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The incoming group was a neon green and orange assault to his senses. One unprepared young man was wearing nothing more than a bright jogging shirt and thin sneakers. Charles’s older colleague demonstrated how to tie a square knot to one of them as he counted the minutes until he could clear out. Noon. Then he could do his actual rounds instead of simply occupying space at the little wooden outpost, admitting hikers and manning the radio system. He hoped to clear off the northern ridge trail of overgrowth and check the deer runs across the way. Their stock of local firewood was also getting dry as the last of the season’s campers bought it up in bundles.
“Smith?” He snapped out of his daze, pulling his eyes away from where they’d drifted.
“Yeah?”
“Can you finish this up for me?”
“Of course.” Tending to the hikers was easy enough, if not his favorite part of the job. He nodded as one young woman repeated the steps and presented him with the tied rope. Why they needed to know this for a quick walk through the park he had no idea, but Pearson seemed unable to resist bestowing all the lessons he learned in the navy.
Finally, the group was off down the trail, an old pair of hiking boots forced onto the youth’s feet. The skies were darkening as the minutes passed, wind picking up into something biting. Charles wasn’t worried though, they’d managed to steer them down the central path and it would be almost impressive to get lost on the way to the campsite. Still, he idly hoped his day wouldn’t end with him ferrying frozen teenagers back down. He packed for it anyway, emergency blanket, extra food, medical kit. At least it was something to do as the minutes ticked.
-
When he finally escaped the lackluster visitor’s center, he took a deep breath, backpack cinched down, boots tied up tight. It was a good day as ever to go on foot- the threat of snow present on the distant clouds but not yet an imminent danger. He reckoned he had a good four hours before he needed to even think about shelter.
He’d just barely broken a sweat when he reached the first ridge of the valley. Pine and spruce trees enveloped him from both sides, more peaking up from the basin below him, wrapping around every winding stream and game trail. As he begun his descent, Charles marked a couple trees as fall hazards and cleared out patches of unruly foliage. For all the roiling clouds, it was nice out, biting but fresh- branches and grasses rustling in the wind. The path through the valley went without incident, his feet quickly acclimating to the incline as he trampled a few inches of recently dislodged pine needles and coarse shrubs. He’d finish clearing the pass above him, collect some water samples from down at the stream, then make his way out to the next ranger station he’d call home for the night. It wasn’t a job he’d dreamed of, had only heard about it through an old newspaper he’d been lazily reading while set up at the corner store, but it fit him. All he could hear was the wind, the crunch beneath his boot. There wasn’t a soul out here, just some wold prints and a few foolhardy birds not yet tucked away for the storm.
He was almost excited for the snows tonight, the thought of curling up around the little brick fireplace with a cup of tea a welcome distraction as he put the miles in. Just him tucked away behind just a thin pane of glass. He was just a few miles from his destination when he saw the first scrap of cloth, his mind had been miles away. If not for the way it whipped in the wind, he’d have missed it entirely.
He froze, staring at the black piece of fabric as it waved to him from beyond a rock. A lost cowboy hat wedged up along the top of the ravine in among a thick patch of tanning grasses. He climbed up the little gravely bank, scanning the collection of lichen covered rocks.
“Hello?” he called, peering over top into the ravine. Nothing, just shadows and moss, jagged little outcrops of rock. He turned the hat over in his hands. It was impossible to miss just how clean it was- perhaps there was some trail dust and frayed edges, but no mold or mud. No signs of age. The path along the ravine was slow going with loose stones rolling beneath every step.
He’d probably made it a hundred feet before he saw the broken branch, freshly snapped with sharp bright wood pointing downwards. He took another step towards the edge, only to come eye to eye with a man down below, oddly contorted but staring at him with guarded eyes that reminded Charles of the fox he’d stumbled over the week before. It was almost frightening, the instant recognition of something human from the depths there- silent but alert. He recovered himself quickly, immediately concerned.
“You need some help getting back up?” he called, trying to decipher just what had happened.
“Reckon’ I do,” the man called back finally, resigned. He had a light drawl that sounded a bit too pained for Charles’s liking.
“Are you hurt? I’m heading towards you, we can see to any wounds you picked up.” A broken leg or ankle seemed the most likely injury, and Charles desperately hoped it was just that and nothing related to his back or neck. They’d had air rescues before, but every time was a logistical battle over fees and manpower. The state was half broke and it showed in every understaffed outpost and crumbling fire road- this was no national park with heaps of money thrown at it and tourists to fund it. Hell, they’d hired him without any relevant references or a background check, throwing him into a role one step away from law. Only the ‘junior’ in front of his name stopped them from handing him a gun outright.
“Not exactly…”
“What does that mean?” Charles called over, leveraging the rope between his gloved hands and repelling the short distance to a rocky outcrop along the ravine. No plants even attempted to grow from the rocks, a slight dusting of fallen bark and soil the only defense against hard rock.
