The Killing Fields

The Only Thing Left

            I scrambled, trying to get to my feet. Pain soared through my body, originating from my impaled shoulder. The edges of my vision blurred as I stumbled forward toward the shed. My boots slipped on the crusted ice. I ran, and slipped, and ran, and slipped, and the fire burned. I reached the shed. The dogs barked as I fumbled with the lock. The fire burned. It burned my house as it burned my will, for the contents in that barn were the only thing left, and those were about to be gone. The lock came off and I yanked open the door. The dogs ran out, and I grabbed my blue pack I always left on my sled. The dogs barked at the fire as I ran back to them. I turned back and watched the burning supports fall from the ceiling. The roof followed suit.

For a moment, there was nothing to be said. Complete astonishment was all to describe the feeling. I turned to the woods behind me, trees coated with powder, ground shining white. I unzipped my pack and pulled out a trauma kit to treat my impaled shoulder. I tore the metallic package open and dumped out the contents. they all slid out in one giant ice cube. Water must have gotten to it through a drip in the roof. I tossed the back on the ground beside its frozen contents. If i was going to treat the wound, I would have to do it myself. I pulled out the bottle of frozen whiskey and stuck it under my blue fleece jacket. The frozen bottle felt like an ice cube pressed firmly against my chest. I slung my rifle over my right shoulder. Out of the smoldering rubble, I pulled a flaming board, which sizzled in the snow as it cooled. I tied down my pack, put it in my left hand, and dragged it behind me. 
Turning east, I walked until I found a spot of dry ground. I dropped my pack and rifle next to a log. Next I hunted down some dry wood. There was none, so damp would have to do. I dropped my meager pile and sat on the log. Peeling off the bark on the branches I had collected revealed wood suitable for fire. After doing so, I piled them on top of the now slightly smoldering board. I got on my hands and knees and gently blew on the board until flames caught the fresh wood. A searing pain shot through my shoulder as I pushed myself up. I sat myself on the log and slowly took off all the clothes covering my wound. Goosebumps rose all along my body and a brisk wind chilled me to the bone.
I pulled the bottle of whiskey out and took a long swig. I pulled the Bowie Knife from its sheath on my belt and looked at the blade. I could see myself. And while I was whole, a piece of me was lost forever. My knife, my gun, and my dogs were the only thing left. I took the bottle of whiskey and doused the blade in it. Then I stuck the blade in the fire, leaving the handle out to grasp. The fire made a bright flash as it swallowed the alcohol on the blade. There it sat for ten minutes as I downed the last of the bottle of whiskey. Now there was only one thing left to do.

"**** it"

I grabbed the knife and pressed the red hot face of the blade firmly to my shoulder. A small sizzle emitted from the blade as it rapidly cooled. With that I was swept into a pain-induced sleep.

Awaking several hours later, I found I had slid backward off the log. The knife lay in my right hand, now cold to the touch. I pulled myself back up on the damp, rotten log. My shoulder, now blackened, throbbed less than before. The cauterization worked. My shoulder was sealed, though the pain was far from gone. However something else was. My dogs. I had been so caught up in pain and shock that I had simply forgotten. I had stumbled off without them. Would they survive? Would they come back? Would they die? Would they head to the city? My dogs, the final piece of my life I was able to save, had left. And those dogs, THEY were all that kept me going now.

                The only way to find them was to head to the city myself, and hope that somehow they had made it. First I needed to activate the tracking beacon hanging off my pack, and to do so, I needed a hill. Crazy Horse Rock should suffice. I unzipped my pack and pulled out a map stored in a ziplock bag. After unfolding it, I oriented myself and found the rock. On the other side of the valley to the East, across the river, and up the other side. With the snow the way it was, I internally thanked myself for having snowshoes stowed away in my giant blue camping pack I had so gracefully saved from the fire only hours ago.

               After strapping the homemade shoes on my feet, I turned East and began my journey. Using my snow shoes, I floated above the blinding white powder below with ease. When I reached the valley, I stopped to gaze down at the marvelous view. Despite all the events that had so recently taken place, there was always time for a good view. The trees that burst up from the valley's glistening snowy sides, the frozen river that cut a flat bottom through the deep V shape in the earth. A fox slowly crept up to a rabbit hole on the other side of the valley. I watched as he paused, his reddish body still. Then, like a spring let loose, he popped up, dove down, and stuck his head right down the hole. Not a second later he popped back out with a limp hare dangling from his mouth. I watched as he trotted off down stream to feast on his catch.

              After he disappeared behind a grove of evergreens, I began my journey across the treacherously steep sides of the valley. Almost in one fluid motion, I bounded down the side, my snowshoes only barely digging in to the fresh powder. Each step cause a miniature avalanche that kept pace with me all the way to the bottom. I ducked under tree branches heavy with snow, and dodged rocks with piles of snow at their peaks. Near the bottom, I jumped and planted both feet out in front of me. I landed on my butt when my shoes dug into the snow. Brushing myself off, I strolled the rest of the way to the bottom where I brushed off a boulder and took a seat. The adrenaline had worn off and I was tired. Sitting there panting, watching my breath drift away on a swirling breeze, I realized I was exhausted and the hard part was next. I looked up the steep slope and groaned.

            Grabbing a stick, I slowly crossed the frozen stream at the bottom. I would tap with the stick to ensure it would hold my weight, then slowly creep forward. As I neared the center, the ice became dangerously thin. Knowing I needed to weigh as little as possible, I removed my pack and tossed it onto the rocks on the other side. This startled a bald eagle from a tree overhanging the stream. As he took flight, the branch he was perched on broke and fell. It landed where the ice was thinnest, just in front of me. The ice cracked, and I was plunged into the subzero waters hidden below the ice. Water rushed all around me as I was pushed down stream under the ice. There was no way to get out.