A Distant Journey
The road wasn’t on the map, but it didn’t matter. Jack hadn’t been following directions lately. Not since the heart attack, anyway. He was supposed to take it easy, but he convinced his wife, Barb, to come to Alaska instead. Barb was skeptical about the whole idea—two people, who had just turned sixty, driving three thousand miles in a used camper. She didn’t like the idea of being far from hospitals. To make things worse, Jack wouldn’t stick to the roads. Now, here they were again—pulling the gigantic RV off the highway onto some unmarked dirt road. She had not enjoyed any of this. Jack was having the time of his life.
Barb worried about him. He had been saying crazy things. A few nights before, while camping by a crystal stream, he told her he was going hunting again. Hunting? He had not hunted deer since he was eighteen years old, not since he went off to college. Since then, he had become a successful engineer. They had two kids—one boy and one girl—both grown and successful themselves. What else had Jack done in the last forty years? He told Barb that he couldn’t think of anything, really.
“Hunting?” she had said. “Honey, people in your age and condition have to limit themselves. Remember what the doctor said—your heart is fragile.”
Barb retorted every time Jack drove the RV off the highway. It was dangerous and unnecessary. Besides, she said, they had no idea where the roads led. That was the point, he said. He won that battle by insisting that if he could get around Wal-Mart on a scooter, then he could explore Alaska in a camper. It was no different.
The camper jerked and bobbed over the uneven road. Dishes clanged in the cabinets. Blinds slapped the windows. The road wound back and forth through the birch trees, inclining toward a steep, tree-studded bluff one hundred feet high. Beyond the ridge of the bluff, a snow-capped mountain loomed over them.
“Jack, I don’t think the RV is designed for this.”
“You mentioned that, dear.”
“This thing cost a lot of money, you know.”
“I know, dear. I just want to see what’s up this road.”
“I don’t think it’s a road, Jack. It’s someone’s driveway.”
He leaned over the steering wheel, looking left and right. “It probably is,” he admitted. “What kind of people live out here, anyway? Don’t these people have jobs?”
That reminded Barb of something very important. Releasing her grip from the armrest, she picked up her cell phone and flipped it open. “Just as I thought,” she said, disgustedly, “we have no coverage again.” Jack didn’t respond. “Jack, this isn’t a good idea. Let’s turn around.”
“I can’t turn around, Barb. There’s no room. We can turn back at the end.”
“Okay, but from here on out, we’re sticking to paved roads.”
Jack frowned, sensing the finality in her voice.
Barb was right—it was someone’s driveway. At the end, they found a low, wide cabin and a few outbuildings. There would be just enough room to turn the gigantic RV around. As Jack jerked the gears back and forth, Barb buried her forehead in her hand. “They’re gonna wonder what we’re doing.”
“I’m sure they’re used to campers, honey.”
Jack rocked the front tires through a deep pothole with so much force that he and Barb bounced several inches off their seats. Jack braked unexpectedly. Barb looked up. “What is it?” Jack stared out her window. She followed Jack’s line of sight to a piece of plywood next to the front door of the cabin. On it, spray-painted in bright orange, was one word: “Help.”
“Oh, my,” Barb said, touching her hand to her lips. Jack slid the gear lever into Park. “Jack, I don’t know if this is a good idea.”
It was too late. Jack was already out of the RV, walking to the cabin door. She exited cautiously, following her husband. A folded piece of paper jutted from the door crevice above the knob. Jack unfolded it and read it aloud.
“Whoever finds this has found me. Got a moose up on the ridge above the barn. Grizzly bear attacked me. Guess he wanted the moose as much as I did. Killed the bear, but he broke my leg. Was only quarter mile away, so made it home. Can’t drive. If you found me, then I didn’t heal up good. Tell the troopers.”
That was it. There was no name. Barb’s eyes widened with fear. “Dear Lord! You think he’s in there?”
Jacked tried the door. It was unlocked. When he pushed it further, a putrid whiff blew past them.
“Wait here,” Jack said. He stepped inside, returning thirty seconds later. “Let’s go,” he said, holding his collar over his mouth.
“Where are we going?”
“To find the troopers like the man said.”
They climbed in, cranked the RV to life, and started jerking back and forth across the same potholes. Jack cranked the steering wheel hard and shot forward for the final turn. The front tires fell into a ditch. A loud clank emanated from the right side followed by the sound of dragging gravel. The RV came to a stop.
“Why’d you stop?”
“I didn’t. Something broke.” Jack got out and inspected the wheels. He emerged from the wheel well with a troubled look. “Bad news, honey. We broke a tie-rod.”
“What’s that mean?”
“We’re gonna have to get someone from town to fix it.”
Barb grew more flustered by the minute. What aggravated her even more was the fact that Jack was not. In fact, he looked determined and perfectly calm. “This is a fine kettle of fish, Jack! I knew we shouldn’t have come up here.”
“What do mean? It’s a good thing we did—this man needs help.”
“Help? He’s dead, Jack! He doesn’t need help. And serves him right. He should be nominated for one of those Darwin awards for people who do dumb things and die. What was he thinking living up here all alone without a telephone?”
“He was living the kind of life he wanted, Barb,” Jack said, packing a small bag with food, water, and a windbreaker.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m walking down to the highway.”
“Oh, no you’re not. You’re sitting right here in the camper,” she said, reaching for the bag.
“Barb, I’m not gonna live the rest of my life like some pampered lap dog. The highway’s not that far.”
“It’s far enough, Jack Collins! I’m tired of this boyish behavior. I’m not going along with it anymore. Now give me the bag, sit here and rest. I’ll go find someone on the highway.”
He paused a moment, sensing the conviction on her face, then surrendered the bag.
“Is this how it’s going to be—you treating me like an invalid?”
“Yes, because that’s what you are.” She slung the bag over her shoulder and set out toward the highway.
“Barb,” he yelled. She turned to face him. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, Jack,” she said. “That’s why I’m doing this.”
Nearly two hours later, Barb returned to the camper in the passenger seat of a police SUV. Her errand had been a success. She had flagged down a camper. The couple inside were similar to her and Jack in age and appearance. They had a CB radio and contacted a third party who was able to call the state troopers. They had a great conversation around the RV table waiting for the trooper to arrive.
Returning with the trooper, she found everything just as she had left it, but with one significant change. She and the trooper found Jack sitting in the driver’s seat with his hands, shoes, and slacks covered in mud. He sat there motionless, staring out the windshield with unblinking eyes. Barb knew that he was dead. Amazed at her own serenity, she opened the door and nudged him. When she got no response, she placed her hand on one of the balled up fists on his lap. It was then she noticed objects in his hands. Gently opening them, she found the Boy Scout pocketknife that Jack had owned since childhood in one, and a muddy, mutilated bear claw in the other. She wanted to be mad but couldn’t. Barb thought she knew Jack as well as any person could know someone but realized now that she didn’t fully understand him until that moment. Deep sobs welled up within her. The trooper put his arm around her as she pressed her cheek against the cold metal badge and wept.
