Trekking Home

by Jeffrey Miller

  He was older, in his 50’s. He was an Indian. He was a large man wearing denim jeans and the traditional biker style jacket. Nate’s first impression was a dead ringer for Danny Trejo, the actor, but younger. The man, the Tracker, was sitting and flipping through what looked like a small photo album. He appeared to be crying. Nate wasn’t ready to see this. He had made many assumptions about these men already. He had survived many things by doing so, was Nate wrong about this? He didn’t want to kill these people unless he had too. He wasn’t a killer, but would if needed. There were many things he could do; he could have infiltrated the camp earlier and taken each one out. He had the firepower and element of surprise. However, he didn’t need to do any of this. The Indian and his photo book had made him realize that even some of these people may have other ideas about their loved ones.

  Nate had to reevaluate things and fast. He wanted to get going but had to make sure these people couldn’t just keep doing what they had been by terrorizing others. He needed to put distance between himself and the gang and do so fast. He walked to the area where all the bikes were parked. They must have felt good about thinking they were alone because they parked the bikes completely out of sight. Nate scoured the area well moving silently through the line of trees just beyond the bikes. Then he caught the slight movement coming from his peripheral vision and moved just in time to block the assault.

  Nate rolled away and spun just in time to see the Indian twirling with a knife in his hand. He must have seen or heard Nate. Nate flung his pack off and quickly removed his rifle, but could not use it because of the time he needed to do so the Indian was on him again. He batted the flying knife with the butt of his rifle and removed his own from his back. He had under his jacket a laterally mounted longer belt knife. Mostly used for the bush country but now Nate’s knife would become a tactical one.

  The Indian was making some pretty impressive moves with his knife. Nate figured he didn’t have time to wake the others and it may have done the Indian no good in doing so because they were all drunk. Nate parlayed many of his moves; he was trained in hand to hand combat. Then the Indian came in moving fast, slashing and managed to slice across the right bicep of Nate’s arm removing most of the jacket exposing his skin. Nate didn’t flinch and came fast with his spiraling attack that nearly ended the fight. Both men had recovered, and Nate pulled fast on the dangling arm sleeve of his right jacket. He had one sleeve on and one missing when the Indian suddenly paused. Slowly he lowered his weapon and just stood. Nate did not lower his weapon he stood and backed up a foot or so to give himself more distance if the Indian attacked again.

  What was he doing? Was he out of breath? Was he hurt, Nate didn’t make full contact, or at least he didn’t think he did. Then the Indian spoke in a deep clear voice calmly.

  “Your arm, your tattoo, you are a Ranger?” Nate slowly looked to his exposed skin, and then looked back to the Indian.

  “You know this image?” Nate asked. He still held his knife up high. His rifle was just behind him along with his pack.

  The Indian removed his jacket and then could see the man's tattoo, the same and the same regiment.

  “I think we are not enemies, but brothers. If you are Ranger then we are brothers” the Indian stated. Nate lowered his knife some.

  “I am US Army Rangers 75th reg. been out for seven years, served 15 years.” Nate disclosed other relevant information. They knew the same people.

  They stood talking for some time maybe ten minutes. Nate explained why he was there and what happened to the two men early the day before.

  “They were assholes anyway. I was on my way home to Wyoming when I ran into these guys. I don’t plan to stay with them, but I needed fuel. They thought I was part of a biker gang they knew of; I let them believe it to be true. They wear the name of our regiment so when I showed them my tat they welcomed me in with wide arms.” He said with a big grin. Nate chuckled.

  “I saw you looking through a photo book. Just leave. You don’t owe them anything.” Nate stated. The Indian looked over his shoulder at the bikes.

  “My bike won’t make it all the way. The only reason I am still with them is to find another ride.”

  “That kid you helped had the best bike of all of us. I could have taken it of course, but I wanted the kid to leave, they would have gotten him killed eventually.”

  Nate looked at the bikes.

