Chapter 5 Cam #3
Around him, trees swayed, some creaking as the wind intensified.
Cam shouldn’t be out in this. He didn’t know his location relative to the cabin.
He’d lost his sense of distance and couldn’t seem to orient himself.
Maybe he’d missed it and should stop. But the trees weren’t enough protection from the cold, nor could he make a fire without a windbreak.
He pushed on, still moving parallel to the snow-covered road.
As he walked, he watched for somewhere to make shelter.
After a frustrating chunk of time, he reached a grove of taller, more mature trees at the edge of a ravine.
He couldn’t see the bottom, but water gurgled below.
Down there, he might be out of the wind, so he leaned forward for a better look.
Maybe there was a descending trail. The soft ground underneath the snow gave way, the unstable edge crumbling beneath his boots.
He flung himself sideways, scrambling to keep from falling.
In his haste, Cam tripped over a hidden rock and rolled his ankle.
Something inside snapped. Stars exploded in his vision, while heat and pain blossomed in his foot and ankle.
He cursed. The bank slid away, carrying him with it.
Sucking in a breath, he grabbed for dangling roots.
He caught a handful, but with his damaged foot, he couldn’t gain traction in the soil.
He slipped further down the steep slope, slowed by his tenuous grip.
For a second, he hung, suspended over the rocky creek bed below. Then, as though in slow motion, the thin roots holding him snapped. Once more, Cam fell, scrambling and sliding into the steep-sided ravine. He landed hard, taking a moment to catch his breath.
Somehow, he’d avoided landing in the trickle of flowing water.
At the bottom, protected by banks on the other side, the wind lessened, but he still couldn’t see far in the thick snowfall.
Absolute shit visibility. He blinked, feeling the cold seeping in already.
His ankle throbbed—the only part of him that seemed warm.
He stood, almost passing out from the fiery pain when he tried to put weight on his foot.
Broken or sprained? He couldn’t check here. Either sucked.
Keeping his weight off his damaged foot, he used his hatchet and hacked a sturdy branch from a nearby tree, fashioning it into a rough crutch.
With it for support, he hopped along a narrow track beside the river, moving upstream and searching for somewhere to shelter.
A cave, perhaps, or a deep overhang. Nothing looked safe.
Even protected from the worst of the wind, the ravine was too cold and exposed.
Too bad he hadn’t broken into Fort Robinson.
Cam continued uphill at a snail’s pace. Not daring to stop and freeze, he hobbled forward, each jounce of his foot excruciating.
Eventually, he ran across a set of slanted wooden stairs with three inches of accumulated snow.
Maybe he was close to the abandoned cabin after all.
Using the railing and his crutch, he hopped painfully up the stairs, keeping weight off his throbbing foot.
Even this careful motion made him dizzy.
He gritted his teeth and kept going.
At the top of the staircase, he found a tall brick wall topped with razor wire.
Set into it was an iron gate locked with a rust-spotted chain and padlock.
He peered through the bars, shaking the gate in annoyance.
The cabin hadn’t been behind a wall, but something else was.
Maybe a house. The sharp wire gave him pause, but he didn’t have options.
Cam squinted, trying to peer through the almost whiteout of the storm. A gigantic structure loomed from the top of the hill, but he couldn’t see another way through the fence. He needed to attend to his ankle somewhere out of the storm. To make a fire. This place wasn’t the cabin, but it would do.
He dug through his pack wishing he had bolt cutters.
His multi-tool would have to do. With extreme pressure, he snipped a link of chain and unwrapped it from the post. Swinging open the gate, he hopped through.
He closed it behind him, hiding the clipped chain, and plowed through the accumulating snow, now deep enough to cover his boots.
Once, he glanced back, the wall was already engulfed by the whiteout.
His eyes stung, and his skin felt raw as the ice chunks pelted him from all directions.
Buffeted by the wind, it took several hunched minutes to limp the couple of hundred yards to the grand house.
Up close, he examined it before rushing inside.
In this world, you had to assume you weren’t welcome if others were already there.
There were no tracks or paths. No lighted windows from inside.
He let out the breath he’d been holding. The house appeared to be deserted.
Cam was glad he wasn’t barging into an occupied home.
He made it up the front stairs and grabbed the door handle.
Locked. He removed one stiff glove and worked the lock with his shear and pick.
His icy hands fumbled several times before the interior mechanism clicked.
Grabbing his pack and using his crutch to poke the door open, he staggered inside.
The relief from the wind was immediate.
He swung the door closed and dropped to the cold tile floor.
Exhausted and shivering, he leaned against a wall to regroup.
Cold seeped up from the hard surface beneath his butt.
Though dim outside, he expected light from the windows, but only a faint outline showed where they must be to his left. They must be shuttered.
Cam shivered and adjusted his pack again.
While he’d escaped the wind, he might still freeze if he couldn’t at least light a candle for heat.
He glanced around. With all the open space and vaulted ceiling, he needed somewhere smaller, more enclosed.
Maybe a bedroom or even a bathroom. With a deep breath, he forced himself vertical again.
He ignored the staircase on his left, opting to stay on the main level unless he had no alternative.
With his crutch, he limped down the hall, heading deeper into the dim house, his foot throbbing.
He opened the first door on his right. A powder room with a sink and toilet, which was too cramped for him to stretch out on the floor.
On the other side of the hall, he passed a closet jammed with jackets. If he couldn’t find somewhere to heat, he’d come back for another layer. The next door on the right opened into an office.
Inside, he made out the dim outlines of a desk, a chair, and a loveseat.
Some of the tension in his shoulders left.
This cozy, albeit windowless, room would do.
He lit his candle lantern with a few practiced strokes, stepped in, and closed the door.
Dust-covered swaths of cobwebs festooned the corners along the ceiling, draping the room like leftover streamers.
He batted them away, clearing space to move without sticky strands smacking him in the face.
Cam placed his lantern on the desk and dropped his snow-covered backpack to the floor in the corner. Hopping to the small couch, he sat, dust puffing into the air. He sneezed. He put up his foot and glanced around the confines, glad for the small room—one which shouldn’t be too difficult to heat.
Now out of the storm, the respite from the howling winds and driving snow was a sharp relief.
The inside of the house seemed unnaturally quiet by comparison.
The buffeting and roaring wind had sapped his strength as much as the cold.
He studied his refuge again. With stiff, clumsy fingers, he unlaced the boot covering his injured ankle.
He slid his throbbing foot out, propping it on a throw pillow resting on the couch.
He peeled off his hiking socks to find his ankle purple and swollen.
Carefully probing, he found a sensitive spot near his ankle bone.
He tried to flex his foot and bit his lip at the extreme pain.
With a gentle twist, he tried a different motion.
Same result. Every movement hurt. Still, nothing indicated if it was a nasty sprain, rather than a break.
If broken, his boot had kept everything aligned.
Cam leaned back with a deep breath, taking stock.
He didn’t have many options. Or he did, but they were all crap.
He’d have to figure out how to survive here for a while.
With a sinking sensation, it clicked. He wasn’t out of the woods yet.
He needed water, or a way to melt snow, though he had enough in his canteens for today and tomorrow. Perhaps a third day with rationing.
A wave of uneasiness passed through him, and his stomach churned. There was no way he could walk the sixty miles home, not with a fresh injury. He felt a stab of guilt. While nobody would panic over his late return, the captain and others from the Watch might become concerned.
He hoped fight or not, his mother would worry when he didn’t return.
They might not have left things between them on a positive note, but she was still his mother.
If their positions had been reversed, he would have blamed himself if she had never returned.
He needed to go home, if only to resolve their issues.
First, he’d have to survive.