by Rita Hestand
The Warrior's Survival
Rita Hestand
Copyright© Rita Hestand 2013
ISBN # 9781301690923
Copyright© By Rita Hestand
License Note
A Warrior's Survival
Joe Daniel Baker had barely turned eight when his father gave him a computer. Now at eleven he was a gaming expert. Especially since his dad traveled all the time in his work and his sister hung out with his Mom. He was too little to play football and survive. Besides, he found himself rather clumsy. His parents took every opportunity they could to keep him away from the computer, but nothing worked.
Today, however, was different. Today, he rose slowly to all fours, shook his head and opened his eyes, trying to focus. The world spun around him, he quickly clamped his eyes shut. His stomach roiled. The smell leaked into his brain, and his eyes opened wide. The smell was strong and penetrating and it only meant one thing—fire!
He could barely move, something was wrong with one of his legs, he knew that, but he wasn't sure what. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. Somewhere the word pain registered dully as he grabbed his head and tried to make the world stop spinning.
He tried to remember what brought him to this point, but the dull throb in his head told him he couldn’t worry about that right now. His head throbbed. Thinking made his head hurt worse. Something instinctively told him that his leg was worse off than his head, but right now he couldn't put two and two together. Right now thinking was too far in the future.
The pain mingled with reality. He wasn't dead, the pain became more vivid to him. His father had always told him that as long as there was pain, you knew you were alive. Yes, he was alive.
How had he come to be the only one here? Where was the rest of his family? And then he remembered. His mother and sister had begged him to go to the store with them down the mountain. Joe Daniel hated shopping. And he took a stand that day to act like the brave young man he was. Besides ,they promised to be home before dark. He hadn't wanted to go with them and promised to behave himself until they returned. They'd left early, and would surely return before dark set in.
Why had he picked this day to be so independent, he wondered.
Nothing stirred, the silence was loud.
"Oh God, what am I going to do?" He cried aloud and scrambled on his knees out of the blackened pit of timbers that had once been his home. He needed to get up, to move.
He winced as he managed to get out into the bright sunlight and collapsed in the dry dirt. Earth moved against his lips as the wind blew. He rolled himself over, and winced again from the sharp pain coming from his leg. He didn't want to look at it, but he had to. He looked down and saw the huge gash in his leg and the charred part of his leg that still smoked. He gasped, he vomited, he rolled back into the dust and then he cried.
"Help!" he cried aloud finally. “Help, please….somebody help.”
The sound was pitifully weak. There was no one to hear him, no one to help.
"I'm going to die!" He cried aloud, as his eyes searched the burning home.
But it hadn't prepared him for what he now saw.
Everything he'd once thought of as home was gone. His home, and everything in it was gone. It lay in a silent pile of black ash.
How had it happened. He' d been playing a video game that morning, happy that his mother hadn't insisted he go with them. She had at last accepted that he was becoming a man. She had trusted him to behave himself.
Serenity his father had called their home. His father! Where was he? Gone on a business trip, he wouldn't be back until Monday. How was Joe Daniel going to make it here, for hours with a leg that pained him to move, without help. There was nothing to eat. His leg might rot off. The horrors of the moment consumed him.
Here, in the stark wilderness of British Columbia, his father insisted this was the heaven they sought. Where wilderness and civilization rarely met. He knew so little about anything except electronics, and at eleven, he couldn't call himself a genius, although until today he’d been nothing but a gaming nut.
Faced with reality, survival suddenly became a word that held importance.
That's when it hit him. It was like playing a game. In order to survive, he needed to gather his defenses and be prepared. A warrior always chose his weapons well.
But as fear crept up to steal his sanity he realized that there was only one way he knew how to survive. Only one way. His parents wouldn't understand it, his friends would mock him, but the only way he knew how to stay alive was to simulate the world into a computer game in his mind. That way, fear would not destroy him. Because the way he felt right now, fear was a very real danger and could control his every thought.
He was alone, here on the mountain. Exposed to nature, of which he rarely ventured around.
First like any good player he needed to gather his defenses. He needed to find something to fight back with. For there was certainly a danger here in the wilderness and he knew he had better be prepared. His father had spent all last winter telling him things, teaching him how to survive in the elements. He'd taken him hunting, and fishing and Joe Daniel had enjoyed it although now he had to admit he didn't remember all those lessons.
He drug his body toward what used to be the kitchen of his home.
It took an endless amount of time. But as the silence filled him, he knew he had to keep himself busy and not think too much.
It was cold, and he just realized it. He glanced at the sky, through the burnt out roof. Heavy looking clouds hung all around. Surely it was too early for snow.
But the wind blew a chill through him.
Clothes, he needed clothes.
He needed what food he could find. And worse still he needed to pee, right now.
He reached down and unzipped his pants and relieved himself. There was a bit of reassurance that he was alive when he saw the stream shoot into the air. He almost laughed, it gave him the feeling of being a young baby again, helpless.
With shaking hands he zipped his pants.
