Authors: Tom Wright
The deer lay lifeless in the road, blood pooling near its head. The Cadillac sat idling in the road with its only unbroken headlight on the deer.
We got out of the SUV to look at the damage. We heard a rustling in the brush and immediately crouched down for cover.
Two spotted fawns came bounding awkwardly out of the thicket, and seemingly oblivious to our presence, walked over and stood by their mother.
I began to feel sick as one of the fawns licked the blood from its mother's head. The other knelt down on her front elbows and began nuzzling at her mother's belly.
Paralyzed with sadness for what seemed like an eternity, we stood speechless. I was the first to act. I drew my handgun and pulled back the hammer. The click caused the fawns to look up. Jeff followed suit, slowly, so as not to scare them off. As they stared at the headlights, we put them out of the misery that we had caused them.
We dragged the fawns off into the ditch and wrestled the deer onto the hood of the Cadillac. We drove to the log across Shadow Beach Road and walked the rest of the way to the house.
When we got back, Jill said she thought Charlie's fever was beginning to break. Maybe Charlie was starting to win the battle, or maybe the antibiotics had started to work. I was glad either way.
The adrenaline long gone, sadness settled over me. I had no specific remorse for what I had done, but just a general feeling of sadness that the guy was right: that’s just how it is now.
I awoke the next morning with Brenda sitting next to me. I pretended to still be asleep as she grabbed my hand and looked at my scabby, blood-crusted knuckles. She began to cry as she stroked my hand. She leaned over and kissed my cheek for an uncomfortably long period of time and then got up. I heard Kelly walk in and ask Brenda what was wrong. “Nothing, honey. Everything is going to be just fine,” Brenda said.
Brenda’s brothers collected the stuff from the Caddy and slaughtered the deer we killed. We ate venison that day and thanked our lucky stars for what we had. I knew Jeff spilled the secret to Brenda, as spouses will do, but we never discussed the men in town or the fawns with the group. The world was different and not everything needed to be discussed.
2
6
Shadow Beach/Port Angeles, WA
“If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you stop your story.” -Orson Welles.
It was very painful to leave my wife and daughter at Shadow Beach, knowing I may never return. Deep down, I knew that they weren’t really there at all. Those were just shells in the ground, but, yet, that gravesite represented half of my life. It was a similar feeling to the one I had when they left on vacation, only no place on the calendar marked their return. I struggled by the graves for some time, before the other half of my life helped me to summon the courage to walk away. If it hadn’t been for them, I think I would have sat there with Kate and Elaine until I died.
It took half the day to sail back to Port Angeles. We found a small, secluded inlet and anchored the RY inside. It didn't offer much protection, but Sonny, Jeff, and his brothers-in-law had done a good job painting the RY black which helped it blend in. There was nothing around there on land, and it would have been hard to spot the RY from the open water with the sails down. And it was the best we could do.
The target spot was fifteen miles inland by my recollection. A small group of adults could make at least two or three miles an hour, and as such we could get close by nightfall. We would camp until daybreak, check out Sean’s place, and be back to the RY by mid-morning the next day no matter what we found.
A large group would be slower, and the children would drag us down considerably. As obvious as it was that there would be no sense in taking everyone with us, it was a hard sell—especially to the children. Nevertheless,
sometimes adults have to make hard decisions, and we decided that the traveling party would consist of me, Sonny, and Josh.
Since it was my plan and only I knew the way, I had to go. I trusted Sonny with my life, and Josh's military training and understanding of tactical operations could come in handy. So they were both natural choices. That left Joe, Jeff, Dean, and Jimmy to protect the women and children on the RY until we returned.
We took minimal supplies: two MREs each, weapons and ammo, and canteens. Water would not be an issue, but we needed something to treat it in. We didn't even bother with sleeping arrangements. We needed to travel lightly and quickly.
The mountains loomed in the background, each distinct set taller than its predecessor and gradually decreasing in clarity—different shades of blue all. First the crystal clear ridge that rose from the water to the main plateau and then the hazy but still distinct foothills with their top most, snow-covered trees rimming the ridge like jagged saw teeth. Taking up the rear were the distant snow-capped peaks. They were still distinct against the overcast skies, but lacked detail when compared to the features in the foreground.
We crossed over the main highway west of town. We considered walking straight down the highway for several miles to shave time off our trip, but it would have taken us straight through town. I knew the back roads, so we opted to stay out of sight as much as possible.
