Chapter 25 #3
Back in the cabin, she rinsed her mouth with cool, clear water and took several drinks.
She was a mess. Bart was getting worse, and there was nothing she could do.
She added wood to the stove and put out bowls for Bear and Shadow before returning to her chair next to Bart.
She took his hand and held it. Thank God it was warm.
She pulled out her phone and toggled the medical manual to fevers, finding minor encouragement.
While the goal was generally to reduce fevers, and prolonged fevers were very hard on a body, the fever itself was a sign that the body was fighting.
And when the body involuntarily closed down, it sometimes meant that the body was shutting down every nonessential system so all remaining energy could focus on keeping the heart going, the lungs pumping, and support soldiers fighting the infection.
Molly visualized the battle between competing armies.
She knew white blood cells fought infection.
The IV and antibiotics were intended to bolster the white blood cell soldiers in their battle against the evil forces of infection.
When the infection overpowers the white blood cells, the body succumbs.
She knew Bart was a fighter with an incredibly powerful body and a strong will to live.
Her research indicated that sometimes an increase in fever is an indication that the body is fighting harder against the infection.
Molly speculated that the IV and the antibiotic had bolstered the resources of the white blood cell soldiers and that they were gearing up for a heroic battle.
It was the only way she could see the situation.
She had to have hope. She had to believe that Bart was going to win this battle.
But the tears kept falling on her cheeks as she squeezed Bart’s hand and willed him on with everything she had.
She watched as the final drops escaped from the saline bag.
She took the third bag, hung it on the nail, injected the same antibiotic into it, and watched until she was sure the solution was entering Bart’s body.
She put fresh cool, damp towels on his forehead, neck, and wrists. Nothing more she could do for now.
She made a mental list of things to do to keep busy: tend to the animals; do laundry; maybe take another shower, this time with two pans of hot water; chop wood; clean the cabin; and cook a pot of something that would appeal to Bella, the dogs, and herself.
Bart said the family liked to eat together.
Heaviest on her mind was how long she would let the status quo continue.
At some point, she could send the dogs with a message requesting an emergency airlift.
She had the coordinates. A rescue helicopter could land in the meadow at the entrance to Dark Hollow.
She could build a fire with a smoke trail that would help the helicopter find the location.
But each time she considered the possibility, she imagined Bart’s reaction to public discovery of his illegal off-the-grid hideaway.
It would take a life or death situation for her to do that.
But wasn’t she in a life or death situation?
She was too sick to decide that morning.
She kept the wood stove going. She made a big pot of tuna noodles that would last several days.
The lynx and dogs would like the tuna. She had an unlimited supply of dry elbow noodles from what Betsy had packed from the store and what Bart had in an airtight container.
She also had a block of cheese Betsy had sent along with some dry packs of cheese powder hikers mixed in one-pot dinners.
Evelyn had packed prepared food from the diner in sealed containers.
Betsy had packed dry goods from the store.
As she was going through Betsy’s supplies, she found a dozen extra-large condoms, the brand Bart had purchased that first night.
Molly chuckled as she made out the smiley face Betsy had scrawled on the box.
Only Betsy would think like that: Bart’s dying in the wilderness—Betsy better send condoms.
But Betsy had summoned Reed, who showed up with the first aid supplies and the medical manual. What would she have done without IV, antibiotic, and the manual? She made a note to show her appreciation to them. Well, crap, she’d do something nice for her entire team for this, however it came out.
With a big pot of tuna noodles simmering on the stove, she went out to chop some wood.
Despite the fifty mile hike, she needed exercise.
Her body was racked with tension. She needed to get some of that out, and pounding an axe appealed to her.
She took a bowl of oatmeal and chopped beef out for Bella and her family, this time carrying it a little further up the trail from where she’d left the dish the night before.
She didn’t see Blitz, but she put out some beef sticks for her.
And she took some meal and water to the mules who seemed happy with the new grazing ground.
Using gloves she’d packed, she pulled the axe out of the round Bart had left it in.
She was strong and fit and had chopped wood all her life.
She admired Bart’s axe. Only the best for this guy: carbon steel in a weighted mallet with a custom carved hickory handle.
She studied the handle and wondered if Brett had made it, then she saw the tiny initials, BM, hand-engraved on the end.
Well, that could be Brett or Bart McKinnon, but she was sure it had been made by one of them.
