Brad kept searching the brush with his eyes. His gun hanging at his side held loosely in his bare right hand. All of his senses were homed in on the shadowy forms below him. He couldn’t feel the sub-zero cold steel nip and bite at his hand and fingers, nor realize he was unconsciously stomped his ice cold feet on the snow covered rock under them. Brad was straining to see more of the vague forms gliding through the thick evergreen bushes. He got careless and fixated on the amorphous images below him and didn't hear or see the animals which were walking across the open hardwood forest twenty yards above and slightly behind him. The nearest deer above Brad was an old barren doe. She had stopped and became part of the trees and rocks as she stared at the weird-shaped lump on the rock below her. Behind the big doe two of this year's fawns, belonging to the smaller doe bringing up the rear, also stopped. Their ears twitched and the larger of the fawns stomped his right front foot quietly in the deep powder. His more excitable and protective sister fluffed her tail out in typical whitetail warning before stomping with both front feet in a hopping dance step. She took a few stiff-legged steps closer to the object of her unrest, passed her sibling, then stood motionless except for her slowly flaring and unflaring white tail hairs. The fawn's tail finally stayed flared out full-size. The hairs kept quivering showing her excitement and fear. The smaller mature doe was strolling along behind her children. She had her nose down and was searching the cold powder for an acorn or two she knew was buried under it.
A warm trace of man smell on a tiny vagrant puff of frigid air brought the small mother's head up. Her baby's tail was flared wide and quivering excitedly in front of her eyes. Then she saw a foreign shaped entity floating above the new snow. Terrified, she blew a long piercing alarm through her nostrils.
Jesus Christ! Where did she come from.
They're all around me.
Brad threw the shotgun to his shoulder and pivoted around while he tried to get the shotgun’s round brass front sight on one of the swiftly moving deer but ended up watching them over the barrel of his shotgun while they raced for the protection of the laurel patch. All through the dense brush white tails flashed and grayish-brown bodies jumped up from under the protective snow ladened branches. A blizzard of white powder flew to obstruct Brad's vision as he tried to recover from the doe’s loud cry of alarm. His heart beat harder against his rib cage. Out of the corner of his eye and below him Brad caught the subtle movement of a larger deer and a flash of yellow antler tines. Vainly he tried to find the deer which belonged to the antlers. He again caught a quick look of antlers rising above the bushes but the buck disappeared after one more teasing glimpse.
Brad knew the country well and there was no doubt in his mind about where the buck would head as it slipped downhill away from him. With no further thought about the rest of the flashing white flags of alarm and nervous does blowing from their hiding places in the dense brush, Brad jumped off the boulder and ducked under the laurel bushes. He slipped and slid on the rocks and roots which were concealed under the fresh coat of white powder as he hurried down to where he was sure the buck would come out of the laurel patch. Brad's heart raced at the exciting prospect of getting a shot at the big whitetail buck and he no longer felt the bitter cold of the frigid Arctic air.
When he approached the lower edge of the dense laurel thicket he slowed down to listen. He could hardly hear his own passage through the forest except for the whisper of an occasional branch whipping in the frigid air behind him. The fresh new snow was acting like a huge blanket of soundproofing
He's going to come out just below the top of the spine on my right. He'll be behind either the big rocks or the oak trees.
Be quiet. One step at a time. There he is!
The shotgun flashed up to his shoulder and the hammer coming back make a loud metallic snap.
No, it's a rock. Damn. He's here somewhere.
Brad slowed to a very careful walk and could feel the dampness across his back as he cooled off and his feet were on fire as the blood continued to rush into his cold numbed toes after his dash down the ridge.
He couldn’t feel his trigger finger growing numb and stiffer after being exposed to the bitter cold for several minutes without even the questionable protection of the wool gloves. The air smelled frigid and blue. His nostrils kept freezing together when he inhaled and his boots were crunching and squeaking on the cold snow when he stepped under the protecting branches of a big hemlock. Under the tree the snow was only an inch or so deep.
