I’m not sure what woke me up, as nothing seemed to show itself, and no noises seemed out of the ordinary. I’ve heard that if you’re not used to sleeping in the woods at night, normal woods noises will keep you up, so I figured that’s what it was. I tried to go back to sleep, but couldn’t.
I moved off my pack and dug out my headlamp. I turned on the red light, as red light is harder to see from distances at night. I decided to make a cup of coffee, so I prepared another small fire in the Dakota pit. After the coffee was made, I put out the fire and my head lamp, leaned back against my pack, and drank my coffee. I sat there awake for several hours, listening to the nighttime noises of the forest.
The next thing I knew, the sun was coming up through the trees. I decided to get started before it got too hot, so I packed the gear I had used for the fire and the coffee, took down the cloth tarp, and packed it up. I checked my weapons, and once I was sure both weapons were loaded and ready for the new day, I shrugged on my pack and headed back to the road.
Once on the roadway, I decided that I was going to play it safe and avoid roadways as much as possible now. It was now time to start moving cross country. I checked my compass, got my North West bearing, picked a tree off in the distance that fell within that North West reading, and set out. Once I reached the tree, I’d take a reading, find another tree, and set out.
Things went on like this for several days. I’d walk through the woods, cross roadways, use the road for a while, and break for water, food, and sleep. Some areas along the roads had an abundant number of cars on them, stalled along the roads, while other places seemed baron. I needed to be careful of places that were littered with abandoned cars, as they could be used as ambush sites. I would skirt these areas and get back into the woods as quick as possible.
I was doing pretty good food-wise. I had several thirty-five hundred calorie food bars that I was breaking up into two meals a day. Water was okay, as finding little streams and runoffs was fairly easy. Boiling it ensured I’d kill any pathogens in it, but it didn’t always taste that great. The key was just making sure that I stayed hydrated.
I was actually comfortable in the woods. Some of the patrol skills I had learned in the Army were starting to come back to the forefront of my memory, looking for things at wrong angles, wrong colors for the terrain, or movements of trees and bushes that just seemed out of place. I was paying attention to foot placement, weight placement, and sound discipline. I’m sure that by this time, people had reached a point of desperation that would be forcing them to do anything needed to survive. I didn’t want to stumble into anybody, so I needed to resort to all the patrol tactics that I could remember.
One afternoon, I could see the sun through the trees, which indicated to me that I was coming to some kind of clearing or roadway. As I got closer, I could hear what sounded like crying, mixed with yelling. I was far enough away that I couldn’t make out what was being yelled or if they were yelling at somebody. All I could tell was that they were yelling. I dropped to a knee and listened. It was coming from the direction of the clearing. I dropped my pack behind a tree. This would be my personal rally point if things went south.
I worked my way closer to the yelling, moving in crouch, being careful not to step on branches or twigs. My AR was up, in the low ready position. As I got closer, I could start to hear what was being yelled.
“Help! Somebody please! Help me!”
I dropped to a knee again. I listened for any other noises, anything that seemed out of the ordinary. I was listening for anything more out of the ordinary than somebody screaming for help. I also scanned the wood line for any movements. I was looking for anything that looked like an ambush or anything that might indicate that this was a trick. I didn’t hear anything or see any fishy movements.
As I moved closer, I came to a roadway that had a fairly steep shoulder. The roadway was a secluded, two-lane country road. There were no cars or people around. There were heavy woods on both sides of the roadway. Off to my right, I could see an older model, 1950s era truck, rolled over onto its roof. It was badly damaged, with the windshield shattered, and the roof collapsed. I took another knee and scanned the wood line up and down both sides of the roadway. I listened some more but heard nothing other than the yelling from the truck. I decided that things looked okay, so I moved toward the truck with my AR up and ready.
I approached the driver-side door, but I couldn’t see inside. I could still hear the yelling, which now I could tell was coming from a guy inside the truck.
“Would somebody help me! Somebody help me, please!”
I dropped to my side and pointed my AR inside the truck. When he heard me move, he looked toward the window.
“Shit, man, don’t shoot me! I’m hurt. I’m stuck in here, and I think my foot’s broken.” He had a look on his face that was scared, pleading, and pained.
“What’s your name?” I asked, never taking the rifle sights from him.
“My name’s Jared, but they call me Norman,” he replied.
“Who’s they, and why do they call you Norman if you’re named Jared?” I asked.
“They are my family, and they call me Norman because they think I look like the guy who played Norman Bates on A&E.” As I looked at him, I could see the resemblance. He was skinny and had dark hair and big ears. Hell, he looked more like Alfred E. Newman from the old Mad Magazine comics I read when I was a kid.
“Okay, can you move at all?” I asked, a little less concerned for my safety now.
“No, man. I’m trapped in here.”
“All right, stand by a minute,” I said as I slung my rifle over my back and tried to pull open the driver’s door. It was jammed shut, so I ran around to the passenger side and tried the passenger door. It moved a little but was also jammed. I leaned into the passenger window.
“Look, both doors are jammed. Give me a few minutes, I’ll be right back.” As I ran back to my pack, I could hear him pleading for me not to go. Soon, I could only hear his muffled yelling again. I slung on my pack and ran back toward the truck. Along the way, I saw a decent-sized tree that was young and green and looked like it could withstand the pressures of being used as a lever. I dug my pruning saw from my pack and cut down the tree and cleaned as many branches off as I could. I grabbed my pack and ran back to the truck.
Norman was still yelling when I got back to the truck. I thought to myself that this guy needed to shut the fuck up before every turd on the planet heard him. I took the tree and slid it into the gap I made the first time I tried to open the passenger door. I pushed and pulled with all that I had. I was able to get the door to move inches at a time. It was slow and took a lot of energy, but I was eventually able to get it open enough to get into the truck.
“Okay, Norman, how are you trapped in here? What’s got you trapped?” I asked.
“My foot’s trapped between the roof and the back of the seat. I can’t move it.” He started to move around, trying to pull himself free.
“Okay, hold on.” I got my lever and worked it into a small space between the seat back and the roof. I pried and pushed until I was able to get one end of the lever as close to his foot as I could. I got my end of the tree on my shoulder and pushed up. Eventually, I was able to push the back of the seat up enough to create a space big enough that Norman could slide his foot out.
“Oh man, thanks. Thanks so much. God, my foot is killing me. Man, thanks.”
“Relax, Norman, I’m not in the mood for any kissing just yet. Let’s get you out of here.” I threw the tree out of the truck and grabbed Norman under his arms. I pulled him out of the cab of the truck and laid him on the ground. He looked around, smiling like it was the first time he had seen trees.
“Oh