Chapter 75
Evie
“Oof–”
The wind is knocked out of me as something punches me hard in the abdomen. I cough and gasp for air. I’m sure that rib is damaged, possibly even broken. But by some miracle I’m alive.
The impact has knocked me silly, and it’s only when I realize that I’m slipping off of whatever I’ve landed on that I scramble to grab hold. I hoist myself up onto a sturdier platform than the leaf I was just clinging to - this one is made of rough wood. It’s so dark that I can’t make sense of where I am, but I use my hands to feel my way. One side of the horizontal pillar I’m on is getting narrower, and the other side is getting wider. I make my way to the wider side, hurrying on my hands and knees as I’m desperate to find a stable spot.
Before I realize it, I crash into a wall head first. I curse with the pain, seeing stars for a second. But the wind doesn’t feel quite as vicious in this particular spot, the wall is protecting me for now. I take a dizzied look around myself, trying to make sense of where I ended up as my eyes adjust to the darkness.
There’s the cabin. It’s lit up on the inside so the sight of it is clear as day. It’s so far away… Almost half a mile to me. I must have gone for a ride on that leaf as if it was a runaway paraglider. Which means I’m in the forest? Yes, I… I’m on a tree branch… I’m… I’m hundreds of feet up… in a fucking tree.
“Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod,” I whisper to myself. I’m so close to hyperventilating. I cling to the branch I’m perched on, pressing myself against the tree trunk. One wrong move and I really might plummet to my doom this time. “I’m dead, I’m dead, I’m so dead…”
The horrid gales change direction, reaching me now. I hunker down, holding tightly to the branch. It’s swaying, as are so many other branches around me. It’s a nightmare of movement all around as the trees are buffeted by the wind storm.
I squeeze my eyes shut, burying my face in my arms as I wait this out. God, it’s so cold. I don’t have my coat, I’m not even wearing shoes. And it’s loud. There’s the creaking of wood, the occasional snap of a branch that echoes like thunder, making me feel like I might get crushed at any second. Not to mention the terrifying knowledge that the ground is impossibly far away, waiting for me to meet it the second I slip.
This is hell. I’m in hell.
Think, I tell myself in the darkness behind my eyelids. How do I survive this? What can I possibly do?
I should count myself lucky that I was carried somewhere instead of falling straight down. I’m not where I want to be, but at least I’m not a mangled corpse on the ground. At least, not yet. I just… have to… make my way back. I have to climb down this tree. And walk back to the cabin. That’s the only choice, right? I can’t expect that my friends are going to find me here. I’m too small and too far away. I have to go back to them.
The wind dies down again and I peek over the edge of my arm, trying to get a sense of just how high up I am. It’s too dark and crowded with foliage to make out the ground. Not a good sign. But if I look out to the cabin, try to figure out how high I am in comparison to it… I’m level with a spot that’s somewhere between a first story and second story window. That’s over ten feet. Which to me is closer to 250 feet, straight down. I might as well be trying to climb down a clock tower without a harness. It feels impossible.
Carefully I try to form any kind of path down this cliff in my mind. Can I use the gnarled texture of the tree trunk for handholds? There’s another branch below me, just six or seven feet away at my scale. Let’s just… start there.
I shift over, pressing myself against the wall of the tree trunk, and tentatively stretch one leg out. My toes curl into the rough bark of the tree and, after several seconds of having to convince myself to move, I slide off the branch to begin the descent. My arms are already shaking from the cold and from the adrenaline. I cry out the second all of my weight is off the branch - the pain in my ribs from my crash landing is sharp and insistent. Especially when I’m halfway down to the next branch and I almost fall from another errant gust. I have to stop and hang on desperately and I very nearly lose my grip.
I’m whimpering by the time I make it. I’ve only traversed a few inches and I’m in agony. It’s so hard to see in the darkness or to move in the wind. There’s just no way. I’m not going to make it.
I spend several minutes looking down, trying to solve this impossible conundrum. Could I construct some kind of climbing gear from… something? Or at least make myself a parachute out of leaves? Or find a way to connect individual branches and form a path that way? It all feels so ridiculous. I’m completely losing hope.
Finally I decide to look upwards instead. It doesn’t seem like a productive thing to do, but I just have to look at something else for a second. And that’s when I see it. Off to the side, about thirty feet above me, I notice a small cave in the wood. A tree hollow.
