Second Chances (21 page)

She berated him soundly when he did come home the next day. He mumbled an apology and tried to go to work on his neglected chores but Doc showed up. She'd seen him come in to the base on the back of the sled. She made him go to bed. She checked his vitals as he stripped. His core temp was ninety-one and his hands and feet were ice cold, showing signs of frostbite. Doc was concerned about hypothermia, but he waved it off. He was put under blankets and given warm fluids. Doc made certain he stayed put, even enticing the cat to sleep on him.

Doc berated Loni to take better care of him when both realized John had fallen asleep. “He's an asset,” she pointed out acidly. Loni looked over to John. Resentment boiled like lava within her. “Not just you. He's a
huge
asset; he knows how to survive in these conditions better than any of us. He's overdoing it trying to keep you happy, warm and fed along with himself. So have a care and manage him better,” Doctor Brown said before she left slamming the door behind her.

Stung to the core Loni angrily banged around and did her chores as well as his. The bite of cold, after being inside so long, was harsh, but the air cleared her head. She realized she'd been stuffy inside. The morning air felt great; it awakened her.

She found his chores were hard and tedious. She didn't shirk such work, but she had to admit he had done it all without complaint. She fed the dogs warily from a distance, then flopped in by the fire, tired and cold from just being out for a few minutes. She looked down at him, asleep in his sleeping bag. She shivered under a blanket, wondering how he could do it. The cat climbed into her lap, and she fell into a doze.

John was back on his feet after two days of rest. He was tired and sore but insistent on getting back to work. Loni didn't argue with him; she was relieved to not have to do his work. Doc reluctantly allowed him to work when she checked his lungs and found no signs of pneumonia. His hands and feet were bandaged into mittens though.

Loni saw him force himself to move, and how he resented help. “Remind you of anyone?” Carlene asked her softly. Miranda nodded. “It doesn't hurt to help.”

“I can't; he won't let me,” Loni said, waving a hand.

“Who said anything about letting you do anything you want to do?” Miranda asked with a snort. “You do what you want. If he doesn't like it, that's on him,” she said. “Just do it before him,” she said with a mischievous smile. “He'll get over it,” she said. Carlene nodded.

“Well, Doc said I can help out with you now,” Loni said.

“Okay,” Miranda said. She shrugged when Carlene looked at her. “Hey, Trisha's got morning sickness, you've got your own problems, and well...” She shook her head.

“It's like everyone's getting pregnant,” Carlene said. She snorted when she looked out the window to see the kids having a snowball fight. It was a rare treat to get the kids out to play. It was sunny fortunately, and they'd been cooped up quite a while, so all that excess energy had to have an outlet. She just hoped Pat kept an eye on them and didn't let them overdue it. Getting all sweaty in all that snow gear was dangerous.

“Not me,” Loni said with a snarl. Miranda raised an eyebrow. Carlene desisted that line of conversation.

When they were gone, Loni looked over to him. She softened slightly when she saw him feeding the cat. He was good with the animals; she did like that about him. She forced him to let her feed the animals. He introduced her to the dogs and the hawks. Both hawks were okay though they seemed quiet. The chickens and lizard things he had in the coop seemed okay though they all flocked to the corners away from them when they poked into the coop to feed and give them water.

“They are stupid; they'll drown in a bowl full of water if you aren't careful,” John warned. She nodded ruefully. She'd seen it often enough on farms she'd worked over the years.

She dug out an old dusty box and put a puzzle together over several days. When she was finished she took it apart carefully and then put it back in the box. After a while boredom forced her to dig it out again.

He had lights in the cabin, but the solar panels had to be cleared of snow several times a week to recharge his batteries. He had a TV and occasionally watched DVDs with it. She settled in with him after a while.

Chapter 11

When he insisted he was better, John joined the other hunters in a hunting expedition. They needed him. His dogs were the best and most experienced, and he didn't allow them out without him being there.

They had reported that although the dinosaurs had departed the area, other animals, mostly ice age animals, had moved in to fill their absence. That was a welcome sight; it allowed them to hunt still though it was hard in the snow.

