Moosetopia, Part III

It had been two days since I arrived at the Ivvavik National Park, and during that time I had not seen anything that would indicate Marvin’s presence. As I trudged through the harsh, snow-covered terrain, I would occasionally come across a moose. In such instances, the moose would stand motionless, its eyes fixed on me as walked by. It was very unnerving, and I made sure to keep my distance from the animals and my hand firmly placed on my hunting knife.

On the fourth day, I was sitting by my campfire, cooking sausage and beans. Over the wind I heard an eerie sound. It was not the bellow of a moose, the growl of a bear, nor the howl of a wolf. It was a distinctive call, and I knew that it was human. Could it be Marvin? Did he know that I was here? I quickly put out my fire, gathered my things and ran in the direction of the call.

After an hour of running, I came across the remains of a fire. It was stone cold, but it gave me hope that Marvin had been here. It gave me hope that he was alive. I scanned the surroundings, looking for some other sign that Marvin had been here. I saw a tree, twenty metres away, that had a curious collection of markings at its base. On closer inspection, it looked like it had been scratched multiple time, and there were even divots in the bark. Something has been attacking this tree, I thought to myself. Instinctively, I looked up into the tree and saw a bundled, blanketed figure lodged between the branches. “Marvin!” I cried. “It’s me!” The figure groaned, rolled over the branches, and fell to the ground, landing in the built-up snow with a thud. I knelt in the snow and rolled the figure over. It was Marvin. Ragged and frostbitten, but alive. He opened his eyes and looked at me.
“You,” he croaked and reached up with a shaky hand and touched my face.
“I’m here, old buddy, and I’m going to get you out of here.”
“It’s too late,” replied Marvin. “The moose, they’ve gone rogue.” His eyes widened and I could see that they were full of fear. He clutched my jacket collar firmly and pulled himself up. “I should never have come to Moosetopia, and now we are doomed!”
“Not while I have strength,” I answered. “Come on!” Dragging Marvin to his feet, I slung his arm around my shoulder and, supporting his weight against my body, started to walk.
 
Marvin and I made slow progress through the forest. I was supporting him, and he could barely walk. Soon, we reached a clearing. I decided to stop for a rest. As I lay Marvin down, I saw that his eyes were wide and there was a look of fear on his face. He pointed and I looked behind me and saw a large moose, its head lowered, stamping its hoof.
“That’s the mean one!” Marvin whispered. “We’re done for!”
“Not today!” I assured him. I planted my feet and unsheathed my knife. The moose charged at me, but I did not move. “Time to slip you a moosey, you bastard!” I said to myself as I braced for what was to come.

Six days later, at the Whitehorse General Hospital, Marvin was lying in bed. I was sitting by his side, battered and bruised.
“I’m sorry,” Marvin murmured. “Moosetopia… was a mistake. I almost lost the best friend I -” he stopped and looked at me. “What happened to that moose?”
“Try not to talk,” I said, placing my hand on his. “We’ll be home soon.”
Marvin smiled. “Back to the utopia that I, we, always had.”
I nodded. “Yes. Back to Utopia.”

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