One cautious step at a time, he crept around the barrel-sized tree trunk and searched for the buck amongst the rocks and trees on the hogback to his right.
Where is he? He's got to be here.
Damn. I'm cold.
Brad put his right hand back under his shirt for a couple of minutes as he slipped quietly through the light brush around the tree and started working closer to the hogback.
He had been juggling the shotgun around while he tried to keep his hands warm and he almost dropped it when he tried to swap hands under his shirts at the same time he was hugging himself with both arms to save as much body heat as he could.
Damn, it! There he goes!
The buck made its move when Brad stepped out of sight behind the narrow trunk of a smaller hemlock. Brad stepped out from behind the tree in time to see the flash of sunlight on polished antlers. The buck had his huge rack laid back onto his shoulders and was into his second bound. Another jump and he was across the top of the hogback safe from the 16 ga. rifled slug Brad belatedly fired at his front shoulder.
I've got to move fast to beat him to the road. I can get another shot at him when he crosses the blacktop if I hurry.
Damn! Damn! I'd better make sure I didn't hit him. Shit! I don't want to climb the hogback for nothing.
Brad fought his excitement and the almost overwhelming urge to break into a downhill run in pursuit of the big deer.
I've got to make sure I missed him.
I gotta hurry he's going to get way ahead of me if I don't.
No, he isn't! If I don't chase him he'll slow right down to see if I'm following him.
Give him time to settle down. And at the same time I can be sure he isn't wounded. I don't want to leave a wounded deer out here to suffer.
While Brad carefully worked his way up to the top of the rocky knoll he kept fighting the urge to run up the hill.
Right away he found where the buck had stood between the trunks of two large oaks and blended into the rocks and trees around him. Brad found two sets of jump marks which went up to the top of the knoll and the third set just over on the other side which led to a series of tracks where the buck changed to a fast walk as he went downhill towards the state highway.
Just what I thought he would do.
Brad stopped on the top of the hogback to catch his breath but he was too excited to rest very long. Within a few seconds he started downhill following the fresh tracks in the powder.
The crash the buck made as he jumped over a blown down tree startled Brad and he threw the shotgun to his shoulder.
He saw just a flash of gray-brown and the buck was gone.
Brad crossed the highway at a trot and immediately turned downhill to start looking for where the buck had crossed the snow covered pavement. He had not seen the buck's track going to his right when he came off the ridge so Brad knew the buck had traveled somewhere off to his left and had probably turned downhill just after Brad left his track for a faster and easier route off the ridge.
Stomping his feet loudly and flailing one arm at a time across his chest, Brad struggled to warm up and fight the bitter cold.
It's going to get warmer. By noon it will be nice and warm.
Where did he cross? I'll try down on the corner by the old road.
Brad hurried down the snow covered highway to where an old Concord Coach road was intersected by the newer asphalt highway.
On
a sweeping curve in the highway the brush wasn't quite as thick on the south side of the road and within four or five steps Brad was on the almost brush free surface of the old coach road. The old road ran down by the old grist mill and across the creek on an old rock arch bridge. Once across the creek Brad knew the buck could follow the road for about a mile before he would lose it in the tangle of an old logging operation.
Brad stopped on the curve in the blacktop and pulled his right hand from his left armpit to get his Big Ben out. It was a struggle, his fingers were so numb he could hardly hang onto the rawhide thong the watch hung on. It was just after 9 o'clock.
It didn't take me long to come off the mountain. Let's see, fifteen minutes to the creek. If I don't find his track after I've crossed the creek, I'll come back here and find one of the smaller bucks.
Brad pulled a bite-sized hunk of semisweet chocolate from his sweatshirt pocket and stuck it in his mouth. It was frozen solid but he didn't mind as it slowly melted in his mouth. Besides, it was all he had brought to eat with him except for the bullion cubes, salt and sugar in the survival kit hanging on his belt.
Not even noticing his shivering from the sweat of his exertions and standing too long in the bitter cold Brad hurried down the old coach road towards the creek crossing.
