EMP (Book 3): 12 Years Old and Alone

by Whitworth, Mike

  There was enough easily gathered dead wood close to camp for more than a week’s worth of fires. I gathered enough for two days, and then worked right up until dark building a small weir fish trap in the creek. The survival bars wouldn’t last forever.

  That night I cried myself to sleep. I was affected by Mark and Linda’s murders, but I was just as affected by the realization of what I was up against just to survive. Sackett curled up against me and I finally fell asleep with my head on his front leg.

  I woke in the morning with my head still on Sackett. He licked my ear and didn’t want to stop. Maybe he was trying to cheer me up? And maybe he just wanted me to get off of his leg. Either way I got up and, in the sunrise, everything seemed better. I was still scared, but I had my determination back. I vowed to make my fear work for me and not against me.

  I went on one camping trip with the Boy Scouts before they found out I couldn’t pay the dues and kicked me out. It was a very civilized trip with tents, uniforms, canned food, butane lighters, copious cold drinks, and organized activities. I remember the scoutmaster telling us that the wilderness was nothing to be afraid of and that nature was our friend. Poor deluded son of a bitch. I wondered if he was still alive. I doubted it.

  I checked out the fish trap. There were two little trout. I caught them and gutted them. Then, with what was becoming an easy motion, I filleted them and cut the skin from the fillet. Trout have thin fine scales and I didn’t want to chew on any.

  The trout cooked up wonderfully in the bottom of a pot. Sackett wanted more and so did I, but it was enough for now.

  I sat by the fire after I’d cleaned the pot and packed all of our gear for a quick escape. I made sure my knife was sharp and the sheath was on my belt. I put matches in one pocket and a small smooth stone that worked well as a sharpening stone in another.

  I worked on another bow and arrows for a while, carefully thinking about every step. Trying to predict what would happen with each cut or scrape of the knife.

  After a while I just sat and thought. I made a list in my head of all the disasters I thought might befall us, and I tried to figure out how to avoid each one and what I should do if I couldn't.

  Sackett broke my concentration with a cold nose to my neck. I glanced up and the Sun was getting lower, almost to the treetops. I checked the fish trap and there were more trout.

  Supper was good. No, I lied. Supper was wonderful! I filled all of the pots with water after supper, and boiled the water in each in turn as darkness fell.

  I remembered a saying I’d seen on the Internet. Three is two, two is one, and one is none. It meant that you should always have spares for important tools whenever possible.

  I thought about that for a while as I grew sleepy. I think that rule worked for short survival situations where people were waiting for rescue.

  There was no one coming to rescue me. That made it different. I needed to know how to make everything I needed, just like the Indians. In ten or fifteen years, I might not be able to find any more pots or steel knives.

  I thought about going back to a town, but I had no means of defense, and all the people I’d seen in towns lately were mean. Some were even monsters. No, it would be just me and Sackett from now on. Towns weren’t worth the risk.

  We stayed in camp for several more days before moving on. Five miles from camp I rounded a bend in the trail and almost ran into two men.

  Chapter 9

  I think Sackett was as surprised as I was. He didn’t start barking until I bumped into one of the men. The man grabbed me by the shoulders.

  I said, “Sackett, git from here,” because the other man farther down the trail had a shotgun and I didn’t want him to shoot Sackett.

  Sackett got. He knew that command. It meant run like hell and that’s just what he did.

  At first I couldn’t figure out why Sackett didn’t hear or smell the two men. Then I realized the wind was at my back and I was making too much noise. I’d grown complacent on the trail, not Sackett. It was my fault. We’d been surprised.

  The two men were lean, almost emaciated. Their clothes hung on them in a most fashionable scarecrow look. Mine did almost the same.

  “You got anything to eat in that bag boy?”

  I still had four of the survival bars left but I saw no need to tell him that.

  “Naw,” I said. “I’m hungry too.”

  “You look pretty well fed to me, Boy.” The man holding my shoulders said.

