Feast, Interrupted

Feast, Interrupted

The blades of the helicopter broke the quiet of the wintry afternoon.  Help has arrived and I must prepare my story.

I lay naked in a snow cave holding Marjorie, also naked.  We lay atop our clothing.  I am fully awake, my senses heightened by our imminent rescue.  Sad Marjorie, she sleeps, heart barely beating, keeping time with an uneven lullaby sung by the Grim Reaper.  I looked into her closed eyes and I prayed she die soon.  Her body is warm but I know Death is imminently arriving.

The sound of the hovering machine intensifies then fades.  Have they found us?  Outside there is no sound except for the brutal wind. 

Are they landed?  Or are they gone away for good?  Will they leave my beloved and I alone to our destiny?

Still, I must behave as if they are coming.  They will come, within minutes or days, and I will need to explain.  They will be kind to me, at first, but later they will demand an explanation. Here is my attempt at an explanation. 

Clive Grins, my roommate at the University of Alberta and my friend since birth, announced that we would have one adventure before graduation.  He enlisted my girlfriend Marjorie Burns and his best girl Polly Hamlet and together they convinced me that the Trek To The Northlands (as they had named the adventure) was the best possible thing to do prior to our impending law school graduations.

During Easter break, which occurred in March this year, we would travel to Fort Chipewyan in Alberta, hire four ATVs, and transit the entire length of the Wood Buffalo National Park to Hay River in Northwest.  The fact that I agreed to spend three days on a overgrown bike crossing Canada's largest, most desolate park attests to how much I loved Clive and the others.  Crossing nearly five hundred kilometers of bear, wolf and bison infested parklands was not my idea of a grand time.

We spent a cozy night in a bed and breakfast at Fort Chipewyan.  After a few drinks Clive and Marjorie led the group through the University's fight song.  I pretended not to be jealous as I spit out the nonsensical lyrics.

I was the levelheaded one in our group; I drank less the previous night and therefore was up by dawn checking our provisions and supplies for the trip.  The vehicles were loaded with food and water, extra clothes, additional petrol, and first aid kits.  We had a large tent with built in propane heaters to sustain us through the still harsh Wood Buffalo nights.

I made sure my ATV contained the satellite phone in the event of disaster, which I knew was imminent.

After about sixty kilometers Polly's vehicle hit a nasty hole and skid to a stop.  Clive and I examined the machine and discovered a broken axle.  I tried to convince the group that Providence was sending us a clear message and that we should turn back.  Having the theological argument rebuffed I turned to the practical.  We rented the ATV and we were responsible for informing the owners that their machine was disabled in literally the middle of nowhere.

Clive walked over to my ATV and removed the satellite phone.

"I'll take care of it," he said.

He turned on the phone and jabbed at its buttons with his gloved hand.

"Strange," he muttered.  We all walked over, curious.  "What's wrong?" Marjorie asked, a comforting hand on Clive's shoulder.

"I'm unable to get a signal," he said.

"But it's a satellite phone," Polly said.  "Isn't the point that you may get a signal anywhere?"

I took the phone.  After a few seconds I determined that the phone's battery level, nearly drained, was not sufficient for the device to capture and hold a signal.

We each tried our cells, which of course had no signal in this wilderness.

"That does it," I said.  "We can't continue without communication."

"Nonsense, Patrick," my darling said, as it was her turn to pummel me for my cautious nature.  "We're making good time, better than expected.  We may only have to spend one night out here."

Clive and Polly joined the chorus.  "We'll be back to civilization by tomorrow evening, Patrick, don't worry," Polly said in tone that would sooth a child.
 
"C'mon, Pat, grow a pair," Clive chided, using the hated form of my name to irritate me while questioning my masculinity in front of two attractive females.  He also instructed me that the ATVs were equipped with GPS and easily found by the rental firm.

I walked back to my ATV and climbed on.  "Make sure you take the food and water from Marjorie's ATV," I instructed.  The others clapped for my newfound bravery then ignored my words concerning the provisions.  Marjorie climbed on back of Polly's vehicle and we were off.

