Surviving in the wild can be like playing a board game – the board (the outdoors) remains the same but the dice (your skills) can change your odds of winning. Thriving in the wilderness is dependent on knowing the constants of the game board: edible foods will remain edible, rubbing two sticks together can make fire, snow falls in winter, etc. But when climate change and centuries of man’s antipathy towards nature alters the constants of the game, the odds of winning are greatly diminished.
A tiny arachnid that has become a vector for a deadly virus, droughts that dehydrate forests for cataclysmic firestorms, hornets the size of hummingbirds.
Can two refugees in the hinterlands survive the simoom of change?
Want to read the entire story? Paperback and Ebook are available on Amazon (cut and paste link into your browser) https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08RRGMQXH?ref_=pe_3052080_397514860
To experience more of the story, learn interesting facts about the setting, ask questions of the author and more, visit the After The Virus - A Surviralist's Journal Facebook Group.
Surviving in the wild can be like playing a board game – the board (the outdoors) remains the same but the dice (your skills) can change your odds of winning. Thriving in the wilderness is dependent on knowing the constants of the game board: edible foods will remain edible, rubbing two sticks together can make fire, snow falls in winter, etc. But when climate change and centuries of man’s antipathy towards nature alters the constants of the game, the odds of winning are greatly diminished.
A tiny arachnid that has become a vector for a deadly virus, droughts that dehydrate forests for cataclysmic firestorms, hornets the size of hummingbirds.
Can two refugees in the hinterlands survive the simoom of change?
Want to read the entire story? Paperback and Ebook are available on Amazon (cut and paste link into your browser) https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08RRGMQXH?ref_=pe_3052080_397514860
To experience more of the story, learn interesting facts about the setting, ask questions of the author and more, visit the After The Virus - A Surviralist's Journal Facebook Group.
After the Virus
Season 1 Episode 7
I got the idea for putting the story into the form of a daily journal from the many historical diaries and accounts I’ve enjoyed reading by emigrants travelling the Oregon and California Trails beginning in the 1840’s. These day-by-day journals recounted the incredible hardships suffered as the hopeful travelers began with well provisioned wagons, oxen, horses and milk cows, and in many cases lost everything they had along the trail. Many, like John Bidwell had to resort to eating their own horses, or worse, and ended up walking the final leg of the journey with only the clothes on their backs. Some of my favorites are: Gold Rush by J. Goldsborough Bruff (who actually set up a camp in Ishi country). Across the Plains and Among the Diggins by Alonzo Delano. Echoes of the Past by John Bidwell and The Oregon Trail by Francis Parkman.
When we left off in Episode 6, Will was caring for Hope, who appeared to have been infected by a tick, that Will removed and crushed
June 6
Hope is still sick, she is sleeping most of the time and when she wakes she is disoriented. Now I may be coming down with something. Nothing much - just aching joints, but enough to have me concerned.
If it turns out that we have the mutated Ebola virus we are most certainly going to die. Preparing for the possibility that we will both be ill-equipped to provide for ourselves in the coming days I put many gallons of water and food within arm’s reach of our sleeping bags. By day's end I am completely exhausted, sore and hot.
June 9 ?
This is Hope. I have no idea what date or day it is. I think I’ve been sick for many days, but now I am better.
The man is still sick. It is ridiculous that I don’t know his name, but I never asked him and he never told me. I pray that he lives. He took care of me for the last week, maybe two? Fed me, gave me water, cleaned me. He is a good man but he is very sick.
June 10 ?
The man had nightmares today. He yelled and punched his arms but he did not wake up. I spooned water and some venison broth into his mouth.
June 11 ?
The man opened his eyes and looked at me today, then he called me a girl's name and cried, then fell back asleep. He woke in the afternoon and I gave him more broth.
June 12 ?
Today the man sat up and asked me what day it was? I told him I didn’t know and that made him sad - he cried but then he talked to me for a while - most of what he said made no sense. At least he has finally told me his name: Will.
June 13 ?