  I twisted out of his grasp and ran. He grabbed hold of my pack and pulled me off my feet. My butt slammed into the dirt. So much for that.

  The man pulled me back to my feet and said, “Don’t try to run, Boy. We don’t want to hurt you none.”

  Shit, that was a first, if I could believe him. I looked into his face and decided I couldn’t trust him. There was something in his eyes and the tone of his voice that scared me.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “That’s a good question, Boy. A civilized question. Maybe you’re not quite the wild child you appear to be? What’s your name, Boy?”

  I knew better than to tell the truth. “My name’s Fred,” I said.

  “Where are you from and what are you doing out here in the woods all by yourself?”

  “I’m from three towns that away,” I pointed in a random direction. “And I’m not alone. My dad and his friends are just behind me on the trail.”

  “Well, I’m not sure about what town you’re from,” the man with the shotgun, who now had caught up to us, said, “but there’s nobody coming behind you on the trail. I looked the trail over from that ridge up yonder. That’s where we saw you.”

  “Yeah, Boy, what have you got in your pack?” the first man said.

  The man with the shotgun said, “Lay off Tolliver.”

  “I’m hungry.”

  The man with the shotgun looked Tolliver in the eye. “I thought you would be used to that by now.”

  “Naw, Kingcade, I ain’t used to it yet.”

  “Well get used to it. And turn the boy loose. I have a proposition for him and his dog.”

  Tolliver turned me loose.

  “What’s your proposition?” I asked.

  “Call me King, son. Everybody does.”

  “Okay, Mr. King.”

  “No, just King.”

  “Okay.”

  “Me and Tolliver are on a hunting trip. We have a place about twenty miles from here and we have quite a few mouths to feed. Game is getting scarce in our area. I was wondering if you and your dog would help us hunt some deer. You’ll get a share of the meat, of course.”

  “Why do you need our help?” I asked.

  “I’m good in the woods, but Tolliver here isn’t. I’ve been hunting around here my whole life. But Tolliver is a town boy and not much help.”

  “Gee thanks, Kingcade,” Tolliver growled.

  Kingcade continued, “I figure you and your dog could drive deer past a tree stand and I could shoot a few. The folks back at our place are needing food pretty badly. We have women and children.”

  “Can I think on it?”

  “Of course. In spite of Tolliver’s poor manners, we don’t mean you any harm. I’ll tell you what. Me and Tolliver are going to camp by the stream down there.” King pointed east. “If you’re interested, just come to our camp tomorrow. We’ll wait for you until early afternoon.”

  I nodded to King and skedaddled. As soon as I was out of sight, I ran like hell. Pretty soon, Sackett was on my heels. We didn’t stop running for five miles.

  “What do you think, Sackett? Are those guys legit?”

  Sackett just stared at me and then looked at my pack. I think he wanted another survival bar.

  My mind kept coming back to the possibility of deer meat. I’d never eaten venison, but I was willing to try. The drool that leaked from the corner of my mouth was proof of that.

  Me and Sackett made a dry camp that night. I slept okay, but I dreamed about big, thick, juicy venison s
teaks. Of course, since I’d never eaten venison before, they tasted an awful lot like the rib eye I ate at a restaurant with my dad when I was seven.

  The next morning, I split a survival bar with Sackett and we went to King’s camp. I was determined to sneak up on them so I circled around until I was downwind and approached as stealthily as I could. I was still ten feet from their camp when King said, “Come on into camp, Fred.”

  Shit, King heard me. I was a little miffed, but not so much I’d turn down some deer meat.

  I walked into their camp with Sackett at my heels. “My name’s not really Fred,” I said.

  “I know,” King replied. Tolliver just sat by the fire looking miserable.

  “My real name is Trevor.”

  “Nice to meet you Trevor.” King stood and extended his hand. He had a smile on his face. I shook his hand.

