AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The arrow goes in at the back of her head. She stills at once, limbs settling into a final, disjointed pose.
My breath fogs. I stare, not quite believing I’ve done it. She’s small. Smaller than a buck, certainly. But I can get pounds and pounds of meat from her.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “Thank you, thank you.”
I sink down into the snow at her side, my hand on her ribs.
I’m not hungry the way I used to be. But there are bad-luck days and bad-luck weeks, and there are days I only have a bite or two, leaving my stomach growling and cramping.
I’m grateful for those days. They keep me smart.
Today, though, will keep me alive.
I’ve memorized every word and drawing in the field-dressing guide, but the process is harder and bloodier and more disgusting than I imagined. I can leave the skinning for later, when we’re back at the cabin, but if I don’t get the guts out quickly, the meat will spoil.
I’ve cleaned and gutted more small animals than I can count, but the deer is different. Her organs fill my hands and there’s just... more of her than there is on a rabbit. It’s hard, bloody work, and I don’t think to strip my arms before I start. Soon my stoat-fur armbands are soaked with gore, my hands pure red. Bo sits hungrily by. I throw him scraps of organ meat as I work.
The day warms. Soon I’ve stripped off my coat, but still I work.
By the time I’m done, I’m exhausted. I clean my hands and arms with snow, getting as much blood off the armbands as I can, and drink water I’ve stored under my coat, where it won’t freeze. I eat a few strips of smoked rabbit meat and consider my next step.
I don’t have the litter with me, and I can’t leave the carcass long enough to get it. That wolf-dog’s still around, stealing food from my snares, trying to get into the shed at night.
So I’ll have to drag it. No way around it.
I shrug into my coat, leaving it flapping open.
Bo whines. I stand. Time to move. As always, time to move.
I drag the deer by its feet at first, leaving its organs in a bloody, steaming puddle on the snow. It’s harder work than the dressing, but different. At least now I can stand and move my legs. They’re cramped from sitting and kneeling so long.
Soon my back aches with the weight. I head straight for the ice. The ice is flat and smooth; I won’t have to worry about the deer snagging on anything. Once I’m back on the shore by the canoe, I’ll have other supplies. A tarp, at least, to roll the carcass onto and drag.
I’m halfway across the ice when I realize we have company.
The wolf-dog. We’ve been leaving a wide red trail, and he’s following behind. His coat is black with gray flecks, just like Bo, his eyes a watery yellow. Bo scents him and growls. I keep dragging and whistle for Bo to keep close.
I haven’t given the wolf-dog a name because I’m pretty sure I’ll have to kill him sooner or later. He’s worse than the fox. The fox was afraid of me. The wolf-dog is afraid of Bo—maybe. He’s definitely not worried about me.
I pause halfway across the lake, adjusting my grip. The wolf-dog draws closer. He pants, his breath fogging the air.
I glance at the rifle over my shoulder, next to the bow. I always have it with me. I haven’t fired it yet. Every bullet spent is one less for Raph.
I could shoot the wolf-dog now. But I don’t want to waste the bullet.
I shift to move again. The ice lurches under me. I register the crack only as I stumble.
Cold water gushes around my ankles. I yelp, hauling at the deer, and throw myself toward the still-solid stretch behind me. My foot hits solid ice—and my leg buckles like a hinge, the strength going out of it all at once.
I pitch forward, barely keeping my hold on the deer. My bad knee hits the ice with a crack, sending fresh pain shooting all the way up to my hip. The section of ice behind me is swamped with water. Not tilting, not sinking, but covered ankle-deep in frigid lake water.
Bo barks frantically. The wolf-dog charges.
He’s across the ice in a flash. I pull and pull at the deer, but it’s waterlogged and caught on the edge of the ice.
Bo lunges to meet the wolf-dog. It dodges past him, goes for the deer. For me. I’m on my butt hauling at the carcass. If I let go, I’m terrified the ice will give and the whole carcass will sink to the bottom of the lake. I can’t let go.
I bring my good foot up. I slam it into the wolf-dog’s face. His teeth close around my boot, but it doesn’t hurt—with so many layers of leather and fur, I hardly feel the pressure. I hammer my other foot against his muzzle, but my leg is so weak it just slides across it.
