tour around the building to see if there were any footprints on the
wet earth. Not finding any, I felt reasonably certain nobody was inside and
went in.
It
was just one room, no dividers, with two bare bunks and a sheet metal stove for
heat. A table was in the middle of the room, turned over on its side. A
couple of folding chairs were next to it. On the east end of the building was
a long counter with shelves above. On the counter top were a few empty plastic
containers such as might have been used for food storage, three or four coffee
mugs, and some flatware. On the shelf above was a can of tomato soup, a can of
pork and beans, a package of ramen noodles, mostly mouse eaten, and a half
empty jar of instant coffee. I took off my pack and stuffed the two cans and
coffee inside.
On
the other wall was a small cabinet about the size of a nightstand, only taller,
crudely constructed out of plywood. Inside that was half a box of .38 caliber ammunition
and a couple of pencils. I took all of this, re-shouldered my pack, grabbed my
rifle, and went out the door, closing it behind me. The next rainstorm through
would erase all evidence of my presence.
When
I stepped outside they shot me. I don’t remember it of course. That’s the way
it works when you lose consciousness. It’s like somebody snips out a little
portion of your memory, maybe to save you the experience. And when they do the
snipping, they always take a little extra along with all the bad stuff just to
be sure they got it all. I say that because the last thing I remember is
closing the door to the shack, though apparently I wasn’t shot until I was
halfway back to Gabriel and Anna. I don’t even remember the shot — hearing or
feeling it. In fact, I don’t even have any sense of being unconscious at all.
Strange experience.
The
first thing I remember after the last thing I remember was the sensation of my
butt being dragged across that flat area I described earlier. When I finally
opened my eyes, I stared up at a canopy of green with a million little fingers
pointing, as if in accusation, toward a hostile sky, marbled black and grey. I
next saw the worried and somewhat frantic faces of Anna and Gabriel, looking
down at me as they pulled me toward the trees by the straps of my backpack. Finally,
my muddled brain discovered the hurt between my right shoulder blade and spine.
After that, I got scared.
Once
I was well back in the tree-line, Anna told Gabriel to “go watch.” She rolled
me over on my stomach and took off my backpack. I must have asked her “what
happened”, or something like that, although I have no such memory of asking the
question. Her answer, though, I remember perfectly. She told me I’d been shot,
and she needed to see where the bleeding was coming from. I felt her pulling
on my clothes. I felt the cold from my skin being exposed. I felt her rocking
me first one way and then the other. I heard her going through my backpack. Finally
she said, “Get up, you’re not hurt.” Nice bedside manner, huh.
I
heard Gabriel’s voice next. He said, “He’s OK? He’s not shot?” the Author
As
I was sitting up, she asked me if I had a can of tomato soup in my pack.
Things still weren’t making sense to me, though. I was stuck on this being
shot business. So I asked her why she shot me. I guess she was the first to
come to mind on the list of all the people who might want to shoot me. I know I’m
making light of it now, but believe me, it wasn’t funny then.
She
smiled just a tiny bit and said I had to get up because we had to get moving,
and there might be more of them coming.
Well,
my back hurt (despite her saying otherwise), I didn’t understand what happened
to me, and she was telling me what to do again, so I yelled at her to explain
what was going on. I wasn’t going anywhere until I knew what had happened to
me. At that point, and I’m being honest
wet earth. Not finding any, I felt reasonably certain nobody was inside and
went in.
It
was just one room, no dividers, with two bare bunks and a sheet metal stove for
heat. A table was in the middle of the room, turned over on its side. A
couple of folding chairs were next to it. On the east end of the building was
a long counter with shelves above. On the counter top were a few empty plastic
containers such as might have been used for food storage, three or four coffee
mugs, and some flatware. On the shelf above was a can of tomato soup, a can of
pork and beans, a package of ramen noodles, mostly mouse eaten, and a half
empty jar of instant coffee. I took off my pack and stuffed the two cans and
coffee inside.
On
the other wall was a small cabinet about the size of a nightstand, only taller,
crudely constructed out of plywood. Inside that was half a box of .38 caliber ammunition
and a couple of pencils. I took all of this, re-shouldered my pack, grabbed my
rifle, and went out the door, closing it behind me. The next rainstorm through
would erase all evidence of my presence.
When
I stepped outside they shot me. I don’t remember it of course. That’s the way
it works when you lose consciousness. It’s like somebody snips out a little
portion of your memory, maybe to save you the experience. And when they do the
snipping, they always take a little extra along with all the bad stuff just to
be sure they got it all. I say that because the last thing I remember is
closing the door to the shack, though apparently I wasn’t shot until I was
halfway back to Gabriel and Anna. I don’t even remember the shot — hearing or
feeling it. In fact, I don’t even have any sense of being unconscious at all.
Strange experience.
The
first thing I remember after the last thing I remember was the sensation of my
butt being dragged across that flat area I described earlier. When I finally
opened my eyes, I stared up at a canopy of green with a million little fingers
pointing, as if in accusation, toward a hostile sky, marbled black and grey. I
next saw the worried and somewhat frantic faces of Anna and Gabriel, looking
down at me as they pulled me toward the trees by the straps of my backpack. Finally,
my muddled brain discovered the hurt between my right shoulder blade and spine.
After that, I got scared.
Once
I was well back in the tree-line, Anna told Gabriel to “go watch.” She rolled
me over on my stomach and took off my backpack. I must have asked her “what
happened”, or something like that, although I have no such memory of asking the
question. Her answer, though, I remember perfectly. She told me I’d been shot,
and she needed to see where the bleeding was coming from. I felt her pulling
on my clothes. I felt the cold from my skin being exposed. I felt her rocking
me first one way and then the other. I heard her going through my backpack. Finally
she said, “Get up, you’re not hurt.” Nice bedside manner, huh.
I
heard Gabriel’s voice next. He said, “He’s OK? He’s not shot?” the Author
As
I was sitting up, she asked me if I had a can of tomato soup in my pack.
Things still weren’t making sense to me, though. I was stuck on this being
shot business. So I asked her why she shot me. I guess she was the first to
come to mind on the list of all the people who might want to shoot me. I know I’m
making light of it now, but believe me, it wasn’t funny then.
She
smiled just a tiny bit and said I had to get up because we had to get moving,
and there might be more of them coming.
Well,
my back hurt (despite her saying otherwise), I didn’t understand what happened
to me, and she was telling me what to do again, so I yelled at her to explain
what was going on. I wasn’t going anywhere until I knew what had happened to
me. At that point, and I’m being honest
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