still had work to do. Liz was beside him, looking into his face with concern as she took his pulse. “What was it? Are you Ok?” “It was nothing. Better get Will in a little further where it’ll be less cold and drafty. Looks like you may be here for a while.” “ I may be? What about you? What are you saying?” “Got to go back and see what’s happening at the house. Storm’s still blowing real good, should cover me.” She had hold of his arm then, could feel how hard he was trying not to shiver and she wanted to give him a coat, another layer for warmth, but had nothing to give. “You’re not leaving us…” “Not for long. Be back as soon as I can. Hour or so, I hope. And if not…here. Take this.” He handed her the pouch from around his neck. “Flint, tinder, some elk jerky…ought to keep you for a few days.” “What are you talking about? Stay with us. Stay with your son.” “I’ll be back, Lizzie. Have to see what’s happening. Useless as I am right now, I’m real sure you can make it that long without me. Probably better than you could with me.” “They’re probably just talking. We weren’t there, so there’s nothing for them to find. Nothing to hold him on. And suppose for some reason they’re not just talking…what are you going to do? I don’t agree that you’re useless, but if that’s what you think, what could you possibly do?” He checked the pistol, stuffed a spare magazine into his pants pocket and slipped the knife onto his belt. “I don’t know. But I’ve got it to do.” “What if you leave tracks, and lead them back to us?” “If that happens…won’t be leading them here.” “Einar…let me come with you. They’re my friends too, and I don’t want…” “Will.” She nodded, in tears, brought the child to her shoulder so he could see his father, see him off, and Einar wrapped his arms around them both, feeling their warmth, not wanting to take too much of it. “You go deeper into the mine. Been there before, kinda know your way around. You’ll be alright. Way above freezing in there, once you get in far enough. Mid fifties, just like a cave. Stay in that blanket with Will. You’ll both be Ok.” |
|
ebb
Member
Posts: 49
|
Post by ebb on Jun 26, 2013 18:43:16 GMT -6
No need for Einar to go the two Bills will have this well in hand. The other Bill has been waiting for this for weeks, maybe months.
|
|
|
|
Post by icefire on Jun 26, 2013 21:04:06 GMT -6
Einar is in NO shape to go back. He only got up to the mine on pure adrenaline, and now that that's gone, he'll be in pretty dire straits, especially with the cold.
|
|
|
|
Post by gipsysmith on Jun 27, 2013 9:10:46 GMT -6
You sure seem bound and determined to take E out of the picture. I hope the two Bills can end this and then get him back to himself.
|
|
|
|
Post by suvalley on Jun 27, 2013 22:05:12 GMT -6
Agreeing with gipsysmith here. If surviving is breathing, that's about all he's got left. I had hopes we'd see a partial recovery but this constant crashing is really tough to read. You're great at it, but I think the other readers will agree-we're invested in this epic battle of mind, body, and spirit too....and this never getting better is tough to go through. Here's hoping you finally allow him to reach the true rock bottom, without death, and that he finds the will to recover. In full, to the man he should be, needs to be. Not a walking, hallucinating, dangerous version of a Dachau resident-which is how my minds' eye paints him  |
|
|
|
Post by FOTH on Jun 28, 2013 15:39:56 GMT -6
No need for Einar to go the two Bills will have this well in hand. The other Bill has been waiting for this for weeks, maybe months. Yes, he sure has. But unless Einar goes back, he will never know for certain... Einar is in NO shape to go back. He only got up to the mine on pure adrenaline, and now that that's gone, he'll be in pretty dire straits, especially with the cold. That's for sure. Not easy to keep moving when all the energy is gone. You sure seem bound and determined to take E out of the picture. I hope the two Bills can end this and then get him back to himself. Sometimes perhaps his methods are a bit questionable, but Einar really is trying his best to stick around on this earth... Agreeing with gipsysmith here. If surviving is breathing, that's about all he's got left.
I had hopes we'd see a partial recovery but this constant crashing is really tough to read. You're great at it, but I think the other readers will agree-we're invested in this epic battle of mind, body, and spirit too....and this never getting better is tough to go through.