  Sackett and I ran through the bushes like King told us to. I didn’t think there were any deer around here, but what the heck, maybe King knew what he was doing. I’d never been deer hunting myself.

  So here I was on a deer hunt and my role in the affair was to be a dog. Me and Sackett were supposed to chase deer past to King’s cobbled together tree stand.

  King was a careful man. He showed me how far the shotgun would shoot and told me to stay farther than that from his stand, and to keep Sackett at least that far away too.

  I asked him why he didn’t bring a dog or two with him from home. He said that all the surviving dogs in the area were running wild in packs close to the towns and it was best not to mess with them. That was just another reason for me and Sackett to stay in the deep woods. I thought about the dog packs as I ran with Sackett. What would they do when they ran out of food around the towns? I figured they’d move into the woods and act like wolves. Something else to watch for, and learn to avoid or defend against.

  Sackett let out a howl I’d never heard from him before. It wasn’t the bay of a hound, cause Sackett wasn’t a hound. As best I could tell he was a mix and mostly Bernese Mountain dog. I knew cause a lady in town bred Bernese Mountain dogs. Maybe Sackett was the bastard son of one of her dogs?

  I had to really run now to keep up with Sackett. For a big dog he was damn fast. I could hear crashing in the woods ahead of us. Deer?

  I ran out to the side so as to guide the deer toward King. It must’ve worked, because I heard a shot, and then two more. The gunfire disturbed Sackett and he came back to me. I had no idea he’d do that. Man, he was a good dog.

  We went to see if King had shot a deer.

  Sure enough, he got two. He said one was a doe and that was illegal, but he laughed. “Hell, if a game warden comes along, he’ll be more interested in eating venison than enforcing the law.”

  King sent Tolliver back to their town to fetch a couple of horses. Tolliver took the shotgun with him.

  I helped King skin and dress the deer. I paid attention to what he did. He’d done this before. I hadn’t.

  The first skin came off unblemished. I was impressed.

  It was two days before Tolliver returned with three horses and another man. We loaded most of the deer meat onto the horses, but not the skins.

  “Are you coming Kingcade?”

  “No Tolliver, I’m going to stay with the boy for a while if he’ll let me.”

  I nodded. Sackett looked like he agreed.

  “That’s nuts,” Tolliver said.

  “I like the woods,” King laughed. “This is fun for me.”

  “Okay, then,” Tolliver reined his horse around to go. The other man was already moving along the trail leading the horse packing almost two hundred pounds of meat.

  “Tolliver, leave the shotgun.”

  Tolliver reluctantly tossed the shotgun to King, along with a box of shells from his saddlebag.

  “Thanks, Tolliver. You boys come back here when you need more venison. I’ll leave instructions on how to find us. Bring one of my boys along to read the instructions. Tell my wife and boys that I’ll be home in four to six weeks.”

  “Okay.”

  “And tell my oldest boy, Al, that he’s in charge when I’m gone. Of course, he and everyone else knows that so I’m sure there won’t be a problem, will there, Tolliver?” Kingcade’s voice was hard.

  “No Kingcade, there won’t be a problem.” Tolliver rode away with a disgusted look on his face.

  “First lesson, Trevor. It’s not a good thing for a man to be in charge when he doesn’t care about the people he leads. Tolliver mostly cares only for himself.”

  “Yes Sir.” For some reason I was happier than I remembered being. Sackett nosed up to King and King petted him.

  We packed our stuff, including the deer meat and deerskins left behind, and headed out. King left a note in a ziplock bag under a rock.

  “What if somebody finds the note?” I asked.

  King laughed. “It’s written in Cherokee. I doubt they’ll be able to read it.”

  “Are you an Indian?” I asked.

  “Only part,” King said. “By the look of you, you probably have some Indian blood too. Do you see how your third fingers bend outward near the end and your little fingers bend inward at the last joint?”

  I held up my hands and looked. Sure enough, they did. I’d never noticed.

  “And you have big ear lobes and a slightly darker complexion.”

