Page 140 of Once Upon a Fable

An idea sprang to mind. A trick I’d watched some bush-bashing hikers post on YouTube.

Pushing off my knees, I opened my bag’s side flap and reached for my emergency tools. A Swiss Army knife, hunting blade, and a hacksaw.

I selected the hacksaw and stood.

With dusk came exhaustion, but I ignored my stumble and marched toward the gangly saplings that’d sprouted from seeds above. Keeping my eyes off the man lying like the dead, I dragged my blade forward and back, forward and back, sawing into a flexible tree until it cracked and fell.

I repeated the task, selecting an equally malleable sapling, turning it from vertical to horizontal. Their trunks only measured seven inches in diameter or so, but they’d be strong. They’d work and not be too heavy.

Hacking the off-shoots and ensuring they were smooth, I carried them back to him.

Still asleep.

Still trying to die.

Placing the two trunks side by side, I measured out his size, then used my climbing rope to create a stretcher. Tying the two trees together, I formed a small hammock between them.

Full darkness had descended by the time I’d finished, stepping back to assess my work, squinting in the gloom and using my flashlight to check the finer details.

Thirst forced me to drink; hunger made me eat.

I wolfed down two muesli bars because I needed to be strong for this next part.

Ducking by his head, I tried to tip some water into his mouth. I prayed he wouldn’t choke or inhale it, but nothing happened. The water just spilled from his lips, cascading down his cheeks to leave dirty streaks over his throat.

Fine.

I would ensure he’d eat and drink once we were back inside.

Once he wakes up.

Ifhe wakes up.

For now...it’s time to go.

Bending over him, I dug my toes into the soft, muddy earth and grabbed him by the shoulder and hip. With a grunt, I pulled him forward, rolling him onto his stomach.

I grimaced at the mess of his back.

Old scars and fresh scratches. Bruises had turned black on his shoulder blades. I hoped it was just from the fall and nothing sinister killing him inside.

With another heave, I rolled him onto the stretcher, laying him in themiddle of the rope hammock, resting him on his back.

His head lolled to the side. His arms floppy and legs crossed.

Ignoring my tiredness and fear, I rearranged him so nothing would cramp or stitch, then reached for my backpack. Grabbing the smaller backpack he’d carried, I secured it to my larger one.

For a second, I paused.

I gathered energy.

I prepared.

This journey would zap me of everything I had left, but I would do it without complaint. I would protect him because I doubted he’d ever had anyone who cared enough in his past.

Hoisting the two bags onto my shoulders, I placed myself between the two saplings, grabbed the ends, bent my knees, and hauled upward.

Argh!