The Longest Night (8 page)

It’s you.

He let out a ragged breath, his eyes rolled, and he fell back into the snow. Catherine looked him over. The blood stain. She touched it gently, studied his unconscious face, felt her heart cramp.

She ran hurriedly back up the slope like a newborn foal to her shotgun and bag, and brought them back down. On the way she tore open the sack and pulled out a plastic tarp, a line of rope, water, and a hunting knife. She fanned the tarp out beside him. It fell slowly, too slowly for her urgency. Her hands fought with the cap of the water bottle. Once opened she pushed his shirt up and poured water over his injury sloppily. She then tore off a strip of her shirt with shaking hands, folded it, and placed it against his stomach. Cutting off a piece of rope, she tied the bundle securely to his waist.

She moved over to his head and took hold of him by his arm pits. She grunted as she hauled him upwards with all her strength and dragged him onto the tarp. He was unbearably heavy for her but she made sure to let him down as gently as possible before picking up his feet and moving them onto the tarp as well. She cut holes in the tarp and tied each end of the rope through the makeshift grommets, creating a rein for her to pull the tarp by. It was when she had tied the last loop that she realized she could not carry her equipment, the man, and the deer at the same time. She looked over to where she had dropped it, and without a second thought’s hesitation, threw her bag and shotgun onto her back, pulled the rope over her head and onto her hips, and left the game behind.

Manoeuvring through the trees proved difficult, and slowed her progress immensely. But Catherine had never felt more determined, alive, nor more driven since the disaster. For the first time in two years, she smiled.

3: THE LONGEST NIGHT

Catherine found a clearing and set the rope down to begin making camp. The sun seemed to set more quickly than usual, and she had to work swiftly to set a fire before it was completely dark. Though her hips were sore from where the rope lay stress on her, she moved about as if she had a full day’s rest and a hearty meal.

Occasionally she would pause to stare at him as if she were caught off guard by his presence. At any moment, she told herself, she would turn and realize that he was never there, that she was meeting her wits’ end, and she had fabricated him. But he was always there when she looked, and she would feel her heart warm when she did.

Soon her fire was burning steadily, and by the time the stars appeared, the flames were large enough to keep them warm. She pulled the tarp close and sat next to him. The side of her face closer to the fire did not feel as warm as the side of her body closer to him.

Eventually, with gnawing anticipation, she gutted her pack for rations. All she had left was the box of crackers she had just salvaged and half a bag of granola mix. She’d been counting on that deer to get her through the next couple of weeks, but it didn’t matter now. She had enough to survive off of back at the cabin, and she could cut rations until she got there. She’d done it before. But before she hadn’t been dragging a well-fed man around on a tarp. Being delayed a day or two hadn’t crossed her mind, and therefore she hadn’t planned for it properly, but how could she have ever prepared herself for something like this? The chances…

A well-fed man. She stared at him, thoughtful. Propriety was overwhelmed by hunger and she rolled him onto his side, carefully undoing the drawstrings to his bag and peering in.

Her insides dropped as if she had just won the lottery. Granola bars, instant coffee, cans of beans, water, a water filter, cooking utensils, pots and mugs. What surprised her most of all were the tools. She had no idea what they were or what they were for, but from the looks of them, they were designed to house and measure a sample.

Why did he have them?
How
?

She would have put more thought into this mystery had the food not been shouting at her so loudly. Grabbing a fat granola bar, she tore the plastic wrapper off and devoured it. She moaned softly. Chocolate chips.

There was more, and she wanted to help herself to it all, unbearably so. But she calmed herself and closed the bag. From her own pack, she grabbed her bottle of water and took a sip, rinsing down the remainder of one of the best meals she had had in a long time.

She put her bottle away and rolled the man full on his side. She quickly removed the bag from his shoulders, placed it at the foot of the tarp, then gently laid him on his back again. She rested her hands on his shoulders after she righted him, and she took a moment to glance him over. It was hard to move away from the feeling. This was the reason to be alive. He was real.