That night we made camp in our propane heated doublewide tent.  We were secure and happy, my friends unaware that as we slept, a harsh wind plowed down from the Artic carrying a historic spring storm, containing an amount of snow not seen in a century, or so the Weather Channel had warned.

We woke to a tent that was bowed under tons of snow; at least three feet had fallen overnight and more was coming down in huge wet clumps.

We skipped breakfast and packed the tent as quickly as possible.  Once upon the ATVs we discovered that the advertisements showing these machines plowing over all terrain never accounted for terrain covered by three plus feet of spring snow.  The wind lashed into our faces as we attempted to move the vehicles.

Once back inside the resurrected tent, Clive tried to reassure us all.  "We just have to wait this out.  We have enough food to last several days, more than enough time for the storm to pass or for someone to track us down using the GPS in the ATVs."

Marjorie and Polly were comforted by his words. He was their protector, their ideal of what a male should be under this and all other circumstances.  I loved and hated him simultaneously.

"We'll check our food supply," Polly said and left with Marjorie after they had re-bundled for the extreme weather outside.

After several minutes they returned, arms not exactly brimming with food.  Their faces betrayed shock and disappointment.

Clive, ever helpful, got to his feet.  "There's more?  I'll go get it."

Polly shook her head vigorously, snow falling to the ground with each erratic movement.
"That's all there is," she moaned.

"Can't be," Clive said.

"Remember, we left some food on Polly's ATV," I offered.

Clive nodded, gathering himself.  "But…we had enough food."

"For three days, minus one day for what we left on Polly's vehicle.  Minus another one for what we ate yesterday.  What the ladies hold in their hands are one day's provisions, which we may be able to stretch for two days."

After three days the food was gone.  Our propane canisters were nearly empty when Clive stood up among us.

"The snow has ended but the ATVs are still useless.  We need help and I am going to go get some."

He explained his plan.  He had constructed some crude snowshoes and he would trek east to what he thought was the nearest road.  He hoped that there would be road clearing crews or a rescue party on the road. 

With a kiss from Polly and a longing look from my Marjorie Clive took off.  Shortly afterward the heat stopped and the tent's temperature plummeted.  We spent the night huddled together, wide-awake as the cold gnawed at our bones.

"We'll die here, like this," I said.  Polly and Marjorie were so close to me I could hear their hearts beating in tandem.

"We need to build a snow cave, underneath all the snow we'll be warmer."  I learned this watching that survival fellow on the Discovery Channel.

They nodded.  At dawn we began digging with plastic dinner plates and cups.  By noon we had dug a cave under ten feet of snow.  It was warm inside and it was Polly who suggested that with our clothes under us and over us as a bed and blanket, we would be warmed by sharing the communal body heat.

We had no food but we managed to sleep the night in this warmth.  At first light the others convinced me that I needed to search for Clive.  Trod with snowshoes made from dinner plates I took off.  A half-mile from our location I found Clive.  He was face down in the snow.  I turned his frozen body over and stared into what Marjorie says are his dreamy blue eyes.  What initially occurred to me by way of explanation was that he had walked for miles, found no road to the east, and was returning to our location when his prime athletic frame expired in the extreme conditions. 

What about the strange coloring of his fingertips, his lips?  Poison, perhaps.  Maybe poor Clive ate something he should not have.

We ate meat that night, uncooked, as we had no means to make a fire.

Polly and Marjorie each eyed the meat suspiciously until I explained that it would be just like eating an uncooked tuna steak from their favorite Alberta sushi bar.  After a day without food Polly accepted the slab of meat I handed her and with a brief hesitation wolfed down her portion.  Marjorie smelled her piece and looked at me warily.

"What did you say this is?"

"Wolves must have felled a moose.  They left if half eaten about two miles out."  I bit into my hunk of meat, relishing its fine taste as I chewed.  "I had my pocket knife and shagged us a few chunks."

We consumed all the meat that I had carried back following my search for Clive.  I did not tell that that I had found Clive – I wanted to spare the girls that pain. 

We sat in our warm cave, naked under our covers and content with fat bellies.  We spoke before going to sleep.

"How far did you get, Patrick?" Polly asked.

"I walked at least five miles."

