Nathan Jones: Shortage

It was Trev’s turn to be delighted. “That shot earlier?”

“An 8 point buck, pretty impressive size,” his cousin confirmed, finally letting his exuberance show. “Just standing there at the edge of the meadow a stone’s throw away like he’d never even heard of humans. It was a clean shot but I still wanted to make sure he was out of his misery before coming back for my skinning knife and a tarp.” He waved impatiently. “I’m glad you got back when you did, I could really use your help.”

“Sure,” Trev said, trying to hide his sudden uncertainty. He’d gone with his dad and uncle on a few hunts when he was younger, but they usually hadn’t brought down anything and the one year his uncle had he did the gutting and skinning himself. He’d kept Lewis there to observe as he instructed him, but Trev’s dad had felt a bit squeamish about that and kept Trev away until the job was done.

The biggest thing he’d ever cleaned was a fish, and he’d never skinned anything. Still, there was literally no time like the present to learn so he tossed the bucket of fish in the icehouse to stay frozen and went to fetch his own knife, the one Razor’s thug had left in his backpack down in Aspen Hill Canyon. He just hoped it was sharp enough: Lewis had spent some time last night while their food was cooking sharpening his own knife to a keen edge, but that was another skill Trev didn’t have yet and after a brutal climb from the valley he hadn’t been in the mood to learn.

He could honestly say it, he wasn’t sure he could survive up here without his cousin. But it was as much a desire to share the load as any fear that he might end up alone that made him determined to learn everything he could. As much as he regretted not gaining these skills before the world ended, he didn’t intend to put off learning them any longer.

So if he had to he was ready to get elbow deep in guts.

Lewis led the way down the meadow to where the deer had been standing beside a small thicket, probably nibbling at the few remaining leaves among the undergrowth. It was a bit sad to see the majestic animal sprawled dead on the grass, shot clean through the neck, but at the same time that was a lot of meat sitting there. Trev’s stomach grumbled at the memory of roasted venison from when his uncle had brought down the deer years ago.

His cousin paused to stand silently beside the deer for a moment, and Trev wondered if he was observing the old Native American tradition of thanking the deer for the gift of its meat. Trev was certainly thankful, although not in such a formal way. Then his cousin knelt down beside the deer and pulled on a pair of plastic gloves before looking up at him. “Step one is the trickiest,” he said with a grim attempt at a smile, “and lucky for us we get to do the most unpleasant thing first. Gutting.”

Trev made a face. “You know how?”

“I’ve seen plenty of videos and I watched my dad do it that one time. If everything goes right nothing is ruptured and we get the innards out clean in one piece and toss them off the cliff for any scavengers to find. If things go wrong…” he trailed off and shrugged. “Well, we salvage what we can. Watch this time, you’ll get to do it next time.”

He watched his cousin make careful cuts to expose the innards enough to get everything out in one piece. Then, not looking quite as confident and definitely a bit squeamish, Lewis reached right deep inside to detach everything, working with both hands for what seemed like forever before reaching for his knife.

“Ugh.” Trev didn’t so much say the word as it was forced from his gut as he watched his cousin carefully cut everything free and roll it out in one piece. In spite of himself he stumbled a few steps back.

Lewis grinned over at him as he removed the dirty gloves, that task at least complete. “Suck it up. This meat could mean the difference between life and death as it gets colder. Not to mention a good meal tonight.”

Trev reluctantly returned to keep watching. Even with the smell and the mess he wasn’t really in the mood to complain. He knew how important this was as much as Lewis did: not only did it mean immediate food and a hide they’d be able to make use of, but it meant that if they could do it once they could do it again and learn to survive in these mountains even when the supplies they’d brought were gone.

His cousin left the innards where they were for the moment and got Trev’s help in rigging a pair of ropes tied to the ends of a sturdy stick, to hang the deer from a nearby leaning tree by its back feet with the stick keeping them spread. With some effort they managed to get the job done, then Lewis retrieved his knife and frowned at the hanging carcass. “I’ve seen people skin and quarter a buck in under fifteen minutes. Let’s see if I can do it in a half hour.”

That seemed impossible to Trev, but he watched in admiration as his cousin clumsily but with purpose cut the hide along the legs and then peeled it off in one piece, leaving the meat behind. He hung the skin from the tree, then had Trev spread the tarp as he began quartering the deer.

Trev had thought this part, at least, would be messy and difficult, but as he watched his cousin cut free the shoulders and joint the meat, then get to work on the back straps, tenderloins, and ribs, and finally cut free the hams and joint them as well, it all seemed to go smoothly.

“You got all that from watching videos?” he asked incredulously.

Lewis smiled as he set the last ham on the tarp. All that was left hanging was the ribs and hips with a few scraps of meat, sinew, and cartilage, and the intact neck and head. In a pile with the innards were the discarded lower legs and hooves. “It helps to have a sharp knife and know exactly what you’re doing. Copying what I saw seemed to work pretty good.”

“Think you managed it in fifteen minutes?” Trev asked. He’d been so intent on the job that he hadn’t really noticed the passage of time.

“How should I know?” His cousin chuckled and motioned to the meat piled on the tarp. “Come on, let’s get this packed in snow in the icehouse. Then we can gather up the rest and toss it off the cliff.”

Trev glanced at the hanging carcass. “What about the meat on the neck?” There wasn’t much, but there was some.

Lewis hesitated. “Not sure,” he admitted. “In the videos it’s usually kept intact to mount, or just discarded.”

Fair enough. Trev grabbed one end of the tarp as his cousin grabbed the other, and together they carried it towards the icehouse.

Their first day on the mountain and they’d already bagged a buck and caught five fish. Trev wasn’t sure whether to credit that to incredible good luck, divine providence, or the fact that with the lack of people able to get up here the fish and game were more plentiful. Maybe all three.

What he did know was that he couldn’t believe all the refugees starving in the valleys to the east and west weren’t coming up here to enjoy the same bounty. Then again most of them probably didn’t have the equipment or shelter to make it work the way he and his cousin were.

After they’d tossed the rest of the carcass and washed up it was still sunny and fairly warm outside, so while Lewis scraped the hide to prepare it for curing Trev got a fire going in the old pit they’d used when a stove hadn’t been available. Once it was crackling merrily, not smoking much with the dry wood he used, he cut strips from one of the shoulders and seasoned them with a rub made from the spices Lewis had brought, then got out the skewers they used to use for marshmallow and hotdogs years ago. The skewers were beneath his cousin’s cot with all the other stuff they’d had in the lean-to, and after sitting them in the fire to sterilize them he skewered the strips and got them cooking over the coals.