  “At least you have options. My path from here will be mostly on foot. You don’t have far to go to get to your home. If you take the back roads, you can be back in less than a day from here. I came from that way; you have to avoid all the major towns. One more word of advice, lose the biker look. You will likely get the attention you don’t need.” After about 20 minutes the two men who were trying to kill one another were now becoming allies. Nate was amazed at how things quickly took a turn for the better. It took him getting his sleeve cut to reveal a simple tattoo that might have saved his life or the life of the Indian. It was a pretty even fight, and Nate didn’t want to think about the outcome.

  “My name is Nate,” he said extending his hand to the Indian. The Indian and Nate had already put their weapons away. He reached out slowly and with two hands shook Nate’s one hand.

  “My name is Danny.” He replied.

  Nate laughed. Danny looked at him and asked what was so funny. Nate explained he thought he looked like Danny Trejo. The Indian smiled bigger than shit and had to silent himself from laughing too loud.

  “I never hear that” he replied.

  Nate convinced Danny to take a hard look at his photo album of his beautiful family. He shared stories with Nate about his kids and how well his son was doing in school. It was difficult living with a reservation, but they had made the best of it and had saved a lot to get their home. Danny didn’t trust the banks, so he invested much of his money in land in Wyoming. Over the past 15 years, he took everything he could to buy some ranch land. It had a small home on it. He finally bought it out right days before the collapse. He sent his family to be on it but lost contact with them when he was on his way back from a cattle auction to set up delivery of a few dozen head of livestock.

  “Let me help you, Danny. Pick the best bike here and load it up. I can help with getting it far down the road. I will take one also.” Danny looked at Nate.

  “Not even 30 minutes ago I was trying to kill you; I attacked you. You are trying to help me now?” Danny asked.

  Nate knew he was right. It was strange how things played out. But Danny was the one who stopped the fight.

  “Danny, you stopped the fight, you recognized something was wrong in your actions. You have been around these wolves to long. It’s not you, and you proved it. You need to get home to protect your real pack.” Nate replied.

  Danny shook Nate’s hand again but did it the way his culture practiced. Nate recognized it right away having Indian in him. He returned the gesture. The two silently headed to the bikes. Danny kept a close eye on the camp. Everyone was still sleeping hard. Danny told Nate that they had found a small bar that was abandoned in some nameless town. They scored on several bottles of hard whiskeys. They wouldn’t be up until maybe noon; it was common practice for them. He also told Nate that’s why he didn’t even try to wake them. Nate went through some of the saddlebags and found some bottled water. Danny was busy doing a close inspection on a few of the larger bikes. There was one that looked pretty good. It was an older BMW model 2003 1200 series. Little dented up but after closer inspection was the best one available. It had two saddle bags with snacks and some water in them already. Nate walked over to where one of the bikes had two small metal fuel cans strapped to it. He removed them both and handed Danny one can. Danny filled the tank up. It held nearly five gallons. The other can Nate strapped to the back luggage rack over the rear wheel.

  “Well, all we need now is the key,” Nate said. Danny moved the rubber pad that was mounted in front of the windscreen to hold small gear. Under it was the key.

&
nbsp; “They never have the keys on them, always afraid they will lose them somewhere. I have watched them hide them now for awhile.” He replied. The bike was almost 700 pounds dry weight, heavy but not that bad to push. Nate stood looking the other bikes over. It would be easy enough to disable them all. But they were not cruel. They decided to leave one working. There were women here and perhaps need to get help eventually for any of them might be necessary. Now they began work on a bike for Nate. They didn’t have much to choose from, but Nate did favor the only off road bike that was totally made for off the road. It was in surprisingly good shape, but at first, appearance looked so small next to the modern bikes. It looked to be an early 1970’s era Kawasaki 100 dirt bike. It did have a small luggage rack on the back. Its overall size was small for Nate, but it would get him down the road and put him ahead of his personal schedule.

