The Frozen Land

                                                           
He awoke, curled around the body of the woman. Wrapped about the two of them were a couple thick bearskin furs.

He did not want to move. Despite the earthen floor beneath them, he was comfortable. Warm, in a world where warmth seemed to be such a rare commodity.

But, he heard the sound again, the sound that had awakened him. The hoarse cry of a large cat, from somewhere out in the night.

He lifted his head from the warmth of the bearskins, and glanced toward the opening of the cave. A dull gray light seemed to be reaching in from outside.
Well, he thought, it was no longer night, though it would still be a little while before the sun rose.

He slid out from the bearskins, and pulled on a pair of olive drab trousers, and then padded in bare feet along the hard earthen floor of this small cave, to the smoldering remains of the fire he had built before he and the woman had gone to sleep.

He dropped a couple fresh sticks to the fire, and then tucked some dry pine straw into the hot ashes of the previous night’s fire. He blew on them lightly, and embers came to life, and soon a lick of flame was reaching toward the new sticks.

He could have used a match, he knew, as he still had a few. But, he wanted to save them. To make them last as long as possible.

It was cold in the cave, despite the small fire. In the light of the flames, he could see his breath, and he felt the air’s icy touch on his shoulders and back.
He heard the sound of the cat again. It was nearby. It was much colder outside, and if the cat was seeking shelter, this cave might seem ideal. The last thing the man wanted was to find himself fighting with a fully grown mountain lion over the rights to this cave.

He pulled on his boots, lacing them quickly, and then shouldered into a shirt.
The woman lifted her head, her tousle of dark hair taking on a reddish hue in the growing fire. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” He pulled an olive sweater with black elbow and shoulder patches, down over his head. “I heard a cat outside. I’m going to check it out.”

“Be careful.”

“I will. I just want to make sure it’s not too close.”

Orange light from the fire was now dancing against the cave walls, and the uneven stone ceiling inches above his head. Leaning against one of the walls was a military-issue M-5 carbine.

He snatched it with one hand, and slung it over his shoulder. The rifle had a thirty-round magazine, and another like it tucked in his pack. There had been a third, but it was now empty, as he had been using the rifle for hunting. When the remaining rounds were gone, there would be no more.

The woman, with the bearskin wrapped around her like a robe, walked out to the mouth of the cave to watch the man descending a gentle slope that would take him to the valley floor.

In this dim lighting, the snow below took on an almost ethereal white glow.
At first the man found the going was easy, but as he worked his way down the slope, he found the snow growing deeper. It was soft and fluffy, toward the surface, and denser and crustier further down. At one point he sunk almost to one knee, but pulled himself out and continued along.

The sky overhead was now showing blue, as sunrise approached. The snow about him was losing some of the eerie glow it can have in twilight, and the valley was beginning to take on the look of a winter wonderland.

Winter, except he knew the month was June. Late June. Summer was almost upon them. However, in this climate, he doubted the weather would grow much warmer.

Snow had fallen during the night, blanketing the valley with maybe four new inches to cover the snow that had already been there when he and the woman found their little cave, three days earlier. Short pines grew toward the bottom of the valley, indicating that there were at least occasional times when winter receded enough for life to grow. These pines were now covered with the newly fallen snow.

It was indeed cold. His breath formed white clouds of vapor that drifted away from his face. He had not grabbed a coat or hat from the cave because he wanted freedom of movement, should he encounter the cat and find the cat in a bad mood. But, he was starting to regret the decision. Must be twenty-five degrees Fahrenheit, he thought. If that.

Not far from the base of the cliff which contained their little cave, the man found two sets of tracks in the fresh snow. One belonged to a split-hoofed animal. A deer of some sort. He was not as familiar with the fauna of this area, in this time period, as he wished he had been.

The second set of tracks belonged to the creature whose howl in the night had awakened him. The cat. He was not sure what the scientific name would be for whatever kind of large cat roamed these mountains, but he just knew it was damned big. He decided to just refer to it as a mountain lion. As good a term as any.

The cat had apparently not been seeking shelter, but instead an early breakfast. It appeared to be stalking the deer.

He knelt down for a closer examination of the tracks. There are ways you can tell how fresh a print is, in snow. He had grown up in the Great Lakes area, hunting deer through snowy woods. He had a PhD, but found in recent weeks that he was relying more on the knowledge he had gained hunting, and his experience in the Army, than anything he had learned at school.

The tracks were crisp, stark. The edges of them had not begun to collapse, as will happen in an older track. These were indeed fresh. Possibly made only minutes earlier.

He straightened up, taking a quick glance about, with the realization that the cat might still be nearby.

A small grove of pines stood silently, their branches bending down under the weight of snow. One load of snow finally gave in to the demands of gravity, sliding down in a small powdery fury, the green pine bough springing upward, back to its former position.

Then, something caught his sight. Something that had not been visible as climbed down from the cave, because the sky had been too dark.
Beyond one of the rims that surrounded this little valley, due north, was a small tendril of white smoke, drifting lazily toward the sky. Maybe ten miles off.
He turned, and headed back to the cave.

