The Day the 9th Circle Came to Timberwolf


Anu

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=It is not the strongest or the most intelligent who will survive but those who can best manage change.=
-Leon C. Megginson
 

There's a fine line between living and existing. The line between existing and surviving is a much broader one. Both are easy to cross in different ways. The latter, however, is much harder to return from after crossing.

This was also finished being written at 0500, so pardon any errors, multiple uses of the same word, or inconsistencies. I'll probably come back and clean it up at a later date. My story-telling usually isn't too bad, but it's late, I'm tired, and I wanted to get this out while the details are still fresh in my head.

===============================
-Day One: Good Old Lake of Mysteries
===============================
There isn't much here. The trapper took his rifle with him, and I don't see anything else I can use for defense out there. But I know rescue is coming. I just need to find a way to signal them. Passed up a pair of ratty boots, but found a decent set of mittens that I fixed up. Grabbed the emergency supplies from the medkit by the door, and set out. I had a plan.

Over the last few days, I'd heard two planes come down nearby, relatively speaking. Both were a good distance away, and it would take some doing. However; it was that or wander aimlessly, hoping I'd find what I needed. Airliners had rescue gear, and amongst them would be a flare pistol for signaling help. According to the last letter that came through, I had just about six days to get one of those pistols, and make it down the coast to the old lighthouse near the whaling station. If they spotted a flare, the passing ship would swing in and pick up any survivors of the catastrophe. Without the flare, they wouldn't dare risk the docking. Everyone had seen what the storm had done to the Riken, dashing it on the shallow rocks of the harbor.

So, the plan was simple. Swing by the camp office at the lake, head up through the old dam. Cross over into the valley. Make a stop at the radio tower, then down to the old farmhouse. From there, scour the area for the first crash. If they had a distress pistol? Great. Problem solved, and about a two day hike up the mountain not needed. If not...well, I only hoped I still remembered my way through the cave networks. Timberwolf was not a forgiving place to putz around in.

I passed by Max's body on the way. Poor old bastard. Never saw the wolves that got him. Paid my respects, grabbed his hatchet, and moved on. Up past the deadfalls. Grabbed an old, beat up cooking pot there. Made it to the camp office with little trouble.

I knew these people. Neighbors. Friends. All of them gone now. Either left before the electric shenanigans had wiped out the power, or before the earthquakes started destroying the roads through the passes. The rest? No idea. Probably didn't fare any better than Max did. Took Tony's old storm lantern. Grabbed the fir handle knife that Jessie loved so much. Nabbed up the old beatup parka that Mills never went without. Put on a pair of spare wool socks that had seen better days. Knicked a couple emergency flares and some more supplies from the medkit there. Next stop? Carter.

Made all that much more difficult by a pair of wolves prowling near the derailed box cars. Fortunately, the bastards don't like flares none too much, and I had about six handy. Shove 'em in their faces, and they run like scared pups. That's pretty much all it took, but I dare say one flare almost didn't ward the both of them off. The added heat on my hands was nice though.

Passed the old diesel transport, over to the trailers outside the dam yard. Found more medical supplies. That put me up to two adrenaline shots, and enough bandages to mummify myself. A fresh bottle of antiseptic replaced the old, outdated one, and two bottles of pills rounded out my bug-out bag. It was getting about midday then, so I rummaged around for a bit and turned up a few candy bars to go with the MRE I'd pillaged at the homestead, and a couple cans of soda. Then, it was into Carter.

What do I find? A set of near immaculate leather gauntlets, a third and fourth adrenaline stim, a pair of insulated boots, a tool kit to fix up Tony's lantern, and more water than I could carry. Couple bags of beef jerky and a peacoat finished up the finding mentioning. Going down through the old turbine room, I said a quick prayer for Fluffy, Sandra's old wolfdog, and moved on.

