Algonquin Park in the Dead of April

There was something not quite right… something almost… sinister and wicked… about Lorraine.

For one thing, she was always stealing other girls’ boyfriends. The minute she saw the happy couple wrapped in a warm, private cocoon of romantic bliss, she had to, at all costs, tear them apart. With her long jet-black hair, big dark eyes and wide curvy hips, Lorraine had some kind of charm about her. Still, it wasn’t really so much her looks that she could count on, it was the fact that she was always willing to do anything it took.

But, I think to myself and sighing out loud, that was almost two years ago now. Back when the world was still… well… the world.

Back before the pandemic, before the virus that suddenly came out of nowhere and spread so fast. Like wildfire through a dry brittle forest, it blazed and raged and, in the end, wiped out humanity in a matter of fourteen months.

Fourteen months!

I was just three weeks shy of my twenty-sixth birthday when I lost everyone I loved and everything I owned.

As I weave my way through these twisty rough backwoods along narrow paths and through dense thicket, I let another sigh escape my lips while I fight back tears of loneliness and desperation.

Today’s been particularly exhausting looking for water that’s not stagnant and clouded with filth or, I can only hope, contaminated. I usually search high and low for a run off, a moving waterfall of clear cold H20 that has always proved to be safe to drink, at least so far. I managed to find it early this morning after a steep hike up the forested terrain and I filled every last jug, bottle, and container I own. Then carefully like a member of the bomb squad setting down an explosive device, I placed them in my backpack one at a time.

I suddenly hear a noise to my left and I’m startled when a gigantic white pine begins to sway a few feet away from me, its bluish green needles dropping in clumps onto the forest floor. I jump back when I spot a snowy owl perched on the branch it just landed on, talons curled in a vicelike grip around the swinging limb. Staring at it until my eyes water from not blinking, I make sure it doesn’t have the signs. But… no… it doesn’t. No red glow from within can be seen pulsating like hot coals throughout its body, no fire red flames in its eyes; it’s all good. This owl has a pure white head and clear yellow eyes and seems to be the way it should be. Nothing to be afraid of I tell myself and move on.

Before long however, I must stop to rest my weary half-starved body on a large rock even though, in the back of my mind, I know I can’t sit here too long, I need to find shelter soon. Though the late April days are stretching out a bit longer now, it still gets dark fairly early and it hasn’t been that warm yet. Nevertheless, I sacrifice a few precious seconds to take inventory of what I have left: a plastic bag of trail mix, several pounds of salted beef jerky, four packages of pepperoni sticks, a box of granola bars, a jar of peanut butter, two boxes of crackers, three juice boxes and two cans of tomato soup. This is all that I’m worth apparently.

Tears well up in my eyes and spill over, dribbling down my cheeks and nose, dropping from my chin to the ripped knees of my blue jeans.

In a sudden onslaught of hysterical emotion, I feel the reality of my plight slam forcefully into the pit of my stomach like a swinging sledge hammer. I’m actually going to die out here all alone soon, and I must spit out the bitter taste of the incredible irony coating the inside of my mouth. I’m disgusted by the incongruity that I, a city girl in every which way, ended up here in Northern Ontario, somewhere in the middle of Algonquin Park. Somewhere in the boonies amidst the glassy clear lakes and lush forests all the way from my home in the Yonge and Eglinton District of Toronto, one of the most urban parts of that wonderful city.

I miss it so much.

I loved the metropolitan life. I loved my cozy suite in my ultramodern high rise apartment building with the perfect sized balcony. I loved the view of the sparkling bright city lights winking against the velvety darkness. I loved the sound of my high heeled boots clopping against the shimmering wet, freshly rained upon sidewalks, glistening in the light of the street lamps as I walked to meet friends for drinks after work. I loved roaming the busy streets on a Saturday afternoon with a Starbucks latte in my hand, window shopping, picking fresh fruits and vegetables at the local markets or visiting the library, the art museum. I loved the sky bridges connecting so many of the buildings, intersecting the skyline like giant glass tunnels suspended in mid-air. I loved the Sky-Share-Rides service I could order to get home safely, soaring above ground late at night, if I needed to. I loved my friends and my parents and I especially loved my boyfriend, Mark. Right up until the day he and Lorraine kidnapped me, restrained me and drove me here to the woods where they left me for dead.

“Hopefully, one of those infested beings with the new plague will put an end to your misery soon Christine,” they had told me just before driving away to God only knows where. There wasn’t any place left to go. Everywhere was dangerous now.

In science class at the college I attended, we studied the history of outbreaks and I remember learning how folks as far back as seventy-five years ago talked about the first benign viruses, the ones that didn’t amount to too much.

There had been one called SARS, one called something to do with pigs… oh yes… the swine flu I believe… and one called the Coronavirus. After that, if I remember correctly, there was a string of outbreaks of viral diseases that, just like the ones before them, killed a few thousand human beings in various parts of the world but became contained fairly quickly, and again, never caused any serious threat to humanity. These included ones with odd names like the Quitovirus, the Ademolavirus, the Discoidvirus and the Agathangelosvirus. That last one was, without a doubt, the worst one, killing over 600,000 people in North America alone and millions more in Africa, Asia, parts of Europe, Thailand, China and wiping out Japan completely. After that things began to settle down a bit when it was finally under control and contained, no longer able to multiply and spread like the Black Death of the 1300’s.