The woman was sitting by the fire, waiting for him. She was still wrapped in the bearskin, one bare shoulder emerging, and touched by her falling hair.
He had never really thought of her as desirable when he met her. She was a scientist, too lost in her anthropological studies to notice a man. But somehow, as she sat by the fire, one bare knee escaping from the wrap of the bearskin, there was a sort of primordial beauty about her that was striking.
During these past few weeks, they had become more than simply companions. More than simply friends. He did not know if it was the situation – any port in a storm – or more than that. He decided to save the philosophical indulgences for later. Right now, the first order of business was to survive.

“Did you find the cat?” she asked.

He nodded. “It’s moving away. Chasing a deer. Might be back, though, but we should be okay for a while.”

He knelt by the fire. She had put water on to boil, in a small aluminum pot from a survival kit. Their coffee had long ago been used up, but every so often he found some chicory root, and was able to make a sort of chicory tea. Something his grandfather in Minnesota had showed him, once.

He glanced about the cave with regret. He hated to leave this place. The cave was about thirty feet deep, with a ceiling six feet high in most places. No cumbersome stalagmites to trip over in the dark. No stalactites waiting to catch you in the head. There was a small hole in the ceiling toward the back, and smoke from their fire drifted up and out. A small spring was situated a short walk from the mouth of the cave. With a hatchet you could break the ice, and you had cleaner, fresher drinking water than anything he had ever tasted before coming to this land.

He had hoped they might be able to stay here a while. But now, this hope was gone.

“We have to leave,” he said.

That got her attention. “Leave? When? Today?”

He nodded.

“Why? This place is ideal. It sure beats camping out in the cold. Our tent is insulated, but it is not as warm as this place.”

He nodded. “I know. I agree. But, I saw smoke from a campfire. Not far beyond the edge of the valley.”

She pulled up both knees under the bearskin, and wrapped her arms about them. “Would it really be so bad? If we made contact with the locals.”

He shot her a sidelong look. “I think you know the answer to that question.”

The water was boiling. He took a plastic cup, dropped some chicory root into it, and filled it with water.

She said, “I know all the theories. We were all briefed on it to exhaustion before we set out. But, now that we are actually here, the theories don’t seem all that concrete. Like so much smoke in the wind. It’s never been proven, all that ‘butterfly effect’ stuff.”

“Not been proven, but it does sound logical. But, it’s not just that. You’re the anthropologist. You know tribal cultures are usually warlike. And, you know what would happen if they caught us.”

“We have the rifle.”

He nodded. “With sixty rounds. But, how long can that hold out? They could outnumber us. And, if we are captured, you know what the tribal cultures of our own world did with prisoners. The tribes of the American frontier, and Africa. I would be tortured to death, and you would become a concubine and work slave.”

She snickered. “Gang-banged by a bunch of Neanderthals. Sounds like a college frat party.”

“Janet, I’m serious.”

“I know. I know. I’m just tired. Tired of running. I mean, how far can we go? We can’t keep running indefinitely.”

“Well, I figure we have covered maybe two hundred miles over the past six weeks. We need to hit the Mediterranean area. It will be warmer there. Possibly get to North Africa, the equator. The Sahara will actually be thickly wooded in this time period. It will be warmer there. We might be able to settle somewhere for a while. Grow some crops, do some hunting. The winters will still be tough, but we could survive. We just have to be careful to avoid any of the locals.”

“Not a very appealing lifestyle in which to raise children, is it?”

“Children?” This comment caught him by surprise.

She shot him a grin. “Well, if we continue our nighttime activities, children would seem inevitable. Biology 101.”

He returned the grin.

“All right,” she said. “How soon do you think we should get moving?”

“It looks like it is going to be a clear day. They will probably be hunter/gatherers.”

“Most probably.”

“They will be sending out a hunting party. They might have already. The best time to scout for tracks is just after a newly fallen snow. It is just a matter of time, maybe just hours, before they are in this valley.”

She glanced about. “Goodbye, little cave. I am going to miss you.”

Within a half hour, she was dressed and they were both in parkas and insulated pants. Their packs were on their backs, and tied to each pack was a pair of snowshoes, and a  roll of bearskin. The man held the rifle in one hand.
They climbed the ridge above their cave, stopping at a point where they could look down at the valley floor.

“Wouldn’t it be incredible,” she said, “to wait here for a little while? Get out the binoculars, and maybe watch them as they enter the valley? I mean, to see a real live Neanderthal.”

He shook his head. “Wouldn’t be practical. We need as much distance between them and us as possible.”

“I know. It’s just the scientist in me talking.”

“Come on. We have miles to go before we sleep.”

“Jack Frost? Appropriate, considering the weather.”

“Robert Frost. One of my favorite poets back in my college days.”

“I’m was never much of a student of literature.”

“You missed a lot.”

“Well, lead the way, Daniel Boone. I was never much of an outdoors girl, either.”

With a smile, he turned, and started across the windy ridge, and down the other side, to the snowy ridges beyond, his rifle held ready. The woman fell into place behind him.