Episode 12: The Quick and the Dead

One man alone in the wilderness, no matter how skilled, is hard-pressed to survive the rigors of weather, predators, securing food and finding shelter. Add a second person to the scenario and the prospects for survival increase dramatically. But take away the man, and leave a 16 year old girl, no matter how well tutored…and what are the chances?

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Transcript

After the Virus, Season 1, Episode 12

Who was the burned man, what was he doing and why did he hang Will like a deer? There is no definitive answer, and you may have come to a different conclusion than I did, but here are the clues: 

-His burns and limp are similar to those attributed to the man who shot the people at Cabin Flat in Episode 2.

-He had a pile of human bones near his camp

-He hung Will in a manner consistent with how a butcher would hang a carcass to be processed.

-and he brought a saw with him to the carcass.

If you had visions of Hannibal Lecter we’re on the same page.

At the conclusion of Episode 11, Hope was distraught as she faced the unsavory task of burying Will.

Turning my thoughts to Will, I struggled with what to do next. It occurred to me that perhaps I should bury him, to keep his body from scavengers. Looking around for any other threats, it appeared that the burned man had been the only other human in this camp. I went to Will’s limp form and stared at him.

 It was only then that I noticed his color - not white like a corpse, but flushed and radiating heat - he was alive. 

I patted his face and called his name - nothing. The rope that held him was looped twice around the limb above, then tied off to the trunk. My hands worked frantically to loosen the knot and I was able to let him down slowly to the ground. He did not wake up and his breathing was labored. In addition to his missing hand, his face was swollen and bloody and there was a large gash and lump on his head.

Looking around I found a metal coffee can, rushed to the creek, cleaned it out and filled it. Returning to Will I soaked my bandana and blotted his feverish face and neck. Moving to his arm I removed the dirty, bloody rag that had been tightly bound around his wrist. The sight was horrific. His left hand had been sawed off above his wrist and jagged flaps of skin and tissue mixed with chips of bone. The tightness of the bandage had sealed the wound. I hoped that infection had not set in. 

Not knowing the best thing to do, I decided on the only cure for wound infection that I knew...sterilization. Leaving him briefly I used a smouldering ember from a nearby burn pile to start a fire of dead branches, then threw a couple of palm-sized rocks on the fire. 

I got Will prepped, lying on his back, tied him to a downed log, and tied his arm out to another log. 

The largest piece of flat metal was the sawblade carried by the burned man. I retrieved it from where he dropped it and heated it up to red-hot over the fire. 

I moved to Will’s injury and laid the searing blade across the wound. All at once a number of things happened; the wound sizzled, it gave off a sickening smell, and Will jolted into consciousness. 

Howling and jerking at his restraints, I tried to calm him down and let know what had happened and what I was doing. He was disoriented and panicked in pain. I put my water bottle to his mouth and made him drink, which helped to settle him. When he seemed a little more aware of his situation and what had happened I could see the tension leaving his body. I removed his restraints and he took another big drink of water.

As I reached for the saw to reheat it Will found his voice. “No!” he said. “I need a poultice.” He then gave me a number of ingredients to collect: yarrow, prickly pear, cattail, and dogwood root bark. I propped up his head, fed him some pemmican and left to search for the needed ingredients. 

The yarrow and dogwood root I found readily in the forest and nearby meadow. We were too high in elevation for the cactus and I could find no cattails nearby. 

When I returned to Will he was awake and still felt feverish but he was clear-headed. First, he had me mash the yarrow and dogwood into a paste. Then I cleaned the wound as thoroughly as I could, picking out dead skin and bone slivers. This caused the wound to begin bleeding alarmingly, so I used a short length of cord to create a tourniquet which I tightened just enough to stop the leakage. I then applied the paste to the wound, covering it with a big wad of moss and wrapped the whole thing with my bandana. I loosened the tourniquet a little bit, then made some tea from the yarrow leaves and we both drank the healing brew. 

Will looked visibly relieved of some pain and anxiety. He napped on and off throughout the afternoon and night. 

August 12

This place has so much bad energy that I am anxious to move, but Will is not yet strong enough to walk. I spend the day feeding him tea, pemmican and other plants I can gather. He needs more food to build his strength so I leave him to hunt. I shoot a small black squirrel with my bow, skin and roast it - it’s good to have fresh meat! 