"And no sign of Clive?"

"No," I said.  When you lay, naked against someone, you detect things you do not detect standing apart from that person, fully clothed.  Polly was suspicious regarding my effort to find her boyfriend.

"I'm going to set out tomorrow, maybe look in the opposite direction," Polly announced.

"He said he was going east," I said.

"Clive may have gotten disoriented," Marjorie said.  The two nodded their heads.

"We'll go together, you and I," Marjorie said to Polly.  She put her arms around the other woman's waist and gave a tight squeeze.  She kissed Polly's neck.  To the rear a realization dawned on my conscious mind.  I struggled to master my voice so that I would not betray how I felt.

"No, I'll go with Polly.  It makes no sense for you two to go.  What if Clive is somewhere hurt and we need to carry him back?"

They both nodded their agreement although physically I was a slight man, barely stronger than Marjorie.

Early the next day Polly and I set out.  Soon into our hike an unfortunate thing happened.  Polly, against my wishes, had strayed well out in front of me.  She, unfortunately, did not see a cliff's edge until she tumbled over it.  I scrambled down to examine her body.  Poor Polly was dead.  Thinking practically I undressed her and set back to Marjorie with the bad news.  On the way back luckily I encountered more fresh meat laying about the tundra.

Marjorie chewed my latest find greedily, having again gone nearly twenty-four hours without eating.  We sat comfortably under the added protection of Polly's warm clothing.

"What is this again?"

"Deer, left half eaten," I said.

"Why would wolves leave prey half eaten?"

"Maybe they figure on coming back later for it." 

"I've had venison before.  This doesn't taste like it."

"You probably had it cooked and well seasoned."

"Yes," she said.  "Yes, I did."  After a minute she added: "Polly prepared it."

She nodded thoughtfully and took another bite.  She looked at the bloody mass in her hands and her face darkened.

"I loved her, you know."

"Polly?"

"Yes."

"Did you love Clive?"

"As a friend, yes."  I felt a pang of regret about poor Clive.

"But Polly, you loved her as more than a friend?" I asked.

"Yes," she said haltingly and I ate my portion of raw meat with renewed gusto.

Later, she left no doubts in my mind. 

"We were lovers, Patrick. Polly and I," she said.

I said nothing.  In response to my silence she asked: "Do you hate me?"

"No, Marjorie, I love you.  I want you to be part of my life, part of me, forever."

The next day Marjorie asked to view Polly's body.  I explained that some beast had probably ravaged her by now.  She argued the point until I acquiesced and we set off for where her remains lay.

We were poised over the same cliff and looked down at what was left of Polly's body.  The trunk had been cut away, exposing her ribcage.  Marjorie buried her head in my chest then, and following a good sob she asked to get closer.  She wanted to bury Polly somehow.

Sadly she too slipped and tumbled down the cliff.  I looked on in horror, helpless at this latest turn of events.  I made my way down and checked Marjorie as I had Polly before.  Marjorie was still breathing although my brief examination found several broken bones and likely some internal injuries.  In shock, she could not speak.  She gave me a horrified, knowing look.  I returned the look and I hope my eyes expressed my love and longing for her.

Pulling her by the shoulders I managed to get her out of the valley.  After a half-day's effort I had her back to the snow cave.  That was when I first heard the helicopter.

That is the story exactly as it happened.  I rehearsed it several times in my mind and was well prepared to tell the authorities. 

Trouble was, I was getting hungry.  It has been hours since I heard the copter. 

Marjorie's heart still beat faintly but I retrieved my pocketknife and sliced off a small portion of fat from her lovely middle, barely enough to be missed if she survived.

I was eating this when the rescuers arrived.  With a bloody mouth and chewing a piece of human flesh, the tale I had constructed became irrelevant.

I confessed to the murders of my friends.  There was no trial but I had to stand in front of a judge for sentencing.

"Patrick Breen, do you want to express any remorse or regrets for your actions?  As you know the parents of your victims are in attendance."

I looked at the judge and turned to face the families.

"I do have one regret, your honor."

"Yes?"

"Just that I didn't get the opportunity to complete my meal," I said.