“Why don’t’cha have a look,” the man said, beckoning Charles over to his ledge with an arm. The man was a bit older than him, perhaps a little worse for wear but not uneasy on the eyes even covered in scrapes and mud as he was. The problem was obvious as Charles approached, bracing himself on the rough cliffside. The man’s arm just about disappeared directly between two big boulders, his hand fully hidden from view between the two massive slabs.
“How in the world did you manage that?” Charles asked mystified, hands jumping to the stone rock face and coming up against a solid barrier. The man just shrugged with his free shoulder, exhaustion heavy across him, face sheepish. Charles cursed, scanning the ground for the man’s hiking gear and coming up negative. He pulled his own pack from his back and grabbed the water bottle. “How long have you been here? Where’s your stuff?”
The man took a long, messy drink before pulling back with a sigh. “Since yesterday. My er, backpackin’ gear must have been swept away when I fell. Whole cliffside just kind of collapsed with me.” Charles looked down at the man’s single layered outfit in surprise before peering down into a crevasse that seemed to fall forever.
“Glad you made it through the night at all, dressed like that,” was all he could manage, scrambling for a bandana for the blood caked across the man’s temple.
“Me too,” the man said, accepting the cloth and inspecting his ranger’s patch with less relief than most stranded folks he stumbled across. “Arthur.”
“Charles,” he said in return.
It didn’t take long to realize just how wedged in there Arthur really was. They spent the better part of an hour trying to maneuver his arm away from the boulders, pushing him upwards, jerking his arm side to side with a small stream of water over the top, even chiseling away at the rock face with the small multitool Charles carried with him. Arthur didn’t seem to mind getting manhandled and contorted but regardless of the different angles they tried, each attempt ended in disappointment and pain.
Then, just as he’d managed to work up a sweat trying to all but pull this man out form the rock face with both hands, Charles felt the first raindrop hit his cheek. Another followed, running down his face like liquid ice. Two startlingly blue eyes traced the patterns with similar type of fear. Arthur was able to shuffle a few inches to the right but with the small ledge there was little else they could do about the spray.
“I think it’s best I call in some help now, alright?” He pulled out his walkie talkie only to be drowned out by a hiss, the fear he’d failed to see all through this ordeal finally raising it’s head with an abruptness that had him pausing.
“You can’t.”
He tried not to scoff, but if Arthur’s angry face was anything to go by, he failed miserably. “I tried my best to get you out on my own, but save breaking your wrist and hand alike I don’t think you’re coming out of this without power tools and a lot more manpower than me.”
“I can’t afford all that shit. I’m not… well off.” Arthur seemed to be having a moment. Charles understood him to an extent, but with the wind flowing along the ravine with little shrieks as it travelled the length of rock he could only shiver with resolve. It was like that in these woods, mild days lost in seconds as wind screeched to life unprovoked.
“I’m not calling for a helicopter, just for a rescue team bigger than one. Surely it’s better than dying out here?” Arthur looked taken aback by his bluntness. “I’m not one to sugar coat things, we get more deaths here than any other park this side of the country.”
“And it’s your job to heroically save all the fools who stumble over cliffs is it?” he asked, mean edge to his voice, like a caged animal lashing out at anything he could reach. Charles just blinked at him.
“I wouldn’t phrase it that way but yeah- saving overconfident folks who put themselves in hazardous situations. If you hadn’t strayed so far from the trail, you wouldn’t have fallen down here. I’m gonna call them.” Arthur still wouldn’t give his blessing, but Charles didn’t need it. “Hello, Smith here- we’re in need of aid near station seventeen. Man is stuck in ravine. Does anybody copy?” The only sound between them was the biting gusts of wind that snaked their way through the ravine and the slightly strained breathing of the trapped man. “Hello? We’re in need of assistance.”
It wasn’t the first time Bill failed to answer the radio on his shift, but it also wasn’t common either. Maybe he’d left his radio behind to take a leak or smoke a cigarette under the porch. Infuriatingly, Arthur seemed to relax.
“Do you want to die or something, is that it?” He asked, exasperated and starting to feel the chill even through his thick ranger’s uniform.
“Course not. I just don’t want all the pageantry of a ‘rescue party.’ It’s not like I can’t feel my hand, I can even wiggle my fingers if I really work at it. Maybe with a pick? You said there’s a ranger’s station ‘round here somewhere?”
“It’s an hour walk away. This is Smith, is anyone there!” Static then silence. “I’ll try again in five.” He told himself aloud, stepping more under the rocky covering above them to escape the thickening rain. He silently cursed himself as he bumped into Arthur, nearly falling into the man as the mossy rocks slid under his shoes. The strong arm grabbing at his hip to stabilize him was a surprise that gave him little choice than lean even closer.
