Project - 16 (24 page)

“
Better?” I asked as her hair brushed against my face. It was
still scented with apple shampoo and smoke from the
fire.

“
I don't think we...”

“
It doesn't mean anything but you're not going to get much
sleep leaning upright against a wall, are you?”

“
I did okay last night,” she protested.

“
We're not getting married and it's too cold for me to do
anything else so just trust me, okay?”

She nodded and relaxed into me. I pulled my sleeping bag
around us and immediately felt snug and warm. At first she folded
her arms across her chest, but when she began to realise I wasn't
out to molest her, she relaxed further, her head turning to lie
against my shoulder and her arms flopping down on my knees. Within
moments she was snoring softly and after half an hour she was fast
asleep.

I wriggled my arm free and spent some time adding logs to the
fire, listening to the quiet night pass by around us and the gentle
sigh of the breeze. Riley would mutter something in her sleep from
time to time but I couldn't catch what she was saying. She seemed
to find it hard to relax even when she was snoring.

Now that her head had tilted to one side I could see the
beginnings of a faded tattoo that began at her neck line and worked
thin, intricate marks down her left shoulder. A dragon? A serpent?
I couldn't tell. Whatever it was, it told a tale of a young girl
who'd snook out of her house to have her first tattoo done. Was
there an age law in America? I think I'd heard that there was from
someone. What did her Dad think about it?

I found myself staring into the fire trying to write up the
story I already knew. Good kid. Good family. Rebelled in her
teenage years and joined up. Fought a number of wars. Friends dead.
Retired. Gone private. Hints of unhappiness where ever she was. Did
she say she didn't get on with her sister? Rejection?

Now it looked like even her own Government wanted her dead.
How did that make her feel? More rejection. Now her own country
doesn't want her.

By the time I felt myself dropping off I think I'd managed to
find the pattern. Could I actually do anything about it though? If
we survived, perhaps I'd get the chance to.

I'd managed a good six hours of sleep when the sun finally
came up. My watch put the morning at a little after 7 and the light
was just starting to drift into our shelter. The fire had died down
to embers but when I reached out my hand and touched them they were
still quite warm. They'd only need a bit of coaching to light
again.

“
Riley?” I said, putting my hand on her shoulder.

“
Good morning,” she mumbled, trying to go back over. “Just a
bit longer.”

“
I need to get the fire going,” I said, easing her forward to
shuffle out from behind her. The cold was waiting for me and no
sooner had I left the warmth than it pounced, causing my teeth
chatter. At least it was a good motivator.

“
What's for breakfast?” she asked, watching me clear a space
amongst the warm coals and pack it with dry tinder I'd made the
night before. I saw Dad in my mind, gathering leaves and drying
them by the fire to put in that draw-string pouch he always had in
his pack. I was afraid he'd become obsessed by always having
suitable tinder in his box but I soon realised it was one of the
most important things to have. Now it was me with the obsessive
tradition.

With a little bit of persuasion the tinder took and soon the
fire was going again. I started from scratch, adding small sticks
until it was ready for the bigger stuff. I looked around and
realised I'd need to stock up. My careful piles were alarmingly
diminished.

“
Pass me the coffee,” I said, setting two pans of snow to melt
and boil. “We should have two more packs of breakfast and then
we're on the reserves. Piotr didn't take any of my packs I
notice.”

“
No. I did but they're no fucking use now, are they? I took
three lemon sponges as well. Now they're vapour. I'm sure the poor
Russian only lived on vodka and trail mix.”

“
How much coffee do we have between us?” I asked. She glared
at me from across the shelter.

“
You're obsessed. Are you addicted to the stuff or something?”
she said. “There's eight of those weird bags left - the ones that
make you look like some kind of drug dealer. You had hundreds of
instant ones in the stores, why do you carry grounds?”

“
They taste better,” I said, panicking because eight bags
would mean only eight mornings. Then I'd have to start drinking
nettle tea again.

“
I'm sure they do, man.”

I made us a pan using one of the bags and poured it out into
our cups, demonstrating my skill at not letting the grounds escape
from the bottom. Then I made up the two breakfast bags and passed
one to her. Now that we had more daylight I noticed the odd design
of Piotr's spoon, how it looked hand carved and not something from
some mass-produced line.

“
You know about this spoon?” she asked, holding it up. I shook
my head. “Look underneath.” She turned it over and I could see a
name - his wife's name burned into the handle. “What a shame for
them both.”

We ate in a sombre silence. I stood up, looking out across
the empty field onto what could have been another country, maybe
even another world. It was dazzlingly bright, covering every tree
and branch, every hill and crag for miles around. A heck of a lot
must have fallen during the night but thankfully there was very
little that'd landed on the tarp over Riley's head. The roof beams
had caught most of it which meant that if there was more snowfall
they might just break with the weight.

“
I need to get up there,” I said, indicating the shabby roof.
“I think I can get away with just laying some more logs down to
fill the gaps.” She looked up and agreed.

“
Is there anything I can do?” she said. “I'm going out of my
fucking mind sat here.”

“
I understand, but I can't risk you tearing open that wound.
Give me one more day and I'll have something for you to do. How are
you at cooking deer?” She grinned.

“
Get me some hot sauce and bread crumb and you'll have the
best god-dam burger you've ever tasted.”

“
I might struggle with some of the ingredients, but you're on.
Speaking of the leg though...”

She leaned over onto her side and pulled down the sleeping
bag a little. I carefully undid the knot that held the pad in place
and lifted it off, dreading what I might find. The first thing I
noticed was the lack of any smell and when I saw the neat line of
stitches on the bruised skin and saw that there was no puss or
fluid I sighed with relief. It was a good sign - for
now.

