Episode 13: Buck Fever

Along with the human Ebola pandemic brought on by the planets degraded environment and altered climate, other pathogens wreaked havoc on plants, insects, fish, birds and mammals. After temporarily evading their human pursuers, Will and Hope are suddenly faced with a new threat – anything warm-blooded and hairy.

Cast:
Scott Huber as Will
Lola Parks as Hope
Bird recordings and nature soundscapes by Greg Weddig

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Transcript

After The Virus, Episode 13

The peacefulness of the moment allows Will to finally open up about his hand. “I did it” he stated abruptly. “What did you do?” I asked innocently. “I cut it off…my hand” he replied holding up his stump as though examining it. “What! Why?” I asked, startled by the admission. “I was handcuffed to a pipe. He had been waiting for me and knocked me out with a 2x4, dragged me to a cabin and cuffed me to a pipe, then left me. I tried every way I could to get the cuff off or dismantle the pipe – nothing worked. I could see what he had done to his other victims that were strewn all around me, I knew that anything would be better than that and I didn’t know how much time I had before he would return. I only had one choice. Fortunately he hadn’t bothered to check my pockets. With my free hand I pulled out my pocket knife, opened it with my teeth, and started cutting. When you know you might be killed at any moment it’s amazing how easy it is to cut off your own hand” he said, chuckling at the end. “A lot of good it did me, as I was getting back up he was there again, this time kicking me in the face…it’s the last thing I remember, until I came to with you trying to fry what was left of my arm!” he said, smirking. “Oh no Will, how horrible that must have…” I began but he cut me off “not another word about it! – it’s gone and that’s that, now it’s all about learning to do everything single-handedly”. That was the end of the conversation.

In the afternoon we visit the cabin, this time we are more interested in learning about its owners than taking anything more. We pour through photo albums that suggest this family has ranched this land for many generations. From black and white photos of people on horses, to pictures of deer stretched across the hood of a truck, to photos of toddlers on the porch - clearly this was a place of happiness. We can’t help being affected by it and the window of peaceful days that we have had so far in this valley in the shadow of Mount Lassen. 

A pack of coyotes howl as we hike back to our camp in the twilight.

August 22

Spent most of the day foraging, fishing and trapping. Did well on all counts so that we didn’t need to use any of our canned goods. Had one weird thing happen - as I was leaving my squirrel snares with my catch I was followed by another squirrel...first time I’ve ever seen this happen. 

August 23

A strange day. As we were eating some leftover meat for breakfast, a bat flew right between us a number of times. The next time it came by, Will knocked it out of the air with a stick. Before it could get back off the ground, he stepped on it, grinding it into the ground. 

We didn’t think too much about it until later, when we watched a pair of rabbits chasing each other and fighting in the meadow. It suddenly occurred to me that maybe all of this unusual animal activity might be related and I told Will about the squirrel from yesterday. 

August 24

We slept uneasily all night listening for the sounds of animals. We awoke to a surreal scene. A dozen coyotes were scattered across the valley, each was either chasing or eating prey. The geese and cranes that normally hang out in the middle of the meadow were gone - as though there was too much activity going on around them for their liking.

After watching the frantic activity for a few minutes, Will suddenly rushed into the meadow, shouting and waving his arms like a crazy man. The coyotes immediately dropped what they were doing and ran for the cover of the nearby woods.

He waved at me with his good hand and we began to head for where a couple of the coyotes had been. To our astonishment the ground around us had become a flurry of activity, as small brown voles scampered everywhere, with seemingly no purpose or direction, a couple even running into our shoes.

Whatever was going on with the voles, we didn’t need to be in the middle of it, so we head back to our camp which was like a vole-free island in the meadow.

Clearly something is going on around us that we don’t understand, and the strangeness makes us question the safety of being out in the open.

We cook and eat our dinner of trout without speaking - listening intently to the sounds around us for a clue or a warning. All night we can hear the sounds of predators pursuing prey in the meadow, and in the moonlight we watch great horned owls join in the fray.