Instantly his shivering stopped, his heart accelerated and a surge of adrenaline coursed through his arteries. He had almost stepped on a huge, perfectly shaped buck track which was going away from him down the middle of the road.
Judging by how long he had screwed around coming off the mountain, how long it had taken him to find the track again, and how fast Brad believed the buck came off the mountain added to the fact he had never seen a buck hang around between here and the creek before, Brad was sure the deer had a long lead on him.
Trotting through the fresh powder on the old road was fairly simple and it only took Brad eight or ten minutes to reach the creek. Another three or four minutes and he was up on the rocky knoll above the ruins of the grist mill. On the knoll overlooking the creek and his back trail, he found where the buck had stood behind a large rock on the edge of the road to see behind him. The buck's tracks said he was confident that no humans were behind him and he had meandered up the road nibbling on some bushes as he went.
Brad's breath was boiling out like clouds of steam and the second he stopped on the knoll to inspect the buck's tracks, the chill penetrated to his damp skin.
Maybe I should quit. It's really cold and I don't feel good.
He was cold all over and his hands had hardly any feeling left in them and were making it difficult for him to hang onto his lightweight shotgun. His feet felt like shapeless lumps attached to the bottom of his legs and he kept tripping over small rocks, sticks and other insignificant things buried under the powdery snow. Brad stood and looked at the set of buck tracks still following the road and knew he couldn't give up.
He's going to turn pretty soon and head back to the does.
Several times as they traveled uphill, the buck straightened out the long sweeping curves in the road by following a path off the corner and cutting across the hill to intersect the road further up the hill. Each time after Brad struggled through the thick brush to follow him, the deer would turn back onto the road and continue to follow it upward.
Periodically Brad stopped to watch and listen. He was sure he had seen something moving ahead of him. It was more of an impression rather than actually seeing the deer.
Tired and numb, Brad stood at the end of the road looking into the brush fields that had been created by a clearcut logging operation about twenty years before. It looked impassable but Brad knew from experience he could get through it but doubted he would ever see the buck to get a shot.
I'm so tired. Damn, I'd like to take a nap. This gun weighs a ton. Maybe I'll just leave it here. I can come and get it after lunch. That's a good idea. I won't have to carry it back and forth if I do that.
He leaned the shotgun against a willow bush, not paying any attention to it when it slipped through the fine willow twigs into the deep powder.
I'm forgetting to do something. What was it Charlie told me to do? Oh, well, I'll think of it. After I go take a nap.
In the fog induced by the hypothermia that was rapidly overtaking him, Brad turned away from the willows and brush field to start down the logging road towards the highway.
About fifty yards down the road Brad stopped and stood staring down into the snow where his feet were buried in the fine powder.
I forgot my shotgun! I'll have to go back and get it. No! Charlie can bring it down.
That's what I forgot, my shotgun.
Slowly he turned around and climbed back up the hill to the end of the road.
For several seconds he stood staring at the willow bush where he had leaned the gun.
What do I want? I'm forgetting something.
Finally, he kicked around at the base of the bush, and slowly shook his head.
Wonder what-t-t ---- t-time--s--s - s? Brad fumbled around trying to find the watch's rawhide thong. When he finally found the lace it was a struggle to hold onto it with his fat, numb fingers. After a minute, he gave up and kicked at the base of the willow bushes some more.
Charlie must have taken it. It ain't here. Oh, what's this? Charlie left his rifle for me. OK. I'll use it instead of my shotgun.
Brad stooped over and took a slow motion kick at the little single barrel shotgun almost falling headlong into the whip-sized willow bushes. Slowly he bent down a second time and pulled the shotgun out of the snow and carefully stood up before tucking it under his right arm and starting down the road.
I'-l--ll t--take Charlie’s rifle home to him.
Brad stumbled over his brown and white mutt as he struggled to open the storm door latch. But even the simple metal latch, which only had to be lifted straight up, confused him. He finally slipped his wrist under it and raised it with his arm.