Me again. I lived (obviously) and so did Hope. I’m weak but hungry, trying to pace myself on the food.
I’m missing a few days. As near as I can tell it’s mid-June, about two and a half weeks since Hope first became ill. I took care of her as best I could for about a week - even after I got sick, but then everything becomes fuzzy. Apparently we were both out of it for a while, somehow sustaining ourselves on the food and water I’d put next to us. Hope emerged from it about four or five days ago and has been nursing me since.
June 14
Feeling a little stronger today. Got up and walked to the creek but then was too weak to walk back. Napped at the creek for an hour or two, then hiked the 200 yards back to the cave. I was starving so Hope and I consumed a couple of pounds of venison!
June 15
Hope made tea for us and roasted some bay nuts. I am beginning to feel human again. We took another walk to the creek - not nearly so tiring.
Looking through the one book I have on medicine, my only guess on what we had was Rocky Mountain spotted fever - rare but not unknown in California. She got it from the tick bite…I could have gotten it from foolishly squeezing the tick between my fingers! Our symptoms fit perfectly and healthy people can recover from it without medicine in two to three weeks.
We are getting low on venison. I noticed some salmon in a deep portion of the creek - we will need to catch some.
June 16
Slept hard and long. Pine-needle tea then headed to the creek. After many tries I snag a big male chinook salmon by jerking a weighted hook repeatedly through the circling school. This tired me out and I had to rest a while before heading back to camp where we cooked salmon steaks over a fire and ate until it hurt! I’m glad to see Hope eating well and beginning to get some color. After eating we rest. In the afternoon I cut the remaining salmon into strips which we dry out over the fire for consumption tomorrow.
I decided to teach Hope how to knap arrowheads. We have no true flint or obsidian available so we break up some basalt into chips to practice on. The basalt is too hard and we are poor knappers but we do create a few rough arrowheads.
June 17
Today we worked on some more arrowheads - these are a little better and Hope is a gifted knapper. We head down the canyon near to the old cave to locate some mock orange (Philadelphus lewisii) to harvest the straight stalks for arrow shafts just as the Yana tribe did. We do not visit the cave. We harvest enough straight pieces to craft a couple dozen arrows.
Although we have gotten most of our endurance back we are still very tired from the long excursion and bed down right at dusk.
June 18
We spend a day resting, eating, drinking and recovering.
June 19
Woke up feeling energized. Wanted to check on our neighbors up the canyon so we hike the three hours to their cabin site.
We watch the cabin from a distance for an hour - no sound or movement. Curiosity got the better of me and we sneak in for a closer look.
The cabin is a simple 12x12 four-walled structure with a canvas tarp roof over wooden rafters - what we used to call a tent cabin. It is tucked under a dense canopy of trees and the tarp is painted in a camouflage pattern, brush and limbs lean against the exterior walls for further concealment. From the air it would be nearly impossible to spot.
Looking into one of the three small windows we can see a sleeping platform (2 cots covered by boards and a pad with sleeping bags for blankets). There is also a handmade table and two pine rounds for chairs. In one corner there is a stone firebox that vents directly through the wall above by way of a short, handmade stove-pipe. One pot and a pan sit atop the firebox. A set of shelves holds cans and spices. A large hindquarter hangs in the opposite corner.
Off of one side of the cabin the canvas extends out to form an awning, protecting a large assortment of hand-saws, axes, hatchets and other hand tools.
Backing off again we wait and watch, but by late afternoon there is still no activity so we start back towards our camp while there is still light. Fifty yards away we come to a mound of rocks next to a large oak - a fresh grave. A one-foot square patch of bark has been removed from the oak, and a metal quart can that has been flattened is affixed to the tree. An epitaph has been written using a nail - each letter made by a series of punched holes, and reads:
Jared Stokes. Age 33. Survived the Virus. Killed by hornets. A good man and husband.
Hope and I talk about this jarring news and its implications. We wait longer to see if the woman returns but eventually decide that she must have fled the area. Out of respect for her, and because she may be returning, we leave her possessions untouched. We arrive back at our camp in the dark, tired and hungry.
