“Hey God, Molly foot-in-the-door here. Yeah, that’s right, you haven’t seen me in church and, yeah, you only hear from me when I want something. Sorry about that. Very selfish of me.”She paused, taking a deep breath. It’d been a long time since she’d prayed to her God. “I hope along the way I’ve done some good things. Maybe I’ve helped someone get to a better place. Maybe I’ve got a little goodwill in the bank up there. If I do, I’d like to call it in right now. Bart could really use a boost. It feels like he’s hanging in the balance, like he could go either way. He’s weak and his body is fighting something that’s hit him hard. Real hard. I’m just thinking a little nudge could make a difference. It would be so appreciated.”
Molly felt a tear run down her cheek that she wiped away.
“Even if I don’t have anything in the bank, I’d like you to just think about Bart. Three Silver Stars. The guy has eight bullet holes. That happened when he put the life of others above his own. That’s got to count for something. He’s a completely selfless guy. And he’s really paying the price for his service. I guess what I’m saying is that, even if I’ve been a complete failure, Bart on his own is worthy of your help.”
Molly wiped another tear away.
“So, thank you, God, for any help you can push our way. It feels real lonely and isolated here right now. I wish I knew what I was doing. Just a little bump could make a big difference.” She paused. “And thank you for all you do for so many. Amen.”
Molly gave Bart’s hand a squeeze.
“Okay, big boy, I’m talking to you now. You’re a fighter. An amazing fighter. I’m just asking that you fight your hardest right now. I’m trying to do what I can but, honestly, I don’t have a clue. I just don’t want to lose you right here. I want you to get better so badly I can’t stand it. So please keep fighting. You can do this. I know you can. I’m right here and will be. Thank you.”
She squeezed his hand and wiped another tear from her cheek.
It was dark outside. The cabin was warm from the fire. She’d unpacked, showered, and eaten. She was exhausted physically and emotionally.
She filled the stove with wood and slipped into her sleeping bag, curling into a ball, as several more tears slid down her cheek.
She slept fitfully, waking often to check on Bart. Each time, she was terrified she’d find a cold body. But, instead, she found the status quo. She took his vitals twice, both times showing no change. Each time, she added wood to the fire. The tension and sickness building in her body contributed to poor sleep and frightening images. Her mind was playing games with her. She was fifty miles from civilization with a man who might be failing on her watch. The responsibility was too much. Had she made a mistake to not bring help? At what point should she call for an airlift?
Each time she awakened, she had a hard time getting back to sleep. A deep and terrifying fear had a grip on her, and it was worse in the night when her mind was disoriented from the exhaustion, sleeping on the floor, being in a remote, lonely place, feeling helpless and vulnerable to so many elements. What would she do if a bear broke the door down? What if the same tick that bit Bart slipped into her sleeping bag and bit her? What if both of them were incapacitated? What if Bart didn’t wake up? Was she going to dig a grave and bury him in Deep Hollow? How long before she knew how this was going to end?
She tossed and turned, confused, sick, and tormented until the morning light appeared through the windows.
The first set of vitals in the morning just about did her in. She’d just been so sure that fourteen hours on IV and antibiotic was going to make a difference. But his temperature had increased to 102.7, and his blood pressure and heart rate were very weak. The sickness hit her with a vengeance. She wanted to get to the outhouse but didn’t make it, stopping half way to throw up Evelyn’s delicious mushroom barley soup. She leaned against a tree, weak and light headed. She felt so helpless. Still sick, she threw up again and steadied herself.
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 knewBart 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 wouldtake 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 medicalmanual. The decreased temperature reading gave her a slight boost.