Here's hoping you finally allow him to reach the true rock bottom, without death, and that he finds the will to recover. In full, to the man he should be, needs to be. Not a walking, hallucinating, dangerous version of a Dachau resident-which is how my minds' eye paints him I think Einar would be encouraged to know that someone still regards him as dangerous... Though I don't expect you mean it quite the way he would like it to be meant. And he probably wouldn't recognize "rock bottom" if he fell on it from a great height and broke both legs... Would probably just see it as another challenge, pick himself up and start crawling.  As for the rest of it...all in good time. He knows (can't help knowing, every day) that he must get stronger, must do it soon or die, and I think some part of him at least is aware that he's going to have a very hard time doing that and keeping at it without coming to some sort of truce with his past. Thank you for your words. I am sorry if the story is proving discouraging, just now. |
|
|
|
Post by FOTH on Jun 28, 2013 15:40:39 GMT -6
Heavy as the storm remained, it would not have been difficult for Einar to remain hidden while retracing the path he and Liz had taken in escaping from the house, but he did not want to do that. Could not risk going over and deepening their previous trail on the chance that the snow might not last long enough to thoroughly obliterate it, and while their route had been a good, quick direct one, the heavier timber up behind the area of the house and workshop offered the prospect of better concealment.
It seemed a very long way back, the half mile that lay between the mines and the area of the house, slow going through the snow and fighting a growing weariness which he was still able to recognize at that point as being largely tied to the first stages of the hypothermia that would end up taking his life before the expedition was over, if he allowed himself to grow complacent in its presence. Long way, but at last he made it.
Crouching in the trees near the edge of an overhanging little rock escarpment, Einar hugged his knees and shivered, trying to get a better view of the house and outbuildings down below and fighting the increasing grip of the cold as he did his best to restore some feeling to his extremities. Liz, knowing it would provide some desperately needed protection from the cold and wind, had tried to send with him the large trash bag they’d snatched during their escape—had tried to stop him, actually, from leaving the mine in the first place—but he had left it with her, knowing how it would have crinkled and flapped in the wind. He probably would have had to abandon it under a rock by then for fear of making too much noise and giving himself away had he brought it, and the plastic, with its water-shedding and wind-turning abilities, was a resource they really couldn’t afford to be without, just then. Still, he could not help but think of the shelter which would have been provided him by the presence of that simple item. Could have cut a hole in the top and worn it like a poncho to break the chilling, killing force of the wind which he now fought so fiercely but whose teeth he could feel working their way through his sparse flesh, getting a grip on the bones, could have even stuffed the thing with mounds of relatively dry spruce needles from beneath one of his present shelter-trees, curled up in it and slept.
Which makes it a real good thing you don’t have the bag along, for that reason among a lot of others. You’d never wake up, you went trying a thing like that. Can sleep later, and I’m sure you will be, one way or the other. Now. You’re down here for one reason only, and you got to work your way in closer where you can have a better look, try to figure out why the feds needed three big black Suburbans, or whatever those are, to pay a friendly little visit on their official tracking contractor…
Before moving on he checked the pistol, wanting to make sure it was ready to go should the need suddenly arise and also needing to test his ability to grip and fire the weapon, no easy task, he could see, with hands so stiff and clumsy, but with a little concentration, it would be possible. Probably the most efficient way to employ the pistol—a cold smile as he weighed the weapon in his hand, everything hanging in the balance—would be to step out there into the open in front of Bud and Susan’s house where the feds’ vehicles were arrayed, and use it on himself. That, it appeared, would simultaneously solve several major problems at once…but it wasn’t on the agenda.
Up, then, and moving again, had to get closer if he wanted any sort of a view, and as he went, he prayed that the snow would hold out, go on covering him, and his tracks, for he knew the risk he was taking in coming in so close to the house. All the while, moving stealthily from tree to tree and pausing more frequently than a spooked elk to listen for approaching sounds, Einar was troubled by the pressing feeling that he was not alone out there in the snowy woods, that some presence was stalking him even as he stalked the house and the visiting agents, but if there was any truth to this perception, he never was able to confirm it.
