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 the man 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 really there at all, 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 it. The side of her face closer to the fire did not feel as stimulated 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 doe 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 fast 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. It dawned on her that he might have food in his own pack. Propriety was overwhelmed by hunger and she rolled him onto his side, carefully undoing the drawstrings and peering in.

Her insides dropped as if she had just won the lottery. Granola bars, instant coffee, cans of beans, including vitamin supplements and cooking utensils, pots and spoons. Bottles of water were bundled together, slightly crushed but otherwise in good condition. What surprised Catherine 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 of it, rinsing down the remainder of one of the best meals she had had in a long time.

Catherine put her bottle away and pushed 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 to clean the wound. Now she wished she had taken the first aid 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 deep sleep.