And now, the thrilling continuation…
Part Four:
Saturday Night- March of the Murdertrees
“The tent will hold,” Fed tried to reassure me, “It’s a Hilleberg.”
“Yeah, but you know there’s a tree practically on top of us, right?”
“The only way anything might kill us, is if a tree actually falls down on us. And even then, the tent will probably survive.”
“Still…”
He turned his attention back to the current episode of Friends playing on his iPad. A loud crash from behind us elicited from Fed a “Safe. Safe. Safe. They’ll never get me in here.”
I had other things to worry about. My socks were now completely soaked, and the condensation in my vestibule was moistening nearly everything else. I’d packed another pair, but couldn’t find them anywhere. I grabbed the head mounted light Fed had so thoughtfully provided me, and once again scoured the outer chamber in search of my one pair of dry socks. I didn’t find the socks, but I did discover my expensive camera was now covered in a sheen of dampness. I quickly grabbed it, and my beef jerky, which, at this rate, was soon to become merely… beef.
“What are you looking for?”
“A dry pair of socks. I could have sworn I had them here somewhere…”
I lifted up the edges of my bedroll, and Fed did the same with his, but still no luck. “Nothing?” he asked, still watching his show.
“No.” I said. I ducked my head back out into the vestibule just in time to hear the boom of a few dozen pounds of snow land less than a foot from my head, and see the frame of the tent dip sharply with the impact, bouncing back just as quickly.
“See?” he said, reassuringly (although to whom, I’m still unclear), “This is a Hilleberg. We’ll be fine.” As if also irritated by his smug demeanor, a sharp crack sounded just above his head. “I am completely sane!”
I laid back in my sleeping bag and munched some jerky before it could fully rehydrate, trying to enjoy “The One with Monica and Chandler’s Wedding.” I didn’t have a pillow, but the sleeping bag had a hood, and a bunched up shirt between it and the bedroll was serviceable enough. For whole minutes at a time we managed to bottle our fear of an arboreal avalanche, and watch some classic Must See TV. Aside from the Murdertrees, today had still been an amazing day, and even though we weren’t waxing philosophical into the wee hours like we’d done when we became friends, it was enough to just hang out with Fed, and share a quiet moment of trust and friendship.
He was the one to convince me to move to California. He was the one to give me the name Tex Batmart. He was the Best Man at my wedding and is the Godfather of my child. He was there at the initial creation of The Vaults of Uncle Walt. In a time where my circle of friends was bound together not by affection towards one another, but rather a common disdain of others, we managed to develop a friendship that has lasted half my life. And though we’ve often lived whole states apart, I still consider him like a brother. Sure, we don’t talk as much anymore, and our emails and texts are few and far between, but when we do get together, we still fall back into a rhythm, and it’s almost like we’re still the same guys who used to stay up all night recording on a 4-Track, just with blown-out knees and Old Man Backs. If we survived the night, I might even tell him all of that.
I went out to have a smoke, and was startled to discover just how dark it was. I could barely make out the nearest trees, and was almost caught beneath another onslaught, managing to shuffle to the side after having felt the telltale shower of snow, and lurching to my left. I extinguished my cigarette, and went back inside the tent. My dry socks were still nowhere to be seen, and I was getting tired. I took off the damp pair which I was wearing and put them in the bag with me, hoping to dry them out with body heat while I slept that night. I turned my back on Friends, and listened to the sound of the freezing rain drumming upon the tent.
I was almost asleep when the bombardments began anew. As the rain continued, the massive clumps of snow hanging precariously above us continued to loosen, aided by gravity and running water. A tree not ten feet from us began to unload, and, unlike the others, did not drop its munitions directly down, but began a run near its trunk, and then strafing directly for the tent.
“Trees. Why did it have to be trees?”
I closed my eyes and fell asleep. A couple more times that night I was awoken by the sound of pounding snowboulders thrown mercilessly by nearing murdertrees, but overall I slept fairly well.
Sunday Morning- Not quite Lembas
The dawn light began to brighten the tent around me, and one of the first things I noticed was how damp the inner chamber of the tent had become. It was then that I realized that we had survived the night. Slowly Fed and I transitioned into something akin to consciousness, and soon plans were made for the breaking of our fasts, and the surveying of our encampment. For breakfast we had oatmeal substitute and more Coffee Flavored coffee. I popped outside for a morning cigarette, and saw how the walls of fallen snow that had surrounded us while we slept. Much more, and we would have been trapped, but the Hilleberg held.
We packed away our gear and disassembled the tent, eager to be free of Cooper Lake and its homicidal vegetation. The rain and body heat had melted the snowpack beneath us, and as we packed away the tent, we carried a significant amount of water with it. We didn’t have to pack as well this time, as we were only concerned about getting everything back to the car, and getting back to civilization. The trip back up to the car was bit more precarious, as the ascent was almost entirely slush. But we’d had enough of The Land of the Murdertrees. We loaded everything into the car and said goodbye to the woods which would have claimed us.
It may have been a tad premature…
To Be Concluded In…
Tex and Fed’s Escape from Murdertree Mountain, Parts One and Two, Appearing On This Very Blog December 26th and December 27th at 6:00 p.m.
Happy Holidays, and we’ll see you then!
-Tex