“
How's it look, Doc?” she asked.

“
Good, but it's early days. The wound is healing nicely so
I'll take the stitches out later this week. If you're not bothered
about a scar I'll leave it a bit longer.”

“
I don't give a rat's ass. I just want to get back on my
feet.”

I put a fresh pad over the wound and was about to wrap it
back up again when she snatched it from me and finished it
herself.

“
I can manage,” she snapped.

“
Something I said?” She yanked the bag back over her legs and
looked away from me.

“
You've seen enough of me,” she said. I flinched at the
remark, not quite sure what to say or do next. The best I could do
was nod, then finish the last of my coffee and gather my tools. I
slid open the doorway to the shelter, closed it behind me and began
to drag the pulk back towards the woods, stunned at her outburst.
Maybe I should have said more.

I played it over in my mind, confused and hurt by the way
she'd reacted. Was it just the fact that she was immobile and felt
helpless? Or was it the fact that she felt exposed when I'd looked
at the wound? I started to get angry as I thought about it, then
realised I was being a bit unfair. She was Claudia Riley, the
independent US Ranger and now she was out of action for the time
being, having to be cared for by a stranger from another part of
the world who'd had to remove her underwear and humiliate her in
order to save her. I wondered how I would have felt had the
situation been reversed.

Aware now that time wasn't exactly on my side, I set to and
began cutting as many of the longer, thinner logs as I could find,
stacking them up near the pulk but wishing I had another person to
help me. To cross the gaps in the roof I had to leave them as long
as possible and that meant bundling them and dragging them back
through the snow. It'd be hard work. I also needed to find fire
wood - enough to last us that day and tomorrow as well because I
planned to hunt the deer that continued to leave spoor all around
where I was working.

By midday I'd dragged a bundle of ten back to the shelter and
stacked them next to the wall. I didn't go into the shelter but
turned and went straight back. I didn't want another encounter with
Riley just yet and time was ticking by.

Towards evening I managed another two bundles but because I'd
had to go further into the woods to get them I found myself
dragging them back in the dark. It was a clear nights sky though
and there was plenty of light to work by.

When I reached the shelter with the third lot, Riley called
out from the other side. I went to the entrance and she was sat
there with a cup of hot water in the air, gesturing for me to take
it.

“
Thanks,” I said, panting and ready to sit down.

“
How are you doing?” she asked.

“
Good. I'm going to climb up and start laying them. Sorry if
you get a bit of snow dropping on you but I'll have to clear some
of it away.”

“
It's okay,” she said. “I'll get further under the tarp.” I
turned to go but she called again. “Miller - we're okay, aren't
we?”

“
Yeah,” I lied. I wanted to discuss it, but it wasn't the
time. I needed to get onto the roof and finish the job before
another ton of the white stuff came down. “We'll talk when I'm
done.”

I smiled, then went around the other side and looked at the
wall in the pale moonlight. There were a number of hand holds to
use - jutting pieces of brick, a few steel rings, and so I stood
the logs upright against the wall and began to climb up. At the top
I swept away the first inches of gathered snow fall so that it fell
behind me, then dragged my first log up into place. When I had
enough of a platform, I climbed up onto it and began pulling all
the remaining logs up as well. The brickwork of the shelter was
pretty sturdy and I was glad I'd checked it before settling inside
a few days ago. If it was going to collapse, this would have been
the time and it showed how well built these farm buildings had been
in their day.

When I'd covered most of the roof - it almost reached the
barricade I'd built below - I climbed back down the way I'd come,
dropping onto the snow with a thud.

“
How's that?” I shouted.

“
Looks good,” she replied from the other side.

“
I'm going back for the pulk. It's got our firewood on it. I
won't be long.”

Exhausted, I made my way across the night covered landscape,
back towards the woods which had thinned quite a bit now from my
efforts. The pulk was where I'd left it - loaded with the bits I'd
stripped from my roof logs - twigs, branches and such excellent
firewood - but there was something else nearby. I bent down and
tried to identify it. Four tracks - pig tracks, or boar at least,
leading into the northern part of the woods that hadn't been there
before.

I grabbed a stout piece of wood off the top of the pulk and
began to follow them, checking I still had my knife on me. They led
in more or less a straight line and after ten or fifteen minutes of
tracking I found a large area of disturbed snow where a snout had
been digging near the root of a tree. More tracks led east and I
followed onwards, reaching a tangle of bushes to part of the woods
I hadn't explored yet. There, its back to me, stood the pig,
rooting amongst the tangling growth and oblivious to my
presence.

I moved closer, far slower than before and raised the club in
my hand. I'd have much preferred to have shot the poor thing but my
rifle was with Riley and I had little other choice. When I was
close enough I lunged towards it, bearing down on it with all my
weight and smashing its skull with one swift swing of the club. We
both tumbled into the snow and I tried to pin it down, only to
realise that my strike had been on target. There'd been a loud
crunch and I saw that the pig was lying on its side, lifeless but
for a very shallow breathing noise coming from its mouth. I went
for my knife, grateful that it wouldn't feel it plunge into its
neck and let its lifeblood spill onto the ground.

Another part of our survival was now complete and I felt a
little bit more optimistic. I strung the creature up with the last
of my paracord and gutted it, letting the organs and blood fall
into a hole I'd dug under it. Then I packed its cavity with as much
snow as I could before taking it back to the pulk to carry
home.

When I got there, Riley was struggling back into her sleeping
bag - her trousers dried and her boots back on.