Blood

22. Getting Used to the Forest

The rest of that day was surprisingly ordinary. We did things people do when they're on a camping trip. We split firewood. We went exploring around the cabin, finding a stone foundation for what must've been another hunting cabin but it was long gone and the cellar was filled with leaves. Down in the bottom of it, there was another well with boards over the top and when we lifted them off, we found that it was full to the brim with cold, clean water. "Good to know," Hedges said as he cupped water in his hand to drink, "in case our well goes dry."

The wolves had removed the carcasses of yesterday's attackers, but gear and guns were scattered in the underbrush. We gathered everything and brought it back. Then Hedges took charge of what to do with the stuff. Cell phones were disabled so they couldn't be traced, even though they didn't seem to be a strong signal out there in the forest. He made quick work of it with some tools he found in a kitchen drawer. Then he took the batteries out of a couple flashlights and stowed them away carefully in the back of a drawer.

"Don't you think you might want a flashlight?" I asked.
"Not essential. But if I decide to try to make a radio or a simple computing device,

I'll need batteries to power it."
"You can't just make a radio or a computer!" I objected.
"Why not? Every device you've ever used was made by someone, you know." "Yeah, but not out of pine cones," I said.

He raised an eyebrow and gestured at the table where our attackers' gear was piled. Cell phones, a GPS, a satellite phone, a pair of night vision binoculars, and even several little high-tech-looking walkie-talkies were in the pile, along with more boring things like a lighter and a pack of cigarettes.

"We can at least throw the cigarettes out," I said. "They smell bad."

"But the packaging of the box has foil in it," he said, stopping me from grabbing them. "Might be useful."

"To you," I said. "Not to me."

"We'll see." Clearly his mental gears were turning, but I couldn't imagine what he would make out of all that junk.

We went for a swim in the nearest pond. Obviously the cabin didn't have a shower with hot water on demand. But it was fairly warm weather for Canada in the fall, and we swam at midday when there was sun to dry us off on the smooth rocks beside the pond.

Then Hedges revealed his latest culinary accomplishment. He'd found a bin with flour in it, and also some tins of condensed milk. I didn't realize it, but he'd opened one and set it out to collect microbes and make a sourdough starter when we first got to the cabin. Before breakfast, he'd mixed up a loaf and put it in the oven to slow cook. So when we got back to the cabin, there it was, a fresh loaf of bread. He sliced it and made us sandwiches from the leftover moose steak. Not bad for two campers who left home with nothing but the bloody clothes on their backs.

We had a quiet afternoon. No one tried to kill us. The wolves wandered off into the forest to look for small game—rabbits and whatever else they could catch individually. Hedges tinkered with the bits and pieces from our attackers' stuff after stowing their guns and knives out of sight under his bunk, and I climbed to the top of the tallest pine tree I could find nearby.