“Thanks,” he said, righting himself but making no move to return into the path of the storm.
“Course. What’d you say the weather forecast was tonight? Snow?”
“I didn’t. That’s what the papers have been saying though, and with all this rain I don’t doubt it’ll turn at some point.” The thin fabric of Arthur’s rugged button down and jeans had Charles scrambling in his bag. Neither of them mentioned how Arthur’s free hand was still looped through a belt loop of his as if the man was worried he’d lose his balance again and careen right off the side.
-
“Williamson here. You at your station yet Smith?” The voice sounded bored and maybe just a little bit drunk. He grabbed at the walkie talkie and felt a little more tension at his belt loop.
“Bill! I’m stranded out here with a hiker who’s gotten his arm trapped under a boulder.”
A short pause then a single loud curse, “shit!”
“Yeah, I called a dozen times over the last hour Bill.”
“Holy shit. Where are you? What’s his condition.”
“Near station 17 in a ravine, we’re a little wet and he’s stuck but without any major injuries, just a few scrapes. We need tools to get him out.”
“Alright, I’ll call it in from the landline.” An awkwardly long pause, “Sorry, I was tied up with something…”
“Sure,” Charles grumbled into the device, his annoyance overshadowed by relief. A couple minutes later Bill’s voice returned, hesitant.
“I’ve got bad news.”
“What?”
“I made the chickenshit mistake of tellin’ ‘em your fool isn’t hurt. Bernard’s genius plan is for you to hunker down there until tomorrow morning… Sorry Smith.”
“He wants us to hunker down in the snow? Doesn’t he remember last time it came to that? Call him back.”
“Well… what about the cabin. You’re near seventeen, right?”
“His arm is stuck Bill.” Charles just barely resisted the urge throw the walkie talkie right into the rocks.
“I would come out myself but you know how my leg is. The best we can do if you really need help is call the cops I guess. But we both remember how well that went last time…”
The anger drained faster than he’d expected, replaced by simple exhaustion. The station might be relatively close, but it was still an hour both ways and all he had between them was his own coat and a single emergency blanket. He turned to Arthur.
“Okay then, this is how we’ll do it. I’ll grab some gear as fast as I can and be back here soon. Alright? Then I’ll try to talk some more sense into my coworker.”
The first snowflakes that littered both their faces was a suprise, melting on Arthur’s cheeks and clinging to his hair. “You’re gonna leave me here?” He didn’t sound afraid, just surprised.
“Just for a little while. Sorry I can’t get us more help, I really am- but this is the only way we’re both making it till morning.”
“Sure, yeah.” Arthur accepted his help more easily after that, letting him help wrap the single blanket around him carefully, accepting the little stockpile of water and snacks, all the while electing for silence. It was a deep sort of shame, seeing someone so helpless and failing to provide any more help.
“I’ll be back soon.”
But he wasn’t. The ground was icy, covered in a thin veneer of snow that forced him to take his steps deliberately. It was full dark by the time the cabin came into sight under his headlamp. His legs cried out in pain at the rough handling, but he wasn’t even halfway there. He’d need to return through hard snow with a pack filled to the brim with as many supplies as he could manage. The mouse eaten sleeping bag went into his pack first, as did the heating pads, more batteries, some food, a tarp, a few tools scavenged from the back.
Charles forced himself to pace himself on the return journey, stopping himself from working up a sweat by maintaining a steady march rather than a sprint. But for all the ice dusting his shoulders and hair, this was no blizzard. They would be fine.
-
“Arthur?” he called out across the ravine, voice threatening to lose itself in the wind. “You alright?” There was no response at first but then a soft reply came up through the rock and ice.
“Still here,” a bitter chuckle. The second time traversing the ravine was infinitely trickier, each step a risk Charles didn’t care to take. But the injured man was down there, stuck and surely freezing. His crampons skidded off a naked stone and he cursed, seeking purchase a few feet over instead. Little by little he repelled down towards the voice, inch by inch.
“Careful now,” he heard from across the way, the concern in his voice almost endearing.
It was clear Arthur wasn’t doing well by himself, shivering and pink in the face.
“Here,” he said, unzipping his pack and grabbing for a scarf, “how’s your hand feel?” Arthur let him roughly fling it around his neck with a grateful nod.
“Sore, but I’m wearing a glove at least, not as damn cold as just about everything else somehow.”
“Good.” With a flashlight that left Arthur blinking back at him in discomfort, he could just barely see the edge of the man’s wrist, stuffing the cloth wrapped heating pack as far down into the rocky gap as possible. “Don’t want you to lose your fingers to cold.”
Arthur didn’t say much as he pulled a seemingly endless bounty of gear from his pack, wrapping the man in his ranger parka and a woolen hat that was perhaps older than the both of them combined. It was the socks of all things that made the man resist the most, turning red and begging mercy from his care.
