Roy Miller's Blog, page 315

Seven Day Story Part 5

So it’s now after ten o’clock and pitch black. I can see a million stars out here, I swear to you. Every constellation I learned of in school and immediately forgot about when I walked out the door are floating above my head without a care in the world. Me, on the other hand, I fell asleep sometime in the early hours of the morning and was out all day. You think it would have done me good but I feel even worse now.

The fever is getting worse. My whole body is hot and I itch like crazy. Getting that extra rest has made me lethargic and I’m behind schedule. I think part of me wants to just set myself up in a decent way here so it’ll be a little easier for whoever it is that finds me. That part is very strong, but even so, there’s still a little part that wants me to fight my way back to Siobhan. She’s the kind of woman that would only get me one glass of water when I was sick, and if I wanted another I had to get up and get it myself. She truly believed that a little goes a long way.

We were supposed to be trying for kids. She had the whole schedule down. (A squirrel or something just ran past the tent and it has me on edge.) I was hoping to get a little guy that would like to go caving with me and she was hoping for a little princess that would stay with her while I was gone. Seeing her face in my head makes the aching seem like it isn’t as bad as it really is. At least for a minute.

I finished the rest of the raccoon when I woke up. It was cold and very tough. The fire is mostly out but there’s still a coal bed. I want to say I’ll get up and add some wood to it but I can barely keep my eyes open, much less walk. If I didn’t keep this notepad in my vest I wouldn’t be writing this right now either. The power of positive thinking. Finding my way home. Our little tyke. Grilling ribs on Sunday. A hot shower and ice cold drinking water. Maybe even a beer.

I’m worried.

Seven Day Story Part 4

I made it maybe a mile before I felt the blood running down my leg. It’s mostly numb, but I thought I felt a tickling sensation and it was bugging me. When I looked down my leg was completely red from the half way point of my shin down. All the strain of walking ripped the cauterized wound open. I’m not sure how long it was like that before I noticed, but it has me worried. My pants are covered in things from the forest that dried in the original blood. There’s no telling what kind of infection I could get.

Currently, I’m looking through a clearing. I’m about two miles in, and I figure if I can do two miles each day I should make it back just in time. Trying to work through this with my leg makes it about ten times harder than it would be otherwise. I say ten because I’ve done these types of trips a hundred times in my life, and doing this one right now feels about ten times harder. I don’t know why it’s not six or eight, or even twelve. Ten just feels right. Actually, nothing feels right at the moment.

I think maybe I’ll camp here at the edge of this part of the forest. I can see things coming easily with the clearing in front of me, and I’ve done a pretty good job of shuffling up sticks and stuff hobbling through so I should hear them coming from behind me. I’ve eaten about half of the raccoon. I know that’s pretty bad since I should ration a little better in case I can’t catch anything else for the next two days, at least, but it’s hard not to eat it when it’s there. And of course eating makes me thirsty, so I’m down to about three-quarters of my bottle. I hope I run into water soon.

It’s getting harder to write. I feel the weakness in my hands. I know that if something as simple as writing gets difficult I’m gonna be SOL when it comes to building a fire or pitching my tent. For some reason getting all of these thoughts down when I have them seems just as important as anything else in this situation. I know it’s not vital to my survival, but I guess maybe my body knows something I don’t. Is there something in our biological makeup that can tell when we’re about to expire, and we just don’t consciously know what it feels like until it’s too late?

My watch says four thirty. I know I should have pitched the tent before I sat down, but I just needed a rest. I’m going to get up and do it now while I’m thinking about it. If I don’t, I won’t.

Against my better judgment, I ate a raccoon leg and took a swig of water. I tried to talk myself out of it, standing there with an item in each hand, but it was almost like I had no control over myself. It made a difference, though, and I managed to pitch the tent and get the fire going. My leg is in bad shape and I’m not really sure what to do about it. I could cauterize it again, but I’m afraid it’ll just rip open like it did the first time. It’s starting to itch around the edges and that has me worried.

It took me an hour longer to get everything set up this time than last. My left arm hurts from putting so much strain on it and I think my hand is starting to chafe against the walking stick. I’ll have to remember to dig the left glove out of my pack before I leave again. I’m hoping the next leg of the trip is similar to this one as far as the forest goes. A lot of the trees were close enough together that I could do ten to twenty-second bursts of movement with a rest in between. I can’t imagine what it would be like doing this in an open field.

