Chapter 16.1

Sara had finished her snack and felt better after texting with her husband. Another wave of thunderstorms had rolled into the area, and thunder was rocking her shelter. She was settling in to continue reading when a scraping at the door broke her train of thought.

“Ted? Is that you?” Sara asked hesitantly.

A snort came from outside the door in response to her question.

Sara went to the door and peeped out. She did not see the deer through the small opening she had secured. She untied the door and looked out. She saw the deer nestled beside the cabin, partially under the tarp she had set up to collect drinking water.

“Ted,” Sara said through clenched teeth. “If you tear down that tarp, I swear I will turn you into a buckskin jacket.”

Sara watched the buck as he gave a little huff and carefully bedded down under the tarp, not touching it. Sara shook her head as she stepped back inside, out of the rain, and tied the door back in place. She brushed the rain off herself as she sat down, dried her hands on her shorts, and picked up the journal.

December 27, 1879

The blasted snow is falling again. Why did I get my hopes up? Why did I think things would go my way and I would get out of here? I hope that it will only last a few hours or a day at the most. If that happens, I might stand a chance. I do not hear any wind, so I consider that a good thing. It won’t cause the snow to drift against the door and into the area where I have been working.

I am going to have breakfast and then lie down again. I feel tired today even though I woke not long ago. Perhaps this is God’s way of telling me I should rest today after working so much yesterday. If it is, I wish he would have found a way that did not involve more snow.

December 27, 1879

Second entry. I had breakfast and then checked the snow, no longer feeling like lying down. Tiny flakes of frost are flitting about. If it stays like this, there will not be much accumulation. If that happens, it will feel like a miracle. I could use a few of those for a change.

I am nearly out of flour, which means I will have to sustain myself on only flesh soon. The more I eat of it, the more I feel like I need to eat to no longer be hungry. It makes no sense. If I eat more, I should be fuller and more content. Instead, when I eat the flesh, I feel as if I have not eaten anything. 

I have to get us out of this cabin. If I do not do it and do it soon, I feel that we will both perish. I do feel a certain comfort in that thought.  I will no longer be alone the way I am here on earth. I will finally be with you, Sarah, my dear. I will be able to hold our Timothy and play with him the way it should have been.

I need to recheck the snow and work at clearing more if it is not falling hard. If I work at it now, I might at least be able to keep the progress I have made if I cannot gain on it more. 

December 27, 1879

Third entry. I was doing well. I had dug out quite a bit of firewood and had made progress with the snow. I thought I might even be able to make it out by tonight. That would have let me set a few snares and traps for overnight.  Then the snow changed and started coming down in flakes the size of apples. I feel crushed. God is laughing at me by doing this over and over. 

I sit here looking at my hands as I write, and they are getting even paler. The gray tinge is becoming more pronounced. I need real food, or I will waste away. I don’t know why, but the flesh is doing nothing for me, not even making me feel full. I am now constantly ravenous. I satiated the hunger when I could make enough fry bread to eat with the flesh. Now, with the flour being almost gone, that will no longer happen.

I will use the last of the flour now and make as much fry bread as I can. I will also cook a sizeable piece of flesh. That will give me something to do and will allow me to work more if the snow stops without needing to stop and cook. 

December 27, 1879

Fourth entry. I can hear the wind blasting outside once more. It sounds like the cries of the dead as it whistles through the forest and over the snow. I question how many have died because of this infernal blizzard. How many have been buried alive and have not made it this far? That wind may very well be the shrieks of the dead at this point. Their pain echoing, never-ending. Will my voice be a part of it soon? If I cannot escape this tomb, I have no doubt that it will be.

I checked the snowfall, and it has filled what I cleared to nearly half full of fresh snow. It pushes more snow against the door and the packed snow steps I have been making with every gust. If this continues, it will fill in what I have cleared before morning. This confounded weather will be the end of me.

December 27, 1879

Fifth entry. I cannot get my fill tonight. I have eaten all the flesh I had cooked, and I am still famished. I am preparing more now. I am craving it. I need to eat it. I do not want to, but I am compelled to do so. Why is this happening? I am defiling my brother, and I cannot control myself. 

I am praying to a God that I am not sure I believe in any longer. I have asked for him to make the snow stop. I asked for him to allow me to bury Jim, so I will no longer be able to desecrate him in the way I am. I would rather starve than continue to do what I am. The trouble is, I know that until he has been buried, I will not be able to stop myself from the abominable acts that I am committing.

December 27, 1879

Sixth entry. The snow keeps coming. All of the space I had cleared has been filled again. I am exhausted in body and mind. I have reached a point where I want to sleep and never wake. 

Oh, my Sarah, I hope that when I sleep tonight, I never wake. That would allow me to be with you once again. I miss you so much. I can feel you and smell your sweet perfume. How I long for your touch and embrace. 

I think I will try to sleep now. If there is a merciful God, he will see fit to let me die tonight. I know that will mean I do not keep my promise to Jim, but I am sure he would understand.

Sara closed the journal and stretched. She could not fathom being in the situation that Herschel was in. She thought about his mental state. Sara knew that with being a trauma nurse and her mental fortitude, she was not sure that she would be able to endure as well as Herschel had been. His strength, even in the midst of what could be a mental breakdown, astonished her.

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