Took me a minute of getting turned around in the lower half of the dam before I came out on the other side, into the river. A couple sacrificial bunnies saved me from wasting another flare on a solo wolf, and I made quick for the caves at the other end. Picked up a few cattail stalks to snack on on the way. Old habits and all that.

By the time I came out into No-Man's Valley proper, it was getting dark, and I was getting tired. But I knew I didn't have far to go before reaching my first major destination here. So I chugged hard and came up to the radio tower at Signal Hill, brewed up some coffee and got some much needed rack time.

===================
-Day Two: Hell's Valley
===================
Never did like this place. Never understood why Molly and her husband moved out here. Shame what happened to the two of them, really. Didn't wanna let it get to me though. So, first light, I ravaged the inside of the station, coming up with a revolver in decent shape, and a box of rounds for it. Loaded up, cleaned with a kit in the workbench, donned a pair of snowpants from the one locker, and a military coat from another, grabbed a couple more MRE's from the supply closet, yet another adrenaline stim, just in case I needed it, and back out into the snow I went.

It's times like these you gotta wonder; is the world going to Hell really what it takes to get people motivated to live? I don't just mean survive, but actually live a little. I was never much of an outdoorsman...but I knew the basics. How to start a fire was square one. Skinning a kill. Firing something more hefty that the revolver weighing down my pocket. Even bow training and fishing. This, though? This was something new entirely. Never before had my life utterly depended on every step I took, and damn if it wasn't an amazing, if terrifying, feeling. That was pretty much the only thought in my head as I scaled down the lower of the two climbing points to Signal Hill, making my way toward Molly's farm.

Exhilarating. Heart pounding. I was beginning to enjoy this little trek.

...bear.

That's a bear by the front door.

Shhhiiiiiiiiiiii.....

Either it hadn't seen me, or it didn't care, because it didn't bug me as I stepped onto the back porch and scuttled quietly into the kitchen.

I knew the couple here kept a good amount of emergency stuff lying around. I mean, let's face it. Pleasant Valley...probably the worst named place around, could be brutal. Extra cold, with all the trapped air comin' down off of Timberwolf. Middle of nowhere. Wide open fields with nothin' to block the wind. I snagged two fresh pairs of socks, a couple of thicker sweaters than what I had on, and another pair of thermals. Too bad there weren't any long johns lying around. Took about two hours or so to fix up some of the holes in the clothing. Patched up my gauntlets after a fall I took in the mines. Felt better and much warmer for it too. It was already bitter cold midway through the day, and I wanted to be up at the old hunting lodge on the mountain before nightfall if I couldn't find the first wreck.

So, I snuck out the basement, crossed the back pasture, up over the river, and hit the base of Skeeter's. Spotted a fallen log that let me climb up the side of the ridge, instead of taking those ridiculous ropes the kids liked to use, and sure enough, there was one of the downed air liners right there in front of me. Long story short: no flare pistol. But hey, plenty of frozen airline food if I needed it. I'd decided the MRE's would hold out, and cursing the entire way, made my way towards the Talker's supply depot. They thought they were all smart, hiding a cache of supplies at the base of the mountain. Stupid buggers never realized that everyone knew about it. Stopped in for a second to see what was left; most of the good stuff had already been raided, and I was already feelin' too heavy to pick up the junk they had lying around left over.

Then, it was as I started making the climb up the base of Timber that the snow started to pick up. Great. I was already freezing, the wind was dropping the temperatures hard, and now I had to deal with a pretty heavy snow as I made my way onto the mountain proper. On the upside though, not too far along the way to the hunting cabin, I saw the first signs of the second crash. Busted up landing gear cluttered the small glade that led to the hut, and thank God, I made it there in one piece. Snow, cold and darkness were not a fun combo to deal with, so I hunkered down by the fireplace, dropped my gear for a bit, lit up a nice banger of a blaze, and passed out for a few hours.

