“How long have you been in there? What happened anyway?” I asked as I knelt down to look at his foot.
“I’ve been stuck in that piece of shit for three days. Damn man, go easy!” he yelled as I pulled, prodded, and twisted his ankle. I was no doctor—hell, I wasn’t even a medic—but from the grinding sound I heard in his ankle, I could tell it was broken.
“I was out hunting for me and my wife, which reminds me, don’t forget my rifle in the truck, it’s the only one I have. Anyway, I was driving home and a freakin’ bear ran across the road. I swerved to miss it, lost control, and rolled this bitch. Dammit, that’s the only truck we got too,” he said. I wasn’t sure if he was pissed at the bear or himself for wrecking the truck.
“Brother, you don’t look old enough to have a wife. How old are you?” I asked as I smiled at him.
“I’m thirty-five,” he said, puffing up his chest and getting a proud look on his face.
“My wife’s name is Amanda, and I got a six-year-old boy too. His name’s Andy. We call him Dozer ’cause he’s as strong as an ox and runs around pushing everything over.” The proud look on his face got more legitimate as he talked about his boy. Not as comedic as when he told me his age.
“How far from your house are you?” I asked.
“Maybe six miles that way,” he said as he pointed down the road.
“Where’s your wife? Do you think people will be out looking for you?” I asked.
“No, it’s just me and her. I told her not to leave the house unless I was gone for more than a week. Then she was to hike it to the neighbor’s house through the woods about a mile from our place. But we got enough food in the house that she can feed her and Dozer without me. I just went out to look for some meat to supplement what we already got.”
“Okay, let me get some stuff to make you a splint and a cheesy crutch. Then I’ll grab your rifle and we’ll head out. You think you can make it home with a crutch?” I asked as I started to look around.
“Fuckin-a, man, I miss my wife and kid,” he said, the excitement about getting out of here evident on his face.
I pulled my Bowie knife from its sheath and crawled back into the cab of the truck. I cut several long strips of cloth from the seat covers. Once I crawled back out of the truck, I took the pruning saw and cut the tree I used to pry open the door into several pieces about a foot long. I used one of the pieces as a baton, using it and my knife to split one of the other pieces of wood into two. I then placed a piece of the split tree on each side of Norman’s leg. I finally took the cloth strips I cut from the seat to tie the splints to his leg.
Once that was done, I walked back into the woods and found a tree about the size of a man’s wrist. The tree had a Y in it about five feet from the ground. I cut the tree down with the pruning saw and adjusted the size until Norman could use it as a crutch.
I walked back to the truck, crawled back into the cab of the truck, and used my Bowie to cut a couple of chunks of padding from the seat. I used the last strips of the seat cover to secure the padding to the Y in the crutch.
“Okay, Norman, this’ll need to do. Let’s get you up and we’ll start heading to your place. You just point us in the right direction,” I said as I reached out to give him a hand up.
“Damn, dude. You fixed this shit up like a pro. You know what you’re doin’.”
“I’m no pro. Just thinkin’ on the fly,” I said, helping Norman get his balance. Once he was more or less stable, I crawled back into the truck cab for what I hoped was the last time and retrieved Norman’s rifle. It was a Birmingham Small Arms .270-caliber hunting rifle. It had a wood grain stock and a leather sling. It was well cared for, which always told me that the owner cared about his tools and made sure that they were ready when he needed them.
“This is a nice rifle, Norman. My grandfather had one just like it when he was alive.” I looked the rifle over some more. When my grandfather, Pap Pap Dale, died, he left me his hunting rifles. The .270 was one of them. It was a shame I needed to leave it in my apartment, but I couldn’t carry the extra weight of another rifle and ammo. It just wasn’t realistic.
“Okay, Norman. Let’s get moving. You might wanna slack around here for a few days, but I don’t like bein’ in one spot too long. Let’s get moving.” He looked at me like I was a complete idiot. I smiled at him to let him know I was joking.
“Hey, man, what’s your name? I should know the name of the guy that just saved my life.”
“My friends call me Buck,” I said as I stuck out my hand.
“It’s nice to meet you, Buck. Thanks again,” he said as we shook hands.
I repacked what gear I had used to get Norman ready for travel and shrugged on my pack. We made it to the roadway and started moving in the direction he originally pointed.
We moved along the roadway fairly slowly. I scanned all around us, checking our rear to make sure we weren’t being followed. Every so often, I would have Norman stop so I could listen for anything that didn’t sound normal.
“Damn, man, you are one paranoid dude,” he said as he again looked at me like I was an idiot.
“No, Norman, I’m not paranoid. I just know how people have been since we all lost power. Here in the country, it might not have hit you yet, but in the city areas, they’re killin’ each other for a drink o’ water. I don’t wanna die for the gear I got on my back, but I sure as hell will kill to keep it, ’cause it’s what’s kept me alive so far, and it’ll keep me alive till I get to where I’m goin’.”
“Where are you goin’ anyway?” he asked as we got up to move on.
“My best friends live up north, outside a’ Pittsburgh. I’m headin’ up there. We used to work together years ago, and I think that if I’m up there and not in the city, and I’m with them, my chances of survivin’ this are a lot better.”
“Well, if you want, you can hang with me and the family for a few days. It’s the least we can do. We can fill your gut a few times, maybe wash your clothes, ’cause you do smell a little ripe.” He laughed like he had just heard the funniest joke ever told.
I just shook my head and kept walking. We walked like this for another hour or so, talking, laughing a little. We would stop and take breaks occasionally, as moving with the makeshift crutch was harder for Norman than it looked. He talked about his wife and kid. Eventually, he stopped, took a breath, and pointed a short way ahead of us at a bend in the road.
“My place is just around the corner.” We pushed on. Soon, the trees along the road started to thin out and turned into a small field of hay. Through the field, I could see a small ranch-style home, made of brick and tan siding. It was well-kept and clean. I could see in the backyard which held several fenced-in areas that housed some pigs, chickens, and a couple of cows. The homestead was a small farm that was just big enough for them.
We kept walking, and as we got closer to Norman’s house, the door swung open and a petite brunette came bursting through the doorway. Instinctively, the AR came up.
“Easy, Rambo. It’s just Amanda.” She was thin and kind of homely-looking, but it was obvious that she was glad to see Norman. She was wearing a light-blue sundress and pink tennis shoes, with her brown hair pulled up into a bun. Right behind Amanda came the biggest six-year-old I’ve ever seen. He was about three and a half feet tall and had to weigh a good eighty or ninety pounds. He was wearing blue cut-off jean shorts and a green T-shirt that was about two sizes too small for him. Before I could stop myself, I started to laugh.
“Man, don’t laugh. I told ya we call ’im Dozer. We call ’im Dozer for a reason.” Norman had a smile on his face as he scolded me.
Amanda reached Norman and wrapped her arms around his neck,