he’d lost. I moved him onto his side, into a position that would ensure that he could breathe and would not choke on his own vomit, should he get sick again. I cut the tarp-waders off, and was pleased to see that at least one of us had stayed fairly dry.
Bingle whimpered anxiously, perhaps afraid we were leaving him behind. I went back for him as soon as I could. It took much less time to cross without Ben on my back, and soon I had fitted Bingle in a harness and returned with him. He nimbly made it to the other bank without incident.
I did some quick scouting and found a place that seemed to be fairly safe, out of view of the meadow and stream. I dragged Ben there.
My next concern was keeping Ben from going into shock. In part, that would require warmth. I took off my jacket and what layers of warm clothing I thought I could safely spare. Then, remembering my first night in the mountains, said to Bingle, “
He cocked his head at me, perhaps wondering what I could mean by that at this time of day — then, when I continued to look at him as if I expected to be obeyed, he slowly moved to lie down close to Ben.
I was tired, but I moved as quickly as I could back across the stream, through the woods to the camp we had set up that morning. I didn’t want to leave Ben alone any longer than necessary, or to be caught at the campsite if Parrish returned.
The camp was some distance from where Ben lay. I didn’t know how well Parrish knew this area, but his awareness of the airstrip, his coyote tree, and the two burials were all indicators that he had been here again and again. The odds of successfully hiding from him for a long period of time weren’t great, but I only needed to manage it until J.C. and Andy returned by helicopter. That could be soon, I told myself.
The camp was in shambles. Parrish had dumped the contents of the backpacks out onto the ground. Cookware, tent supports, clothing, sleeping bags, and other items were scattered over the site. Most were damp. For all the disarray, though, I felt some hope when I saw what was left.
I found my own pack, looked it over and could see no damage. I picked up most of my clothing, putting on a few items for warmth. I had a moment of almost losing whatever semblance of calm I had managed up to then when I realized that he had taken all but one pair of my underwear. Telling myself that it was a very small matter to become upset over, given his day’s work, and congratulating myself because the pair he left was clean, I went back to the task at hand.
I started to gather whatever I could remember seeing Ben wear, then thought better of it. If Parrish returned here and saw that the only clothing that was missing was mine and Ben’s, he might learn that Ben was alive.
This brought me to my next task, one of the most difficult to face. Bracing myself, telling myself this was not the same as going through a battlefield, stealing coins off the bodies of soldiers, I began to sort through the belongings of the dead.
I tried hard not to think of Earl wearing this shirt or David, this sweater. I would not think of what had happened in the meadow, or worse, who it had happened to. I came across the little wooden horse that Duke had whittled, felt tears welling up, and tucked the horse into my backpack, all the while telling myself I was a fool to add something so unnecessary to the pack.
Stay alive. Keep Ben and Bingle alive. First things first.
I took a duffel bag — the largest one I could find — instead of Ben’s backpack, and began to gather clothing belonging to each of the dead men, mixing Ben’s in with them.
I did not take much of the clothing, saving room for food. But as I looked through the pile of belongings, I only found three packages of chicken noodle soup — which had been in Manton’s daypack — and Bingle’s dog food.
You have water and a filter, I told myself. You also have lots of water purification tablets. If you’re rescued soon, you won’t even have to worry about feeding the dog.
Although only one of the tents had been set up when Parrish went on his rampage, he had pulled the others from their nylon cases, scattering their supports, rainflies, and tie-downs. But I was able to find all parts for mine, and was pleased to discover that even the rainfly had not been damaged during his rampage.
To this collection I added two well-stocked first aid kits, three sleeping bags that were unharmed — including my own — my insulation pad and one other, my stove and cookset, a flashlight, three candles, a tarp, some rope, a shaving kit that had Ben’s name on it, a plastic bucket, and a few other essentials.
I considered it a major stroke of luck when I found Earl’s medications for his ear infection. One plastic cylinder held a decongestant, but the other might help me save Ben’s life. The label said it was Keflex, an antibiotic.
Since Ben had lain in a damp meadow with open wounds for over an hour before I could reach him, infection was a major worry. But here, at least, was a weapon to fight it.
I put on my own pack and made a quick false trail to the upper portion of the stream, trying to make it look as if I were heading back to the airstrip. I returned in a less obvious manner, and did my best to obscure my tracks. I picked up the duffel bag, and loaded down, cautiously made my way back to Ben and Bingle.
A strong breeze kept my scent from Bingle, who growled as I approached. Until I called softly to him, I was half-afraid he’d start barking, or attack me outright.
Ben was awake.
“How are you doing?” I asked, setting down the duffel bag.
“The others . . . ?”
I shook my head.
He looked away.
I hurriedly unrolled one of the sleeping bags, put it over him. Carefully enunciating each word, like a man who had downed a pint of whiskey but was trying not to appear to be drunk, he said, “You should leave me here.”
“Don’t start that bullshit,” I said.
“It’s not. Makes sense.”
“You took a hard blow to the head, I’m amazed you’re not screaming in pain from that leg wound, and you’ve