“Is all this really necessary?”
“Yes. Here, can you put your right foot up higher.” Arthur grumbled back and for a moment Charles thought he’d need to wrestle the man’s boot off, but eventually the man backed down at let him work.
“Better?”
“Sure. It was damn cold after you left. I kept worryin’ ‘bout you fallin’ off a cliff or somethin’, never knowin’ if you was comin’ back at all.”
Charles just stared at him, a little frown for the man’s doubt. “I wouldn’t just leave you out here. It’s my job to tend to all the ‘fools’ who decide to go off road.”
“Yeah, got me there- just been out here a while, I guess. Last night weren’t so cold but it was hard… started thinkin’ all manner of thoughts. You got any more food in that bag of yours?”
“I do.” Their dinner was less than glorious, a few protein bars and some tough beef jerky that was still safe enough if entirely unpleasant to chew through.
“You want mine?” Charles asked, somewhat amused as Arthur stared at him eating his own share.
“Course not,” Arthur said. But he didn’t refuse the bar when Charles nearly pushed it into his face, offering a thankful grunt as he snatched the food and consumed it just as fast as his own. After their meager dinner they struggled to pull themselves as far under the cliff face as possible, personal space be damned. It wasn’t the most comfortable he’d been, but with enough adjusting Charles was able to avoid the sharpest of the rock wall, settling down against Arthur. They stayed like that a time, both watching the gentle snow floating down before them, misty breath released into that expanse. It struck Charles with a shiver that if he hadn’t been lucky enough to stumble over that hat, Arthur would likely be on his way to death, if not already there. He pulled him closer.
He was surprised out of his thoughts with a little nudge to the ribs. He grunted in response.
“Hey, you wanna do somethin’?”
“Do what?”
Arthur didn’t react right away, finally letting a self-conscious little chuckle out. “Never mind me, think I’m just used to a different crowd is all.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Means I’m used to folks who don’t ask so many damn questions,” he hissed, embarrassed but not unkind, “forget I said nothin’. Can’t blame me for bein’ interested, with how you’re…” He trailed off looked down between them, “sorry.”
It was too cold to flush any more than he already was as his eyes followed the hiker’s. He hadn’t even realized how it all looked in his hurry to exchange any modicum of warmth between the two of them. He’d even pushed his own leg between the other man’s in the scramble to pull Arthur up away from the bare rock wall.
“That’s alright…” he said, resisting the urge to pull back. “Just surprised me it all.”
“News to me. You’ve got a pretty good poker face there. But I ain’t about to try anythin’ if you ain’t interested, don’t worry.”
“Not sure what you could do, all caught up like that,” Arthur’s eyes followed his to the rock face and he let out another little laugh, clearly relieved Charles wasn’t acting too put off. “I do have one question though.”
“Yeah?”
“I didn’t see you check in at all, how long have you been up here?” Arthur seemed to take the change of subject in stride, counting under his breath.
“Couple weeks at least. Figured some time away was what I needed to reset, just a bit of quiet after it all.”
He nodded, “I get it. We might not be so different in that regard.”
Arthur gave a puff of laugh against him. “Oh I think we’re real different, your pursuits seem entirely more noble than any of mine. Been runnin’ from all manner of nastiness.”
“Like what?” He asked.
Arthur didn’t answer at first and Charles began to think he’d overstepped. “Family mostly. Folks tellin’ me what I ought to do, how I should live my life.”
“Your family doesn’t approve then?” It took Arthur a moment to understand what he meant, shaking his head with a light chuckle.
“Oh I’m not… I’m not like that. Not really,” he said.
“What?” Charles asked, surprised enough to pull back a little. Only to receive an annoyed little grunt and a strong arm pulling him closer again.
“Just opportunistic I guess,” he shrugged, “But nah, they don’t care ‘bout who I engage with none. It’s more… well we’ve got this family business that’s headed to the ground. We all know it damn well but my uncle just won’t let it rest. Rather push us all down with it, crushed into dust till there’s nothin’ left.”
Charles grimaced at that, feeling a little spark of familiarity, “nobody likes feeling stuck.” Arthur stared at him for a time and Charles couldn’t help the grin. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you out tomorrow and you can continue on your personal sabbatical. I might not know too much about family, but I understand the need to escape. Wouldn’t go back to town for the world. What little family I have left isn’t so happy with what I’m doing up here either, thinks its pandering, but it’s a job.” He looked away, embarrassed at confessing such a thing to a stranger. He hadn’t talked over this with anyone in years, and now this one scruffy hiker was pulling truths out of his mouth without even trying.
“Panderin’?”
“Some of these parks don’t have such a great history… But well, I got the right skills and there’s more space for my animals here.” He shrugged, looking at the confusion across the other man’s face.
