Chapter Six
It wasn’t long after they’d finished eating close to half of the mushrooms, that Whit almost had the spear finished.
She’d already sharpened the edge of the sapling, now she had to split it.
She did that by inserting her knife at the sharpened tip and pressing down.
Then she stuck a small stick, about the width of a pencil, down into the slit, forming a gap, and then sharpened both points.
She slid her knife back into its sheath and straightened to give the spear a once-over.
“It looks good,” Abby said, smiling up at her.
“Let’s hope it catches us some fish.”
She started to walk away and leave Abby at camp, but then she thought better of it. “You want to come with?”
Abby’s eyes widened. “You sure?”
“You bet.”
She stood alongside her, brushed off her pants, and walked with her upstream. “Wait, you don’t want me to come with you because you’re worried about the creep, do you?”
Whit kept her gaze fixed ahead. “Of course not.” That was exactly the reason she wanted her to come along, but she’d looked scared enough earlier. “It’s bears I’m mainly worried about.”
“Bears?” She sounded mortified.
Whit grinned. “Well, yeah, we need to be alert. But no, I was just teasing you.”
“What should I do if I see a bear?”
“Don’t worry, I should be with you to tell you what to do. And truthfully, bears usually disperse in August when the salmon aren’t as concentrated.”
She didn’t sound comforted. “Have you ever had trouble with a bear?”
“I’ve seen a few. But no, never had any trouble.”
That seemed to calm her woes a little and they walked in silence up the creek until the water turned darker and grew deeper.
“Over here.” Whit waved her on, and they stood near some fallen logs that were partially submerged in the water.
Whit put her finger to her lips to signal for quiet.
Abby nodded and watched as Whit searched the water for fish.
It took a while before they saw one, a large one, about a foot long, but Whit shook her head.
It was too deep. She moved upstream a little more, to where it was more shallow, and made sure her shadow wasn’t casting down on the water.
Abby followed but stayed a couple of feet behind, seeming to sense that Whit needed to be alone in order not to scare the fish away.
Whit balanced carefully on her feet and waited.
She searched the creek up and down, spotting a few fish that were too far away.
Then, after a few more long minutes, a fish similar to the first one she’d seen emerged from the dark depths.
She stabbed her spear into the water and pierced the fish.
It wiggled furiously and she almost lost her balance and fell in.
But she felt arms grab her from behind and hold her tight as she held the spear with both hands and yanked the fish from the water.
She turned and dropped the spear on the rocks as the fish continued to flail.
“What kind is it?” Abby asked, releasing her.
“Rainbow trout.”
Whit pulled the fish off the spear and picked up a rock to kill it. Abby turned away as Whit gave it one good whack and then returned to the creek. “You can look now.” She angled her spear and got ready to strike again.
She heard Abby come closer once again. She wondered how she was going to eat the fish if she couldn’t stand to watch it be hit with a rock.
It was obvious she was sensitive. Whit didn’t understand it, having grown up in Alaska where she’d hunted considerably for her dinner.
But city folk were different. Hell, she’d seen the way she’d looked at the Spam yesterday.
Whit had thought for sure she’d refuse to eat it.
But she didn’t. She’d eaten it and she hadn’t complained.
Come to think of it, she hadn’t complained all day today and Whit knew her knee had been hurting.
Kudos to her. Abby was putting most of the tourists she’d come to know to shame.
Whit saw another fish come close to the surface. This one a little bigger than the other. She made her move and stabbed the water. She missed.
“Damn it.” She sidestepped and waited once more.
It took another fifteen minutes, but finally another fish came slowly out of the depths.
She surged at it, plunging her spear into the water.
She hit the fish and it flailed wildly. This time she was ready and she pulled it up out of the water and onto shore right away, not wanting to risk losing it.
She dropped the spear and, to her surprise, Abby handed her a rock.
Whit took it and finished off the fish. Then she cleaned and deboned both trout on a rock at the edge of the water. When she was finished, she tossed the rock in the creek and washed her hands. Then she spiked both fish on the spear and she and Abby returned to camp.
The fire was still burning though it needed tending to.
Abby took charge and handled that while Whit got busy setting a flat rock over the flames.
She placed the fillets on the surface of the rock and sat down as they began to sizzle.
Abby joined her after she set the pot of the remaining mushrooms near the fire once again to warm them up.
“Did we get lucky?” she asked. “Catching those fish?”
“A little.” Whit poked at the lean fillets with her knife. “Sometimes it takes longer. And, of course, sometimes you catch nothing at all. But these waters…” She stared off at the rushing creek. “I’m guessing we’ll continue to be lucky.”
“I hope so.”
“Try not to worry about it.”
“Ha. Right. Easier said than done.”