============================
-Day Three: Timberwolf Mountain
============================
Eleven pounds. An extra eleven bloody pounds. Figured I'd need it, but damn my back was gonna be sore after luggin' that rope with me up the mountain. I knew the way to the old clearing where me, Adrian and Ol' Theon did some regular deer hunting. Hell, I'd trekked it with them enough times that I could probably find my way there blind folded. The trip there was pretty uneventful, aside from having to stash some gear at the base of the first climb on the east face of the mountain. Too damn heavy, but I was sure I was gonna need that rope at some point.

Up I went, across another natural log bridge, and soon I found myself staring at the clearing. Full of young bucks, as usual. Signs of moose too. Half the trees were rubbed raw, but I didn't spot any of the buggers around, thankfully. That little revolver wasn't gonna do jack all against a moose.

From here though, I was running on sight, hopes and dreams. Adrian had been to the summit plenty of times, and I'm sure Theon had too. Now I wished I'd have gone with them, just to get the lay of the land. I knew the way...vaguely, just from stories they told me. A couple good landmarks. That one cave network. And I knew that there was a climbing rope setup for people to make the final climb up. But I'd never been there myself before. And I'd seen the wreck on the trek up to the clearing. It just had to have crashed at the summit of all places. Why not in the ravine, down below? At least I knew that place well enough.

Striking up a quick campfire with some fallen wood in the nearby cave, I brewed some more coffee, guzzled half of it to warm me up, and struck out, hoping I was gonna make it. Up around Half-Moon bend. Stop at the ridge. Turn right and look out. Find the first of the two climbing points. Dammit, I couldn't see it...but there was a path that looked like it was going in the right direction. So I followed that for a minute...only to find myself stumbling back into the clearing. This time, I had some unwelcome company as I double back through the pass. Struck out a flare and flailed angrily at the growling wolf. Threw it at him. Damn thing wouldn't budge.

So, I pulled out the revolver and took a pot-shot at him from the hip, just to scare 'em off. That didn't work either. Okay. Take a breath. Raise the gun. Tak....charging wolf! FIRE FIRE FIRE!

Not sure how, but I domed him right in the brain case, and down he went. Okay! Let's not do that again. Back up to the ridge. Look around again. Still couldn't see the first climb, but instead of sticking to the right, I circled back a bit further, finding a path that went along the ridge a bit further up, and there it was. The rope was blowing in the breeze, taunting me, as if I'd been able to see it the whole time. Cheeky son of a...

Top of the rope, and there was the cave Adrian had told me about. Tony's lantern was gettin' pretty empty by the time I found my way out the other side, and I'd had to drop my jerry back at the base of the last rope just to make it up...and now, it was a full on whiteout. I was cold. So damn cold. Exhausted too. I could feel Timberwolf comin' for me. The mountain creaked, cracked and groaned in the wind, hunting me down. What's worse, I knew from Adrian that this last climb was gonna be brutal. It was normally a three stage pull, with two resting spots on the way formed by convenient ledges. But if I stayed out in this cold too long, I was gonna fall asleep and not wake up.

STAY AWAKE.

Downed a cold coffee I'd saved from the clearing. Not enough. I found the rope, but I was too damn tired to climb it at this point. To make matters worse, night was falling.

Get up the damned rope!

Couldn't. Just couldn't. Almost fell off twice. As I hit the ground, wheezing hard, something rolled out of my bag. The little red and white pen with the medical cross on it stared at me like my last hope. Adrenaline.

STAB.

OKAY. I'M AWAKE NOW! AND UP WE GO!

Biting wind whipped me the whole way, but I knew that if the stim wore off before I hit the plane, it'd be no better than before. So I climbed. Hard and fast. Didn't stop at either of the two ledges. I'd never make it if I did. Once I hit the top, I didn't bother looking around. The barely visible silhouette of the air liner was calling me. GO GO GO!