“How does one even get a job here?”
“Why? Interested?” He could almost see it, Arthur dressed up in the same silly costume they all wore.
“Not exactly, just curious.”
“Newspaper listing.” He said simply, “On my first day on the job, head ranger slammed a manila folder right in front of me.” Right onto the little folding table he’d interviewed at just an hour before, the warped chair wobbling uneasily under his weight. A single flickering ceiling light beat down on them, on the piles of messy paperwork and rat droppings, a two-year-old calendar wearing the face of some local real estate agent peaking out from under the pile.
“Had me flip through, I don’t know, must have been a few dozens of pictures at least.” His potential boss had given him a rough pat to his shoulder on his way to a cabinet. The smell of tobacco filled the air and Charles fought the urge to light up his own after months of swearing the things off. “It felt morbid and bordering on offensive to flip through picture after picture of frozen bodies, broken limbs, even one that looked like the tail end of a bear attack.”
“Shit,” Arthur said, “glad your savin’ me from the manila folder. Potentially.”
He glared over at him, “you know, I still don’t know whether to take you serious.”
“Oh, I’m very serious,” he finally said.
“Anyway, the old man just looked at me cringing over all that, and said ‘that type of carnage ain’t so rare here. You sure you can handle it?’”
And he had, for the last two years. Had lost count of the rescue or recovery missions, of all the creative avenues they’d all taken in the absence of actual money or manpower. Had even had a couple close calls himself, barely escaping a rare grizzly one month, an avalanche the next. Even so, nothing could beat starting his days with hundreds of miles of trees, fresh air, open space. It sure beat the monotony of working the grimy liquor store night after night. Dealing with the odd fox stuck in a trap or unruly deer was infinitely more pleasant than wrangling men drunken to a stupor and covered in their own piss under those harsh fluorescent lights. He told Arthur as much.
“Well I’m glad you’re here for one,” Arthur replied easily, “sounds like if this Bill figure was the one to find me, I’d be havin’ a worse time of it.”
Charles snorted, “if Bill was making rounds, you’d never be found.”
“Guess I have whoever scheduled you out here to thank then?”
“That would be Bill,” he said drily. Arthur laughed, surprising him in just how much he liked the sound.
-
From what Arthur told him it seemed the older man was just as happy to waste his days in solitude, wandering around with less purpose even than Charles now that he’d left his family behind.
“I’ve never felt better than this past week. Always joked about them ‘tree huggers’ but I think there were a couple times I near fell for a tree the last few days- it’s different out here.”
“Opportunistic you said?” Charles asked, looking down between them pointedly and drawing another burst of laughter from the other.
“Sure,” he drawled with a grin, “ain’t you ever fuck a tree?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
“Well Mr. Smith, I hope for your sake just as much as mine that your friends can get me out tomorrow- else you’re gonna have to put up with me even longer. It’s all about the bark you know.” Charles just shook his head, cringing of the thought.
“Well, assuming everything goes smoothly tomorrow, I have some old gear back at my cabin. If you want some of it. It’s done nothing but collect dust the last year or so and it seems like you don’t have much more than what you’re wearing.” He gulped as Arthur stared hard at him, a look of confusion in his raised eyebrows in a way that almost looked suspicious. But he agreed all the same.
“Alright- I’d be awfully grateful for all that.”
“You’ll get to meet Taima and Buck too. They’d be more than happy to meet a new face, given you’re alright with animals.”
Arthur was clearly thrilled with the new conditions of the invitation, near vibrating. Even in the low glow of the lantern his face looked ten years younger, softer with something like hope there. Charles just had to ignore the unnatural twist of the arm behind him and the red marks etched into the side of the man’s face from the fall.
“Dogs?”
“One dog, one horse.”
“Shit, now I really need to get this hand out of this rock. I haven’t seen anything like that in a while, just a whole lotta squirrels and a muskrat.” He tugged on his wrist and hissed a bit. “What else you got in this cabin of yours? You got donuts and whisky? Think I’d actually sacrifice the damn hand entirely for one of those.”
Charles laughed, shaking his head, “no donuts, but I’ve got a bottle or two and some venison back there.”
Their conversation dwindled as the hours passed by, the wind whipping about them as they huddled together. Arthur’s face nestled into his neck in a way forced by necessity, Charles’s right arm a bit sore from being wedged behind Arthur and the cliff. He couldn’t say exactly when Arthur fell asleep, but when he turned the lantern light up to check his watch he was met with closed eyes, eyelashes spread out across wind whipped cheeks.
