Cordenwood Country Books
The Deer Shelter
Luke’s head jerked back up, dispelling the image and sending a fresh wave of pain through his shoulder. He clenched his teeth to avoid crying out, and tasted a distinct saltiness in his mouth. His brain cleared momentarily, and, in the sudden flash of clarity, he remembered the emergency survival bag he’d been required to carry in his outer coat pocket all the time. He paused as he realised the pain would again rise to a climax as he tried to get the bag from the pocket, and he knew somehow he would manage only one attempt. He rehearsed the actions in his mind, pulling out the bag and arranging it so that he could get at its contents. His courage nearly failed him as he recalled the pain with his previous attempts at movement, but he steeled himself with one last resolve.
Tears sprang to his eyes as he forced himself to open the pocket and take out the bag. He transferred it with difficulty from hand to hand, taking several deep breaths while he thought through the task of how he would manipulate it in the darkness. Gingerly he opened it out with one hand, gripping part of it with his teeth to keep it steady, then felt for the drawstrings he knew were round the neck. Having found them, he traced around the neck and identified where the hood was joined. He pulled up the body of the bag in little folds until he could tell there was only a short distance between the open neck and the bottom of the bag, where his feet would rest. He drew his knees up in front of him as far as possible, and started the slow and agonising process of getting into it, or more accurately gradually working the bag around his body.
He’d lost all idea of time by now, and desperately wanted to sleep, but he persevered and eventually managed to fit the bag over his body, completing the process by pulling the hood up and over the back of his head. He pulled the drawstring and felt the material come together round his neck. Exhausted, with pain lancing through his shoulder and chest, he felt huge disappointment as the bag seemingly made little difference to the coldness gripping his body. Then at that moment, with his morale at rock bottom, he heard a different noise, and realised with despair he was no longer alone. He held his breath and tried to peer into the darkness as the shuffling noise became louder with something moving slowly, and closer to where he lay. The shuffling stopped and was replaced by a gentle lapping noise. He let out his breath in a soft sob, and, as he sank down on his side, finally surrendered to merciful blackness.
†
By now the atmosphere was electric, every eye in the room focused on Thornton as they all wondered what was coming next. He reached into the next cardboard box, and took out a cage with three pheasant chicks in it. The chicks were picking at pieces of chick crumb, and there was a water dispenser on the side.
“I also look after these, and other livestock. However, they’re not pets. Some are bred for sport, like these, others as farm animals. In the end, though, they’re all intended to be eaten as food. At least they have a natural life in the meantime.”
Thornton’s next slide showed the interior of an estate farm shop (not his own), with a display of meat and other products. He looked round the room and was satisfied to see that everyone was now absorbed in what was taking place. He moved on to the central part of his session.
“I’m going to show you the kinds of career that are available in the countryside and how you can be trained. By the end, you should know if you want to find out more about any of them. I’ll also answer questions.”
He went through all of his prepared slides, which covered all levels of career from
assistant gamekeeper or farmhand up to degree-
He had planned to leave about five minutes at the end for questions, and got to his final two slides on time. The penultimate showed the giant face of a black and white cow, with its snout pushed forward in the familiar and slightly comical pose of innocent curiosity. Underneath the picture was written in large letters, “COULD YOU WORK WITH ME?”
The pupils cooed and chuckled, and one of the boys made a mooing sound. Thornton
reached into his last box, and pulled out a smaller, transparent plastic box, which
was sealed all round. As he did so, and before it was visible to the group, he pressed
the key on the laptop to show the last slide. On the screen was a picture of the
other end of the cow, with the tail in mid-
His timing was perfect. The group’s attention moved from the slide to the plastic box, inside of which was a giant cow pat. There was a loud outburst of laughter and cries of “Yeeuk!”
†
After a short wait, the loudspeaker announced “They’re off!” and the crowd craned necks to catch sight of the horses as they came off the bend. They had already jumped two open ditches before they came into sight, and Angie noticed a couple of loose horses on the outside that had lost their jockeys in falls at the fences. She looked anxiously for the purple figure, but couldn’t make it out in the crowd of horses, which became bigger and bigger as they neared their position. She was struck by the increasing noise of thudding hooves and creaking leather, and then they were rushing past. She caught a glimpse of bright purple tucked up in the group close to the rails on their side. She grasped Thornton’s arm and exclaimed, “He’s there!” pointing to where the jockey had been.
Thornton laughed. “We’ll need to listen for a while now.”
The crowd was quieter as the horses went off into the country on the second circuit, and they could hear the commentator going through the names of the horses. He spent most of the time talking about the first three or four, but every now and then he said, “Followed by Alaska Why.” Then, when the horses were four fences out, he reported that one of the leaders was slipping back and that Alaska Why was taking a closer order. His voice had taken on a new urgency as the horses jumped the last fence, especially as one of the leaders had fallen, and this had a galvanising effect on the crowd. The noise was such that it was difficult to hear the commentator, and necks craned again to the right. The horses coming into sight first were smaller in number now, just three, and it was some time before any others came round the bend after them. Angie squealed with excitement as she made out the bright purple on the edge of the three leaders, still on the inside rail.
“Is he winning? Is he winning?” she gasped.
“I can’t tell yet, but it’s close.”
A large proportion of the crowd were yelling loudly, urging on their respective horses. Thornton and Angie joined in. “Come on, Alaska, come on!” The noise increased again and the three horses flashed by in a blur of noise and hooves and straining necks, the flash of purple just in front of the others.
“Oh, he did it, he did it!” cried Angie, and flung her arms around him, kissing him full on the lips.