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Back 3 a.m.
Chapters (67)
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  67. 3:46 a.m.

His antlers slide under my right knee, then lift me up, sending me reeling forward. I tumble twice, then land flat on my back. I lift my head. The moose is stopped six feet short of me. He is standing over my stick.

Silver flaps back and forth. He is eaten in one quick bite.

The moose glares at me, then gallops into the trees.

::::

“Sorry about the fish.”

Meow.

“Yeah, but it would have been nice to eat something.”

Meow.

“What? How am I looking at you?”

Meow.

“I am not looking at you like you are meatloaf.”

Meow.

“If anything, I have to worry about you eating me. I’m the one who sleeps for twenty-three hours. I’m gonna wake up with two less toes.”

He is silent.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Meow.

“Pinky swear we won’t eat each other?”

He touches his paw to my pinky.

“I couldn’t help but notice that you made no attempt at riding the moose.”

Meow.

“Right. Next time.”

A minute later I am asleep.

I don’t know if I will wake up.

:08

June 25th

Sunrise 3:11 a.m.

I pull the shirt off my face and squint. My eyes won’t focus. They zoom in and out. I shake my head and stare at my hand. In the soft twilight, I can see every line on my palm one second and a blur of pink the next.

I push myself up. Lassie and I are sleeping on the sand. I’d draped my T-shirt over my face so I wouldn’t get sunburned. I pick up the shirt and wipe the sand off the back of my head.

I reach down and feel my left leg. There is a surface cut and a deep bruise. It could have been far worse. The moose had been gentle on me. He just wanted my fish.

I walk to the river and take a long pee.

“Captain’s Log,” I say. “Today is June 25th. Day four in the Alaskan outback. Day five without food. We’ve traveled ten miles. Lassie still can’t walk. I was almost killed by a moose. Mosquitos devour me each night. Itching is unbearable. Saw an eagle…”

I continue to ramble and when I finally look at my watch, it is 3:06 a.m.

I turn around and walk back to where Lassie is still asleep.

I stop.

Squint.

“What in the hell?”

Five feet above where Lassie and I slept is a large pile of black pebbles. I lean down and inspect the perfect pile. They aren’t pebbles. They are berries.

I shake Lassie. He opens his eyes.

“Where did you get these?”

Meow.

“These. Where did you get these? And how? I thought you couldn’t walk.”

Meow.

“Well, I didn’t get them.”

Did the river sweep them up? Did they fall from a tree and roll down the bank?

No, they are in a perfect pile.