August 25

Groggy from a lack of sleep we nevertheless are wide-eyed at the first gray of dawn, as the bizarre animal activity continues. We watch a large black bear lumber into the opposite end of the meadow - the coyotes giving him a wide berth.

Two does came leaping through our campsite, pursued by a large buck. The does bounded across the meadow, but the buck stopped suddenly just 50 yards from us. He seemed to swoon as he stood there, and he was drooling great sheets of saliva. He turned his head towards us but his eyes didn’t seem to register our presence. He pawed the ground, grunting, his flanks heaving with each grunt. He lowered his antlers and began swinging them from side to side as he advanced toward us.

Will motioned me to climb a tree, and then began to climb up after me but was hindered by his missing hand. I grabbed him by the collar and provided him with the little extra lift he needed to climb to about eight feet.

The buck sniffed the tree beneath us, urinated and then began tearing off the bark with his horns. There didn’t seem to be any danger of him reaching us, but the bizarre scene was terribly frightening. At one point he actually reared up and kicked the trees with his front feet just below Will. The third time he repeated this his hooves glance off the tree and his head crashed into the trunk. He slid awkwardly off the trunk, falling to his side where he repeatedly tried to get back up, but was unable. He lay there below us, panting, coughing up saliva, his eyes rolled back in his head. We watched from the tree for nearly an hour before we saw his body convulse and his breathing cease.

Tonight as we take our evening meal we discussed our options. Will believes the animals are diseased, something similar to distemper or rabies. It is clearly not safe here. We discussed moving into the cabin for our safety but fear being found if others come searching. We decided to move into our cache on the mountain slope and secure it as well as possible.

Feeling unsafe on the ground we spent an uncomfortable, mostly sleepless night in the trees. A black oak in the grove provided a large limb that I could sit upright on with my back to the trunk. I tied myself to the trunk and woke numerous times to the feeling of the rope keeping me from falling. Will had a different strategy in a dense fir tree, spreading his weight among many boughs and roping himself in - but he reported not sleeping any better. The valley was alive with grunts, squeals and cries and I was glad to be in the tree. Fortunately for us, nothing fed on the dead buck below us.

In the morning we climbed down, stuffed our mouths with whatever food was on hand and gathered as much as we could carry for the hike to the cache.

We hadn’t gone 200 yards when a low snarl behind us gave us a start. A lone coyote, mangy but large stood 30 feet away to our left, head low and swaying slightly from side to side.  Both Will and I looked around for a tree but we were completely in the open. The coyote continued to advance towards us, snapping and snarling as he came.

My bow was strapped to my pack but the 30/30 was in my hands. We had grown reluctant to shoot or use any of our valuable bullets, but the danger posed by this crazed coyote warranted using it. I brought the gun up and put the iron sights on the animal's head. One shot and he was no longer a threat.

In the distance we could see another coyote, ears up, looking our way. We hastily headed for the cache. By the time we got there we were winded and sweaty from jogging uphill with heavy packs.

Our first order of business was to better secure the opening against animals. We stacked our things in the back of the space then sized up our options. There were plenty of rocks all around us - from brick size to washing machine size, as well as a few downed logs nearby.

Because it is difficult for Will to pick up anything much larger than his fist with his one hand, I picked up the larger volleyball size rocks while he directed and kept an eye out for danger. Together the two of us pushed and rolled a few larger rocks to form the base of a front wall. We dragged a stout limb to the entrance, hacked off the branches and wedged it vertically on one side of the opening to act as a door frame of sorts. The rock wall butts up against this limb frame on one side and one of the large boulders on the other. In a few hours we have made a passable front wall, so that our cache can now be a secure dwelling. In the gaps between the rocks we wedged as many small stones as possible. Across the opening we temporarily attached a small tarp we had taken from the cabin. We agree that it will help to keep out small animals but it is not strong enough to keep out larger predators, or tight enough to keep out voles or bats. We will continue to strengthen it in the coming days.