  Both Nate and Danny looked it over well and topped it off with the remaining fuel. Neither was certain how far he would get, but something was better than footing it out of here for now. The headlight did not work. Nate must not have seen this one when they pulled into the airfield last night. He did know it would be loud. Both bikes would need to be pushed up the roads a bit before starting them. Nate’s bike would be started the old fashioned way, kick starting it. It was nearly 7 am. Danny went back to the camp and gathered up his gear and silently left the area. All of the bikers were still sleeping. He decided to empty the leftover bottles of whiskey on the bonfires which helped it grow back to life. This would surely bring more tears to their sunken eyes when they realized they had to face this world sober.

  Danny and Nate decided to flatten the tires of the remaining bikes. It seemed the best way to ensure them time to flee the area. There may be an air pump somewhere on the property, so it wasn’t beyond the impossible to leave the area. Otherwise, they left the bikes unharmed. Nate explained to Danny that he had planned to disable the bikes. But now realized that would be the wrong thing to do, it was time to start giving people a break even when they might not deserve one. Beside that Danny told Nate that they hadn’t done all that much bad stuff, mostly looking for food and water. It was the two that Nate killed that were the worst. Nate had asked who the man was that was kneeled down beside the two he killed. Danny explained that it was the leader and guy they called Rasputin, only because he looked like the man, he was just a former dope smoking hippie professor. He was a wannabe biker gang guy. He wore the threads on the weekend and during the week taught at a university.

  Danny said he would do well out here in nature and likely would just start growing some weed on the runway. They both shared a good laugh over the thought.

  Danny returned carrying a small pack and a small cooler. He secured the cooler to his back seat area. He gave a Nate a look and then looked away. Nate was curious.

  “Ok, what’s in the cooler? I have to ask” Nate asked. Danny slowly opened the lid. Inside was a very small baby turtle. It was surrounded by some grass, dirt and a few wild veggies Danny found growing on in the area.

  “It’s for my little girl. She loves turtles.” Danny said turning red. Nate nodded his head.

  “Well, I’m sure she will love it when you get home. I grew up with many myself” Danny smiled at Nate’s comments. The two started pushing the bikes slowly up towards the road. The road had a slight slope going uphill, and this was going to get interesting. With their packs on and the bikes loaded down with gear, they managed a good distance to the top of the hill. This was good enough they agreed. They could see the fires burning down below and still no one moving about the camp.

  “Well, I guess this is it. You take care going to Wyoming, and I hope this all gets worked out so you can still get the cattle” Nate said extending his hand. Danny shook it and spoke.

  “I’m afraid we all are living in times of our ancestors now. But I wish you safe travels and luck. Thank you for the help, I was on the edge of leaving, and you helped me decide. I hope someday we can meet up again.” Danny said.

  “Me too” Nate replied.

  Danny turned the key over on the BMW, and it started up no problems, Nate stood and kicked down a few times, and on the third kick it started just as one man came out from one of the tents below. He appeared dazed and looked all around trying to figure out where the sounds of two loud motorcycles were emanating. The sound was acting like a loud megaphone as it echoed down the walls of the mountains and into the valley leading to the runway. Danny kept revving up the bike louder and louder, laughing the entire time. Nate then started doing the same, his little dirt bike wasn’t that little but compared to his tall frame seemed small. However, the motorcycle was very loud. Then he realized why the muffler was nearly falling off. He pointed to the muffler and Danny started to laugh so hard he was nearly in tears. Nate kicked at it to remove the rusted piece off. Danny saluted Nate, and he returned the gesture. They both headed out in opposite directions. Danny headed on a northerly path, while Nate busted dirt, heading due south. Slowly the camp below could hear the sounds dissipating by the seconds that passed.