Maybe there is another choice. Reach shelter. Wait out the storm. If I can get through the night, survive until morning when things are forecasted to be much calmer… Maybe in the light of day I’ll be able to find my way down and have a better chance of not getting knocked off.
Of course, that means I would have to climb even higher first. But as difficult as that seems, climbing up the shorter distance seems like the smarter thing to do. The only thing to do. I just have to keep moving. I can’t overthink things right now, my aching muscles have a time limit.
The journey takes me over half an hour. I almost lose my grip over a dozen times. My abdomen is screaming at me every time I hoist myself up and up along the tree trunk. My arms and legs are getting all scratched up, my hands and feet are going numb from the cold. I’m about two thirds of the way up when I break down into panicked cries, exhausted and completely convinced that there’s no way I’m going to reach my destination. But after an uncontrollable yet completely useless pity party, I eventually press on. And somehow, despite everything working against me… I make it. I reach the hollow and collapse into it. I’m a complete mess, trembling and weeping, but I’m still alive.
Oh thank god - whatever squirrel last used this spot as a nest has left behind clumps of fur. It’s old and there’s not much left, but I immediately burrow into it, covering myself in leaves and pine needles and fuzz. It helps, a little bit. But… it’s only a very little bit. The wind is still thrashing outside, and the temperature slowly continues to drop.
Several minutes later, I’m shivering more than ever. And I realize something dire. This isn’t sustainable. I’m losing more heat than I’m producing. Even if I don’t fall to my death tonight, I may instead get claimed by hypothermia. I have to do something about it.
I try to think about my long-ago college classes, racking my brain for any useful knowledge about heat transfer. I was supposed to take an entire heat transfer class at some point, too bad I never got there… The only thing that comes to mind is insulation. I need to think like a squirrel. And I need to make myself a better nest.
Well, if there’s one thing I can find close by it’s leaves. I hate the idea of venturing back out onto the tree branches, but I simply don’t have a choice. I’m convinced that I won’t be lasting the night otherwise.
I peer out of the hollow, and I can actually see a bit better now that I’ve gotten so used to the dark. It’s slightly brighter out here due to the lights coming from inside the cabin. I wait for a moment where the winds aren’t so tempestuous, and then I dart out. I try to move quickly but not recklessly. There are enough leaves and fallen pine needles in my immediate vicinity that I make swift progress, as tiring as it is to hoist what feels like oversized pool toys. At least it’s easier to move along the horizontal perch than it was to climb up the tree trunk. Over time I need to start venturing slightly further along the branch, each trip providing less and less success.
Out of nowhere I’m startled by a sudden light. I freeze in place like a rabbit, staring towards the cabin. The front porch light just turned on. And someone’s rushing out. First he’s peering his head out, and I can’t make out what he’s saying but his mouth is moving. Then he’s stepping outside, head whipping around as he scans the ground. Aiden’s looking for me. He must have realized that I’m out here!
Logic flies out the window. I start yelling at the top of my lungs, waving my hands, grabbing a nearby branch and shaking it - anything to get his attention. At first I’m just calling Aiden’s name, but as he ventures further onto the porch and more people start trickling out, I’m shouting the rest of their names for good measure.
“Behind you!” I cry, “Look up! Please, just look HERE!”
It’s useless. It’s so completely useless.
“FUUUUUCK!” I scream into the night, falling to my knees as despair rolls over me. The universe is just mocking me now. Fuck you, world. Fuck. You.
My throat is searing with pain at this point, but despite using everything in my power to make them notice me, all I’m doing is wearing myself out. I can barely make out the sound of their voices over the wind, they’re just too far away. Maybe I’d have a chance if they get closer, but… why on earth would they do that? Why would they assume that I’m as far as the tree line? In fact - yeah, Aiden’s making his way along the exterior wall of the cabin, still scanning the ground but hurrying directly towards the space under the loft. Of course he is. If they figured out that I fell out of the window, the assumption would be that I’m near said window. If only I’d gotten a better grip on that vine instead of soaring off into the woods…
I watch them for much longer than I should as I crouch down in the entrance of my meager shelter. They’re right there. They’re searching so desperately, it feels like they have to find me eventually. Star’s on her hands and knees, sifting through the grass and bushes on the ground. Diego’s giving Aiden a boost, hoisting him up to stand on his shoulders and get a closer look at the wall that’s near the window. I notice Moira’s silhouette is in the window itself - I’m guessing that’s where they all started looking before some of them branched off to go outdoors. I feel nervous for her, seeing how far she’s leaning out to be able to reach some of the vines. Camila shows up to join the rest on the ground, wearing warmer clothes and carrying several other coats and hats for the others to bundle up.