She coaxed her hands away, then pushed his cloak aside and lifted up his shirt. His midriff was irritated from the rope being tied so tightly around it, and the rag that covered his wound was soaked through with blood. She tore another strip from her shirt and redressed the wound, then studied her shoddy handiwork. There was more she should do and something wrong she must have been doing. The past two years had been hers by luck. Her first aid knowledge was as sparse as her rations. But she didn’t need to know much to understand that he had a poor chance of surviving if she didn’t treat his wound soon. There was a needle and thread at the cabin, as well as some alcohol for cleaning. Now she wished she had taken the kit with her, at least just this once. Maybe she could travel nonstop to McClelland Lake. That meant travel by night, if she could make it work.

He gave a mild shiver, a muted groan. She stared. Still asleep. Still shivering.

She stood and grabbed the head of the tarp, dragging it into the tent. The fire’s warmth still reached them there, but it wasn’t enough. Taking out her second blanket, she fanned it out over him. Then hesitated.

Of all the concerns she had had, embarrassment now trumped them all. Catherine would not be able to sleep outside the tent without the blankets. It would be for survival, it would be to keep each other warm. She felt it in her belly, and it kept her pinned, hovering, so hesitant.

To delay the inevitable she secured her goods and his, disassembled part of the gun like she knew how to clean it then put it back together, checked the perimeter twice, checked their bags were well secured again, then took care of the fire. There was nothing left for it. In the darkness she felt better about it. If he did wake, he wouldn’t see.

Timidly she climbed into the tent and under the blanket. She did not move for several minutes, but when his shivers got worse, she shuffled until her hip touched him, then she moved his arm, climbing into the crook. Finally she rested her head on his chest and slowly placed her leg and arm over him ever so shyly.

He continued to convulse gently, occasionally calling out. Eventually he stilled. The entire time she was wrapped around him she felt as if she was violating a fundamental rule that of course everyone knew not to sully. She sorted through these justifications as her eyes grew heavy, and mid-thought she slipped into an unprecedented sleep.

Catherine nervously made her way down the steps. She had never ridden the trains. School used to always be within walking distance. Now it was off to university: time for adult responsibilities and new faces. Unfamiliar territory.

There were others there that were most obviously going to their first day of post-secondary as well. Being in a collective made her feel more secure but she still took the most open and free spot, keeping her head down.

Since she was early she grabbed a free paper from the stacks behind her, as she eventually would do almost every morning at the station, in order to pass the time. Another group of people came down to the platform and she looked up to see if there was anyone she may know. Her eyes fell upon someone from the back of the line, and her eyes flickered in a slight double-take. He was talking to another man animatedly about something.

Stop staring.

She looked at the words on the page. As she attempted to decipher the same sentence for the third time, she found herself focusing on the argument again. She tried
so hard
not to stare. Instead she listened to his every word as he crossed her path. His voice was deep and smooth. It demanded attention.

“It’s not a matter of ethics. It’s a matter of scientific approach. They simply don’t know up from down in our field. We could end up with disastrous results if they don’t even bother to consult another firm.”

The other man made a reply, but Catherine could barely hear what he said. She dared a glance from her paper. Each step he took seemed perfectly placed, so justified. His eyes were hard, dark and framed by an equally firm brow, as if he wore an impenetrable outer shell and would not let anyone in.

The two men came to a stop by the schedules, under the inactive heat lamp. The second man finished his rebuttal, and the stranger’s face only seemed to get harder.

“Even if that’s the case, they’re risking results for budget. What good will come of that? They’ll have to do it over again anyhow. Their screwing around could end the project. Everything we’ve been working on…”

The second man once again fell deaf on her ears. She continued to watch the first closely, to study the side of his face that she could see, as if she were determined to find any betrayal of thought.

Eventually the southbound train pulled into the station and the two men boarded. She watched him as he was swallowed by the crowd of passengers, and she let out a breath, shaking her head.

She never saw things the same way again.

The first root in the cliff creaked and small pieces of dry dirt crumbled from the side. There were few places to grab onto and use to climb, so she did so very carefully.

When she first saw the rift, this enormous precipice, she considered backtracking and finding another way around. Uncertain of how long it would take, she had made the final decision to climb the steep hill anyway. It mocked her by threatening her survival. She did not have the option to back down from that fight.