I could feel the weakness starting to set in as my heart rate slowed back to something resembling normal, but I slammed my way into the ass end of the jumbo jet, skidding to a halt as I felt the relief of having made it, and a sense of accomplishment. Hell, I'd done something few others had. I'd made it all the way to the summit of Timberwolf, and it hadn't killed me!

Yet...my brain mused.

Nope. Too tired. Search in the morning. Sleep now.

Broke down a crate with Max's hatchet, kicked up a quick burner behind a storage container, flopped out the bedroll, and surrendered to sleep before my head even hit the cushion.

==========================================
-Day Four: The 9th Circle of Hell
==========================================

Ever read the Divine Comedy? The book where it divides up the circles of Hell and who belongs in which one? Remember how it said that Ol' Scratch was stuck down in the 9th, where it was so damn cold, the souls that resided there with him were forever frozen in a block of ice so thick, nothing could penetrate it?

I woke up to a howling blizzard, and my nostril hair sticking together so hard it hurt to breath through my nose. Everything around me was caked in a layer of ice. Pulled out my survival compass, checked the temperature on the digital meter.

-29℉ INSIDE the plane's belly. I could only imagine what that windchill did OUTSIDE. Still, I had work to do yet before even thinking about going out there. First thing was first: I raided every damn box and crate inside that plane until I found exactly what I was looking for. One distress pistol and five flares for it. Only needed one, but who the Hell knew what else I could use them for, eh? So I snatched em all. Spent a bit of time repairing the last holes in my clothing, fixing up and drying it all out by another fire. Ate the last of my MRE's and dethawed some water by the fire, then grabbed some lightweight food from one of the service carts. Couple of sodas. Some tinned sardines. It'd be enough to get me back down the mountain to my dropped supplies, I'd hoped.

I'd never been so wrong in my whole life.

The temperature in the wind went from -29℉ inside the plane to -50℉ outside, where there was no protection at all from the elements. And it was still early morning, best I could tell. It was hard to see anything at all in that snow.

I stumbled my way back to the rope and made the descent. Theon had said that the next closest climbing point was directly opposite the summit, and it would lead back down to Half-Moon Pass. Sure enough, I found the anchor point by wandering straight ahead. Almost wandered right off the cliff. Thanked my lucky stars I'd lugged that damn rope all the way to the top with me, because the old rope had been ripped right off. Took far too long to secure the new one, and I was shivering so hard by the time I started that descent that I almost slipped and fell off halfway down. It was another long three stage climb...but thankfully going down was much easier than up.

Not sure how, but I made it to the pass by trudging along the ridgeline, hanging a left between some close-set boulders that seemed to mark the path up to it. Found the wolf I'd shot, mostly buried and totally frozen in a snowdrift. Stumbled into the cave at the clearing. No sign of the deer from yesterday. Still, it got colder, and the storm intensified.

I'd half thought to make some kind of fire to take with me, but there'd be no point. The wind was brutal, and no flame could ever hope to survive it. When I peeked back out of the cave to check the temperature, I half expected Satan himself to be there, smiling at me.

-70

Christ how cold was it gonna get?

Took the time to warm up a bit, but I was really feeling it at this point. That cold wind was deadly. If I didn't bee-line for the fireplace at the hunting cabin, I probably wouldn't survive getting back to Pleasant Valley. Even that place was looking saintly compared to the send-off Timberwolf was giving me.

But I knew the way. It wasn't a difficult trek. Not on a normal day anyway.

Set out, crossed the fallen log bridge. Descended the rope. Picked up the things I'd dropped, only then remembering I'd left my jerry up at the base of the second climb. Cursing myself the whole time and dying for some kind of warmth in the early to mid-day light of the whiteout, I lit a rescue flare, hoping that the burning chemicals would throw off enough heat to at least warm up my near frozen fingers.

No such luck.