She liked that. And the axe felt good—perfectly balanced, heavy, and sharp.
She took big roundhouse swings, crashing the heavily weighted axe into the center of the blocks, splitting them into halves, then quarters, then eighths.
The top loading stove took small pieces, and that’s what was in the shed.
She tossed the cut wood into a small cart.
When it was full, she rolled it to the woodshed and stacked it inside.
She lost track of time. Slinging an axe felt good.
The morning had started cool but was warming up.
After an hour, she was sweating and feeling it in her back and arms. She took a break and looked around.
Bella’s bowl was empty. She hoped Bella’s family got it before the raccoons or possums. She checked Blitz’s platform and saw with astonishment that the beef sticks had been taken and were replaced with a big, fat, beautiful pheasant.
She looked up to see Blitz working on the beef sticks.
Okay, then, they were on a barter and trade system here in Dark Hollow.
Hot, sweaty, and tired, she took the pheasant into the kitchen and checked on Bart.
It was late morning. No change, but he was still alive.
His temperature had dropped to 102.4, one tenth below the original check, but three tenths below his temperature that morning.
Was the antibiotic working? His eyes were still glazed and nonresponsive.
She made the entries in her medical manual.
The decreased temperature reading gave her a slight boost.
She moved the tuna noodle pan off the wood stove and replaced it with a big pot of water.
She went outside, loaded up the wood she’d cut, and moved it into the shed.
If she didn’t say so herself, she’d cut quite a bit.
That felt good, and she looked forward to doing it again.
She loved the smell of fresh split wood and liked feeling the muscles in her arms, chest, and back.
She went back inside, checked on Bart, and put a second pot of water on the stove.
She took the hot bucket and dumped it into the shower bin, then filled both bins with water from the Spring.
She went back inside and tinkered around in the kitchen before deciding the second pot was hot enough.
She carried it out and added it to the shower bin.
She was looking forward to this shower. She was sweaty and dirty from the wood chopping, and the second pan of hot water would give a warmer shower.
She stripped and stood under the shower until she was entirely wet before turning off the water to conserve for the rinse.
The added temperature was nice. Not a hot shower, but certainly a warm one.
She took her time shampooing her hair and soaping her body.
She wanted to get clean and didn’t want to run the short supply of water until she was completely soaped up.
But just before she started the rinse, Bear and Shadow let loose with a series of loud, urgent barks.
Crap. Something was up. She hoped it wasn’t a bear.
The barks were urgent and desperate. Her guns were inside.
She ran into the cabin. Both dogs were standing by Bart’s cot barking their heads off.
Oh no, she knew animals could smell death.
Had Bart passed and the dogs were trying to bring him back?
She was stark naked, shampoo dripping from her hair, her body completely soaped, her heart pounding out of her chest. She stopped on the bear rug, terrified.
That’s when she saw Bart’s face. His eyes were open and he was smiling at her.
Molly screamed, ran to him, and smothered him with soapy kisses.
She felt his forehead. The fever had broken.
Bart’s white blood cell soldiers were winning the battle.
She put two soapy hands on his cheeks and stared at his smiling face.
He wasn’t saying anything, but there was definitely a slight smile.
She knew he was trying to process what was happening.
What were Molly and Shadow doing in his cabin?
Why was she naked? She assumed he thought he was in a dream.
She sat on the chair staring at him, “Hi Cowboy.”
He didn’t say anything, but he was awake and looking at her. It wouldn’t be like Bart to say anything until he was ready.
Finally, he said, weakly, “Am I in heaven?”
Molly started laughing and couldn’t stop. She was just so happy. A naked, soapy mess, she’d smeared soap all over his face when she’d kissed him.
“Yes, we’re definitely in heaven. Both of us. And I’ve never been happier in my life.”
Molly went to work, starting with the shower rinse, then a quick dry and clean clothes.
She took Bart a glass of water, propped his head up with an extra pillow and had him drink it slowly.
He started with small sips and finally took a drink.
She put the leftover oatmeal from breakfast on the stove and brought him a warm bowl with raisins and brown sugar.
She stirred it and fed it to him slowly.
He was weak, but he was alive, and the fever had broken.
“Are you going to tell me what you’re doing here?”
“I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop to see if you could come outside to play.”
“How long have I been asleep?”
“Don’t know. I arrived yesterday late afternoon and found you like this.”
Then she told him the whole story.