But they’re still too far. Even if they search all night, the odds that they’ll find me are so slim. It’s agonizing, but… I eventually realize that I have to stick to my original plan. With a clear view of my panicked friends to keep me company, I force myself to continue harvesting leaves.
Soon enough I’m starting to run out of material that’s in the vicinity. I could risk climbing to a different branch to get more, but it feels so dangerous - I’ve already come close to toppling off of this one several times. And at this point the hollow is mostly full anyway. Honestly, it’s this damn wind that’s the problem. Already a few leaves have escaped my little den, snatched right out of my hands by a vicious gust of air. I’m starting to worry that this shelter isn’t quite as dependable as I’d hoped.
I do what I think is my last run, scrounging up whatever remaining pine needles have gotten caught towards the end of the branch. But on my way back, something well above my head catches my eye. Even though I’m currently in what I think is an oak tree based on the shape of the leaves, there’s also a pine tree looming nearby like a cliff overhang, which is where all the pine needles must have come from. At some point it must have dropped a sizeable pinecone too, which is now perched precariously on a thin branch about fifteen feet up. When I scramble back into the hollow, my mind is very preoccupied. Because you know what might provide extra insulation while also protecting my tree cave from raging winds? A door.
I sit there for a while, trying to think about how I might possibly acquire the pinecone. I just wish I had better tools up here. If I at least had some kind of rope…
I look over the random assortment of junk that I’ve gathered into my cave. I briefly consider tying pine needles together, but when I try I’m unable to get the knots tight enough. It’s even worse with leaf stems. Maybe I could take some of these bits of broken twigs and acorns and try to just throw them at the pinecone to knock it down?
But then I’m looking at myself. Even in the dim light I can tell that the tips of my fingers and toes are bright pink from how cold I am. I don’t have a hat or gloves or a scarf, just some loose pants and a lightweight sweater that I’d crocheted. But that’s when I get a thought. I hate this idea, I’m not sure that it’s worth it but… I do have a form of rope at my disposal. I could start unraveling my sweater.
As I’m debating whether it’s worth making myself colder to get access to the thread, the universe taunts me again by sending a particularly nasty gust my way. It makes a branch snap somewhere nearby, and it sucks out a few leaves that are too close to the entrance. Things aren’t going to get any better - I need to act. I can bundle squirrel fur back around my torso later. It’s time to reveal some midriff.
I find the knotted end of the fine yarn at the hem of my top, and for a moment I fumble at it with numb fingers, until I give up and use my teeth. Eventually I rip into it, and from there I’m tugging at the thread, and it comes away easily, erasing hours of crochet work in seconds. I wind my arms around and around my abdomen, the garment becoming shorter and shorter. As soon as a sliver of skin is revealed I’m starting to regret this as I feel more precious heat escaping my body. But I push through, gauging how long my rope is and continuing to lengthen it until my sweater only reaches my ribs. I use my teeth again to saw off the string and try to retain whatever garment is left by tying off the end.
I loop my rope up into my hands as I think through the next step. I could try to form a lasso? Not sure how good I’d be at attempting fancy ropework in this windstorm, though. So ultimately I decide to tie the end of the thread to a broken piece of twig, figuring it would be easier to throw.
Shivering more than ever, I crawl back out into the open, face aimed high as I scuttle along the branch. Pinecone’s still there. I try to calculate in my head the best angle to approach this from and position myself accordingly. I have to hunker down for a while, grabbing onto a shoot that’s coming off of the main branch, while I hold out for the right moment to strike.
As I wait, laying almost flat against my swaying platform, I look over to my friends. All of them are searching low to the ground now, meticulously parsing through grass and foliage with the flashlights from their phones. They’re dramatically expanding the radius of their investigation, as I’m sure they’re figuring I could have been knocked farther by the wind, but it’s still nowhere remotely close to where I am, and none of them are looking upwards. Still, they’re putting so much effort into finding me. I have to do the same.
