He looked down and saw the last few wolves run by the base of the tree. None of them even glanced in his direction. They sped by, their breathing hard and labored, as though they’d been running for a long time. But what could they be running from? Hunters? Maybe, but he doubted it. It would take a lot to scare a pack of wolves that size into running away.
Maybe it was something environmental. He sniffed the air, trying to detect any evidence of fire. But there was nothing. No smoke, no ash, just a calm serenity that felt eerily out of place in the valley at this time of year.
After waiting for about thirty minutes to make sure the wolves didn’t return, he started to climb down the tree. He was about halfway down when the tree started to shake. A quick glance around told him other trees were shaking, too.
Another earthquake? That made two of them in as many days. What the hell was going on? He decided to wait this one out in the tree. After about five minutes, the earth stilled, and he climbed the rest of the way down.
He turned back toward his cave, forgetting about the spring and any deer that might be there. Odds were good the wolves would have scared them off, anyway. The walk back was filled with dark, worried thoughts about the coming winter.
The quake woke him up. He’d been dreaming about sailing on rough seas, which he’d never done, and when he woke up he found the rocking motion of the sea had been replaced by the violent rumbling and shaking of the ground underneath him. The whole cave pitched back and forth as though it were on a huge vibrating bed. Outside, rocks tumbled past the entrance, some small, others the size of full-grown black bears.
He got to his feet, determined not to be in the cave if the ceiling fell in, and lurched his way to the opening. Once there, he steeled his resolve and ran through the cascade of falling rocks, hoping to skate through without getting crushed.
A jagged rock the size of a softball grazed his shoulder, drawing a deep gash about four inches long, but he made it outside otherwise unharmed. Once he was clear of the entrance, he didn’t stop, knowing that rocks and debris would cascade down the mountain as long as the ground continued to shake. He sprinted down the slope, hoping to find a safe point in the valley to wait out the quake.
He stumbled and fell more than once as the ground lurched and bucked underneath his feet. Rocks and tree limbs fell all around him like hail, but he managed to stay clear of the larger pieces. At one point a boulder the size of a small car rolled by, but he dove to the side just in time to avoid being turned into pulp. The boulder rumbled past, taking its own mini quake with it. Just as he thought he was safe a smaller stone clipped the side of his head and sent him to the ground in a spasm of vertigo and pain.
He lay there, about twenty feet off the valley floor, panting for breath. His lungs burned, and he knew he needed to get up, but he couldn’t move. The pain in his hands faded as the new pain in his head took center stage. He sat up, and immediately vomited. He hadn’t eaten much the night before, but that didn’t stop his stomach from clenching and spewing a puddle of bile across the rocky ground. After the pain in his belly subsided and he could once again draw breath, he sat, dizzy and disoriented, waiting for the next big boulder to end his life.
And then, as if turned off by a light switch, the quake ended.
In the valley below, animals ran madly to the east. Bear, coyotes, rabbits, squirrels, and deer sped by, their eyes wide with fear. He even spotted a cougar speeding along the valley floor, heedless of the many morsels nearby it as it ran to safety. In the sky, clouds of birds blocked out the sun as they flew east, as well.
Where were they going?
More importantly, why were they going?
As he watched the endless parade of wildlife make tracks eastward, he came to a decision. The animals must know something he didn’t. If they were running east, then by God, he would go, too.
He scanned the mountain’s face. His home for the last fifteen years. He could just make out the entrance to his cave among the rubble. He’d need supplies, and all his supplies were in the cave. At bare minimum he’d need his knife and something to carry water. He could hunt with the knife, if he had to. He’d rather have his sling, of course, but at this point he’d take what he could get.
He climbed slowly back up to his cave. The climb took longer than normal because of the many cracks and rocks that had been displaced. In many places, his old route was completely covered up and he had to find other ways around. He stayed alert, not wanting to be caught off guard if another quake came, even though he knew there wasn’t much point. He didn’t have any place to go. If the earth started to shake again, he’d be pitched off the side of the mountain like a dislodged rock.
But the quakes didn’t return, and aside from a few scrapes on his hands and elbows, he made it to the cave more or less unscathed. He looked up at the sun. Mid afternoon. Probably around 2 or 3 o’clock. The climb had taken him half a day. No wonder he was exhausted. Down in the valley, the animals continued their mad dash eastward. A pack of wolves padded by, leaving a group of quail in relative peace as the flightless birds made their own haste. He would be joining them soon, but he needed tools. And a weapon. Wherever those animals were going, they’d get hungry sooner or later. He had no intention of surviving an earthquake just to become dinner for a panicked bear or a starving band of coyotes.
The entrance to the cave was partially covered by rocks and pieces of broken trees, and he wasted another hour clearing an opening big enough for him to get through and take a few supplies with him. Once inside, he was surprised at how relatively unscathed the inside of the cave was. A few packs of dried meat had fallen off the wall, and a few small rocks had settled onto his pallet, but other than that it looked much like it was supposed to look.
I could have stayed in here and been just fine, he thought, rubbing the side of his head where the rock hit. The lump had grown to the size of a duck egg, and hurt to touch. He forced himself to remain still while he poured cold water into the wound, as well as the one on his shoulder. Then he wrapped both in strips of cloth he tore from his threadbare blanket. It wasn’t much, but it would do the job.
His wounds tended, he grabbed two packs of dried meat and a canteen of water. The canteen held two quarts, which would be enough to get from one body of water to the next, at least until he reached the eastern foothills. Once there, he would be out of familiar territory and would have to search for water. He’d done it before, though, and he could do it again. His old leather sack hung on a wooden pike set into the floor, and he grabbed it, filling it with all the spare clothing he had left. If he were stuck outside in the coming winter, he’d need every scrap, and probably more. Finally, he grabbed his bow and three remaining arrows. They would be clumsy to carry, but he’d feel better having them along.
He squeezed his supplies through the opening, then pushed his way through the hole and out into the sunlight. The sun’s position told him it was close to six o’clock. He only had a couple hours of daylight left. Better make the most of them.
Below him, the number of animals running east had thinned considerably. He didn’t want to think about what that might mean. Using a strong, sturdy stick for balance, he set off down the slope. It had been a long time since he’d carried this much on his back, and his aching muscles and joints let him know they didn’t appreciate the extra weight. He ignored the protests of his aging body.