I made it down to a clearing by the ravine where some cargo containers and a wing from the plane had landed. I knew this clearing. It was a straight shot from here to the pond, and then the cabin. This was gonna work! I was gonna make it back and not die here! Picked up the pace. Kept running til I found the edge of the ravine. And that's when I saw it. Coming straight out of the wall of snow, the massive shadow of the bear was heading straight for me. SHIT.

Ducked left, hoping the wind would cover my scent. The bear was sniffing, huffing the tracks I'd just left. I heard it start coming my way as I decided that now would not be the best time to fight a bear. I ran for my life, shivering so bad I thought my teeth were gonna fall outta my head. Definitely hypothermic at this point. I could feel it sapping my strength as I kept running for everything I was worth. But I'd lost track of the ravine in my rush to escape...and ran straight into a rock wall.

The biting realization hit me as the sounds of the bear died off.

I had no idea where I was.

If this was any normal day on the mountain, I could see some landmarks. Maybe some keynote rocks or outcroppings, maybe even the ravine, to tell me where I was. But there was nothing but endless white and creaking tree trunks all around me.

That's it. I was gonna die out here.

There was only two days left until the rescue hit Desolation Point, and here I was, in the middle of a blizzard the likes of which I'd never seen before, lost on Timberwolf.

Give up, my brain told me. It's easier to lie down and let it end right here.

My legs twitched, eager to keep moving, or so cold that the muscle spasms from shivering so hard kept me barely standing.

I sighed into the gusting wind, howling so loud I could hear nothing but its anger raging at me for desecrating the mountainside with my presence. As if to say How Dare you take ME so Lightly!

I think my stubbornness was what saved me that day, because if I'd been a more pathetic man, I'd have given up right there. I put my hand on that rock wall, keeping it to my left, and kept moving. I would not give up. Cowards gave up. Damn it, I'd faced mean storms and meaner wildlife on Great Bear before.

But it was so hard to keep moving. I was beat, freezing to death, and so weighed down with the essentials for survival that every step was absolute agony. I think all in all, I wandered, lost in the snow and the raging storm, for at least eight or nine hours before I finally found the first landmark I recognized. It was the broken landing gear from the start of the climb. Somehow, I'd bypassed the lake and the hunting cabin.

A renewed sense of hope hit me. If I could hit the cache at the bottom of the final climb, I could make it. But during the storm, I'd used the last of my adrenaline shots just to keep going...how was I gonna make that descent with all this gear?

By the time I reached it, I realized I was going to have to drop everything but the clothes on my back. And I did. Right there. It's probably still there to this day, unless someone else has been up the mountain since. A prybar, Jessie's knife, Tony's lantern. Everything but two flares, a candy bar, the revolver and ammo, and a singular bottle of water.

I less climbed down than I slid most of the way. I had no grip left. My vision was blurry, and my heartbeat in my ears. Slowly, I stumbled towards the cache, darkness creeping at the edges of my vision. Not the tired kind. The "Hey, you're gonna die" kind. But I made it inside, practically fell down the ladder, hit the floor and crawled my way over to an old bottom bunk they had set up in the one corner. I took a sip of the water, ate the candy bar and gave myself to the darkness, just praying I'd wake up again.

 

===========================
-Day Five: Pleasant Valley...Again
===========================
Somehow, I survived the night. I woke up, feeling like absolute shit, but still feeling. Checked all my digits, my nose, my ears. Miraculously, no sign of frostbite anywhere. And I was blissfully warm. Whether that was from exhaustion or from the combination of my clothing and only slightly freezing temperatures in the bunker, I wasn't sure. Lighting a match from a box I found on a nearby crate, I dug up another flare, giving me three total, some canned food, a can opener, another MRE, and two more bottles of water. I really didn't wanna go back out, but if I didn't...well, I'd be stuck here for a lot longer than I cared to think about.

So I climbed back out. The storm was STILL going strong...but I didn't have an option here. Checked my thermometer again...

Still -50℉ at best.