It is now late and the darkness of our new space has us feeling hungry and tired. We open two cans of beans and eat them cold, then flatten out the two sleeping spaces as best we can.

August 26

Slept poorly but nothing attempted to get inside, although the valley below us was noisy throughout the night.

Our goal today was to get the dwelling more livable, as we have no idea how long we’ll have to wait out the animal phenomena. It is impossible to know how long it will take to run its course.

Before anything else we needed a sturdy door, so we decided that I would gather pieces of wood while Will covered me with the pistol. There is an area with a number of small dead pines nearby. I dragged them back to the dwelling to assemble a rough gate.

Using a hatchet and knife to carve the pieces so they would lock together with the aid of some rope, the two of us are able to put together a sturdy barrier. The hinges and latch are of pretty strong rope, and we created a peep hole to view the outside or shoot through if needed. Will tests the strength of it by running into it and attempting to pull it down. We make a few adjustments and feel pretty good about it.

Next we organize the interior for comfort and efficiency. The space is about fourteen feet by twelve feet and six feet at its tallest (Will has to duck). We remove as many rocks as possible, then make repeated trips outside to the hillside to bring in pots of sand and gravel to smooth out the floor. 

With Will covering me once again I head to the trees to gather piles of duff and leaves to use as padding. A squirrel runs across a log, giving me a start, but does not show any signs of illness.

We build a rock fire pit just outside the entry and create a makeshift pantry against the back wall. All of our gear is arranged opposite our sleep spots. We estimate our canned food supplies as three weeks of emergency rations.

Our last task for the day is construction of a toilet. We find a spot behind a washing machine sized rock, not too far and not too close, and dig a pit.

Just as we are finishing we see a marmot wandering dazedly along the base of the rocks. To save bullets, Will directs me to shoot it with my bow, which I do successfully.

We head back to the security of our rock shelter and have some scraps of remaining meat, along with two cans of corn and a can of cold tomato soup.

Tomorrow we will need to find food so that we don’t use up all of our reserves.

August 27

Today was a hunt and gather day - a routine that I normally look forward to, but this morning I dreaded. Clearly we could not take a chance on eating any mammals, leaving fish and birds for meat and any vegetative food we could find. We were not comfortable venturing all the way to the creek, limiting ourselves to an area of open but steep terrain about 200 yards wide. Unfortunately not much moved in that area -the nearest wildlife activities being in the trees at the edge of the open and the bottom of the rocky slope. There we could see and hear jays, robins, tanagers and flickers flitting among the branches, unconcerned about the sickness affecting those of us without wings.

Our plan then became to construct some traps for birds. We tried using cans and a pot as box traps which we baited with pine cones that we crumbled and scattered around the cans. We did eventually attract some jays but they were unwilling to venture under the cans. Next we tried smearing a little peanut butter on the trunk of an alder where we had seen a lot of woodpecker activity - the theory being that woodpeckers are often drawn to suet and I might be able to shoot one with my bow, but although we had a flicker and two red-breasted sapsuckers visit the tree they never discovered the peanut butter. After a couple of hours of this, Will remembered that we had seen both turkeys and geese in the area, two birds that we had hunted successfully in the past.

With our backs to a couple of large pines, Will began calling. He explained that patience is a virtue in turkey hunting, and sometimes one must call for a long time before a turkey comes within earshot. This was the case with us - after about forty-five minutes we heard the faint clucks of a turkey in the distance. At an agonizingly slow pace we could tell that the bird was coming nearer. Will continued to call sparingly and at last a hen turkey strolled into sight.

We were very well hidden behind a downed limb, and I was amazed at how Will was able to coax the bird closer, even though it was clearly confused at not finding the phantom turkey he was pretending to be.

I had rifle duties so at sixty yards Will nodded and I fired - the bird jumped in the air, flipped over, then flopped and flapped on the ground.

Just as we started to congratulate ourselves and anticipate the taste of fresh meat, a large bobcat leapt from out of nowhere, pouncing on the twitching bird.

Shocked but unwilling to give up our prize, Will whispered, “Shoot it in the head,”