Closer, struggling now simply to keep his eyes open whenever he paused for a minute to listen, once waking with a start at the sound of voices not far at all in front of him and realizing that he had managed to work his way in a good deal nearer the parked vehicles than he had intended to do. Four men out there, all standing around between two of the vehicles and looking at something on a clipboard, trying their best to shield it from the falling snow and finally getting into the vehicle, sitting for a minute and driving off. So. One down. That left only…well, could be as many as sixteen men, if the remaining two vehicles had been packed to capacity, but he expected the number to be somewhere closer to seven or eight. They would have had to leave room for Bud and Susan in those vehicles, if they intended on taking them away. And for himself, and Liz, if their capture had been anticipated, as well.
So. They would all come out as a group, the agents who would be taking Bud, would want to get him secured first in one vehicle and then others would exit with Susan before everyone drove away together…at least that was how he expected it would go. Which put him in a very tight spot if he wanted to free them both, as Susan’s captors would be alerted by his rescue of Bud, and even if that should by some incredibly slight chance prove a success and both he and Bud end up with the fallen agents’ weapons…Susan would still be in the custody of the others, and they would all be in a rather sticky situation from which he could see no clear escape, no good outcome. Sure would have liked time to rehearse the whole thing, would have liked another good man or two on his side—like Bill; where is that scoundrel? He still in the area, or does he only show up when I’m up in the timber and he figures I need some good quality time with an old dead spruce?—but there was no one, and surely not much time, either, so he again checked the pistol, pressed freezing hands to his stomach in a last attempt to restore some usefulness, and hunkered down to wait.
He did not have long, for the rest of the men soon exited the house, six in all, and with them, laughing, joking, booming voice carrying with great clarity across the snow, was Bud. Free. No handcuffs, no rifles trained to prevent his making a dash for it, and Einar watched in near-disbelief as he stood with the little knot of men behind one of the vehicles, hatch open and a map spread out, Bud pointing and talking in seeming answer to a series of questions on their part. Einar craned his neck, wishing he was a bit closer so he might be able to make out the map, wishing for binoculars, but as it was, entirely unable to determine the area of their discussion. Was Bud sending them to the mines? The question, and the realization that he did not know its answer, sent a surge of near-panic through him at the thought that they might be able to get there before he could return and warn Liz, get her out of there or at the very least make a final stand at her side…and the possibility nearly led to his making a decision which no doubt would have ended in complete disaster, and charging the group before they had a chance to act on the map, to make their move.
Instead he remained still, watching, listening, at least to Bud’s side of the conversation. In what almost seemed to him a deliberate effort to project his voice farther than might have been strictly necessary even for so typically boisterous a man as himself, the tracker described in detail an area of terrain somewhat below the basin where he and Liz had made their home for the past months, the spot, he knew, being the same one where the slide had ended Juni’s life and more recently those of a number of the agents who had been up investigating the incident and looking for evidence of his own presence. These men were, it seemed, intending to return to the spot, and were seeking Bud’s advice on which approaches might prove least dangerous, and which they ought at all cost to avoid. Not at all the scene he had expected to find there, no handcuffs, no desperate struggle as the tracker attempted to prevent his own capture, and though something in Einar’s mind told him the entire thing might be a charade conducted for his own benefit and designed to draw him out of hiding as soon as the vehicles departed and secure his capture, reason insisted that the entire thing was more likely to be exactly what it appeared.
The situation had, perhaps, been prevented from turning bad, Bud and Susan having quickly concealed any evidence of their houseguests and the agents, perhaps not having shown up with such suspicion in mind in the first place, having failed to investigate thoroughly to discover the ample evidence that surely would have been left behind. Just no good way to know for sure, and then Susan came out onto the porch with a thermos and a tray of mugs, coffee, chocolate, maybe a combination of the two. The sight of it tripped something in his memory, so that suddenly clear before him was the scene in the kitchen when he’d last awakened there to find himself tied to that board and that feeding tube and can of nutritional drink on the table beside him…
Hadn’t had time to think about the event or its implications before, in the midst of their hasty escape, and he tried very hard to put it out of his mind for the moment. Could not afford such distractions just then. That could come later. Which left him right where he’d been before he’d started thinking about it, and it seemed he could smell the drink as she began pouring, wondered whether within that friendly gesture might be contained some poison which would incapacitate the unsuspecting agents. Probably not. Probably just Susan being herself, being kind to guests, and Einar half wished he had a Task Force coat he could don—yeah, would stand a lot better chance in this storm if I had a few inches of down wrapped around me, that’s for sure—so he might walk down there and claim his own mug of whatever that hot liquid might be. Which would never work, for his ability to blend into a crowd had probably never been at a lower ebb than it was just then. Well. Whatever was going on, it was clear to him that no immediate danger existed to the physical safety or freedom of either Bud or Susan, no need for him to violently intervene and attempt a rescue.