We crossed a surprisingly traversable stretch of forest.
Due to the moist, mild climate of the Pacific Northwest, most of the forest was impenetrable, choked with thorny and stinging underbrush that would have been the envy of any tropical jungle. But the stretch we happened upon was mostly pine and fir, and the needle fall prohibited much undergrowth. We had to duck under branches often, but we walked along most of the time on a soft, cushioned needle bed—a nice reprieve for our feet and knees.
After a few hours, we emerged from the forest into a clear cut. It was the first time I had ever appreciated that deplorable logging technique. We walked for a couple of miles over and around stumps and brush piles.
Finally, we climbed over a ridge, and the Elwha river valley opened up before us. The Elwha is the main river that empties snowmelt from the Olympic Mountains into the Strait of Juan De Fuca. It cuts a deep gorge through the foothills, but about ten miles upstream the gorge opens into one of the most beautiful valleys in the world. The federal government owned much of the valley, but private citizens—politicians’ friends, mostly—had snapped up a few of the tracts. We were heading for one of the private tracts.
We followed a forest serv
ice road that snaked along the river. It softened the hike through the gorge a bit, but it had grown over to a surprising degree in such a short time. I savored the thick smell of pine, a nostalgic smell from my youth in woods just like those.
When night fell we camped very close to the creek at a turnout in the road. The rumble of the creek was a change from the sound of the sea. But, after almost two months on the RY, I doubt
ed I could have slept much in complete silence anyway.
That part of western Washington abounded with dry firewood for two reasons: first, it was in the rain shadow of the mountains; second, what rain did fall tended to be light and was quickly absorbed by the thick canopy above, leaving any wind fall to dry on the ground below. Unfortunately, we couldn't take advantage of the abundance since a fire would have been very conspicuous.
Josh insisted on taking first watch, and I was to take second followed by Sonny on third. I fell asleep shortly into my watch and thus never awakened Sonny. Sonny's morning wink let me know that he woke up first, and Josh was none the wiser.
It took us a couple of hours to traverse the length of the gorge. By the time we neared the end, the rain began. It fell lightly at first and then came down
uncharacteristically hard. We saw nothing unusual along the way, although it could be said that, by that time, it was unusual to see nothing unusual. Despite the thick overcast and rain, the gorge remained as beautiful as ever. The gorge was only a mile wide for most of its length, and shear walls jutted up at its edges. I thought it made the place pretty defensible, and I smiled at the thought.
We reached a major decision
point three hours after daybreak. We could continue along the road or shave two hours off the trip with a short cut. The narrow dirt trail shortcut hugged a cliff and intersected the road just a half-mile along. The paved road looped around for at least three or four miles just to reach the same spot. The gorge loomed below, and while I had hiked the trail before, I remembered it to be dicey in spots—even when dry. Surely the pouring rain would make it worse. However, we were already behind schedule, so we chose the short cut.
We ambled carefully along the slick, muddy trail. What was a steep vegetated slope at first, turned
into a vertical rock wall both above and below us within a few hundred yards. Josh led as we picked our way past miniature waterfalls that had formed in the heavy rain. Bits of the earth had washed out along the downhill edge of the trail. Roots stuck out of the uphill side, and we had to swing precariously out over the abyss to get by them.
About half-way across the short cut, some rocks came loose and tumbled down from above. Josh didn't see what was coming, but Sonny did. He pushed Josh out of the way just in time. The rocks cracked and snapped against the bank above our heads and then fell silently for a few seconds below us before shattering on the gorge bottom. I peered down and saw millions of shards of rock at the bottom—that was hardly the first rockslide there. I looked warily above and then caught up with Sonny and Josh.
We rounded a corner and saw the paved road a hundred yards ahead. The terrain flattened out into a meadow in less than fifty yards. We hurried along the trail to reach safety. I watched the rhythmic movement of Sonny’s feet as I kept my eyes on the trail in front of me. Sonny stepped oddly on a rock with his left foot, and in the attempt to catch his balance, he overcorrected, and his right foot slipped out from under him. He tumbled toward the edge of the cliff and clawed for purchase. I dropped to my knees and tried to grab him, but I missed. Sonny went slowly over the curved edge of the cliff, and Josh and I were powerless to stop him.
We heard the thuds of Sonny bouncing off the cliff through the driving rain. I stood numbly and looked over the cliff.
