here, I really did think she had shot
me for some reason. That’s how confused I still was.
So
she let out one of those, ‘I’m frustrated with you, but I’ll accommodate you
just this one time’ sighs, and told me that as I was headed back, two men
stepped out of the trees and shot me in the back. When they approached closer
to check on me, Anna shot both of them dead.
Apparently
the bullet that hit me went through my backpack, traveled through two of Claire
Huston’s journals, the can of tomato soup and finally stopped, just dimpling my
skin. The impact caused me to fall and hit my head, which is probably what
really knocked me out. What she thought was blood, was just tomato soup. I
wondered if maybe she was disappointed about that.
I
got to one knee at that point and went through my backpack — not that I didn’t
trust her. One of the journals apparently was at an angle to the bullet so was
pretty much destroyed. The other one was a through and through hole.
Everything else seemed OK except the tomato soup can, that I chucked. I kept
the destroyed journal because the paper could be used as fire starter.
I
wiped the mud off my rifle while Anna reminded me a couple dozen more times
that we had to get moving. I ignored her, though, and walked out to the two
dead guys. I removed their shoes, went through their pockets, and in the case
of one, a shoulder sack, and took several items such as matches, a knife, a nub
of candle, and extra ammunition for the weapons. I would have taken their
jackets, too, but Anna was a good shot. I carried all that stuff back to our
spot after that.
Anna’s
rifle was the same caliber as that of one of the attackers but was in better
shape, so I stripped out his bullets and gave them to her. The other weapon
was a rusty .38 revolver. I kept that ammunition and threw the pistol into the
nearby underbrush. Earlier I had noticed that one of Gabriel’s shoes had a small
hole worn in the side of it, so I tossed him both pair and told him to try them
on. To get rid of the remaining weapon, I wedged it into a decomposing log and
shoved a piece of bark over its exposed end.
Gabriel
thanked me for the shoes, Anna looked at me in silence, and we left heading
north again with my back hurting like hell. In fact, it hurt so bad I wondered
if maybe I had a broken rib or something. 4 2 2 2 2 2 4;}
@font-face
{font-family: with t
The
next couple of hours were more of the same — walking, banging into stuff, being
cold, getting wet, and hurting. Though I was miserable, to say the least, my
mind was elsewhere, bouncing wild like, from one thing to the next.
First,
it was the near death experience. No making light of it, those two guys almost
did me in. Even if they hadn’t killed me outright, under the circumstances a
wound of any nature would be terminal. The pictures that summoned up weren’t
pleasant ones, I can tell you that. In my travels, and even before that in Reno, I’d seen many bodies left to nature, and I now couldn’t help but put my face on them.
I also got into that whole afterlife thing: was there, wasn’t there? If so,
had I earned my wings? I’m no Claire Huston, which led to a little self-analysis
about how meaningless my life has been up to now. See how my brain kept swizzling
thoughts around? But there’s more.
I
also started thinking about Anna. Trying to figure her out, though, is like
trying to get a grip on water. Here’s a woman who is so cold-blooded practical
that she executes a guy because we can’t take him with us, and because if we
leave him he’ll tell the others which way we went. (I wondered if she has
since reconsidered that decision given the fact that they found us anyway.)
Using that same reasoning, when she thought I had been shot, she should have
just left me there and run off. That would have been the practical thing to
do. But she didn’t take off, did she? No,
me for some reason. That’s how confused I still was.
So
she let out one of those, ‘I’m frustrated with you, but I’ll accommodate you
just this one time’ sighs, and told me that as I was headed back, two men
stepped out of the trees and shot me in the back. When they approached closer
to check on me, Anna shot both of them dead.
Apparently
the bullet that hit me went through my backpack, traveled through two of Claire
Huston’s journals, the can of tomato soup and finally stopped, just dimpling my
skin. The impact caused me to fall and hit my head, which is probably what
really knocked me out. What she thought was blood, was just tomato soup. I
wondered if maybe she was disappointed about that.
I
got to one knee at that point and went through my backpack — not that I didn’t
trust her. One of the journals apparently was at an angle to the bullet so was
pretty much destroyed. The other one was a through and through hole.
Everything else seemed OK except the tomato soup can, that I chucked. I kept
the destroyed journal because the paper could be used as fire starter.
I
wiped the mud off my rifle while Anna reminded me a couple dozen more times
that we had to get moving. I ignored her, though, and walked out to the two
dead guys. I removed their shoes, went through their pockets, and in the case
of one, a shoulder sack, and took several items such as matches, a knife, a nub
of candle, and extra ammunition for the weapons. I would have taken their
jackets, too, but Anna was a good shot. I carried all that stuff back to our
spot after that.
Anna’s
rifle was the same caliber as that of one of the attackers but was in better
shape, so I stripped out his bullets and gave them to her. The other weapon
was a rusty .38 revolver. I kept that ammunition and threw the pistol into the
nearby underbrush. Earlier I had noticed that one of Gabriel’s shoes had a small
hole worn in the side of it, so I tossed him both pair and told him to try them
on. To get rid of the remaining weapon, I wedged it into a decomposing log and
shoved a piece of bark over its exposed end.
Gabriel
thanked me for the shoes, Anna looked at me in silence, and we left heading
north again with my back hurting like hell. In fact, it hurt so bad I wondered
if maybe I had a broken rib or something. 4 2 2 2 2 2 4;}
@font-face
{font-family: with t
The
next couple of hours were more of the same — walking, banging into stuff, being
cold, getting wet, and hurting. Though I was miserable, to say the least, my
mind was elsewhere, bouncing wild like, from one thing to the next.
First,
it was the near death experience. No making light of it, those two guys almost
did me in. Even if they hadn’t killed me outright, under the circumstances a
wound of any nature would be terminal. The pictures that summoned up weren’t
pleasant ones, I can tell you that. In my travels, and even before that in Reno, I’d seen many bodies left to nature, and I now couldn’t help but put my face on them.
I also got into that whole afterlife thing: was there, wasn’t there? If so,
had I earned my wings? I’m no Claire Huston, which led to a little self-analysis
about how meaningless my life has been up to now. See how my brain kept swizzling
thoughts around? But there’s more.
I
also started thinking about Anna. Trying to figure her out, though, is like
trying to get a grip on water. Here’s a woman who is so cold-blooded practical
that she executes a guy because we can’t take him with us, and because if we
leave him he’ll tell the others which way we went. (I wondered if she has
since reconsidered that decision given the fact that they found us anyway.)
Using that same reasoning, when she thought I had been shot, she should have
just left me there and run off. That would have been the practical thing to
do. But she didn’t take off, did she? No,
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