Whit raised an eyebrow at her and Abby explained.
“I’m a little worried about tonight and the shelter. If he wanted to, the creep could get to us.”
Whit chewed her bottom lip as she considered what to say.
“If you think about it, anyone could get at you, regardless of what kind of shelter you’re in.
Even if we were in a cabin, for instance, the man could still get in.
He could kick in the door, or break a window. If there’s a will there’s a way.”
“Great, thanks. Now I’ll never feel safe again.” She picked at the mushrooms, her posture slack as if she were defeated.
Whit felt responsible and tried to soothe her. “Sorry, I just thought that knowing that might make you feel better about the shelter. I mean, he can’t get to us without making noise. I’ll even make a makeshift door if you like. It’ll block some of the heat off the fire though.”
Abby continued to play with the mushrooms. “Just do whatever you think is best. I’ll be fine.”
“I want you to feel safe.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t. Not out here anyway.”
“I’ll be right next to you and I have my buck knife.” She held it up, showing off its dangerous curve and razor-like sharpness.
Abby looked at the knife, and then offered a resolute smile. “I’m glad you’re with me,” she said. “I’d be completely doomed on my own.”
“Most people from the Lower Forty-eight would be. So don’t beat yourself up about it.”
“How is it you know so much? You said you spent a lot of time out in the wilderness?”
Whit debated how much to tell her. She didn’t want to mention her father’s murder, or get into the whole fiasco of the immediate aftermath and the trauma it had caused. She just wanted to sit there in peace and eat her fish by the fire and enjoy the rush of the creek.
“Growing up here, you spend a lot of time outdoors. Hunting, fishing, hiking. So I know my way around the wilds of Alaska.”
“Thank God,” Abby said, spearing a mushroom to take a bite. “Do you enjoy it? Spending time outdoors like this?”
“Well, not totally like this. I’d like to have a few more provisions and know my way to rescue, if you know what I mean. But yes, I suppose I do feel quite comfortable in the wilderness.”
“Who taught you all this?” she asked.
Whit turned the fish. “My folks.”
“Really? They must know a lot.”
Whit didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Her throat had tightened.
Abby continued, seeming not to notice. “I read a lot about the indigenous people here and how they’ve survived for hundreds of years off the land. It’s amazing.”
“They’re remarkable people.”
“Did you know that many of them believe in a hairy man, or bushman, or what is known as Bigfoot?”
Whit looked up and tried to hide the shock on her face. She failed.
“What?” Abby asked. “Do you?”
Whit shrugged. “I suppose I believe in something. Living here all your life, it’s hard not to with all the stories and legends and everything.”
“Have you ever seen one?”
Whit laughed with nerves. “You ready to eat this fish?”
Abby perked up. “You know it.”
Whit motioned her over and cut a portion off for her to fork at with the utility knife. “I could make you a better fork. Just fashion one out of a stick if you like.”
Abby plucked herself a bite and blew. “That would be great.”
Whit took her own bite. The trout was delicious. “Mm, wow is that good.”
Abby chewed. “Even better than the mushrooms.”
“I’d say we’ve got a pretty decent dinner here. What do you think?”
“Not bad. Not bad at all.” Abby scrunched her face. “It sure beats the Spam.”
Whit chuckled. “Yeah, fresh trout beats that hands down.”
They ate in silence for a few minutes before Abby spoke. “So you’ve never seen a hairy man?”
Whit swallowed. Then took a few sips of water. “I call him the bushman. And I didn’t say I’ve never seen him.”
Abby’s eyebrows shot up. “So, you have seen one?”
“I’ve seen something.”
“How many times?”
Whit focused on her fish. “A few.”
“Holy shit. Are you kidding me?”
“’Fraid not.”
Abby went quiet and then her face fell and her eyes went wide. “You don’t think that’s what’s after us, do you?”
Whit blew on another bite, remaining as calm as she could. Abby obviously had a flair for the dramatic and she didn’t want to feed into it. It would only frighten her more. “First of all, I don’t think anyone is after us. I think whoever it was has moved on.”
“Yeah but—those prints. It could’ve been—it was hard to tell, but they were big!”
“Abby, let’s not get carried away.” Though she was absolutely right. One couldn’t tell from the prints they’d seen exactly who or what had made them.
“Oh, my God. Just oh, my God. I’ve read that they stalk people and mess with their camps sometimes. I bet it’s a hairy man.” She stared off into the distance and rubbed her arms.
“Like I said, let’s not get carried away. We don’t know anything yet.”
“Yet?”
“You know what I mean. Let’s just eat our supper and relax.”
But Abby continued to look around as if searching deep into the wilderness for the bushman and Whit realized there was now very little she could do to comfort her. It was probably going to be a long, restless night.