  “But my hair isn’t dark.”

  “No, you aren’t a full blood anything, Trevor. I think you’re more of a mutt like me.”

  “Where did you learn Cherokee?”

  “From my grandfather. He was a full-blood Cherokee. I taught my kids to speak Cherokee when they were small, and later to read and write it too.”

  “I didn’t think Indians had written languages.”

  “Mostly not, but Sequoyah, a Cherokee silversmith, came up with a way of writing the Cherokee language in about 1820. It took him a few years to develop it.”

  “He must have been a really smart guy.”

  “Yeah, he was.”

  “Will you teach me Cherokee?”

  “Of course, Trevor. I’ll teach you that and a lot more about how to hunt, fish, and trap if you want. But the Cherokee language isn’t easy to learn. It will take quite a while.”

  “Yes Sir.”

  For the first time since the lights went out, I was content. I was looking forward to learning everything King was willing to teach me. Was this what it felt like to have a real dad? I didn’t know cause I never had a real dad, but this would do. It would do just fine.

  “Why do you want to teach me this stuff?” I asked.

  “Because you’re worth it, Trevor. I think you’re worth it.”

  I had to keep my head turned for a while. I didn’t want King to see me crying. He might change his mind about teaching me.

  Me and King headed for a spot he knew that he thought would make a good winter camp. King said it would take us two days travel to get there.

  We stopped often for King to point out this or that to me, and, as often as not, teach me the word or words for it in Cherokee. And I appreciated it more than I could say. I wondered again if this was what growing up with a real dad would've been like?

  “Now, you see that cloud up there.”

  I nodded.

  “See how each individual cloud looks kind of like a horse’s tail.”

  I nodded again.

  “That cloud formation is called mare’s tails and usually means we'll have rain the day after tomorrow.”

  “Always the day after tomorrow?” I asked, while I memorized the cloud pattern.

  “Most often it’s the day after tomorrow, but it can be as soon as twenty-four hours or as long as three days. The trick is to watch for a mackerel sky after the mare’s tails.”

  “Is that clouds that look like fish?” I asked.

  “More like fish scales. If we have a mackerel sky tomorrow, which we most likely will, I’ll show you.”

  We made our way carefully through the woods, stayi
ng on game trails, and off of roads.

  The mackerel sky never materialized so King said we probably wouldn’t get any rain for a few days.

  On the evening of the second day, King stopped in a nice spot on a hill above a small, fast running stream. “We can camp here.”

  “How close are we to the winter camp?” I asked.

  “Not far,” King said, “but this is a good place to show you how to make a figure four trigger for deadfall traps.”

  “I’ve seen that done on video,” I said.

  “Yes, but have you made and used them to trap edible critters?”

  “Well, no.”

  “Then you could use a lesson.”

  “Yes Sir.” King was right. Based on my experiences so far, a skill was only learned and retained by doing. Life after the lights went out wasn’t a classroom where we memorized dry facts and regurgitated them on scraps of paper on demand. No, it was more like being a quarterback where both physical action and thinking ahead were equally useful. King teaching me how to make figure four triggers was just him thinking ahead.

  I thought about that as we made camp. And I thought about more. As I watched King go about starting a fire, I realized that I was guilty of the non-thinker’s curse.

  The non-thinker’s curse is not paying attention when there’s an opportunity to learn. For once, instead of assuming that what others do is unimportant and that I always know better than them, I paid close attention to how King set up the fire. Instead of piling the small sticks up and sticking the burning tinder bundle into the center of the pile like I did, King gathered dry materials for making the fire into five piles. The first pile was really fine dry twigs about the same diameter as a matchstick, or smaller. The second pile was similar twigs, only a little larger, up to a quarter of an inch in diameter. The third pile was sticks up to a half inch in diameter. The forth pile was sticks up to almost an inch in diameter. The fifth pile was stuff above one-inch diameter, including the larger pieces that would feed the fire all night.