Making a snap decision, I went back to the downed liner at Skeeter's ridge, rummaged around a few minutes, and turned up enough airline food and soda to last me another two days. A blessing in disguise, really, as it was light and easy to carry. But I didn't go back down the way I came up. Instead, I circled the ridge, aiming for the abandoned cottages at the far north eastern side of the valley. I had to get to the Cinder Hills mine, if I was gonna make it to Hibernia in time for the pickup. Before I'd even left the ridge, however...just another stubborn wolf. Chucked a lit flare at this one. Just like the last one up on Timberwolf, it didn't seem phased. These buggers were really growin' a pair, lemme tell ya. So out came the revolver again. This one didn't wait for the hip-fire warning though. As soon as the barrel glinted, the bugger charged.

SHIT SHIT SHI...

BANG!

Arroo.....thud.

One more wolf to my kill count. Brain-cased again in panic. Damn, looking back on that, I probably should've joined a sharp-shooter club or something. Two damn fine shots in the panic of the moment. The rest of the trip was fairly uneventful, and about halfway to the mine, the blizzard began to let up. It was still bitter cold, and I was still shivering from head to toe by the time I hit the mine, but damn I made good time despite not being able to see half the time.

Traversing the mine too, was easy enough. Made it in one side and out the other in less than two hours. By the time I saw the coastline, it was barely mid-day, and the worst of my trip was over. I crossed through the busted up highway and into Desolation Point before long, and with my last flare being used to ward off a final wolf, I climbed my beaten, broken, freezing ass up the lighthouse.

This was it. If I didn't get a return signal...I didn't know what I was gonna do.

Climbing up through the hatchway into the beacon room, I stepped out onto the walkway. I set my bag down, pulling out the flare gun. Still had that first shot loaded up and ready. Standing up, I lofted the gun into the air, covered the facing ear and pulled the trigger. The flare roared to life as it soared into the air, reaching its apex as I stared off into the distance.

And stared.

And stared.

Nothing.

I checked my chronometer on my survival gear. I was still in time! The boat was supposed to be waiting off shore! Then it hit me: maybe the wicked blizzard had driven the further out to sea. Maybe they'd scrapped the rescue mission altogether. I fell back against the cold, hard glass enclosure at the top of the lighthouse, just watching the ocean before me for anything. Any ray of hope that told me I hadn't been too late. Still nothing.

I turned around and beat my hands on the glass in frustration. That was that. There was no rescue coming. As I let my head fall against the icy cold glass, ready to give up, I yelled my rage at the world. This was unfair. All that work. Scaling the meanest mountain in the region. Nearly dying.

For a moment, the wind cut out, and I heard my anger echo across the empty ice of the ocean. Nature was mocking me. I stood straight again, ready to turn and just leap from the balcony, when I heard the loud hiss of another flare against the mid-afternoon air. Spinning in place, I looked out for the red light, finding it further off-shore than I'd expected...but there it was. A call came back across the ice, and I launched a second flare up.

The rescue HAD come. I was saved.

================================================================

Hopeless Rescue

5 Days, 16 Hours, 44 Minutes

================================================================

I've played a lot of The Long Dark, and I've had some seriously harrowing moments. But holy HELL, I've NEVER seen a blizzard that bad before. Lasted roughly 36 hours at temperatures ranging from -40 to -70℉ the entire time. The warmest I got was -4℉ when protected from the wind with my flare lit. I was literally down to about 2% condition when I hit the bed in the Prepper's Cache at the base of PV/TWM crossing. Thought I was done for when I lost track of the Ravine in TWM...but I managed to find the zone-edge and followed that back to the zone exit. Sweet christ on a cracker...I've completed 4 challenges now, including both "Hunted" and the Nomad.

4/6 Hatchets for Hopeless Rescue? Certainly NOT THIS RUN. The Hunted Challenges were easier than that by FAR.

=In the end, one needs more courage to live than to kill himself...=
-Albert Camus

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Edited by Anu
Added image, clarified opening
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