The man was clearly attractive, but he also looked completely exhausted, almost corpselike- purple circles encircling his eyes and little burst blood vessels snaking over his face like spiderwebs. This was probably the first chance he’d had to sleep since falling down this hole. Charles resolved to get him out as soon as possible, shivering at the thought of Arthur out here alone all last night as he slept soundly at his cabin. The hopeless solitude and struggle to come to terms that he’d probably die here alone, succumbing to the elements, a prisoner to the earth. He shifted, checking on the little heat pack wedged into the stones.
And through it all, the snow picked up- not a blizzard, but nothing to scoff about with no fire between them. Bill would have some answering to do tomorrow. But despite it all, Charles knew they could make it- he’d camped in worse, gotten frostbite in this very park. His heart clenched when Arthur suddenly startled awake and immediately clutched to him tighter, as if by instinct.
“It’s really fuckin’ cold,” Arthur breathed out against his throat and Charles shivered at the feeling.
“I’m sorry,” Charles said, feeling a sudden wave of shame at the fear in the man’s voice, “we’ve done a terrible job of keeping our visitors safe.”
“I ain’t a visitor,” Arthur slurred out.
“Here,” Charles said, breaking open another of the heat packs, little bundles of warmth that’d need to last them through the night. “I’m going to just slide this right against you, okay.” Arthur didn’t seem to understand what he was talking about in his sleepy state, body sending itself into a hard flinch as Charles brought his hands down to his waist and pushed the pad up along his shirt to lay flush against his core. “Sorry, it’ll help a bit with the cold.”
Luckily the stone wall face sloped back a little and with enough maneuvering Charles was able to take a little bit of weight from his feet, curling up against the other man and trying to feel the warmth of the heating pad through their combined clothing. The snow stopped sometime in the dark, early hours of the morning, a sudden stillness to the air than drew Charles up from their cocoon. He couldn’t quite see through the dark stones and fog but the bite to the air had eased to a sting.
"How's the arm feel?" Charles asked.
"Alright I guess, I can still feel it anyway- 'spose that's a good sign."
"Charles!" The name was said at such a volume that both of them startled, Charles grabbing for the walkie talkie and nearly dropping in at their feet. "Charles, are you there?"
"Yeah, what's wrong?" He resolved himself for more bad news, for the update that nobody would come for them, that Bell and Escuella had called out and left them to this. He nearly snapped at him before the words were out. But when Bill responded, Charles blood turned to ice.
"Charles, get back away from that man! If he’s who I think he is, he’s dangerous." Arthur stared back at him, hearing every static filled word.
"What are you talking about?"
"It's all over the news and we're thinking your man is an escaped prisoner from out east. A witness pointed to our park this morning, got printed in the local paper and everything. Mid-thirties, brown hair, beard, country accent."
Charles saw wild desperation take light in his eyes, felt the tightness in the body before him.
"What did he do?" Charles asked shakily, still engulfed in the warmth of the inmate before him.
"For shit’s sake Smith, is this really the time? He's a god dammed bank robber, killed some cop on the way out... Are you still with him?"
Arthur was shaking his head, begging him with eyes that looked to have already given up.
"I..."
Charles almost fell backwards with how hard Arthur pushed against him, against the rock- yanking his arm backwards with all his force and he tried again to get away. Pain contorted his face as his arm remained as it was.
"He got free last night," Charles heard himself saying into the walkie talkie as tried to hold the man still with the entirely of his own weight, shoving at him as quietly as possible. Arthur's head jerked up, his eyes wide and confused, his mouth hanging open in disbelief. "He said was heading west to Seattle."
"Shit." The walkie talkie fell silent for a couple of agonizing minutes, any further response from Charles cut off by static, then he was back. "At least we don't need to sweat our asses any more about the rescue mission, but I reckon these boys will want a word with you before they head out- you know how it is with them."
"Of course," Charles said shakily, “it'll take me a while to get back though, the snow really piled up. I didn't really talk to him much though, not sure how much use I'd be."
"Why'd ya do that?" Arthur asked the moment the device was back on his belt, question aggressive as it was curt.
Charles responded with a question of his own, unsure of what had possessed him. "Is it true? You killed people?"
"It was just a little small town bank, hardly even..." Charles shoved him back into the wall, perhaps a bit too hard. The fearful look returned, as did the flailing. But Charles had a good fifty pounds on him and gravity was on his side as he easily held him steady. "We had a plan. There shouldn't have been any cops there, should've been tied up the next town over. But one showed up and had us at gunpoint, I had to do somethin'..."
"So you killed him?"
Arthur nodded back.
Seconds passed between the two of them, awkward and stagnant. He’d pulled more than a few corpses from this place, had happened across more than one accidental deaths before all this. But to kill a man… Arthur finally snapped back into action.
"You got a knife in your bag there? I'll cut off the damn thing before I die here. Or get caught. I ain't goin' back."
"Calm down, you are not cutting your own hand off."
"You offerin' then?"