Good thing, and for the first time since leaving the mine, he allowed himself to relax just a bit, resting his forehead momentarily against the nearest tree. His feet were cold. Bud’s boots didn’t fit, were pinching his toes, on the foot where he still had toes, and he did his best to wiggle them, keep them moving for a while, hoping to maintain some circulation. All of him was cold, actually, body nearly too chilled and worn out to shiver anymore, and he knew if he allowed himself to pass that point, he would be hard pressed to make the return to Liz and Will, and perhaps even less likely to survive the coming night without fire, even if he’d managed to gain the shelter of the mine. Better get moving.
|
|
|
|
Post by FOTH on Jun 30, 2013 15:06:30 GMT -6
The old mine had many passages, more than one level, and Liz had no map. Before, Einar had been in possession of the maps previously owned and annotated by Susan’s late husband, Bill, their details serving to guide the pair along the treacherous corridors and, at last, up again to safety through a long abandoned vertical passage high up on the timbered slope. Liz did not have these maps, had, in fact, no visual memory of her previous trip through the tunnels at all, that adventure having come while she was suffering the lingering effects of snow blindness aggravated by the bright lights so cruelly misused during her federal interrogation. Relying entirely on Einar’s hand and his voice to guide her, she had seen nothing. Though the urgency this time was not nearly as great, the mission being only to find a warmer, less drafty place to conceal herself and Will as they awaited Einar’s return, she did not want to go stumbling aimlessly about in what could prove a very dangerous environment indeed, possibly slipping, falling, taking a wrong turn and not being able to find her way back…
And how was Einar to find them, when he did return? He might himself become bewildered in searching, especially in the daze of cold and exhaustion which was certain to have seized hold of him after his additional time out in the weather… She tried not to think too much about those details. Knew very well that she might very well not see him again, weather and his weakened state conspiring to do him in, even if the feds never laid a hand on him, and she shook her head, grabbed for Will, who had worked his way out of the afghan and was taking off on hands and knees for the shaft of dim, storm-muted light coming in through the rocks of the nearby entrance.
“Oh no, you don’t! I’m not going to have two of you out wandering in the snow, and that’s final. You’re staying right here with me and wait for your father. And you can’t just be crawling all willy-nilly around in a mine, either! You have to be at least eight years old before you can do that, according to federal child miner safety regulations, you know?”
Will did not know, but he laughed anyway, squealing his delight as he kicked and struggled, still wanting to head down that inviting shaft of dusty light, seeking out the adventure that surely lay concealed just around the corner in the wind-tossed shadows of a dozen skinny little spruces… She wouldn’t let go, though, put him up on her shoulder and wrapped the folded afghan around the two of them, tying it and shifting the knot so that it was just behind her shoulder, thus creating a carrying sling in which he could ride as she explored the mine.
Still there remained the problem of letting Einar know where they had gone, Einar, who would arrive half frozen and almost certainly without a source of light, and she wanted to wait right there to welcome him, warm him as soon as possible after his trek through the snow, but he had told her to seek shelter further inside the mine, and she knew he was right. There near the entrance where the outside air flowed freely and eddies of wind sought out the hidden spaces, she would have a real struggle simply keeping herself and the child warm and connected to life, let alone being ready to bring Einar back to it, should he reach them. When he reaches us. So. I’ve got to find one of these little side-chambers where there won’t be any wind, where the warmth of the earth will help keep us from freezing, and so that he’ll be able to follow us… Charcoal wouldn’t work, the signs she might smudge onto the walls of hewn rock surely passing unnoticed by a man with no light by which to find his way, and lacking a long string to pay out behind her as she went—briefly considered undoing a few dozen yards of yarn from the afghan and trailing them out behind her, but knew they could hardly afford to lose part of the only real layer of warmth they currently possessed—she used rocks instead, placing her arrows in the center of the path and making them large enough that Einar would all but trip over them, and be forced to pay them mind, no matter how weary and cold.