Standing in the relative warmth of the entryway Brad struggled to break his shotgun open while his dog danced around him also wanting into the warmth of the house. Brad finally gave up trying to unload the shotgun and set the loaded gun into a corner of the enclosed entry before trying to open the inside door.
"Brad, what kind of racket are you making? God, just open the door and come in.
"Where have you been anyway. It's almost lunch time. You'd better fix yourself something to eat."
His mother left the door open when she turned and went back into the living room carrying her green tin watering can.
"Hurry up and get that door closed!"
"Okay. I'm freezing. Can I take a hot bath?"
"No. You had one Saturday night. Just wash your hands that will warm you up.
"Yeah. OK."
Brad slammed the door closed with his foot and hurried towards the bathroom. The warmth of the house made him want to pee really bad. Reaching the bathroom he danced around in front of the toilet. First he tried to open his fly buttons. When he failed at that, Brad tried to get his belt off, but couldn't manipulate the simple buckle with his cold numbed and badly swollen fingers.
The hell with it.
He sat on the toilet seat while the faucet ran to get warm water into the sink.
Tears ran down his cheeks in frustration as he peed his pants out of necessity. The pain was excruciating and he could only hold his hands in the sink full of water for several seconds before the pain would force him to pull them out.
"Brad?" He looked at the door and bite his tongue, he did not trust himself to answer.
"Brad? Answer me, are you in there."
Fuck no. It's Santa Claus.
"Yeah, I'm here."
He spoke as quietly as he could in an attempt to control the tears in his voice and glared at the door as a wave of nausea hit him.
"Don't use a bunch of hot water and you had better eat some lunch now. Don’t wait so you won't ruin your supp
er."
Brad reached for his Big Ben and realized it was still dangling out of his pocket. He remembered something banging the back of his right hand and thigh as he came off the mountain.
He shook is head as fresh tears started and he plunged his hands back into the cool water.
It was only two minutes after noon.
FOURTEEN
Her hand tightened on his and drew it down onto her lap. Her wool slacks were tight across her thighs and he could feel the strength of her legs when she stirred in her seat moving closer to him. In the flickering light of the movie he studied her face trying to read her thoughts and figure out how far she would allow his hands to go .
Ginny leaned her shoulder against him and Brad felt the back of his upper arm pressing lightly against the curve of her young breast. She drew closer to him and her warm breath touched his ear that still felt cold from the outside air's sub-zero temperature. Subtle feminine scents filled Brad's nostrils. The sharp smell of her lamb's wool sweater mingling with the Ivory Flakes it had been washed in and the hint of lavender from her bath soap.
The sound of gunfire erupted through the darkness. Ginny jerked at the sudden sound and involuntarily squeezed his right hand making him wince from the pain of the broken frostbite blisters in its palm. The shots also startled him and he turned quickly towards the big movie screen at the low end of the theater.
The image of her dark pixie cut and olive complexion remained behind and became superimposed over the huge figure of Gary Cooper as he stood in a narrow dusty alley with a Colt Single Action Army in his fist at high noon.
"Brad!? I asked you what happened to your hands?"
He stared into Annie's intense blue eyes.
What does she want?
He still wasn’t comprehending her question that had startled him out of his daydream and the lingering hint of lavender was making it harder for him to separate his reverie about Ginny from reality.
She smells like that. Nice.
He returned her gaze across the aisle between their seats. Brad realized it was Annie's sweater which smelled so good and it had been her breast he had felt when she had bent over to look at his left hand. It was Monday the 5th of January and their first day back to school after Christmas vacation, and all day he had been avoiding questions about his sore hands. Brad was hoping for some peace and quiet so he could read during study hall, but he had not counted on Annie's curiosity and concern for him. She had moved into the desk on his left after Thanksgiving vacation and usually left him alone other than a pleasant hello smile and a 'see you tomorrow' when class ended. But today she was being persistent in getting his attention and demanding answers to her questions.