June 20
A strong north wind today - should mean hot weather is coming.
June 21
Wind was still last night - you could hear every sound in the forest as the weather change was felt by everything. Turkeys and coyotes at dusk and dawn. Great horned owl, crickets and bats all night. A ring-tailed cat snuck into the cave - we found it stealing some salmon jerky but it got away before we could catch it.
By 7 a.m. it felt like 90 degrees. We decided to spend all day at the creek, snacking on all of the foods that nature provides us. We wove sun-hats from the cattail leaves and swam off and on throughout the day, which must have gotten to 105 or more.
Too hot to sleep in the still air by the boulders so we are going to sleep by the creek.
June 22
Hot and still. Never left the creek all day.
June 23
Just as hot this morning but accompanied by gusty winds like a blast furnace.
I decided to hike to the woman's cabin to see if she’s returned. Traveling alone I can make good time and be back by noon. I instruct Hope to be safe and vigilant while I’m gone.
June 26
Everything has changed.
I was almost to the cabin when I got a strange feeling. Looking back I could see a huge thunderhead cloud - but it wasn’t an ordinary thunderhead. It was a pyrocumulus cloud of smoke from a wildfire that had “blown-up” in the heat and blustery wind. And the wind was blowing up-canyon!
Abandoning my plans to look for the woman, I turned and started back to camp. Within minutes I began jogging as it was clear the fire was getting larger and closer.
My first thought was Hope - but the fire appeared to still be miles from her and undoubtedly burning in the dense chaparral near my original cave. Then I thought of the cache - I still had many important supplies there that I would need in future years.
My jog turned into a run, a reckless gallop, leaping and sliding down the canyon. I crossed the creek well downstream of our boulder cave - the soaking felt good as I climbed the opposite side of the canyon. I could see that the cabin flat and the area around the old cave were already engulfed. I hoped to make it to the top of the ridge and the cache before the fire did.
But suddenly I realized that I was in danger. The fire was now adding its own wind to the already blustery conditions and they were blowing right towards me. I could actually see a wall of flames jumping from grass to bush to tree coming right towards me from a half mile away. Forgetting about the cache I turned and ran for my life to the creek.
Smoke was suddenly all around me and it must have been 150 degrees. I was choking as I clambered across the large rocks right at the edge of the creek. Right above me a gray pine burst into flames. I dove into the water and came up searching for something to cling to in order to remain 99% submerged.
It soon became apparent that total submersion was unnecessary - the fire did not burn all the way into the moist riparia, although it wilted and singed all of the grasses and low shrubs. I put my damp shirt over my nose to filter the smoke but then I couldn’t breathe at all. I crouched in the water, coughing for what seemed like hours while the fire flared past and the resultant carnage smouldered around me. With the most pressing danger passed I lay on top of a large rock in the creek, shivering from the extended submersion in the cool water. Once my core temperature was restored I dozed on the warm rock - I was so thoroughly exhausted from my intense physical and mental exertion.
When I next awoke I was in an alien world - the wind was gone and I was surrounded by a pall of gloom punctuated by a thousand glowing red piles.
My thoughts turned to Hope. Had the fires made it to the boulder cave? Had she fled? Where was she and was she okay? All night I sat on the rock in the middle of the creek consumed by dark thoughts.
I must have dozed near morning. As soon as it became light enough to see my footing I began to pick my way upstream along the riparian corridor and in the creek, constantly having to avoid downed limbs and trees that had fallen towards the water. It took me well over an hour to scramble to the shore directly below our place. The fire had burned here and beyond, and was still burning on the ridge far above. I then had to pick my way through smouldering wood and duff to the cave.
Hope was not around…I had not expected her to be. Most of our gear was burnt or singed, all of our meat and basketry was lost. Picking through the rubble I only found one of the guns, the .270, it was ruined, but none of the other guns were there. Hope had taken the guns! But had she been able to outrun the fire?