Liz did not have to go far, following a gently sloping passage off to the left, before the influence of wind and outside temperature were so greatly reduced that she saw little purpose in continuing further, and here she stopped, keeping Will on her hip as she carefully explored her new surroundings, feeling with feet and hands for any dropoff, any hole that might be looming to swallow the unwary. She found nothing, save a few scattered timbers which seemed to have been dragged there and left in some long-past time, covered as they were with a layer of thick fine dust when with careful fingers she explored their contours. A decent place, and though she would have liked to have a better look at it, any look at all, she could not quite justify using up any of the precious tinder pellets Einar had so carefully stashed away in the leather pouch he’d always kept around his neck. Especially when she knew they’d be needing a quick fire upon his return. Must save the tinder, so she remained in the dark, dragging several of the old timbers out into the approximate center of the little chamber and sitting on them with Will, afghan wrapped about the two of them for warmth.
For a time this arrangement worked quite well, neither intolerably cold, though Will was becoming somewhat bored with the limitations of his current arrangement, wanting very much to get down and explore, even if all about him was darkness. Though admiring the tenacity displayed by the little guy in his insistence that he be allowed down to go his own way—your father must have been something like this as a little boy, mustn’t he?—she could not, of course, allow him to wander about in the dark mine, finally convincing him to settle for a quick snack and some sleep, aiding him off into his slumber with a soft rendition of the old ballad Greensleeves, and several others.
Will sleeping quietly, Liz was left to her own thoughts there in the silence, mind retracing the route they had taken between house and mine, what paths he might have taken on the return trip and where he would be, just then. The images brought to mind by this question were not pleasant ones at all, a figure slumped over in a snowbank, breath of life barely disturbing the unhealthy stillness of his cold-pinched features, and she shook her head to rid it of this specter, praying for Einar’s life, for a safe return to his family, and after a time of this she turned her mind to the more immediate problem of the water that had somehow in the past several minutes begun finding its way through some crack in the ceiling, and dripping directly on her sitting spot.
Einar was indeed propped up in a snowbank at that moment, having departed the house some minutes before with the intention of making something of a wide loop in his return to the mine, circling around behind the house as he worked his way up higher and higher on the slope and pausing here and there where his increasing elevation would give him some view of the house, driveway, a means by which to confirm, perhaps, that the vehicles had not returned. A fine idea, but he hadn’t made it very far at all up through the timber before his legs began giving out with increasing frequency, spilling him into the snow and leaving him to worry lest he leave a far more defined trail than he had hoped to do. Could not be leaving tracks, not if he wanted to return to his family. Had he been entirely on his own, the inclination might have been strong just then to forget about the tracks, find a spot where he could hole up, back to the cliffs and with a good vantage of the land below him, conserve what strength he had left and prepare for a final stand, if that’s what they wanted to bring him. But with two people awaiting his return in the darkness and solitude of the mine, uncertain as to events up top and almost entirely without supplies, every ounce of his remaining energy had to go towards regaining their presence, and without leaving a trail the enemy could follow.
On his feet again he squinted back through the snow, trying for a last glimpse of the house and surroundings before losing himself in the especially thick timber just below the ridge’s crest and fighting all the while a hollow, hurting emptiness far beyond hunger that seemed to well up from within him whenever he stopped moving, brain and body seeking desperately for any scrap of fat or muscle that might be left behind, and could now be accessed and burned for fuel to meet the demands he was placing upon them. Nothing there, and the process hurt, left him all alone in the snow with the undeniable physical despair of a body far past its reasonable limits beginning to creep over and invade his mind, and he if he allowed that to go too far, he was done.