I’ve been wondering about Siobhan and what she’s doing. Today is Wednesday, which is her day to re-up at the library. If I had to guess she is probably on the couch with a glass of wine and whatever she decided to grab this time around. She usually gets good fiction, which is nice. I can actually talk to her about what she reads since it’s not that thrift store romance garbage. Her mom was really into those and when she died there were boxes full of them that got, you guessed it, taken to the thrift store. I wonder if people write those books knowing that’s where they’ll eventually end up.

I’m having a hard time keeping my eyes open. It’s not even dark yet, but sitting still is really taking it out of me as much as moving.

Seven Day Story Part 3

It’s dark now and the fire is going pretty steady. There’s a good coal bed forming and if I can find some small game it’ll be easy to cook in the camp pan I brought. I’ve been sitting here complaining about my situation when the truth is, I’m way luckier than others that have been stuck like this. I have professional gear, a first aid kit, a lighter. Things we take for granted in the city. I am fully aware that I could be stuck out here with none of those things, so I’m trying to do better about being positive.

Part of normal positivity, though, is adequate sleep, and I won’t be getting any of that out here. The forest is so loud. I thought traffic in the city was bad, but these crickets and birds are something else. They talk to each other all day and all night. I might be different if I could tell what they were saying, but it’s like going to Chinatown to get herbs; you might be able to find what you’re looking for, but not without some work. I sure would like to be able to tell one of these birds to fly out and get help.

My next plan went off without much of a hitch. I heated one of my climbing hooks in the fire until it was red-hot on one side, then used gloves to hold it against me and cauterize the bone’s evacuation point through my leg. The pain was immense enough that I felt light-headed and unstable, even sitting down, but it had to be done. All I can smell is burnt flesh and hair, but I’m not bleeding as badly anymore. That’s the kind of thing you see in movies but don’t ever think you’ll have to experience yourself. Never say never.

I’m moving into day eleven, so I have three and a half days, give or take, to make it to the extraction zone. A six-mile hike through the woods with a broken leg. Why couldn’t it have been my arm instead? Hand? Wrist? Shoulder? Anything but the legs or ankles. Maybe not the neck, either. If it was hand or finger I might not be able to write this, but I wouldn’t feel like I have to if I could walk. I’m talking myself in circles again. Hopefully, I can lie back and get a little bit of rest.

I managed to sleep quite a bit, even though it happened in pieces. I would sleep for an hour or two, wake up for thirty minutes and then repeat. It at least afforded me the opportunity to keep feeding the fire so it wouldn’t die out in the night. I heard something that at first I thought was a squirrel, but it turned out to be a raccoon. When I saw it I remembered sharpening a couple sticks to hunt with and got lucky enough to spear it. I think it came so close because it thought I was sleeping and probably had food. Tough break, brother.

It’s early morning, close to seven o’clock. The fire is still good so I’m going to skin and cook this kind soul that has died so I can live. Not like he really had a choice, but I appreciate it nonetheless. Once I finish cooking it I’ll eat some and store the rest for the trip. I’m going to need all the energy I can get to hobble that six miles. I’m really not looking forward to it.

I’ve never skinned anything myself, so I’m kind of nervous. I went hunting with my uncle once when I was about eleven. Shot a deer but it took off and we couldn’t find it. My uncle got one, though, and he asked if I wanted to help prepare the venison. I wasn’t really interested in helping, but I did watch him go through the process. All that blood is something you don’t think about until it’s right in front of your face. What I remember the most from it is the blank stare the deer had as it hung from the ceiling of the garage. A husk with no driver made me question my stance on the existence of the soul.

When I nabbed this raccoon I speared it through the shoulders, but as soon as I had him I used my knife to sever the head. I wanted its pain to be over as quickly as possible. I could feel bile rising in my throat as I cut through tendons and muscle. It wasn’t what I wanted to be doing, but sometimes we all have to do things we don’t want to. I feel as if society would be a much different place if people had to hunt and kill their own food like we did in the old days. Taking a life because you value your own over theirs does something to you.

I just made a makeshift spit to roast him on. I used a little rope to the two sticks together in a teepee shape on each side so I can rest a stick in the middle. The spear went through him pretty easily, but seeing the tip come out through its mouth almost ruined my appetite completely. I won’t back out now of course, but I don’t have to like it, either. In about a half hour we’ll see what happens.

It’s pretty safe to say I understand what people are talking about when they say something tastes “gamey.” Very little meat, but it was lean. I can’t think of another word to use to describe it other than gamey. It’s one of those things you have to experience to really understand. Now that I do, I really don’t understand how people choose to live life this way. I couldn’t do it. Well, I’m sure I could if I had to, but I wouldn’t choose it. What could happen in someone’s life to make them want to eat critters?