In the afternoon I make two trips across the creek to retrieve the gear we had left the night of Will’s encounter.

August 13

I gather more yarrow and dogwood root and change Will’s dressing. The wound looks less inflamed and does not smell. I apply the new poultice. 

Will is anxious to move and I can’t disagree with him. Helping him to his feet he is a little unsteady, so I lead him by the hand. At the edge of the village the woods give way to meadows and pasture. We have only walked a couple hundred steps before Will is exhausted, so we stop and arrange a new camp for ourselves. 

August 14

I gather food while Will alternates between sleeping and sitting quietly. The marshy meadows are full of clover, cress and other edible greens. There is quite a bit of game on the meadow’s edge: squirrels, brush rabbits, geese, turkey and quail. By lying in a narrow swale I am able to shoot one of a pair of large Canada geese - it makes a terrific meal for Will and I this evening. 

I change Will’s dressing. His wound does not look infected. He is not himself. He is quiet and thoughtful and does not smile as he usually does. I have intentionally avoided asking him about he lost his hand. I assume that if wants to tell me about it, he will.

August 15

Will looks and sounds stronger this morning, if not happier. We decide to move even further upstream, away from the village. 

This time we walk for about two hours. We cross a paved highway - Hwy 36, the first asphalt we have seen in months. There are no vehicles to be seen or heard. The day is hot but there is a cooling breeze flowing down from Mount Lassen just a few miles ahead. Birds sing in the willows, a coyote runs away from us across the meadow. It feels like the first time I’ve been able to enjoy the beauty of my surroundings since this whole terrible thing began.

We come to a small grove of pines and cottonwoods on a small circular rise in the middle of a large damp meadow along the creek. Will sits, and with some difficulty removes his shoes with his one hand, signaling that we are done walking for the day. 

I look at our clothes. We look quite ragged. Our clothes are looking very worn and dirty. We will need better clothing before winter. 

August 16

The small spring creek flowing through the meadow is full of trout. By lying on my stomach parallel to the creek I dangle my arm in the numbing water until it is painfully cold. Working my hand beneath the overhanging bank I feel for fish. After a while I feel the silky soft side and fluffy fins of a trout. Because my hand has become the same temperature as the water the fish is not alarmed by my touch. I carefully clamp down and simultaneously hook my hand up out of the water tossing the fish into the tall grass. After a couple of hours I have harvested seven trout, which we skewer and cook like hotdogs over a small fire. 

We doze in the sun in the afternoon. I mention to Will that it smells like rotten eggs, and he suggests that there are natural hot springs farther up the valley. We decide to go look for them tomorrow. 

Using some light fishing line that Will has, I sew a few tears in our clothing. 

August 17

Leaving our gear among the trees, we walk up the valley. Will is much stronger, moving more like his old self but still not talking much. We avoid a good-sized cabin on the meadow’s edge, staying just inside the tree line on the opposite side of the meadow. We stop often to gaze at it, looking and listening for any signs of life but detect none. A half mile above the cabin and out of sight of it we come to a clear shallow pool of water with a colorful sandy bottom. Dipping a finger in, I discover that it is indeed hot, scalding hot! 

Continuing on a little further, we come to a number of small gurgling fountains coming up from rocky cracks. One of these flows into a bathtub-sized pool of hot, but not scalding, water. I order Will to give me his clothing and I spend the next half hour twisting and wringing our clothes out repeatedly in the hot water. When I’m done I tell Will to get in and bathe thoroughly while I lay the clothes out on some large rocks to dry. When he is done it is my turn. While he goes and sits with the clothes, I take a wonderful, rejuvenating hot bath, cleaning myself thoroughly. When done, I find a group of rocks to lie among and dry myself in the sun and breeze. After a while Will, in his underpants, brings me my mostly dry shirt to put on. We rearrange the clothing on the rocks to finish drying, then move under some nearby trees to get out of the sun. 

We talk and nap. Will’s mood is lighter and he seems relatively upbeat for the first time since losing his hand. It is mid-afternoon by the time we retrieve our clothes. Putting them on, we found out that we had gotten quite sunburned in the high elevation sun and the stiff clothing hurt my reddened skin. 

More fish and greens for dinner. 

August 18

Slept fitfully due to sunburn, Will tossed and turned all night as well. On top of that the mosquitos were quite bad at times. 