Between flurries of wind I make my attempts. Like a shot putter, I pull back my arm near my head and then launch my projectile as hard as I can. The first dozen attempts miss completely. And then finally the broken twig I’m throwing bounces off the top of the pinecone and tumbles to the other side. I yank on it and let out a victorious shout as the thread gets tangled in the pinecone’s scales.
And then I almost die.
I’m such an idiot, I should have just tied down the other end of the rope, to make sure I didn’t drop it if nothing else. But instead what happens is that the second I try to pull the pinecone towards me, I lose my balance on the unstable branch. My stomach lurches as I fall forward, my rope slipping between my fingers for a second before I cling to it in a panic. And I’m dangling in the open air now, below the branch I was just standing on, only being held by a pinecone that’s teetering on its perch, dangerously high above me.
“Fuck… this… shit…” I gasp, and I’m already looking around myself for any kind of solution. At first I try to scramble back up the rope, but I’m slipping, my fingers aren’t strong enough. I’m going to fall off before I get up. The only reason I haven’t fallen quite yet despite the potential injury in my abdomen is sheer adrenaline and many months of practice at being this size. I pause and try to think…. Think… Come on…
The unrelenting winds attack me with a vengeance. I’m whipped so hard to the side that it feels like my arms will get ripped out of their sockets, and I almost crash into the trunk of the tree.
Wait, I think as I swing back the other way, curled up in a ball like a pill bug. Actually… that can work. There’s no way I can scale the length of this rope right now. But maybe if I used momentum…
Moving quickly, I first carefully use my legs to thread the leftover rope that’s dangling between them, and I hook it around one of my thighs. I take a chance by sitting back on the rope a little bit as I raise my ankle to lift the slackened thread up. Moving as quickly as possible, I hold on tight with one hand while I use the other one to snatch at the loose end of the rope, and then I’m immediately gripping the main line with both hands again, gasping with fear. I clumsily use my teeth and my fingertips to make a simple knot, and I now have a loop to sit on instead of just depending on my arms as I dangle. This is still incredibly precarious - I’m gripping both ropes together for dear life, not daring to rely on my shoddy knot alone.
I begin to swing. I don’t even think about how this might knock the pinecone off, it’s a risk I have to take. It’s actually not that difficult to gain momentum, the goddamn wind is seeing to that. The tricky part is aiming. I lurch towards the trunk without quite reaching, once… twice… And then I’m pushed towards it with so much speed that I’m certain the impact will ruin me – at the last second I twist and loosen my grip instinctively and I sail upwards, past the home branch–
And straight through the entrance of the tree hollow. I crash and roll, the impact mollified by the nest that I’ve built. I’m in so much pain. But I’m incredibly lucky to have made it.
I’m still holding the end of my thread, and there’s no way I’m giving up on that pinecone after all that. I do what I should have done from the start and stay safely inside my tree cave, bracing my feet against the edge of the entrance and pulling with all my might - which isn’t saying much at this point. The pinecone is eventually dislodged from its perch and drops down in front of me, onto the branch, and thankfully it’s light enough that I can drag it the rest of the way without too much issue.
I glance one last time at my friend group, completely ignorant of what I just went through. I stare at Aiden’s profile as he gets to his feet to look up ahead of him, looking crestfallen and desperate. Tears well up in my eyes, and then I yank onto the pinecone to wedge it inside the entryway as much as possible.
I use leaves to stuff the empty spaces around my new door, and with this added layer of insulation it’s quieter now. It’s darker, too. I feel around blindly as I push myself under the remaining layers of leaves, bundling up my rope against my stomach in a meager attempt to patch up my sweater, and burrowing into the squirrel fur as much as I can.
My muscles give out. Everything hurts. I can feel my scar on the back of my calf throbbing from the bitter chill. I’m still so cold. Am I going to survive the night?
I squeeze my eyes shut and reach for my old mantra. Don’t give up. Fight back. Work harder.
I wince at the sharp pain in my ribs. They feel worse than ever after my most recent fall. Will I even be able to climb down come morning if they’re broken?
Don’t give up… Fight back… Work harder…
I start wrapping my extra thread around my hands and feet to protect the extremities that have gone completely numb. It feels pointless.
Don’t give up… Don’t…
I just want to see him. I just want him to hold me again. Please.
Don’t…
It’s got me weak in the knees
