With a maniacal giggle Jim trots to the southeast heading for the road out. But he doesn’t trot long. Lean, gaunt, burned from days of exposure and strenuous exertion on short rations, Jim quickly slows to a fast walk. Light is fading. He stumbles into a ditch and falls. He hears the unnatural snap and feels the pain.
“Damn. I broke something.”
There is no response.
“Ankle or something.”
He begins a nightmarish limp out.
“Patience,” he whispers, “I must have patience.”
The snow and wind continue.
In the near dark, he spots a visitor: One of the wolves. Jim throws a snowball at him, the wolf backs off, but he’s seen Jim limp. He follows.
A kilometer from the gate, the snow is a foot deep and there are three wolves. Jim can see the gate—at least sometimes. He can hear the cheers, the cheers calling him onwards. He’s close, but only he can negotiate the distance. Only one person is allowed in the park.
The wolves lose patience. One leaps at Jim and clamps on to his good ankle. Jim goes down. A second goes for his throat. There is a blur of motion, a howl of maddened pain. The wolf at Jim’s throat thrashes and backs away, leaving a trail of red stain behind. In Jim’s hand is a climbing claw, with a foot-square patch of wolf hide jammed in the teeth. Tinkerbell shows the wounded animal thrashing in the snow, trying to lick the pain from the exposed ribs on its left side. Jim faces the third animal; it backs away. Jim looks at his feet; the claw moves up; the first wolf releases his ankle before the blow can fall. The two healthy wolves wait once again—now for two meals, Jim and their packmate.
“Jim, Jim! I don’t know if you can hear me, but your beepers have been deactivated. Deactivated Jim, they will no longer protect you! You’ve got to get out before a glider finds you! Jim, do you hear me?”
“I hear you.”
“Jim, do you hear me?”
Jim waves at Tinkerbell.
“Good. This storm is covering you, but it’s going to end shortly. Jim, you’ve got to move fast!”
Jim moves, but not fast.
Half a kilometer to go. The snow stops.
200 meters to go. Jim sees a star.
“It’s not happening.” He says through gritted teeth.
“Jim, we can see you. Please hurry.”
No answer.
“Jim, what are you doing now?”
“I’m taking off my clothes. … Damn, it’s cold here.”
In two minutes, Jim is naked to the world. He throws his clothes and equipment every which way and he continues limping on.
Two minutes later, there are a series of explosions with clouds of mist behind him.
Fifty meters to go.
Jim freezes. The glider flies almost invisibly overhead.
The glider turns back to finish off the rest of Jim’s equipment. Jim moves another thirty meters and again freezes as another glider approaches.
Jim remembers clips of helicopters in Vietnam. One comes in while the other leaves. The VC had to stay put for hours at a time.
But the approaching glider veers and starts shooting off to Jim’s left. It’s shooting at a moving target. Tinkerbell!
Jim moves another ten meters. The second glider goes after Tinkerbell.
Jim reaches the gate and beats upon it three times. With tremendous cheering, the gate opens and a flood of light falls upon Jim. Surrounded with doctors and media people, smiling and waving feebly, he is whisked from the door to a specially prepared limousine-ambulance.