rained.
Untying
the strings, he opened the bag and found another identical one. Also sealed. He
opened it, maneuvering his fingers past the clothes and supplies in search for
his pistol.
He
found it and pulled it out. It took longer to find the two pistol magazines and
flashlight. Then, after locating a box of cartridges, Nick started to load each
magazine. He used his mouth to aim the mini Maglite.
He
was pretty sure he could load the magazines in the dark correctly, but he
wanted to make certain he didn’t force a round in backward. That might be bad
in a gunfight.
He’d
left the magazines unloaded because he’d always worried keeping them crammed
full of bullets might weaken the springs over many years. And if the springs
were loose, then his gun might jam. And if your gun jammed, you died.
After
loading the three magazines, he pulled one more cartridge out of the box and closed
it. He put the box of cartridges back in the pack and turned the flashlight
off. He then stuck the single round between his teeth and worked the pistol’s
slide back and forth. It slid easily and felt smooth. Dependable.
He
then aimed it through the woods and pulled the unloaded gun’s trigger. The
hammer fell crisply. The function check completed, he fed a magazine in the
pistol and worked the slide once more, feeding a round in the chamber.
Then
he dropped the magazine, pleased with its easy release, and took the round from
his mouth. He loaded this last round into the magazine, giving him eight rounds
of .45 ammo in a firefight instead of seven.
Finished,
he checked the safety lock and stuffed the pistol, now cocked and locked, into
his waistband behind his back. Using his left hand, he stuck the two extra
magazines into the left side of his waistband, bottom up, so the lip at the base
of the magazine would keep them from sliding down.
He
picked up the flashlight and used it to look in the pack for his money. He
found the thick envelope within seconds. It was a nine by twelve mailing
envelope, encased by three plastic bags. It held $10,600.
He’d
started with $200 in twenty-dollar bills hidden in his house after he was
discharged. Then, he’d set aside a twenty-dollar bill each week for ten years
before finally stopping with Anne's help.
He
removed one hundred dollars and placed it in his wallet. He put the envelope
back in the pack, at the bottom, and sealed the whole thing up. He figured
anyone trying to rob him would ask him for his wallet, not his pack.
He
wished there was some food in it. He was hungry after the late-night run to his
house and the evasion through the woods. But, he’d decided not to put food in
it on purpose, even sealed military issue MRE’s, for fear that animals might
smell them and chew into his pack.
Well,
that’s what he had money for. He hoisted the heavy pack and welcomed its
weight, for its contents were his only chance of getting away. The weight
brought back old memories of long night marches. Pain too impossible to
describe unless you’d actually been on one.
He
adjusted the straps, bounced up and down to get it seated, and then adjusted
the straps one last time. He placed the flashlight in his left front pocket and
readjusted the pistol on his right hip. He was ready. He headed off through the
woods.
He
saw the highway about an hour later. He thought it might be about that long
because he hadn’t looked at his watch at either the cave or immediately
following the shootout. After leaving the cave, Nick had been debating whether
to take the road or stay in the trees.
The
argument between the sheriff and the FBI led him to believe there wouldn’t be
roadblocks all across the county. This had to be an illegal operation or why wouldn’t
the sheriff be involved?
Although
he figured the roads weren’t blocked, Nick suspected they were on his trail. If
he were them, he’d have some dogs following, too. An inexpensive yet effective
operation.
It
wouldn’t draw much media or public
Untying
the strings, he opened the bag and found another identical one. Also sealed. He
opened it, maneuvering his fingers past the clothes and supplies in search for
his pistol.
He
found it and pulled it out. It took longer to find the two pistol magazines and
flashlight. Then, after locating a box of cartridges, Nick started to load each
magazine. He used his mouth to aim the mini Maglite.
He
was pretty sure he could load the magazines in the dark correctly, but he
wanted to make certain he didn’t force a round in backward. That might be bad
in a gunfight.
He’d
left the magazines unloaded because he’d always worried keeping them crammed
full of bullets might weaken the springs over many years. And if the springs
were loose, then his gun might jam. And if your gun jammed, you died.
After
loading the three magazines, he pulled one more cartridge out of the box and closed
it. He put the box of cartridges back in the pack and turned the flashlight
off. He then stuck the single round between his teeth and worked the pistol’s
slide back and forth. It slid easily and felt smooth. Dependable.
He
then aimed it through the woods and pulled the unloaded gun’s trigger. The
hammer fell crisply. The function check completed, he fed a magazine in the
pistol and worked the slide once more, feeding a round in the chamber.
Then
he dropped the magazine, pleased with its easy release, and took the round from
his mouth. He loaded this last round into the magazine, giving him eight rounds
of .45 ammo in a firefight instead of seven.
Finished,
he checked the safety lock and stuffed the pistol, now cocked and locked, into
his waistband behind his back. Using his left hand, he stuck the two extra
magazines into the left side of his waistband, bottom up, so the lip at the base
of the magazine would keep them from sliding down.
He
picked up the flashlight and used it to look in the pack for his money. He
found the thick envelope within seconds. It was a nine by twelve mailing
envelope, encased by three plastic bags. It held $10,600.
He’d
started with $200 in twenty-dollar bills hidden in his house after he was
discharged. Then, he’d set aside a twenty-dollar bill each week for ten years
before finally stopping with Anne's help.
He
removed one hundred dollars and placed it in his wallet. He put the envelope
back in the pack, at the bottom, and sealed the whole thing up. He figured
anyone trying to rob him would ask him for his wallet, not his pack.
He
wished there was some food in it. He was hungry after the late-night run to his
house and the evasion through the woods. But, he’d decided not to put food in
it on purpose, even sealed military issue MRE’s, for fear that animals might
smell them and chew into his pack.
Well,
that’s what he had money for. He hoisted the heavy pack and welcomed its
weight, for its contents were his only chance of getting away. The weight
brought back old memories of long night marches. Pain too impossible to
describe unless you’d actually been on one.
He
adjusted the straps, bounced up and down to get it seated, and then adjusted
the straps one last time. He placed the flashlight in his left front pocket and
readjusted the pistol on his right hip. He was ready. He headed off through the
woods.
He
saw the highway about an hour later. He thought it might be about that long
because he hadn’t looked at his watch at either the cave or immediately
following the shootout. After leaving the cave, Nick had been debating whether
to take the road or stay in the trees.
The
argument between the sheriff and the FBI led him to believe there wouldn’t be
roadblocks all across the county. This had to be an illegal operation or why wouldn’t
the sheriff be involved?
Although
he figured the roads weren’t blocked, Nick suspected they were on his trail. If
he were them, he’d have some dogs following, too. An inexpensive yet effective
operation.
It
wouldn’t draw much media or public
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