Well, you’re not done yet, you big wimp, so keep on your feet. Enough with all this moping and tottering. You’ve got a ridge to climb. So, decision made and body somehow brought into at least momentary compliance, Einar started once more on his path, steps chosen carefully so as to avoid the deeper areas where tracks might survive the storm.
Silence, occasional thin sing-song of wind gusting through the spruces, rasp and crackle of his own breath loud in his ears, body battered by branches, snow-hidden snags, too numbed to feel their impact, and before long the entire thing took on a sense of unreality for Einar, time a fluid, changeable thing whose passage he had no way to mark, grasp.
Lost in the whiteness, he soon became content to allow his mind free to sing along with the spruce-song, breath-song, death-song, and indeed it might have been, but for the soft sound of wings descending, black shape emerging from the storm, and Muninn was beside him, circling once, lighting on his shoulder and rasping words of encouragement—or perhaps of mockery, but Einar did not really care which—into his ear, Einar grinning, shaking the accumulated snow from his hair and pressing forward with renewed determination. Time to get the family all together again.
|
|
|
|
Post by pacnorwest on Jun 30, 2013 17:31:45 GMT -6
Thank you FOTH,
the tenacity of the human spirit is amazing.
|
|
|
|
Post by icefire on Jun 30, 2013 19:27:06 GMT -6
Munnin to the rescue! That raven has proven his helpfulness numerous times. Good thing he "adopted" Einar!
|
|
|
|
Post by FOTH on Jul 2, 2013 16:16:52 GMT -6
Thank you FOTH,
the tenacity of the human spirit is amazing. Thank you, pacnorwest. Munnin to the rescue! That raven has proven his helpfulness numerous times. Good thing he "adopted" Einar! Yep, turns out that old vulture is alright. Thank you all for reading! _________________________ The sudden intrusion of moisture, it seemed to Liz, into the dry, windless little alcove she’d chosen for shelter, must be due to a melting and seeping of some of the newly fallen snow on ground not in all places entirely frozen, this snowmelt just then managing to find its way through all the layers of rock and soil overhead and begin dripping. Whatever its cause she knew she’d have to find a way to stay dry, which meant either leaving the alcove and finding another spot from which to wait Einar’s return, or somehow stopping the drips. Not wanting to go searching, and expecting the moisture intrusion would likely not last too long, in the first place, she opted to stay put, securing Will once more on her hip before unfolding the large, heavy trash bag they’d managed to snag on their way through Bud and Susan’s garage, carefully cutting along its seams until it was opened up into a single large sheet of plastic. Now for some way to suspend the stuff, make a sort of tent or canopy, and she turned to the thirty feet of parachute cord she wore around her waist in lieu of a belt, a habit picked up from Einar and one with which she had fortunately not dispensed with after coming to stay with Bud and Susan. Feeling along the walls of the chamber until she found two protrusions of rock nearly opposite one another and large enough that she could wrap and tie the cord around them, she set up a center line, draping the bag over it and using the tail ends of the cord to secure its four corners, suspending each a foot or two off the ground by tying it to a rock or bit of wood. Makeshift shelter complete, she retreated beneath it with Will, feeding him and listening to the soft drip-drip of water on the bag above. The sound was monotonous, soothing, Liz fairly comfortable on her bench seat and not even particularly cold anymore, out of the drafts and snuggled up in the blanket with Will, and before long she found herself feeling immensely weary, drifting slowly towards sleep. Head snapping up, eyes wide open in the inky sameness of the mine, Liz came wide awake, holding her breath as she listened for a repeat of the sound that must have wakened her. Einar. It had to be Einar, and she was on her feet, momentarily tangled in the crinkly plastic folds of her shelter as she forgot about its presence and stood up into it, shook it off, went looking. No sign of Einar anywhere between the chamber and the mine entrance, nor of anyone else, either; the sound, it seemed, which in her half-sleep she had taken to be Einar’s voice, must have been merely a product of dream. Dream or not, he would hopefully be coming, and sooner rather than later, and she had to be ready for his return, for the reality that would be facing them both after his time out in the snow and cold, when he’d barely been managing to hold his own in Susan’s warm kitchen… had to be prepared to make a fire. To this end, she wrapped Will more snugly against