We could not see where Sonny had landed. We called for him, but he didn’t respond. We moved forward into the clearing where the slope was much gentler. I scaled lower and then worked my way back along the edge of the gorge, Josh right on my tail. I shimmied along a ledge and around a bank of rock when I spotted him. He was flat on his back, his left leg bent awkwardly behind him. We continued along the ledge and reached a place just above the rock ledge upon which Sonny landed.
“Sonny!” I yelled.
He did not respond.
“Lower me down.”
“It’s got to be ten feet,” countered Josh.
“I can’t jump that far, but maybe if you lower me a few feet, it won’t be such a jump.”
Josh grabbed my arms, and I slipped feet first over the ledge. When Josh had lowered me as far as he could, I told him to let go. I tumbled against the rock wall, landed awkwardly on me feet, and then fell backwards, nearly slipping over the edge. I caught myself and scrambled over to Sonny.
I immediately checked his pulse: strong and steady. Breathing: fine. I slapped lightly at Sonny’s cheeks, telling him to wake up. No response. Sonny’s leg was bent behind him, and his thigh elbowed about half way between his hip and knee. A sharp piece of bone poked through his pants.
“Shit,” I muttered. “He broke his leg.”
“Damn it!” came the response from above.
“Help me down.”
I stood and reached up as Josh slid over the edge. I grabbed his feet and lowered him until I could no longer support his weight. I let go, and he landed gracefully on his feet.
With Josh by my side, I retrieved my knife from my pocket and cut Sonny’s pants open. His leg bulged terribly.
“Jesus,” said Josh. “Look how much it’s swollen already.”
I pushed at Sonny’s leg, and it was spongy. I depressed the skin next to the bone, and blood shot out in a spurt. When I let go, it slowed to a trickle.
“God damn it. I don’t think
it’s swelling. It’s bleeding inside. Do you think he nicked the artery – the femoral artery?”
Blood began to force through the opening and run down his leg.
“I’d say so. Now what the fuck are we going to do?” asked Josh.
“Look at how big it is. What does the human body have, eight pints?”
“I think so.”
“There has got to be a couple of pints already, just in his leg.”
I ripped Sonny’s pants wide open, trimmed off the fabric of the leg, and began to cut strips.
“
Here. Tie this together to make a tourniquet.”
Josh did as I asked and then wrapped the fabric around Sonny’s upper thigh. When we moved his leg, then skin near the bone tore from the pressure and blood gushed out. I put my hand over the wound in a lame attempt to stop the blood flow, and the skin tore long and deep, like a hardboiled egg squished between two fingers. Blood roared from the wound, so I stuck my finger inside Sonny’s leg. Blood ran over my hand and wrist. It felt warm and thick, like sticky motor oil.
“Tighten the tourniquet.”
“It’s as tight as I can get it!” exclaimed Josh.
The tourniquet wasn’t working at all. I felt the pulsating, warm gushes on my fingers and realized that Sonny was in deep trouble. I felt panic rising inside me and began to feel flush and nauseas.
“He’s going to die right here on this rock if we don’t stop this,” I said.
I pressed hard on the wound, and Josh cranked on the tourniquet again, this time with everything he had. The blood slowed a little. Rivulets of water shot off the bank above and washed some of the blood from his leg.
“Get into my backpack and get the first aid kit.”
I tried to slip one arm out of the strap, but it wouldn’t bend that way.
“Cut the fucking thing off. I can’t let go.”
Josh cut through the strap and began to rifle through my backpack.
“I’m going to cut into his leg. We’ve got to find that artery and fix it.”
“The fuck you are! What do you think you are, a trauma surgeon? If he’s not dead now, he will be when you do that.”
Unable to find my kit, Josh upended my backpack and dumped the contents onto the rocks. He rifled through my stuff and then stopped on something.
“Jesus! You’ve got Celox! Josh said as he ripped open the pouch.
“Move your hand!”
Josh ripped open the pouch and poured the powder on the hole in Sonny’s leg. He pushed it down into the hole with his finger and then poured more on and packed it around the bone.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Coagulant. We used this shit in the field in Iraq. Where the hell did you get it?”
“A good friend,” I said, thinking of Bill. “I didn’t even know what it was.”
Josh wrapped more of the fabric strips around Sonny’s leg and tied them tightly. I found the first aid kit and gave him some gauze which he wrapped around the wound.
“That’ll slow the bleeding, anyway,” Josh offered.
“Now all we need is a life flight out of here. We just delayed the inevitable.”