"No! What’s your plan for after? Go on over to the nearest hospital as the manhunt rages around you, or would prefer bleeding out in the woods? Just let me think." Arthur looked very unlikely to allow much patience, but he was stuck either way. "I’ve got that pickaxe we were talking about yesterday, brought it just in case... I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d press it." They both eyed the hole where Arthur's hand disappeared, the treacherous overhang above. It wouldn't be a clean job. "Or if you agree to turn yourself in we'll be able to get search and rescue in here."
"And what will you tell them then, that I escaped one ravine only to fall into another? And in the process, got the same damn arm stuck?"
Charles braced one foot a nearby rock, cringing at the unnatural tilt of his legs, unbalanced.
"Hey, be careful would ya? If you fall even further..."
"I won’t fall," Charles said. "Now turn your face away and close your eyes."
It was almost unbelievable how easily Arthur fell in line then, though Charles couldn't say if that trust was for him or just some side effect of desperation. He drew his arm back, eyes pinned to the first little tilt of the rock face. The patch was too far out to free Arthur, but it was a test of the premise.
He brought the pickaxe down in a clean arc, smashing into the rock just a centimeter off from the little mark he'd etched into it. A metallic ringing filled his ears and little sharp splinters of rock dusted his hands. Arthur flinched, then opened his eyes and risked a glance, frowning over at the wall. They’d perhaps gotten themselves an inch or two into the rock, but there was still too much weight pinning Arthur, the ancient outcrop of rock not so keen to release it’s prey. More so, the rock above them seemed to taunt them, the risk of the whole structure coming loose just as likely.
"It’s hard," he admitted, breathing hard and resting back against Arthur's shoulder. "These angles aren't good." The second hit of the axe had them both flinching in discomfort at the way it glanced off the surface. It was when he slammed the pick axe a third time that something gave, a sudden break like glass shattering. Arthur made a surprised sound as his arm was jerked sideways from the force he’d employed trying to pull free. Charles was hit by a sudden icy fear as boots slipped against rock. Arthur grabbed at him again, the pickaxe falling usefully to the cliffside below. It was almost to their advantage as his wrist got caught on rock still, holding him tight to the rock as he clawed at Charles shoulders, pulling him towards him desperately.
“Shit,” he said, looking down at the crumbling dust floating beneath him, eyes missing the pick entirely. Lost just as soundly Arthur’s gear. He inspected Arthur’s wrist and the blood that was now flowing freely up to his elbow. Closer to freedom, but still too stuck. “This isn’t coming out without completely mangling it…”
They both breathed hard, tension and pain thick in every gasp beside him.
"I don’t fuckin' care. Break the damn thing," Arthur said harshly, shaking as the rocks dripped blood down onto both of their pants. Then softer, "please?" Charles met eyes with him, felt the hand that still hadn’t left his own belt, then reached forward to the partially freed hand, sinking his own thumbs under the offending finger and twisting hard before he could lose his nerve. Perhaps too hard, the finger gave out easily, a sickening crunch and a little intake of air the only sound in the ravine. Then Arthur was free, clutching his hand and cursing with a huge smile on his face as he staggered free of the rock face.
Charles gave one final glance at the little inoffensive nook they'd spent the night in, that Arthur had been locked to for days. Then he put on his gloves and pushed off from the ground. Getting a bear hug from Arthur wasn’t all that different than getting cuddled by him all night but it surprised something warm inside him all the same.
"What now?" Arthur asked, finally pulling back and shaking his hand and trying to mask just how hard he was breathing, how much pain he was in. Charles considered the outlaw, the echo of the crunching bone echoing in his head. He was still wearing Charles parka and winter boots, hand curled up protectively at his side, face dirty. No food, or bags, identification. He was struck with an odd sense of obligation, the desire to keep the man safe even now that he was loose from the rock wall and once again on the run.
"You still want to meet the animals then?" He asked finally, suddenly hyper aware that after fifteen years since his last arrest, he was once again ankle deep in crimes. An accessory to whatever the hell Arthur was up to. He could almost feel the burn of the shank in his side, the burn of glass across his face, a guard’s boot on him for the simple crime of defending himself. But for this man that wasn’t the case, this was a man who’d forced himself into a bank vault and murdered another man in the process.
"You sure?" Arthur asked, looking suddenly bashful. Charles felt whiplashed by more than just his own conflicted thoughts- the man had propositioned him, admitted to murder, snuggled up to him all night long, now he looked like an embarrassed teenager.
"Yeah," he said, "I can't just break your hand and leave you out in the snow to freeze."
