The Great Death

The Great Death by John Smelcer

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Authors: John Smelcer
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Tundra sitting beside her. She looked up and there was Maura emerging from the woods, Blue following happily at her side.
    Millie crawled out from beneath the tarp and jumped to her feet.
    â€œMaura! Where have you been? I … I…”
    But her words were hushed by the sound of the river.
    Maura did not hear her until she was standing alongside the tarp.
    â€œWhere have you been?” asked Millie, inconspicuously wiping away a tear, trying to hide that she had been crying.
    â€œI woke up early,” Maura replied. “I was hungry, so I went and picked berries.” She showed Millie a pocket full of assorted berries.
    Millie straightened her dress with her hands. She cleared her throat before she spoke. “I thought the wolves got you,” she said sternly. “Next time tell me before you do something like that.”
    Maura sat down on the log and pulled handfuls of berries from her pockets.
    â€œI’m sorry. I didn’t want to wake you up. You looked so peaceful in your blanket. Want some?” she asked, holding out a cupped hand.
    For the next hour the girls sat quietly beneath the tarp beside the campfire eating, occasionally petting a dog whenever one came near. Maura had fed them palmfuls of berries in the woods. They wanted more. As they sat Millie and Maura thought about the people in their village and about the long, uncertain journey ahead. They both worried, yet neither said a word, trying to be strong for the other.
    Little by little, the snowfall slowed and turned into a rainy drizzle, and the whiteness was washed from the land.
    Before long, the rain stopped, the sky cleared somewhat, and while the midday sun warmed the northern world, the sisters readied themselves for their trek downriver. They had no idea how far they would eventually have to walk to find other people, but they understood that without the canoe the rest of their travels would be on foot.
    They planned.
    The crate they had salvaged from the river was too heavy to carry by hand, even with the two of them, along the narrow, brush-covered, and often vanishing trail. So they decided to share the burden in what seemed a more efficient way, dividing the supplies. Millie carried more weight since she was older and stronger.
    Maura cut a length of rope and tied it around her waist as a kind of belt, hanging the hatchet on one side and the leather-sheathed hunting knife on the other. When Millie turned around and saw her sister garbed in her blanket-shawl, cinched at the waist with her rope belt and its attached hardware, she was a little shocked. Maura looked quite fierce. She had also rolled up the blankets with the parkas and mukluks in the middle, tied the bundles securely, and fashioned a kind of rope harness, which she slung over her shoulders. The burden was bulky but relatively light.
    Millie draped the coiled rope over one shoulder and folded the heavy canvas tarp with the pot and jar of matches tucked safely inside. She was able to wear the tarp like a rucksack, holding the loops of the rope with both hands. The girls divided the remaining bullets, placing them into pockets, lessening the chance of losing all of them at once.
    The brass cartridges clinked as they walked about.
    When they were packed, Millie grabbed the rifle from where it was leaning against the weathered log and set out resolutely down the trail, with Maura close behind her. The dogs wandered ahead, exploring every scent along the way. Sunlight danced on the ground through spruce boughs, and low clouds tangled in the hilltops, bending to the blue-gray curve of the sky.
    For the most part, the forest trail, faintly blazed by hatchet marks on tree trunks, followed the river only a few steps from the bank. But every now and then, it opened onto long gravel bars and the girls would see bear tracks in the sand and mud, some very large. At such times, Millie would hold the loaded rifle a little more firmly, concerned that they might come

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