But nobody on the planet was prepared for what came years later, the destructive force of a pandemic so violent, so potent, so omnipotent actually, that most of the human population was now… completely… gone.

There were… are… very few survivors… and I’m one of them.

Forcing myself to my feet, feeling the fatigue in my very bones, I continue on my journey to find shelter for the night. That’s always the hardest part. Though being grateful isn’t an emotion I’m particularly feeling an abundance of these days, I am actually thankful for the supplies my evil boyfriend and his equally evil mistress provided me with: a large backpack filled with two heavy winter coats and boots, a change of clothes and a sleeping bag, an assortment of containers, two flashlights with extra batteries, a fair-sized lantern, matches, lighters, kerosene, rope, Kleenex, a bar of soap, toothbrush and toothpaste, and a battered first aid kit that looks to be about twenty years old. These items have been my virtual lifesavers for the past three months as it has taken all the energy and determination I have inside my soul to survive out here alone.

Though it’s been a relatively mild winter, the nights spent huddling through the cold windy, sometimes snowy darkness in places like the crevices beneath fallen logs and trees, the gaps within rock formations and the inside of caves, have been pure torture. These last homes away from home were the ones I used the most if I was lucky enough to find them. Still, even though they were the best type of shelter against the elements, ultimately, they ended up being traumatic and horrific as hell. Both on my body and my psyche.

Most nights I cried myself to sleep silently so as not to alert anything that I was there. But the caves never extended themselves into permanent residences for me because something always went wrong. Always.

Inside the first one after I had spent several nights there, I suddenly awoke to the sound of rocks crumbling and boulders dropping all around me. Like a building being demolished, it rained rubble and rock quicker than a hail storm and I nearly ended up pummeled to death.

The second cave, unbeknownst to me, was filled with bats that came awake during the witching hour of course and I was never more terrified than when at least twelve of them flew around my head trying to do God only knows what to me. I couldn’t even tell if they had been infected.

And then there was the third cave. This is what happened in the third cave. Though I had noticed that it was a bit drafty and not as cozy as I really wanted it to be, it wasn’t like there were a bunch of swanky cribs laid out for me to choose from. Once inside, I did my usual ritual: set up my sleeping bag in a spot with my back to a wall and where I could see the entrance way and all around me in every direction. Lit my lantern and made sure it stayed lit all night. And kept everything I owned close to me, practically piled on either side of my body, touching me. That particular night, it had taken me a lot longer to get to sleep. My mind had been racing, my sadness was deeper than usual. I had just dozed off when I woke up not being able to breathe, choking and shivering.

Gasping for air I realized that I was drowning!

Somehow, probably from a melted snow run off somewhere, the cave had filled with water that had come pouring in through the crevices. I had never moved so fast in my life! Clawing my way out of the zipped up sleeping bag, I managed to get a foot hold on the soggy bottom of the cavern, grab as much as my slick frozen hands could hold onto, and run outside as fast as I could. Once I was upright and standing, the water wasn’t as deep as I thought, it reached just past my waist and I was able to run back inside to get the rest of my things. I thought I was done for that night, that I was going to freeze to death, everything I had was soaking wet. My teeth chattered, my head ached, and I just couldn’t get warm fast enough. But I managed. Lord I don’t know how, but I managed to build a fire (thank goodness my matches remained dry inside their sturdy metal box) and with an infinite amount of will and patience I dried everything out one by one. Even the boxes of granola bars and crackers somehow survived.

Today there is a smell of spring in the air and along my travels I swear I saw a few wildflowers bloom in various spots along the woodland trail. I have lots of water now, a good supply of food and I’m ready to get some rest before it gets dark, which will be soon. I feel some strange energy pulsing through my veins today and maybe that’s because I really needed the good cry I just had. Or perhaps it’s something else.

With the help of a walking stick I made myself, I trudge on and suddenly I see something out of the corner of my eye. I’ve learned how to be conscious of spotting the necessities and for half a second a bolt of hope touches my heart as I see the mouth of a cave and someone or something lying in front of it.

It’s been so long since I’ve encountered anything living other than plants and trees and that owl and I stifle a sob as my head spins with the realization of how isolated I’ve been.

Please don’t let whatever this is be infected I pray.

I bite my lower lip and inch towards the creature carefully keeping my eyes on the grey, white and black heap its body makes on top of the dirt. And that’s when the incredibly scrawny and gaunt wolf pup lifts its head and looks right at me.

If you were to fast forward to a week later, you’d see how quickly I gained the frightened animal’s trust. You’d be amazed at how, with plenty of beef jerky, water, a soft soothing tone of voice and scratches behind the ears, I earned her love as much as she earned mine. With each hug and every kiss I planted right on top of her beautiful majestic head, you’d see a renewed version of the shadow I was. You’d see me with her, the two of us side by side walking as one, talking to each other, albeit each of us in a slightly different language, and leaning on each other so we can fight to stay alive for another day.