The trip back went surprisingly well, Arthur was hardy and fast on his feet. Even with his busted hand he didn’t offer a single word of complaint, more likely to urge them faster over difficult terrain than not. Charles found himself pointing out landmarks- cliff faces and ancient trees alike- as if the trek was one of those guided tours the lead ranger would sometimes force upon them. Arthur didn’t seem to mind though, at times even stopping and staring out at the forms in wonder. ‘Mentally catalogin’ them for his sketchbook,’ he told him when Charles inquired. When the half white fox emerged from a bush, Arthur begged him to stop for a better look.
“Much more inspirin’ than a muskrat.”
"You know," Arthur began as they skirted a slushy stream, hands in their pockets, "there was this man.... he evaded police for years, hikin’ about the Appalachian Trail out east- pretendin’ he was a typical type of hermit and not just an outlaw. Made it real far."
"That so?" Charles asked. "They'll be combing these hills you know. I can only hold them off for so long. There’s a landline at the cabin, I’ll call them up and try to draw them off but…" The risk there was unspoken.
“Wouldn’t expect it,” Arthur said, “reckon I already owe you my life two times over. Especially given your profession.”
“I figure since they never gave me a firearm means I don’t need to do much enforcing. They just wanted someone who was strong and unphased by the rough land.” He gestured to the hills surrounding them.
“Sure.” Charles tried not to think too hard at the smile Arthur sent him.
-
Charles was correct in his assumption that Arthur and Buck would get along, the man clearly knew his way around dogs, getting down on one knee and giving the dog a dozen pets before he even looked to his hand. Buck wagged his tail and barked a polite little greeting, then sat watching the pair as they sat face to face on the buckskin rug with the damaged hand between them.
“You got a medical background?” Arthur asked, watching him cautiously as he poked at the break, carefully splinting it and doing his best to undo all the damaged he’d done.
“No, not really. Just years of tending to the animals’ breaks and scrapes. It doesn’t look too bad as long as you take it easy.”
Arthur was at least apologetic after eating three days’ worth of meat, insisting on cleaning up, broken hand be damned. It took longer than it should, and he had no clue where to put any of the dried dishes but Charles humored him, telling him from across the room by the fire.
“Never eaten a deer before,” Arthur said as he finally approached from the little kitchen setup. “Not bad at all.”
“Glad you liked it.” Then Arthur was at the door grabbing at his boots as Charles heart sunk. They’d only been back a few hours, but Arthur seemed to fit there, spoiling Buck and telling stories from his time in prison that had Charles gaping. Then unbalancing him by asking him questions and really caring to hear his answers- where was he from, if he’d made all the bows around the cabin, and why in hell there was a stuffed lake trout on his wall. Arthur head near fallen over in laughter when Charles showed him the picture of the odd little fisherman who bought the fish off of him to stuff. He was startling to realize he’d found a friend in Arthur, a fleeting friendship that he could see waning as fast as it’d formed.
"You're really going to leave now? Right back into the snow?" He’d expected him to at least spend one night in the safety of the cabin.
"Caused enough grief for you," Arthur said, an embarrassed little grin. He looked different now, clean shaven and neat despite the scars and freckles. Fresh clothing that was a little too big for him, bunched at the shoulders and hipline. Charles had packed food enough for a couple weeks, a sleeping bag rated for ice, a compass. All the things the man needed to survive, provided he had the sense to use them all correctly. “If they hadn’t caught onto my location I would have imposed as long as you’d have put up with my sorry self. Count yourself lucky.”
“Here,” Charles said, placing his old hunting hat on Arthur again, tugging the flaps down over his ears, “it’s cold out there. If anyone asks, I’ll swear up and down you broke in here and stole my stuff at gunpoint.”
“Course. Still don’t understand why you’re doin’ all this for me,” Arthur said, turning away from him. “Less you’re one of those creeps who’ve got a thing for killers. I got some letters like that you know, admirers who had all manner feeling’ over what I did. A couple marriage proposals even.”
Charles snorted, shaking his head. “I can’t say I was planning on that. I just… I haven’t always been on the right side of things either, figure I don’t have any place to judge you.”
“Well, you’ve did more than ‘not judge’ me.” Arthur said.
“Would you rather I tie you up and call Bill back then?” Charles asked. “You’re wasting light.”
“Nah,” Arthur said, stalling further and offering one final smile to him. “Guess I’m just lookin’ for excuses at this point. Was a lonely few weeks out there, a lonely few years really. I know you was just with me to stop me from freezing my ass off, but well, thanks I guess.”
“You’re welcome. Anything turn on that hand and you call me,” he pushed the spare walkie talkie into the man’s good hand. “Channel 6, use the code I told you.”
“Sure,” Arthur said with a smile, reaching down to give Buck a final scratch to the ear. “And if I just feel like chattin’?”
Charles looked down on the two of them, Buck wagging his tail and near mauling Arthur with affection. The weathered man took it with a chuckle, dressed in Charles’s clothing and ready for the trail.
“Not usually much for chatting usually, but I don’t think I would mind it so much."