The Ravine

The next several days came and went. The mornings brought new pain and the nights took old hope. The animal crackers were now gone and every inch of the box licked clean of crumbs. Their sweating, too, had stopped and the lack of water had left Carol’s wounds untreated, causing them to worsen.

Today, Carol woke up with a fever. When she sat up to check on Jameson, she noted that her leg injury’s swelling had not only gone down but was redder than before. And when she went to put her hands down on it to check its pain, it gave off heat like a furnace.

Infection.

She knew that, in the back of her mind, this may be an issue. She had no way to clean the wound. At the time of the accident and the discovery of her injury, she was left with two choices; either use the water for her and Jameson’s survival or clean the wound. There simply wasn’t enough water left for both.

Jameson groaned weakly. During the days his shirt was removed to keep him cool and Carol saw the progression of his wasting way. She was wasting away to a lesser degree, too.

“Ma—.” Carol burst out in sobs.

“Somebody, please. Please, help!” Her cries filled the vicinity around her and went no further. In the distance the underbrush moved, disturbed by something big; the alpha. It howled and growled in response to Carol’s cries.

“Please,” she whispered.

She wanted to fight. She wanted to kill those monsters, crawl up and out of the ravine and be the hero to her son. But she would still have miles to go and heat and dehydration and hunger would only leave her a corpse; just another body to rot amidst the decaying firs. And she knew that she couldn’t take on three. They would consumer her and, soon thereafter, Jameson. The monsters cannot win.

Carol poked at her leg and winced in pain. The red-tainted tissue had increased its circumference and spread a bit up and under her rolled up pant leg, where it was the least threatening. The epicenter—the point at the break—was where Carol focused her concern. She poked at a small tear in the leg; the mouth of the volcano. It felt a bit squishy and she pushed down on it, gritting her teeth. Cloudy and green fluid slid out of the tear and ran down her leg.

Carol scrunched her nose up when she caught a whiff of the smell that had escaped with the fluid.

“Shit.” Carol looked away in disgust, settling her sight on a long, serrated piece of bottle poking out from under the front passenger’s seat. She looked back at her leg.

“Shit.”

Carol reached for the shard and pulled it out from under the seat. She held it in front of her and looked at it for a good, uninterrupted minute. Then she looked at her leg.

It’s only in your head. The pain’s only in your head.

Carol tore another piece of fabric from her shirt, wadded it up and stuffed it in her mouth. Jameson had drifted back to sleep and she didn’t want him waking up to this. Carol closed her eyes, squeezing out a tear. With one eye open, she slowly pushed the end of the bottle into the wound, holding onto the juice cap. With cries of pain muffled by wadded cloth, Carol slid the sharp edge along the hot flesh, slowly shearing off layers of skin. It reminded Carol of grating cheese. Her leg jerked from the pain and the flap fell forward, exposing muscle and the translucent hue of femur. Carol nearly passed out from the mere sight of this and removed the glass from her leg, pounding in fury against the steering wheel. When she collected herself, she looked down at the half-assed surgery she had performed. Her leg twitched and the infected skin—a three or so inch strip—flopped loosely in response, much like a fish at the end of a hook would. Carol swallowed greatly and pulled it off. She absent-mindedly threw it out the window in disgust and, with the shard, cut the sleeve of her sweatshirt, tying it around her leg before finally passing out. Jameson remained asleep and silent in the seat next to her.

That evening the alpha was back. It had bumped against the car, startling Jameson and, from his meek cries, Carol. In amongst his cries she could hear it chewing.

Oh Jesus, Jamey!

Carol grabbed the shard and held it toward the door, ignoring the jolting pain that came from her leg as she readied herself to fight.

“Ma—!”

Carol snapped out of it, looking down at her son, who was sitting safely in the seat next to her. The chewing continued and Carol looked out the window. Flesh. Her discarded flesh was in the alpha’s mouth. It swallowed and licked its mouth. Carol held up the bloody shard and the alpha growled, challenging

her. She lowered the glass down out of sight of the beast. Its growling stopped and it disappeared into the trees, leaving Carol and Jameson to slowly roast to death in their metal prison.

When evening waned and night slowly descended upon them, Carol did something she never thought she’d do. She remembered that moment when her and the alpha locked eyes, as it swallowed that discarded part of her leg. Then she remembered just how long they had gone without sustenance and how much more Jameson was suffering than her. She could bear to be helpless; to sit next to a son that she could help but was too afraid to. And afraid of what? Pain?

It’s only in your head. The pain’s only in your head.

Carol picked up the shard beside the water bottle in between their seats and looked down at the meaty part of her calf to the left of her break. She put the torn, wadded cloth back into her mouth and pushed the serrated glass into her skin. On the roof of the sedan the alpha howled, as if in approval. Carol passed out once more.

When she came to shortly after, Carol saw only pitch black. She heard Jameson whimper, weaker than before.

“Ma—.”

Carol felt blindly on the dash and settled on something soft and wet. She took the piece into her hands and measured about an inch in, then tore. Carol then felt down below her, running her one free hand over Jameson’s head, down to his cheeks and then to his mouth. She took the torn morsel from her other hand and held it up in front of Jameson’s nose.

“Here, Jamey. I brought you something.” Carol pressed small, sectioned square of the strip of her calf against his lips and, after a moment, he opened his mouth. Carol gently pushed it in and Jameson started to chew enthusiastically.

“Like it, Jamey?” He cooed in response and fell back to sleep. Carol tore another small square for herself and put it in her mouth.

“I am not an animal.”