Lewis had learned how to do most of the standard snares and spent some time during the storm teaching Trev. Trev was ready to try setting them along any rabbit tracks he discovered, but they’d agreed that since he had more experience with fishing he’d make his way down to the river and see if he could catch anything while Lewis did a search around the hideout for any signs of game he could hunt or trap.
His cousin’s leg was healed enough for some exertion, and Lewis insisted now was the time to start pushing himself a bit to keep his muscles stretched. There was no saying how many chances they’d have to get out when the snows got deep enough to make moving around difficult, even with the snowshoes they’d brought.
So Trev finished checking his Mini-14 to make sure it hadn’t gummed up or anything in the cold, then grabbed his fishing pole and blazed a trail to the gap in the cliffs where he’d climb down. He took it very, very slowly, aware of how treacherous snow would make the gap and then the steep mountainside below, which had been treacherous enough beforehand. It took him what felt like forever to wind his way down through the thick tangle of deadfall and trees to Huntington River, and he didn’t see any signs of animal tracks along the way. He dearly hoped the fish were biting to make this trip worth it.
When he reached the river, however, all thoughts of fish vanished.
A bit down the road to the south, on the other side of the river, there was a turnoff with a sign of information for fishermen. A few tents had been set up around the sign, as if in some vain hope it might offer shelter from the storm. Trev pulled out his binoculars to check the tents and what he saw worried him.
For one thing the snow piled around them confirmed that they’d been there since the storm began yesterday, and he didn’t see any sign of tracks. And even though it was late morning he saw no signs of anyone stirring. There was no sign of a campfire, either.
The temperature had dropped sharply with the storm, enough that for the first time since arriving Trev had donned his full set of winter gear, including ski goggles. Part of him hoped that these refugees were just late sleepers reluctant to venture out into the cold, but in the back of his mind a sense of dread was building that those meager tents weren’t enough to offer any sort of protection from the cold, and if the people inside hadn’t come equipped for the sudden storm it might have sealed their fate.
Caution urged him to head back up to the hideout and report this to Lewis, but at the same time if those people were in serious trouble he wasn’t sure they could afford that sort of delay. So he made his way to the ice-crusted rocks they regularly used to cross the river and hopped across them, being extra slow and cautious to avoid the disaster of falling into icy water.
Then he unslung his rifle and started forward quickly but cautiously, alert for any signs of people emerging from the tent or approaching along the road. He didn’t see anyone, and it was unlikely there’d be too many travelers during a storm, but unlikely wasn’t impossible.
Although he had the urge to call out he kept quiet, and moved quietly as he approached. He wasn’t sure if that was to avoid risk if these refugees were unfriendly or because he was secretly bracing himself for the sad sight of tents full of frozen corpses.
He’d come within twenty feet of the still camp when he abruptly froze, ears picking up the softest murmur of conversation from the tents. The noise filled him with a surge of relief, and he cautiously moved a bit closer.
“Come on, Jen,” a man was urging. “The storm has stopped and the sun is out. We need to get up. We need to see if everyone else is all right and then keep moving. If we stay here we’ll die.”
A weak, listless woman’s voice replied. “If we go out into the cold we’ll die too. I’m freezing even next to you in the blankets. Can’t we at least wait until afternoon when it’s warmer?”
“What if it doesn’t get any warmer? Or what if there’s another storm? Our only hope of survival is getting out of these mountains. It’ll be warmer down in Sanpete Valley, and they might have the help for us we couldn’t find in Huntington.”
Trev wasn’t sure if Jen’s response was a sharp catch of breath or a quickly held back sob. “We won’t make it. No food, not enough warm clothing, already exhausted, and now we’ll have snow to trudge through.” There was a long, miserable pause before she continued. “Let’s just stay in here, Peter. No matter what we do we’re going to die. We might as well be together and as warm as possible when the end comes.”
The two fell silent, and Trev slowly backed away for a while before turning and trotting back to the crossing. He had nothing to offer aside from the clothes on his back, which he wasn’t about to give, but as dire as the camp’s situation sounded it didn’t seem like they were in danger of dying within the next hour. Now it was time to go back to the hideout and talk to Lewis.
He took the trail a bit quicker on the return trip, although he still moved cautiously, and when he reached the hideout he left the fishing pole and bucket by the door and hurriedly followed his cousin’s tracks south along the meadow.
About five minutes later he found Lewis crouched beside some distinctive rabbit tracks breaking the pristine untouched snow in a line as far as his eye could follow. His cousin was using a nearby branch to set up a snare across the tracks. Trev hurriedly caught up to him and explained the refugee situation down below.
To his relief Lewis immediately straightened, wincing slightly at his wounded leg. “Let’s gather up as much firewood as we can carry, and enough food to keep them going for a few days. We can also give them those coats and the axe you took from the bandits. They’ll need it to chop firewood.”
Trev nodded and led the way back to the hideout, where they quickly got to work. When he’d been carrying firewood during the lull between the two storms he’d debated building a sled, but since the snow was still shallow enough that he could still trudge through it he’d elected to construct a carrying frame instead.
He’d used the simple, effective design people had used for hundreds or even thousands of years, with long sturdy sticks bound together with twine in parallel L-shapes that he could pile firewood high on, then use more twine to tie everything in place and keep it from falling loose. More rope with padding made straps so he could wear it like a backpack, which allowed him to carry about five times as much as he could holding a load in his arms and only took a bit longer to load and unload.
While Lewis loaded up a backpack of food and a few other necessities they could spare, along with the coats and axe, Trev filled the frame with as much firewood as he thought he could carry while going down the steep path and trying to cross the rocks. When he was ready to set out he noticed his cousin rolling up the deerskin they’d gotten from his buck to also give the refugees.
Lewis had spent the last couple weeks cleaning and curing the hide as best he knew how and had seemed fairly satisfied with the end product, even talking about making moccasins and belts and other things from it. Looking at it now Trev hoped it would help keep the refugees warm.
Satisfied they had as much as they could manage, Trev led the way back through the gap and down the mountainside to the river, then opted to be the first to cross over the rocks. It was more than a little tricky picking his way over the slick surfaces while dealing with the slightly unbalanced load of firewood, but somehow he managed it. Lewis came next, even more uncertain on his wounded leg, and there was a frightening moment halfway across when he started to slip and had to take a quick step to the next rock to catch himself. If he’d slipped again he would’ve been in the river, but luckily his footing stayed firm.