John and Bert had snow shoes and knew how to make more. Victor had a couple pairs; he rented them out to Darion or whoever went out with them for a percentage of meat or wood they brought in. They conserved the two snowmobiles the community had for emergencies. That meant the only way to get around was by foot or with the dogs.

On a clear day while out hunting, they pulled up to check the area. There was a herd of animals nearby, mostly mammoth with a few woolly rhino and other odd animals mixed in. From the look of the tracks John and Bert judged they were about an hour or two behind the herd but catching up steadily.

“Think we'll catch them in an hour?” Darion asked.

“What's your hurry?” Bert teased.

“Bert, it's bloody freezing!” Darion said.

“I'm more concerned about what we're going to do when we do catch them,” Bert said thoughtfully. He'd seen a mammoth go down in the ice once. Somehow it had broken through ice covering a lake ten miles out. He'd been on a hill, and he'd thought he'd be able to get in and kill the mammoth, then drag it out. Instead the herd had rallied around the cow, not leaving until she'd died and frozen in the lake.

“Any ideas on what to do to drive the herd off? It's not like we've got the horsepower to drag a kill off,” Bert said, looking at John.

“I'm not sure,” John said cautiously. He looked at Hanuk who was up to something. None of the dogs had been acting right all day. He didn't like it. If some of the others weren't so hard up for meat, he would have called the hunt off. He didn't like uneasy feelings, ignoring them got you into trouble. He'd done it once this winter, and he'd damn near died for it. Never again, he thought just as the dogs started in. The dogs barked and growled alerting John something was up. He turned, unsure of the direction. The dogs weren't sure either; they were lunging around in all directions.

“Will you please shut them up!” Bert snarled, hanging onto the back bar.

“Maybe we should get going,” Darion said nervously.

“Something's hunting us, Bert,” John said quietly, putting his bow away and pulling his 30/06.

“Shit,” Darion mouthed as the others suddenly pulled weapons.

Bert grunted, suddenly professional. “Where?”

“I can't tell. From the sound of it, neither can they,” John said, indicating Hanuk and the pack. The dogs were scenting the air but couldn't localize the threat.

“Shouldn't we be moving?”

“No. We do that and it could ambush us anywhere.”

“Yeah, but a moving target right?” Darion asked hopefully.

“No, we figure out what it is,” Bert said. “Scare it off, or hell, kill it if we can,” he growled.

“I'd just as soon not encounter it at all,” Günter said, nervously looking off to the flank.

John turned to look at their rear guard just as the dogs went wild. Hanuk lunged, twisted about. He hadn't anchored the sled so it took off. He swore, but his attention was riveted on the rear. “Behind you!” He called out in warning as something on four legs and white moved with incredible silence across the snow. Günter turned just in time to get a half scream out as the thing hit him.

The dogs were scared off, throwing Bert off the back of his sled. John heard the thump as he struggled to get his rifle loaded. The mittens were impossible.

Günter raised an arm instinctively to protect his neck and head. The thing fought like a savage ape, picking him up and ripping one arm out of its socket. Horns and teeth gored his abdomen. Darion cried out in surprise, momentarily taking the animal off its target.

Günter fell; blood bubbling up as he gasped and bled out. John used his teeth to pull his mittens off, then loaded the rifle. He got a shot off with the 30/06, but it went high and wide. It turned on him with a series or red and black eyes that made his skin crawl. It had tusks and ram horns, and just screamed monster. The thing dropped low and then charged him, knocking Darion aside casually in passing.

Bert fired, turning the animal when his round caught it in the side. Bert had half rose to one knee, fishing through his breast pockets for a second round. He leveled the rifle again as the thing turned on him. He cursed and lunged to one side just as John shot. The shot caught the animal in the shoulder. It screamed in rage an anger, turning on its second tormentor.

Emilio yelled and rushed in, boar spear low. He caught the thing on its side, but it batted him away with a clawed paw. Emilio flew back in a welter of gore.