her in the blanket-sling, cautiously approaching the entrance and pausing to listen before slowly stepping outside, out into the storm, hurrying to the nearest cluster of spruces and beginning her search for the pitch-covered bits of bark she hoped would help to warm and light the little chamber where they would be spending an unknown period of time together. Finding a good bit of dried pitch on the third tree she checked, great yellow-white globs of the stuff clinging to its bark on one side when she brushed away the snow, she began collecting, kept at it until she had a good pile of the stuff. Returning to the welcome shelter of the mine, Liz shivered herself warm again , listening, waiting, hoping to catch a glimpse of Einar before returning to the warmer inner alcove that had become her shelter. At last, hearing nothing but the wind, seeing nothing through an ongoing swirl of snow, she left her post, took Will to the better shelter and warmth of her chosen chamber. The raven did not know where Einar was going and thus could not lead the way, but he did stick close as the man struggled forward through heavy, wet new snow which was by then really beginning to add up, covering what had been a fairly solid springtime crust beneath and making the going an increasingly slow and exhausting task. Einar kept on almost mechanically, conscious mind disconnected from the processes of his body which carried him forward, only dimly aware of the country through which he passed and—aside from a nagging knowledge that he must avoid leaving a trail—largely undisturbed by the fact. Rubber boots do not provide a great deal of insulation in wet snow, or any sort of snow, and at last Einar, fearing for his feet, had to stop and do his best to thaw them out a bit, crouching against a tree and removing first one boot and then the other, wringing water from his socks and pressing cold, yellow-white foot soles to the insides of his legs in an attempt to restore some warmth. Didn’t seem to do a lot of good, legs just about as cold as everything else by that point, but he figured the effort was bound to be better than nothing. Only dry socks and a reprieve from the constant cold of the snow through the rubber would really help, a little fire, maybe, beside which to warm himself so his body would be willing once more to send more blood circulating to his extremities—a single layer of denim is never particularly good protection against the wind and wet of a spring snowstorm, but that was all Einar had left after his escape from the house and leaving his sweater tangled in the webbing on his makeshift bed— but for the moment he’d done what he could do. Shoving the boots back into place he did his best to pull stiff, ice-encrusted pants legs down over them in the hopes of keeping more snow from falling down inside as he walked. The pause, though necessary, had only served to accelerate the grip of cold and storm on Einar’s wearied body, and his movements, when he resumed them, were the slow, stiff stumblings of a man badly needing to be in out of the weather. Soon. Had to be nearing the mine, but he was walking blind, snow swirling around him and evening beginning to descend at the same time, and after a while he had to admit that he was not at all certain of his exact location. Having some trouble, in fact, remembering exactly where he might be trying so hard to go, in the first place, and he might have gone on wandering right up the ridge and over, for as long as legs and brain and strength had held out, had he not run almost face-first into a solid rock wall. Curious thing, that wall, stone looking almost as if it had been worked by man at some time in the dim and distant past, broken, fragmented, fascinating, and he ran his hands over it, slid down—liking the lessening of the wind there in its shelter—beside it and rested chin on his knees, dozing. Disturbed. Raven landing heavily on his shoulder and though the skin had long ago lost all feeling in the cold, the bird’s sudden weight canted him rather violently to the side, slamming his head into the wall which had so recently been the object of his fascination. Hurt, and he swatted at the bird, wishing it to leave him alone, leave him to sleep. For which the dark, inviting opening yawning low and inscrutable before him in that hand-worked wall of rock seemed the perfect spot, to crawl in there out of the weather, out of view of his enemies, wherever and whomever they might be, and to sleep. Moving, dragging unwilling limbs he rolled at last in onto the dry rock floor, safe, spent, sleep coming. |
|
|
|
Post by icefire on Jul 2, 2013 16:53:42 GMT -6
Hopefully that wall is another entrance to the mine, and one that Liz can find Einar in before he freezes to death. Or, maybe Muninn can find Liz and lead her to Einar.
|
|