Once she situated her footing, she reached up for the next root. She was trying to take another step when the dirt beneath her feet gave way. She flailed to grab onto the roots at her sides. When it finally registered that she was
fucking falling
she was eating dirt and slowly slipping down the face of the hill, only handfuls of errant roots to hold onto. Her arms were spread to wide and she kicked wildly to find purchase, but the roots slipped between her sweaty palms before she realized she would probably die, if not in the fall, certainly in the aftermath.

The world twirled before her knee clipped something
hard
. She flipped like a coin and landed in a heap at the foot of the incline. The wind was kicked out of her lungs, her arm went completely numb for a moment before tingling, then her body ached with shock. Pain faded in and she kicked out with her good leg uncontrollably, like that would ward off the hurt and work the air back into her lungs that hurt so
fucking
much.

A few agonizing minutes had her breathing back to normal. All of her still hurt like hell, but she could at least think. She swore aloud before rolling over—

—and shrieking bloody murder. She fell down again, wailing wildly. Panic had her by the throat. It took her a moment to realize that something was very, very wrong. “No, no, no, no,” she begged to someone, squeezing her eyes shut and shaking her head. She started to whine the words as she looked over her shoulder at her bloody, twisted kneecap.

“NO! NO! NO!” She looked skyward and was about to holler as loud as she could for help, but the scream caught in her throat before it let fly. No one to help. And even if there was someone…

Come back HERE!

She beat her fists on the ground and sobbed into it. She was dead. This is where it ended. She’d die of exposure or infection or starvation. No way to get out of this. Deadly virus? Mob of cannibals? Handled. Fifteen-foot climb? Demise.

“Fuck it! Fuck!” she cried, clawing at the dirt. She closed her eyes and begged and prayed. When she opened them again and looked, the damage was still there.

It must have been half an hour or so before she dared move. Grabbing onto the roots within her reach she pulled herself slowly into a sitting position, being sure not to disturb her knee. It was dislocated, likely broken, and blood continued to ooze down her leg. What chance did she have?

Cries passed her lips quietly. Her hands surrounded her knee in a protective bubble. She knew she had to set the joint back into place, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. As soon as her hands got close she tore them away forcefully. Her mind would sooner let her die than override its fear of agony.

She sat leaning against the cliff for an hour, trying to get close to her injury, but failing to do so. Her pale skin had been bathed entirely in red. If she could reset her knee, then she could treat the wound and stop the bleeding completely, but it was so hard, so hard…

The months had brought summer, and with it longer days. She had many more hours of travelling time, but sitting at the bottom of the cliff had drained most of them, and the sun was setting. She could not sit there disabled through the night, however, or she would surely die.

The night she escaped Fort McMurray came back. Fear clung to her, a cold sweat. It was a film playing inside her head: she could see the grotesque faces of the insane, the dead body in the corner store, the gas station where she lost a part of her humanity.

Eyes filled with tears, she looked to the orange sky as she remembered. Death was always so near to her, but this moment was different: it clutched her life in its bony hands, and was slowly drawing her away now. How many times had she wanted to die? How many times had she thwarted it? She would accept her fate, whatever it was, and either remain to remember, or leave to join those she had lost. Those she had lost…

His
face again. He was so handsome, so close. Seeing him always gave her a feeling that kept her going. A warmth so deep, it was reviving.

Closing her eyes, she took in deep, shuddering breaths until they evened out. She undid the belt on her shorts and pulled it away gently, trying not to disturb her knee. She folded the belt in half and stuffed it between her teeth, biting hard. There was another stone planted in the ground, and she shifted herself gently towards it, resting her foot upon it. Careful,
careful
. She shimmied her shoulders down, angling herself comfortably between the stone and the steep hill behind her.
That leg? It
’
s not mine. Someone esle
’
s. You need to fix it.
She closed her eyes, and in the darkness she could see him looking at her on the platform like she was the only one in the world.

She reached for her knee and wrenched it sideways.

It slipped from her fingers.

She screamed through her clenched teeth. Gasping wildly, she shifted her grip and pulled again. There was an awkward
click
as the cap slipped back into place. She gave a guttural scream as a final stab of pain sliced up her leg before it dissipated into nothing but an odd, numbing sensation.