The food is settled now and I’ve just finished taking down the tent. Everything is packed up and ready to go. I’m going to go as far as I can while it’s light out and listen for water along the way. I didn’t see or hear any on my way through from the other direction, but I wasn’t particularly looking, either. I’m hoping that with the help of my walking stick I’ll be able to cover some good ground. And stay away from bears.

Seven Day Story Part 2

It’s about three hours later. I found a rotted trunk with a bunch of insects in it and ate a handful. I’m guessing the tree got struck by lightning or something. The bugs were pretty gross, especially the slugs. They burst when you bite into them. Luckily I knew that before I dove in, otherwise I probably would have vomited. I still almost did.

I rested another thirty minutes or so after eating and then hoisted myself to a standing position. I leaned against the tree for support and looked around for a piece of wood I could turn into a walking stick. While gathering firewood I found one that would work, so I hobbled a few feet over to some brush, pulled a few handfuls and tied it to the bottom of the stick with some of my climbing rope to make a broom. There was quite a bit of debris on the ground and in order to pitch my tent I had to clean it up. Being so unsteady on my feet it probably looked like I was dancing with the broom.

It took about forty-five minutes to get everything where it needed to be, but I managed to do it. Once the tent was up I brought my gear inside and reopened the first aid kit. My dressing was completely saturated with blood. My girlfriend, Siobhan, told me that I should always pack extra gauze when I go. She got hooked on those survival shows when we started dating and said that some of the injuries were pretty grotesque. I didn’t think I needed extra, but I put it in there to appease her. I’ll have to thank her if I make it back.

The sun began to drop in the sky about twenty minutes ago. My leg is redressed and it hurts more than anything else I’ve encountered so far in life. I had to push the bone back toward the inside of the leg when I wrapped it up, and I felt the worst burning sensation you can imagine. It tore throughout my entire body, and by the time I finished wrapping it felt like I had just rebroken it. I found a bottle of ibuprofen in my gear but it isn’t even touching the pain. At least I don’t feel like it is.

The temperature has dropped significantly in the past two hours. It’s only late September so it shouldn’t be too bad, but it feels unseasonably cold. I think the little bit of fever I had coming on before the ibuprofen has something to do with that. One of the two water bottles is gone now, and the pool I filled up at is over six miles away. The plan was that Siobhan would send an extraction team at twelve days. If I left the area I was supposed to leave a signal that I would be back, and if I wasn’t present by the fourteenth day they would send out a search party.

I don’t think I’ll be able to make it back to the extraction zone.

People always say you have to stay positive in these kinds of situations. It’s easy to say that, for sure, when you’re in the comfort of your own home. I used to watch some of those survival shows I mentioned with Siobhan and say things like, “I could do that faster than him,” or, “I know a more efficient knot for that scenario.” I look back at those moments of smugness and almost catch myself laughing as I sit in near darkness with no fire.

I suppose I’ll get around and start this fire before I can’t see anymore. I have enough wood to hopefully last the night. A little light and warmth should do me good. I’ll sharpen some spears while I get the fire going so I can try to hunt some small game in the morning. Wish me luck. Hopefully, if I actually do get lucky no one will have to read this.

Seven Day Story: Part 1

(A seven day story is just that, a story written over seven days. Each day’s story has to be written completely on that day with no prior planning.)

To anyone that may find this:

My name is Caleb and I’ve been cave-mapping in the forest north of Brantleberry for the past ten days. Two days ago I finished the last of my original route and decided to keep going. I had food for another week since I brought two weeks worth just in case. I say had because an accidental slip caused me to lose one of my packs in a cave pool. It sank to the bottom and I couldn’t see it, even with my headlight. Luckily I didn’t lose my gear pack, but even so, I can’t eat rope.

I thought that would be the worst of my worries, having to hike a day or two back to the signal spot for pickup with no prepared food. I was wrong.

This morning I ran into a family of black bears. A mother and two cubs. They came within about thirty yards of me, and when the mother locked eyes with me I thought it would be best to disappear atop the trees and get off the ground. I mean, I know bears can climb, but I figured if I could get high enough into a tree before they got to me I could maybe get out of sight. Another bonehead move born of hunger.

As I climbed I watched them approach. The mother sniffed around while her cubs stuck to her side. The first ten minutes she walked circles around where I was standing when we had our moment of recognition, and after that it was another twenty of going tree to tree, sniffing up and down each one. I was sitting with my back to them, legs outstretched on a thick branch. I planned on waiting until they wandered off and climbing back down, but my body had other plans.