As he made his way into where the kitchen used to be, he tried to imagine where the knife drawer was. Once he had his bearings, he pulled himself in a heap of blackened silverware.
A knife…that was his weapon.
Now, what other things would he need, food, clothes, maybe a flashlight in case his mother and sister were late getting back.
He clutched the knife in his hand, feeling a sense of pride that his brain still worked.
His leg was hurting now, and he could hardly stay awake. He had to get some food. Where would he look for that?
Everything was in ashes…everything except the burnt out refrigerator. He edged closer to that and with one hand, he flung it open. There was cheese and apples…yes!
Now gathering his courage he needed to find more clothing.
But clothes would burn, so there would be very little of that, he soon realized. Besides, he didn't have the strength to get to his bedroom.
Pain and depression hit all at once. Could he survive this?
As soon as the sun set though, he would be very cold, maybe even freezing.
He was close to the living room, but before he left the kitchen, he needed to find a flashlight. Under the sink, in an old fishing box, there was a stainless steel flashlight. Yes, he remembered.
He pulled himself along the burnt out flooring, wincing with pain every time he bumped into something. But after nearly what felt like an hour, he found the old fishing box, he realized the fire had nearly melted it together. He cried aloud. Angry with himself, he took the fishing box and threw it against the sink which had falle
n and broken. The box fell open as though by magic.
"Yes!" he cried, and reached for the flashlight. Just reaching that small distance seemed to take a mountain of energy.
But how would he keep warm?
He was about to collapse now.
Finally Joe Daniel eyes closed.
It was a couple of hours before he woke. Only the pain in his leg had woken him. He glanced down at it once more. It looked worse, the cut was deep, and the burn was bad, he knew that, but he wouldn't dwell on it. If he thought or looked too much he might pass out.
He glanced around for the cheese and apples he had pulled from the refrigerator. He'd only eat enough to satisfy.
His thirst grew. He'd forgotten one of the most important things, water.
How could he forget water.
He sucked on the apple to give him strength. Then he heard a ding, another ding, and a drip, he looked up, the water was dripping from the faucet in a small stream. If he positioned himself under it, he could catch enough for a drink. But he would get wet in the process and colder too.
He moved about, but his leg was not allowing as much as it had before he went to sleep. It felt stiff and moving it at all made him wince.
Determined to survive, he drug himself closer to the dripping water.
He was only inches from it, when he gave out.
Yet as he realized it was a matter of life and death, he stretched his neck and arms to be closer to the drip. It was working. The water was running over his forehead, but he couldn't move any further, big chunks of the kitchen sink wouldn't let him get directly under it.
He tried to move his face so that the water would roll down into his mouth. It took so long, and he knew he had stretched beyond the normal limits. But finally, the water rolled down his nose and into his mouth, it was a slow process to drink, but it did refresh him some.
Feeling more confident he looked about the charred remains.
His mother kept a blanket in the trunk she used as a coffee table. If he could get there, he might be able to pull the blanket out.
Problem was, the living room looked and felt like a mile journey. He was tired, and again losing the ability to stay awake. He didn't know if the pain caused that or if the effort to move was so great that he couldn't go on.
He decided to rest for a few minutes. Yes, a little rest, that's what he needed.
He laid his head against the round piece of sink and closed his eyes once more.
When he woke, the sun was going down. Panic set in. As long as the sun shone, he could see to find things. But in the darkness he would have to feel around for what he knew might be just a few steps away.
He swallowed hard.
Where was his mother and sister? When would they be home?
A phone…was there a working phone here? He couldn't think any longer. The cold was numbing his senses. The phone would have burned or exploded, he concluded dully.
For the very first time in his life he felt the closeness of his family gathering around him. Illusion, that's what that was. But it was a warm, and very welcome one. Never had he wanted his mother's lap to lay his head. Until now.
The wind kicked up, a cold breeze chilled him.
He started shaking uncontrollably. Tears rolled down his cheek. He curled himself up, and cried aloud. "God, help me…I'm trying to survive. But I don't know if I can."
Just then he heard a sound that went straight to his heart. His heart beat against his chest like a hammer, he could almost hear it, but what produced that fear was a wolf.
He froze, waiting to see if the animal would announce himself.
In his state of mind he couldn't be sure how far off it was.
Just then he remembered something his father had told him, the first time they had heard wolves up here. "They only attack in packs."
That was reassuring.
He heard the long wail of the animal and cried out. "Oh Lord, please…not that."
Reaching about to find his knife in the dark he scrambled with his arms going all around him.
He found it, and sighed aloud.
Fumbling for the flashlight he felt relief wash over him when his fingers felt the cold metal. So he waited for night to fall.
How could he think so clearly when the pain was fading into a dull numbness, and trying to stay awake was his biggest problem, that and staying warm.
Eating his apple, he threw the core across the room with a vengeance.
He took one last gulp of water.
Determining his next move, he turned on the flashlight and circled the room for something to cover him.
Everything was burnt, the curtains at the window, the coffee table was no longer there.
There was no shelter.