As her rounds came to an end, she jumped onto the couch and curled up in the corner. It was her sleep spot. I waited for about an hour. My ex-wife had nicknamed her Wheezy because when she slept, she would wheeze. It was kind of like a snore and funny as hell. There were times when it got loud enough that it was almost disruptive when I was watching TV. When I heard her wheezing, I knew it was time.
I was still crying as I got up and walked over to the couch. As I had hoped, she didn’t hear me. I crouched down beside the couch and put the barrel of the .22 behind her left ear. I wanted it to be quick and painless. I figured that the brain would be the quickest and most painless way to that end. I was careful not to touch her because she’d wake up. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. There was a knot in my throat the size of an apple and a pain in my heart that I couldn’t even begin to describe. Mustering all the emotional strength that I could, I pulled the trigger.
The only noise I heard was the bolt slamming forward on the pistol. She never heard or felt it. She never moved. When I opened my eyes, she was in the same position as when she fell asleep but with some blood running from her nose. I put my head down on the couch beside her and cried harder than I had ever cried before. I don’t know how long I cried, but eventually, I fell asleep, lying beside the best friend I had ever had.
I awoke to the sound of thunder. I’m not sure how long I had been asleep, but I still felt drained. The candle I had lit earlier was still burning but was half gone at this point. I looked at Fred and teared up as I petted her for the final time. She had been a great cat, a great pet, and a great friend. I stared at her for a few more minutes until another crack of thunder brought me back to the here and now. I moved over to the door and looked through the peephole. It was raining, and it was dark. I decided that now would be a good time to go. With the rain, most people would stay inside. I could move around and avoid contact with as many people as possible. I didn’t have an abundance of ammo, so avoiding a long shoot-out or drawn-out confrontation was the smart thing to do.
I opened my ruck and pulled out my map of Laurel city. The city of Laurel actually sat on four counties in Maryland. It was located on the points of Prince Georges, Anne Arundel, Montgomery, and Howard Counties. However, the town of Laurel was located entirely in Prince George’s County and was almost midway between Washington, DC. and Baltimore. It started out as a factory town because it was located around the Patuxent River. Its industrial capabilities continued to grow and reached a pinnacle when the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad was built in the middle 1800s. The city had now become a commuter town for both Washington and Baltimore workers. Laurel was known as what it commonly referred to as a “company town” because the schools, businesses, and houses were all owned by the company businesses in the area.
When the civil war started, Laurel was divided. It was not uncommon to find sympathizers with ties to both sides of the conflict. Even so, due to the large number of southern backers, union soldiers were used as security patrols for the railroad.
After the Civil War, around the late 1800s, manufacturing became less important and Laurel became a suburban town. Since the railroad was so close, residents commuted to jobs in Washington and Baltimore. The Laurel Park Racetrack was a thoroughbred that opened its doors in 1911 and was still open…until the event happened. It was even mentioned in the book,.
On May 15, 1972, Governor George Wallace, the governor of Alabama, campaigning for the presidential nomination of the Democratic Party, was attending a rally in the parking lot of the Laurel Shopping Center. Arthur Bremer, an unemployed janitor, shot Wallace. The shooting paralyzed him. And before the September 11 hijackings, many of the hijackers used Laurel-based hotels as places to meet and plan the hijackings. They also worked out at a local Gold’s gym. A common phrase in Maryland seems to hold true. “All things move through Maryland.”
I also got out my maps of Pennsylvania and placed them and the Laurel City map into a waterproof map case. I pulled out my Frogg Togg rain suit and put it on over my clothes. I had on a pair of green Wrangler Ranger cargo pants, a black 5.11 tactical shirt, and a pair of Danner Acadia boots. I was very product loyal. Wrangler, 5.11, and Danner had served me well for several years.
As I said, I wanted to avoid confrontation as much as possible so preventing people from seeing exactly what I had, would keep their curiosity down. My Eberlestock ruck had a rifle scabbard built into the back of the pack. I placed my AR15, barrel down, in the scabbard. I then strapped on my battle belt, knife, and thigh ride pistol holster.
Once my gear was on, I attached my surefire light to my 1911 and placed it into its holster. I pulled the rain cover over my ruck and slung my pack, grabbed my boonie hat, and moved to the door.
I stopped and went over to blow out the candle. I looked around at the home that I lived in for ten years, scanning all my possessions, all the material things I had worked so hard to acquire. The TVs, furniture, movie posters on my walls, all the DVDs, everything was worthless now. I was leaving everything to essentially rot away or be stolen by somebody else. It amazed me how everything was gone in an instant.
I went over to the couch one more time and said my final farewells to Freddy. I blew out the candle, went to the door, and turned the knob, walking out into the unknown.
4
The rain was painful and was blowing almost sideways. It blew straight into my face and felt like hundreds of little needles poking at my skin. The rain and clouds were so thick that it was almost completely dark outside.
I knew the area around my apartment pretty well. I knew which way was north and moved in that direction. As I had hoped, the weather ensured that the streets were clear of people. My pack was heavier than I would have liked, but all the camping trips and repacking had taught me what could be eliminated without taking out what I felt was important. The pack was heavy, but it only contained the necessities, at least what I felt was necessary for my current mission parameters, which in this case was to get home.
The average person can move through the woods with gear and make about six miles a day. I was guessing that I could do about four, maybe five miles a day. By roadway only, Laurel to Indiana, Pennsylvania, was approximately two hundred and forty miles. At five miles a day, that would take me forty-eight days of travel. It would take me a little over a month to get home. That was if I followed the roadways and didn’t stop anywhere for an extended period of time. Traveling cross country would eliminate miles, which would cut some time, which would eliminate days.
I moved as fast as I could without risking injury. My plan was to follow roadways until I was able to get out of town. Then I would move into the woods and navigate by compass the rest of the way. I would move throughout the day and rest at night. I wasn’t going to set up full-blown camps each night. I wasn’t in a SERE (survival, evasion, resistance, escape) type situation, but