  Chapter 10

  Happy Trails, Sore Tails

  Nate’s rear end was getting very sore. The seat cushion on the old 70’s styles Kawasaki was no modern day seat. He wondered back then if they just topped a piece of cardboard with foam and said here is your seat. He had to stop so often just to stand and allow blood flow back to the rear. Things were starting to tingle as they fell asleep. He reminded himself though it was better than walking. Nate did realize this luxury would run out of gas sooner than later. He wasn’t sure how long he had been on the road. He was following the route given to him by Cartwright. So far it took him on many small fire route roads but easily managed with the dirt bike. The elevations varied with some spectacular views. At one point he was fairly high up and tried to use his cell phone. He even charged it with a solar panel he found in the bikers saddle bag. It did not help; the power was there but not signals. The cell towers were all gone. It was probably like everything else, no money to pay people to keep things going. The one area he prayed people were still working was the numerous nuclear power plants spread all over the country and the world.

  Nate was isolated and had felt that way for some time. The area of backcountry was beautiful with all the typical Colorado scenery, the vastness of the Rocky Mountains surrounded by the Emerald Green forest, crystal lakes and beautiful streams everywhere. In the distance, Nate could see the snow capped the Rockies. The image reminded him of a can of Coors light. He was headed up a steep mountain now; the road was very narrow. He made it to the top and could see off in the distance a slightly larger road headed east. He stopped and removed his map. If he was reading this right that should be County Road 74 east, but he would only be going east for a very short while before heading down County Road 69. Nate would then be headed pretty close to Chris’s parent’s home. He hadn’t decided if he should stop or not. He was told where they lived and wanted to see that he made it home ok, but also wanted to use the fuel he had to get himself as far as he could. It would be a decision he would make later. He was getting hungry.

  Nate had been crossing many beautiful flowing streams and small rivers. He had seen many rainbow trout and decided to stop. He made a small camp and opened up his pack. He always carried a small homemade fishing fit. It had some flies, and he put his little collapsible rod together and walked over the stream near his short term camp. The road was within sight. He still had not seen any vehicle traffic or even people walking. He did see from the top of a hill off in the distance going north about twenty people all wearing hiking clothes. They waved at him when they heard the loud bike.

  He tossed the line into the water with the fishing fly. He kept repeating it then something finally grabbed on. He pulled on the tiny but strong rod and nearly bent it. It held against the pull of the fish and Nate worked at reeling it in. The tiny reel wasn’t strong enough, so he turned and walked away from the stream pulling the fish right out of the water. The fi
sh was an enormous rainbow trout. Nate could already taste it. It was going to be nice to eat some fresh fish. He needed the protein.

  His small fire he made was close to the small flowing stream. He thought about fishing some more but decided the fish he just roasted over the small fire was plenty; he had some left over. He rummaged through his pack and found some folded up tin foil he always kept on hand and wrapped the extra fillets up. The trout would provide him with some morning breakfast. It had been a long day, and Nate decided camp out next to the stream. The temperature was nice and cool, and he could filter some fresh drinking water and boil it to kill off any bad guys. He always liked to drink from Fresh Mountain run off especially snow melt, but you still needed to take precautions. He removed his small pot that he used for his water boiling and sat out to the task. He would try to get as much as possible done and fill his water bladder in his pack and the small water bottles he carried in the side pouches. The area he was in was off the small county road and very secluded. He felt safe, but still had his lever action rifle ready and his Glock holstered. The gun Wyatt gave him has put away in his pack with the matching belt for now. He didn’t want to carry it in the open. It was a very large and imposing pistol. Best save that for when he needed to make a statement, he thought.

  Nate opened up the saddle bag on his small Kawasaki and looked over the radio and removed the small 2-meter ham radio also. He wasn’t a licensed operator but right now felt it didn’t matter. It was a different time and if he could utilize it, he would. He was in a small ravine right now and knew enough about radio communications to realize he would have difficulty getting out. He turned the small radio on and scanned. A few channels on FM could be heard but in what just music being looped at whatever stations still had power. At least someone was providing some relief. Then a station came through playing a report from CNN, not his preferred station but they were live.