Tim Washburn - Powerless

Sam stirs awake, smiling. “Seen anything?”

“No, I fell asleep, too,” Kaylee whispers. They switch positions and rotate over onto their stomachs, allowing them a 180-degree view of the small stream.

“Movement on the left,” Kaylee whispers.

Sam levers a shell into the chamber and sights down the rifle. A doe and two fawns break from the cover of the trees. Kaylee covers her ears, bracing for the shot. But Sam lowers the weapon unfired.

“I can’t do it,” he whispers. “I can’t orphan those two babies.”

Kaylee leans in and kisses his cheek. The doe and two fawns walk to the small creek and drink their fill before moving on, presumably to bed down for the night. Sam continues to scan the area around the creek but grows discouraged as the light begins to fade.

Kaylee reaches over and taps his arm, pointing to the right with her other hand. A big buck comes sauntering in from the other side of the creek.

“What happens if that’s the daddy?” Sam whispers.

“He’s done his job, then. Besides, I’m hungry.”

Sam lines up the sights, leading the buck and trying to account for the downward angle of his shooting position. He takes a deep breath and squeezes the trigger. The hammer snaps down on a misfire. The big buck perks his ears up and Sam hurriedly ejects the dud and levers in a new round. Sight. Breath. Squeeze the trigger. He flinches when the rifle roars in his hand. The buck races away.

“Damn it,” Kaylee shouts, jumping to her feet as if she were going to chase him down on foot.

“I hit him. I know I did. Let’s go look.” They race down the hill and jump across the small stream.

“Look,” he says, pointing at a trail of blood. “I knew I hit it.”

“Where the hell did it go, then?”

“Sometimes they’ll bound away if it’s not a killing shot. But I think I hit him close enough to the heart that he can’t get far.” They follow the trail of blood into a patch of thorns and find the deer lying on its side, snorting in pain. Sam calmly cocks the rifle, works through the brush toward the front, and fires a round through the head.

“How the hell are we going to get this thing home?”

“I’m going to butcher it here and then we’ll take all we can carry. Whatever we leave won’t be here in the morning, so we need to get all we can.”

Sam draws a knife from the scabbard at his belt and spends the next two hours butchering the deer while Kaylee watches from afar. With nightfall the temperature drops twenty degrees but the work keeps him warm. Kaylee, on the other hand, is back in her ski pants and coat but is still shivering.

“Gather some wood and I’ll build us a fire,” Sam says.

Kaylee disappears downstream and soon comes stumbling back, her arms loaded with deadfall branches. Sam lays his knife aside and forms a small fire ring out of rock and lays in some kindling. He strikes the lighter, the one he remembered to bring only at the last minute, and uses a clump of dead leaves to get the kindling to ignite.

Sam returns to the deer and strips out one of the loins. Once the fire is going, he spears the meat with a stick and, using two small Y-shaped branches, centers the meat over the fire. The smell of the cooking venison ratchets up their hunger.

Sam returns to butchering the rest of the deer while the meat sizzles over the fire. He strips off as much of the hide as he can and uses it to bundle the remaining cuts of deer meat. He twists the hide at both ends, creating a pair of handles. The weather has turned colder still and their breath steams in a vaporous fog. He removes the tenderloin from the fire and uses a boulder for a cutting board as he quickly slices the meat into equal portions. Kaylee hops from foot to foot until he finishes. They moan with pleasure as the warm, tender venison fills their empty stomachs.

Kaylee wipes a dribble of juice from her chin. “Why don’t we stay here by the fire tonight? It’ll give the meat a chance to freeze.”

“Can’t. The smell probably has every bear in two counties headed this way.”

Kaylee whirls around, searching the darkness.

The Rocky Mountain foothills, Boulder

Their labored breathing sounds like an approaching freight train as Sam and Kaylee climb the hill on the return journey. Although it’s cold, both are drenched with sweat. Sam calls a halt and windmills his arms to loosen them up while Kaylee collapses to the ground and moans.

“Hey, Boy Scout, why didn’t we bring a wagon or something to haul the meat back?”

“One, I don’t have a wagon. And two, pulling a wagon over this terrain would be nearly impossible. You’d be cussing the damn thing before we got ten feet.”

Kaylee laughs. “You’re probably right. How long you think this meat will last us?”

Sam pulls the last of their water bottles from his pack. “A month or two if we can salt it or get lucky and keep it frozen. We’ll have to play it by ear.” He takes a small swig before passing the bottle to Kaylee.

Kaylee groans. “So we’re going to have to do this again?”

“That depends on the power situation. But if it’s as bad as we surmised, we’ll have many of these trips to look forward to.”

Another groan from Kaylee. She takes a final small drink from the bottle and passes the remainder back to Sam. He drains it and stuffs the dead soldier back into his pack.

“Let’s move out.”

Kaylee stands and salutes. “Yes, sir.” They each grab one side of the deer hide and shuffle on.

“Let’s shoot over to Pine Needle Road. Make the going a little easier.”

“I’m all over easy,” Kaylee says.

Sam steers them a little south and within ten minutes they’re walking easier on smooth asphalt. He turns to Kaylee and smiles. “Now we could use that wagon.”

“I got your wagon.”

After two more brief rest stops they come to the clearing at the back of Sam’s house. The waning moon provides enough illumination to keep them from tripping over the field of stray boulders as they hump the remaining three hundred yards. They drop the load of deer meat on the deck and sag to the steps.

Snowflakes float from the sky, melting upon contact with their overheated bodies.

“I guess we made it just in time,” Sam says.

“We were lucky. We should probably be a little more observant about the weather conditions in the future. Wouldn’t want to be caught out there in a big snowstorm.”

The rate of snowfall increases. “You’re right. We got so used to hearing the five-day forecast on the tube we just took the weather for granted.”

“You need to bone up on your Boy Scout skills, Dr. Blake.”

“I know enough to teach you a thing or two, Dr. Connor.”

They laugh as they stare upward, the snowflakes caressing their faces.

The click-clack of a shotgun round being chambered shatters the quiet.

“Who’s there?” Sam says.

No answer. Kaylee scoots a little closer to Sam and whispers out the side of her mouth, “Where’s the rifle?”

“Deck,” Sam whispers.

Exhausted and sore, he experiences a flash of intense anger. “Either shoot us or show yourself, you gutless bastard.”

A shuffle of feet, then the click of a flashlight. A bright cone of white light momentarily blinds Sam and Kaylee. Sam raises his hand to shield the light from his eyes. “Who’s there?”

“It’s me, Doc.”

“George?”

“Who’s George?” Kaylee whispers. Sam shushes her with the wave of his hand.

“What’s going on, George?” Sam strains his vision to see beyond the light. “Why do you have a shotgun pointed at us?”

The light pans to the ground. Kaylee takes advantage of the distraction to slink up to the top step and roll over onto the deck. She crabs in the dark, in a desperate search for the rifle.