Under the Northern Lights(13)
I couldn’t help but agree with that—just going to the bathroom was a challenge—so I shuffled to my sitting log after he took off in the direction of my mangled plane. From my vantage point, I could see the wreckage, and curious, I watched Michael pick his way through it. He pulled out sheets of metal, parts from the dash, a cushion from a seat. He seemed most interested in the engine area, though. I had no idea why. Scraps from the engine weren’t going to help us get back to his cabin any faster.
After an eternity of watching him, my eyes started to feel heavy, and I let them close without a fight; I was already exhausted, and I hadn’t even done anything yet. I could hear Michael hacking away at something, but I was too tired to open my eyes and see what he was working on. What felt like seconds later, he was tapping me on the shoulder. Startled awake, I looked up at him.
“We should go,” he said, his eyes scanning the forest. “We need to cover as much ground as we can while the sun is out.”
I nodded, then started to stand. Michael helped, putting a hand under my arm to steady me. I’d need to pack up my tent and shove everything into my survival bag before we could go. Hopefully that wouldn’t take too long. Sunlight was a precious commodity here. But as I looked over to where I’d left everything set up, I could see that Michael had already packed everything, even his stuff. How long had I been out?
“Thank you,” I murmured, indicating my pack.
Scratching his beard, Michael nodded. “You looked like you were dozing pretty good. Didn’t want to disturb you.”
Since I hadn’t slept well the night before, I was grateful for the nap. “Did you find anything useful from my plane?”
He sighed like he was disappointed. “Not what I was hoping for . . . but I found something that might help our current situation.”
He pointed over at something, and my eyes shifted to follow. I had no idea what he’d been hoping to find, but when I saw what he’d indicated, a burst of awe and surprise went through me. He’d crafted a travois out of wood, twine, and metal from the plane—I wouldn’t have to wobble in pain all the way to his cabin. He was quite resourceful. I supposed he had to be, living alone in the wilderness.
Even more grateful now, I hopped over to the sled. “I feel bad that you have to drag this all the way home.”
His expression completely serious, he said, “It’s self-preservation, really. The faster I can get you back to the cabin, the safer we’ll both be. You’re kind of a mess, and wolves aren’t the only thing in this forest.”
The practicality of his sentence made me swallow a thick knot of tension. We weren’t out of the woods yet, figuratively speaking. Feeling useless and moronic, I sat down on the slim sled. Michael handed me my pack, and I clutched it to my chest. He frowned as he looked me over. “I’m sorry, but this is going to be really bumpy for you.”
Right. The Alaska Range wasn’t exactly flat and easy to traverse. There were going to be a lot of rocks, trees, brush, hidden dips, and abundant snowdrifts. All that jarring was going to do a number on my body. “It’s all right. I can take it.” I had to.
Michael had attached a sort of harness to the front of the travois so he could keep his hands free while pulling me. His rifle was loosely hanging around his neck so he could grab it easily if he needed to. Mine was attached to my pack, secured but still available at a moment’s notice. With the rope holding my sled firmly around his chest, Michael started pulling. The sled jerked forward, and a sharp pain ripped through my ankle, my thigh, my chest . . . my entire body. A small cry escaped me, and Michael instantly stopped.
“You okay?” he asked, looking back at me.
Gritting my teeth, I nodded. “Just keep going.” If he stopped every time I was in pain, we’d never get to his cabin.
Preparing myself for a day and a half of incessant discomfort, I kept my jaw as tight as possible. Please help me get through this.
I said that small prayer at least every five minutes until we finally stopped for the night. Hauling a bulky sled over this rough terrain was slow going, and there had been several small breaks along the way. It wasn’t until Michael set about making a fire that I finally let myself truly relax. It was over. For now.
“Are we close?” I asked, hoping against hope that he would tell me his place was right around the next corner.
He was breathing heavier when he answered me; the journey had been hard on him, too, for entirely different reasons. “No. We didn’t even make it halfway.”
I felt tears prick my eyes but didn’t let them fall. Crying about our situation wouldn’t make it any easier. Tossing the pack off of me, I began shifting myself so I could stand up. Michael suddenly looked concerned. “What are you doing?”
“I’m helping,” I answered.
“You should be resting.” He pointed at the sled almost like someone would point at the ground to get their dog to sit.
Lifting an eyebrow, I gave him as wry an expression as I could. “I managed to wrap my leg, collect firewood, and put up my shelter before you came along. I’m not completely incapacitated.”
“You also almost got eaten by wolves,” he countered.
I looked around for my crutch before realizing that we hadn’t packed it. “I think I did pretty well, considering. And besides, you worked hard today—you were sweating. You should let me help build the fire so you can start drying your clothes. They’re probably semifrozen, and they definitely will be when the sun goes down.”