Since I hadn’t eaten in a couple days my energy was down. Sitting against the tree afforded me time to close my eyes while I waited, even though that wasn’t a great idea. Of course, as my luck goes, I ended up falling asleep for a little while. I didn’t even realize I was dozing off until the shocking dream state of falling ended up being actual falling, and I landed on the ground with a pronounced thud. It took me a minute to catch my breath and gain my bearings, but once I did I took in the full horror of the situation: the bottom half of my right leg was at a perfect right angle.

The pain? I can’t even tell you what it felt like. Literally, since the fog of my brain is making a lot of small details before ten minutes ago unrecognizable. Right now, though, it feels like what you would imagine a hot knife gliding through flesh would feel like. I don’t know how long I was asleep, but when I looked around the bears were gone. That doesn’t mean they’ll stay gone. I managed to tie my leg off and wrap it up with the first aid kit, but there’s still a lot of blood and I’m sure they can smell it. I’m in no condition to move. I’ve been sitting against this tree for the better part of four hours now, and it’ll be getting dark soon.

I’m starving, dehydrated and in pain. I filled my water bottles the other day, but I’m running low again. I’ve been trying to conserve, but dealing with this leg is taking it out of me. I’ve been anxious non-stop and it’s doing a number on my body. I used to think the exhaustion I felt after having a panic attack was bad, but this is on a level I’ve never dreamed of. I don’t have much energy left. Even armchair hikers know that running out of energy is a death sentence, and I have this injury to boot.

It’s a little past one in the afternoon, and I need to think about getting things together for a fire. My leg is going in and out of numbness, and I don’t know if I’ll even be able to move it. I have a lighter, I just need to get some wood. Staying here without a fire is a good way to end up dead even faster, since if predators don’t get me the cold will. I don’t think I’ll even be able to pitch my tent, and that has me really worried. I am glad this happened so close to a lot of wood; the thickness of the trees will help be a little bit of cover, and I don’t have to crawl far for fire fuel.

I’m going to try and look for some small insects or something around me to eat and see if I can manage to get myself up and moving. All I can do is hope for the best.

Halcyon

As of today, my newest title, Halcyon, is available for purchase. This title is a themed piece on grief, and all of the proceeds will be donated to The Dougy Center for grieving children and families. If you’re interested, you can check out more below.

Simon Fields led an idyllic life of Midwest suburban bliss with his wife and daughter, until everything was ripped away from him in a split second. A promising life of wonder and possibility suddenly turned to crushing despair and uncertainty. How does one cope?

Halcyon explores the grief process and the very difficult attempt to sort through emotion and move on from tragedy. From desperate sorrow to unyielding happiness, follow Simon as he remembers his family and picks up the pieces through a series of letters to his former next-door neighbor.

With the way the prices are set, each purchase equals a $5.00 donation to TDC. $12.00 for print and $7.17 for eBook. With 70% royalties from Amazon for the eBook, the price of $7.17 equals out to exactly $5.00, which is almost the same for the print version. To be exact, the print version royalties are $5.05 which is the closest I could get with a round price number. (I expect to sell more print copies so I rounded it for customer satisfaction.) If I sell at least 100 copies, I’ll donate the $5.00 worth of nickels as well.

If you can’t afford the book or have no way to buy it and still want to help, you can also share this post or others you may see to help get the word out. If the same as above is true but you’d really like to read it, I’m open to making trades for an eBook copy. Send me a message with whatever you think it’s worth.

I’d like to extend a very sincere thank you to anyone that helps in any way they can. You can find a link to the book page on site here for purchase links.

Series Update

Three more letters have been added to the Mr. Carson series. For those that are interested in checking them out, you can find links to the posts on Medium below:

Absenteeism
Wanderlust
Bemusement
Pedigree
Juxtaposition

New Letters

I’ve started a series of letters from a young man to an old mentor, in the wake of his absence. You can read the first two entries here and here.

Anthology Piece

A short story of mine was accepted into an Anthology by Zimbell House Publishing called “On a Dark and Snowy Night.” Complimentary copies should start shipping to authors on February 22nd, which means it’ll be available to order right around the same time.

This collection of short stories must be set in the dead of winter, where anything can happen. Each tale must begin with “On a dark and snowy night…” Zimbell House Publishing is holding open submissions for short stories and novellas to be featured in this upcoming collection that is full of things that can happen in winter. This collection will be unique in that the opening line for each story has been set. Where the story goes from there is up to the contributor. Will it be a tale of true love found? or lost? Has a mad man escaped? A car crash that changed someone’s life? Is it a story where a carriage is found, but the occupants are mysteriously missing? Did a stranded traveler find a sinister abandoned mansion? or a warm and kind hearth to wait out the storm?

Holidays

Best of whatever about the whole thing for all of you.