Being low on supplies, we decide to inspect the cabin we passed just downstream. 

The cabin was clearly the property of a rancher, as there was also a compact pole-barn, shed and other small buildings, each housing various types of tools and equipment. 

We cautiously crept around the perimeter of the buildings, prepared to flee if needed. I carried my bow and a pair of arrows and Will had only a large knife, as we had no more ammunition for any of our guns. 

Compared to the cabins at Mill Creek, the property looked undisturbed and unlooted. Approaching the main dwelling we watched the windows and doors for the smallest movement but there was none. Standing behind an old truck we tossed pebbles at the building, but still got no response. Next, we actually knocked on the building, then on the door. Getting no response, we tried the doors, front and back - both were locked. Searching around, we found a key hanging on a nail under the porch, tried it in the door and it worked. 

Stepping hesitantly inside the threshold, the cabin had a musty, but not diseased or dead smell. Nothing was out of place; canned food was on the shelves in the pantry, jackets hung in a closet, books were arranged neatly on shelves. All this order seemed foreign after so much disorder. It was so normal that our sense of anxiety was heightened. We listened intently for any foreign sound either near or far. 

What had allowed this place to remain undamaged by the effects of the virus? It could only be that the family who owned it had died of the disease elsewhere, perhaps this was their summer ranch and they had perished wherever they lived the rest of the year. Or maybe so few people knew about the place that those who did were dead before they could flee here. 

In any case, we were not about to stay here - it was too big a target, too obvious a hiding place should other survivors, other surviralists, come looking for a place to hide, or loot, or vandalize. 

We will find a place nearby that is well hidden, to stay out the remainder of the summer and store some of the provisions we’ve gotten here. 

Uncomfortable lingering inside, we fill our backpacks and a pillowcase with canned goods and carry them back to our camp. 

Tonight we had baked beans and canned pineapple for dinner. 

August 19

This morning we went looking for a place to cache supplies. The steep slope above us goes from timber to rocky cliff about a half mile away. Where the cliff begins, there are piles of broken rock. In the midst of this rubble, two large boulders, leaning against each other form a large protected space. We work to flatten the floor, then move our canned goods into the rear corner. 

In the afternoon we return to the cabin. This time we are looking for other items we will need in the coming weeks and months. I feel guilty even thinking about taking things, as though I am stealing, but Will tells me that if the owners were still alive a few missing things would be the least of their worries. 

Because we will be moving come winter, we only take what we need and what the two of us can carry. 

We will borrow more food to help us through the late summer - as good as we are at hunting and foraging, we will be somewhat less effective with Will having the use of only one hand, and we are bone-thin now. 

Our next priority is weapons and tools. There are no guns in the house but we do find a drawer full of bullets which includes a box of rifle shells - a godsend since I used our last bullets on the burned man. There is also a high-tech slingshot made of steel and surgical tubing that should come in handy. There are many knives and although we already have a couple, we add a few more: a large folding hunter, a medium-sized skinning knife and a hefty military-style knife with a hollow handle for storing emergency supplies. 

As far as tools and utensils, we take a hatchet and an aluminum pot. We take a small flashlight, batteries, and a box of wooden matches and a spool of fishing line and hooks. 

Our next thought is of clothing and bedding - our wardrobe is threadbare and we have a single sleeping bag between us. We each take one complete set of clothing: underwear, pants, shirt, sweater and jacket, and we take one sleeping bag and two pillowcases. 

When we have filled our two packs we look ridiculously over-burdened. I have to help Will put his backpack on which frustrates him, but it is almost impossible to do single-handed. We pack our bounty back across to our camp spot in the grove of trees and drop off the gear, then make our second trip of the day to our new cache to store more canned goods. 

We eat like royalty, splitting a can of corned beef hash and a can of green beans. 

August 20
 
 

This morning we linger at our campsite. It is a most pleasant spot with a commanding 360 degree view of the valley, close to the creek for water, breezy enough to keep the bugs at bay. Shaded from the direct sun and wooded enough to shield us from immediate detection should anyone walk up the valley. Will thinks we should stay here as long as it is practical and retrieve food from the cache as needed. 

The peacefulness of the moment allows Will to finally open up about his hand. “I did it” he stated abruptly. “What did you do?” I asked innocently. “I cut it off…my hand”