Timothy Long - Beyond the Barriers

I flipped open my cell phone, and a single bar of connectivity faded in and out. I walked around the side of the road, then into it a few times, until I got a partial bar again. Then I dialed Allison, because I was worried about her. No matter what our problems had been, I loved her at one time. The phone tried to connect. It made some clicking sounds, followed by a fast busy signal. I tried another number, my manager at work, but got the same thing. Then I called Devon, and the sound repeated.

I wandered back to the cabin and spent another week dreading the fact I needed to go back and see what was going on.

The cold of winter came on like a heavy curtain. I passed the next few weeks uneventfully.

I hunted, and finally decided to climb up a large tree and lie on a branch. I took my rifle down, and after what seemed the whole day, I saw movement. I raised the rifle and sighted down the barrel. It had a very basic scope, but I was still able to bring the elk into focus. He wasn’t exactly heading toward me, but he was passing fairly close. I took a bead on his center and exhaled. I stroked the trigger, and the rifle hammered into my shoulder.

The elk staggered and started to run, but I must have tagged him good, because he took two stumbling steps then went down. I let out a “yippee” and climbed down the tree to inspect my prize. The animal was huge, and his eyes remained on mine while I approached. He took deep breaths, and a light puff of fresh snow moved around his nose where the air snuffled in and out.

I took my knife out and put an end to his suffering by slicing it through his neck. Now I had the problem of what to do with the meat. I spent the next few hours taking off the haunches, and then I skinned him as best I could and tried to bury the organs in the ground, but it was hard going with all the roots. The dirt was miserably cold, and after a while, I went back to the cabin and dug out some old plastic garbage bags. They provided a pretty poor substitute for a deep hole. Any predator with half a nose would seek them out in no time. I just hoped it wasn’t a determined bear.

I didn’t bag everything. I set aside the liver and kidneys for stew. I felt like a real hunter, so I took a bit of blood and drank it down. Then I had to fight to keep from gagging.

I dragged back chunks of the big animal and put them on the porch. Some of it I would turn into jerky. If the snow came on, as I suspected it would, I would bury the rest in an outdoor freezer and hope it didn’t thaw out too soon.

I went back and hacked at the ribs for a while and took a huge piece back. This I chopped and broke into smaller sections, and then I let a rack of six roast near the fireplace. I didn’t have much seasoning, but they were just about the best ribs I had ever eaten in my life.

Winter was like a heavy blanket of white, and I was stuck for the time being. Stuck may have been the wrong word. I could certainly head out in the SUV and drive nice and slow out of the mountains, but I thought it would be a good idea to stay in place and wait for the winter to pass. Make a fresh run at the city when all the madness was over. And so my existence ground to a slow crawl as I waited.

I went out and started the SUV. I let it run for a good half hour. I ran the heater very high, so I could get at any moisture. The car already smelled like mildew, but it was worth a shot.

I drove up and down the little drive way a few times, taking care to hit a few potholes. I wanted to shift the gas in the tank, let it move around. If condensation built up on the inside and mixed with the gas, I would have a hell of a time going anywhere.

I created a calendar on a sheet of paper and put a reminder to do this again in a week.

Days were routine, mainly focusing on what I would eat. The survival packs would only get me through another two months at best, so I made more of an effort to hunt.

I took down a big buck and gave him the same treatment as the elk. After dragging the carcass a half mile away, I freaked when I thought I had lost my way in the snow. Stupid. If a fresh dusting of snow came along and covered my tracks, I would likely freeze out here.

Weeks fled past and became a blur. For Christmas, I opened the last can of corned beef. I sang a Christmas carol or two and built up the fire. Low on wood, I would have to go stand in a foot of fresh snow tomorrow and chop some logs. If Ray came back, I would ask his forgiveness for removing some of his tree line. Until then, I wasn’t planning on hauling wood back through the snow.

It was February when I ran out of food. The last of the emergency supplies were gone, and I was down to the gristly parts of the last deer I had shot. I sat in the tree for three days, and not a single one wandered by. I knew from my old military training that I could survive for a few weeks with nothing to eat, as long as I had water. And that I had plenty of, thanks to all the cursed snow.

I didn’t plan to wait around for that, so I packed a few supplies, loaded the shotgun, and put them in the car.

I had to crank at the key a few times, but the car puttered to life. The gas had sat in the tank for a few months, and I hoped it would be fine. I backed out of the snow, which was somewhat melted and only a few inches thick. The bigger concern was the ice that lay underneath it.

The car stuttered as I struggled to get moving. Hopefully shifting the gas around in the tank had helped.

I opened the gate with a steady hand, but some of the nails fell out from my jury-rigged repairs. Once I slid past the gate, I put it back in place and pounded the nails in with the tire iron. Then I got on a road that was pure white; there were no tread marks at all. The cabin wasn’t too high up, another thousand feet, and I doubted I would have been able to drive at all if it had been up much higher.

In four-wheel drive, the SUV handled quite well, but I wouldn’t have wanted to take it out in deep snow. I drove out of the mountain with the radio constantly scanning for signs of life. I came across a few stations that were playing music. One had old rock music on, and the sound of Steely Dan soon filled the car. The other was playing classical music for which I didn’t care, but I listened for the sake of listening.

What would I find when I returned? The lack of news, talk radio, other channels had me concerned. I charged my cell phone as I drove. It had gone dead a few weeks ago. I was doing my best to conserve gas, so I didn’t bother firing up the generator to charge it. I tried to call Allison, but the phone gave the fast busy again. Then I tried co-workers, my manager at work. The phone clicked like it was trying to dial out, but I never got a ring from the speaker.

There was less ice the farther I got down the road, and I was able to add some speed.

I came across a small town—just a blip on a map, really. There was a gas station with no attendant. I slowed down and looked into the windows, but saw no movement. The pumps were an older variety but still electronic, and from my vantage point, I could tell they were dead. I waited but didn’t honk my horn. The road here was much clearer, and it was impossible to tell if anyone had driven here.

I moved on and came across a small convenience store. I pulled into the parking lot and stared at the front window for a moment, but like the gas station, there was no movement. Leaving the car running, I jumped out, hoping for the best. I walked to the front door, where a sign proclaimed the store to be closed, but the inside was a mess, like someone had tried to pack the place into many large boxes that lay open on the floor. I tried the door, but it was locked. A metal gate shielded most of the door, but if I smashed it, I could probably wiggle in.