As he lay awkwardly on the rocky roadside, gritting his teeth against the throbbing in his leg and staring up at a clear, starry sky, he came to a realization he should have had a long time ago: it wasn’t supplies that spelled the difference between life and death in a real disaster. Once those ran out or if they were stolen or, in his situation, if he couldn’t even carry them, he’d be in the same situation he would’ve been in not having them at all.
It was knowledge and learned skills he needed to survive long term, and survive any situation life threw at him. That and deliberate, educated consideration of the situation to avoid making possibly fatal mistakes. He should’ve taken a page from Lewis’s book and learned all the things his cousin was learning, mimicked his pragmatic and thoughtful approach to life.
Maybe, like Matt, Trev hadn’t really believed this day would ever come. Or maybe he’d assumed that preparing with some supplies would be a good enough substitute for knowledge and skills. Or maybe, arrogantly, he’d been thinking that if he needed any of that knowledge or those skills Lewis would be around to help him.
As he did his best to fall asleep in spite of his intense discomfort he decided he was going to need to learn some important things, and quick. And he needed to be ready to solve his own problems because he couldn’t always count on someone else being there to help him.
For crying out loud, he hadn’t even thought to pack painkillers!
Chapter Four
Day Seven: Morning
In spite of a sleepless night and waking up to find his ankle and knee bruised and swollen Trev felt a lot more hopeful the next morning, the second day after the attack.
He had the food to rest and heal up for as long as he needed, and enough water for another day or so as well as a top quality purifier. He’d also gotten ahead of himself in survivalist mode and forgotten that most of the rest of the world thought this was going to be a temporary disaster, and the bad news had only been sprung yesterday anyway. Power was still running, which meant water too, and there might even be a car coming by that he could hitch a ride with.
All in all even if it was the end of the world, it wasn’t the end of the world. The important thing now was to focus on doing what he could for his leg and plan out his next moves. He’d gone just over 30 miles yesterday, which meant that he just had 45 left to go. And a lot of his problems the day before had come from lack of sleep and tiring himself out digging the cache, so he was more optimistic he’d get farther if he saved all his energy for walking. He could up his speed from just over a mile an hour to at least 2, maybe more.
Once he was back on his feet he could make it the rest of the way in two or three days even if he moved at a snail’s pace, as long as he moved constantly. He’d also take it slower and rest when needed to prevent exhaustion and any future injuries.
A tortoise could beat a hair with a broken leg any day.
First things first was to test his leg. The knee was heavily swollen and bruised and bending it was excruciating, but the ankle was what really worried him. He thought he’d just rolled it, but carrying that much weight while falling he might’ve actually broken it instead. With the muscles stiff from swelling and not moving all night it was painful to try to move his foot at all, but he grit his teeth and did his best to try moving and rotating it. In spite of the ache he was able to, which ruled out a broken ankle and made him feel a bit more hopeful.
Even though he’d tossed his clothes he’d kept his extra pairs of socks, since experience had shown him what it was like taking an extended hiking trip with dirty socks and the problems they could cause with blisters and other nuisances. He took a moment to put on another sock and wedge his sheathed skinning knife between the two as a crude splint. Once he’d put his shoe back on and tied a short length of rope around the hilt higher up the ankle it kept his foot fairly straight.
He couldn’t do anything for his knee at the moment besides take his only other piece of clothing, a sweater in case it got cold, and wrap it tightly around the joint and then tie it off. That would keep it from bending too much, at least. All in all it was a pretty pathetic bit of first aid, but he thought it might be enough to let him limp a few feet. He carefully levered himself up on his good leg, straightening awkwardly, and took a few careful steps.
It hurt, and he had to almost completely favor his right leg, but he could walk. Leaving his pack behind he limped down the side of the road to a spot with a wider shoulder where trees grew up the steep hillside almost to the road. There he gathered the straightest sticks he could find to make a more proper splint, then went back and laboriously dragged his pack down to the trees as far from the road as he could get and still have a level surface, where it took him way too long to set up his tent.
For most of that day he rested, keeping his leg still and occasionally dozing. He called Lewis to let him know what had happened and that he’d be later than expected, noting when he did that his phone was nearly dead. Another thing he hadn’t thought of. His cousin chewed him out for his carelessness while looking over his injuries from a few photos of them that Trev sent him, in between discussing specific details. As far as they could tell the knee was just bruised and the ankle was heavily rolled.
The good news there was that neither would prevent him from walking, although Lewis still advised that he rest a few days, then be careful and take it slow. Trev hung up and shut off his phone to save the battery in case of an emergency, then did as the doctor ordered. For the rest of the day boredom was a bigger problem than discomfort, although he tried to make the most of the time by practicing drawing and holstering his 1911 in the few positions he could manage without being able to stand or kneel.
The morning of the third day he was relieved to find that the swelling had gone down significantly, and after a bit of careful stretching his leg and limbering up he was able to walk around. His muscles were sore from the first day’s exertion, but by noon he’d decided he was ready to set out again and packed up his camp.
He managed to go a few hours before he found himself tottering on his feet, his knee a mass of pain even though he couldn’t bend it through the splint. Learning from his earlier mistake he immediately stopped to rest for another few hours, then continued on until sundown at a very slow, deliberate pace.
The morning of the fourth day after the attack he found the swelling was almost gone and he could walk with barely any pain. He didn’t even need the splint anymore. He was able to make a bit better time, although still nothing like he would’ve wanted. He hadn’t seen a single car since that one on the first day.
His worry that day was water. He’d been drinking less than he should on the previous days to conserve his supply, which was a bad idea, but he’d still run out last night and had woken up thirsty several times. But luckily after only a few hours of walking he found a house surrounded by a log fence and with a gravel driveway built well off the road. The residents were willing to let him refill his water bottles, and while he was there Trev also got a good long drink.
He asked the family if they had any spare gas, since depending on how much they had it might open up all sorts of options. But if they did have any they weren’t willing to admit it, and although he would’ve like to talk to them about what was going on in the world they seemed edgy and uncomfortable, maybe because of the rifle case on his pack that the wife kept looking at. So as soon as his bottles were filled Trev thanked them and continued on his way.
By that point his injuries were actually less of a concern than fatigue. He’d been doing his best to take it slow, but carrying the heavy pack for extended periods of time was taking its toll and he wasn’t getting many chances to rest his muscles. He decided to rest most of the fifth day and continue on the sixth.
While he was resting he found a pond on some private property but didn’t see any sign of a house or any other way to contact the owner. He got his first opportunity to break out his water filter and read the instructions on how to use it properly. It was surprisingly simple, but he still had to wonder how long it would’ve taken him to figure it out on his own.
The day of rest helped him more than he realized, even though he woke up on the sixth day sore and feeling like he had zero energy. In spite of that he made good speed, managing to travel most of the rest of the way to Aspen Hill before dark. It was the first day he’d really gone any sort of significant distance, although still far slower than he would’ve preferred.
Finally on the seventh day, an entire grueling week since the attack, he woke and packed up camp, passing the sign he’d slept beneath informing him that the turnoff for Aspen Hill was only 5 miles away, with the town itself another 4 miles along that road with the mountains of Manti-La Sal looming farther to the west.
50 miles carrying a pack that stretched him to the limits of his strength had turned out to be a much farther distance than he’d expected, especially while nursing injuries, but with any luck he’d be there sometime in the afternoon.