John's third shot hit it in a ram's horn, making it jerk it's head. The thick spine kept it from doing too much damage though. But the attack distracted it long enough for Bert to reload properly and shoot. His first shot turned the animal; the second caught it in the throat. The white fur and snow around the area turned red with ichor as it sprayed out. A final shot for good measure caught it in one of the red eyes, killing it.

“What the hell was that??!” Darion screamed. “A yeti? Seriously? A yeti of all things?! What's next, Bigfoot??” he yelled, clearly shaken.

“God damn it!” Bert bellowed, still flat on his back. He laid back gasping. He looked over to John and then to the dead beast.

“How bad are you hurt?” John asked, checking Emilio. The Canadian had his torso shredded like confetti by that single swipe of the paw. His body was steaming, eyes glassed over in death. In a way it was a kindness, John thought. No one could live for long with a gut wound like that he realized. “Emilio's had it,” he said, shaking his head. He looked over to Bert. “You okay, Bert?” he asked again.

“Damn!” Bert said. “Only my pride I think,” he said, then his hand moved down and came up wet with blood. “Check that, I'm bleeding,” he said, packing snow into the wound. He hissed in pain as he put pressure on it.

“Oh man, oh man. Günter's had it. He's dead man,” he said, almost crying, one hand over his mouth to keep from throwing up. “We've got to get back to base,” Darion said. He cradled his right arm. “That...thing, it moved so fast!” he said, clearly shaken.

“Negative,” Bert said, firmly as he sat up. He checked his side and found the tusk had sliced his side, but hadn't gone in deep. “Skin it. The meat, we'll need it. Get some pictures for Quincy too. I want the head as a trophy. I'll mount it on my wall,” he growled.

“Bert...” Darion said, shaking his head.

“What, you want it? Well, hell boy, I killed it,” Bert said waving a hand. John snorted. “With help,” Bert amended, shooting him a grateful look. “Come on, check the arm. I'll sew my side up, and then we'll get going. Remember to strip Emilio and Günter, we'll need their stuff.”

“That's cold, Bert,” Darion said, as John checked his arm. He winced and then gasped as John moved it.

“It's the world we live in, you know, in case you hadn't noticed the temperature,” Bert said shaking his head. He looked at the young man. “Broken?” Bert asked. His breath fogged as he coughed. He winced. John shot him a worried look then went back to checking the teenager.

“Possibly. Possibly a bad bruise or sprain. Nothing is breaking the skin, and I can't feel a break.”

“It's broke,” Darion said, gasping and panting.

“Calm down, don't hyperventilate or you'll pass out. We'll splint the arm. If it hurts real bad we'll pack the arm with snow and we'll bind it to your chest. The problem with that is it'll lower your body temperature; we don't want you going into shock and hypothermia,” John said. The kid shook his head vehemently no. “We'll splint and put it in a sling. Then I'll get on the kill. You and Bert strip Emilio, then join me,” he said, turning to the beast.

“Man...what about the bodies?”

“We can't take them with us; we can't burn them. Best to leave them behind. I'm sure Emilio and Günter would understand,” Bert said. He checked his wound again. The cold had already numbed it to the point it was only oozing a little blood. “Wish I had my kit handy,” he grumbled.

“Doc will stitch you up,” John said. He wondered how they were going to tell Sophia that Günter was dead or the girl that had been with Emilio. He grunted as he snapped sticks and then caught Darion. Quickly he splinted the arm. Darion flexed his hand a few times. John nodded. “If you can do that, I doubt it's broke,” he said. Darion nodded mutely and went back to work. “Now you,” John said, pulling out a small first aid kit.

“You're a Boy Scout now?” Bert asked, amused.

“Always be prepared,” John said, cleaning the wound, then doing an exam.

“Well, come on man, I'm losing body heat here!” Bert said. John grunted and then did his best to stitch the wound shut. He pulled out some riggers tape and used it to hold a bandage in place. He was done in a few minutes. Bert shivered as he pulled the layer of clothes back down.