The Last Mountain Man-chapter one

Reads: 478  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 1

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
The beast coughed it’s last breath just as he reached the apex of this stretch of highway. As it died so did the mechanisms of it’s guts. More luck than skill rode the man’s shoulders as the beast stared down the steep incline of the highway.

Submitted: March 24, 2007

A A A | A A A

Submitted: March 24, 2007

A A A

A A A


The beast coughed it’s last breath just as he reached the apex of this stretch of highway. As it died so did the mechanisms of it’s guts. More luck than skill rode the man’s shoulders as the beast stared down the steep incline of the highway.Cursing, the man guided the half dead steering as his foot rode the half dead brake. Coming twilight meant he couldn’t simply stop on the highway. No, the incline was way too steep if another vehicle should summit the apex. There would be nowhere they could go. He could picture the carnage of the wreck. His life may be over but he wouldn’t take another with it. That meant he would just have to coast until he could safely steer the vehicle off the highway.

The narrow mountain road just wasn’t wide enough. There was no place he could guide the truck off without a steep bluff on his off side. His arm began to lose strength, his leg began to cramp from riding the dead brake. At last the yellow warning of an off ramp for semi’s slipped past his sight. He could see the foot deep gravel rush his way. Just at the last second he used his strength to turn the dead wheel. The front tires bit deep into the gravel. The truck lurched to a stop throwing him into the windshield. His forehead slammed into the glass.

He leaned his head backward onto the head rest. He felt warm blood seeping from his forehead as he gathered his wits about him. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled a half empty pack of cigarettes and pulled one free.

Reaching back into the pocket, he paused. The doc had told him to put them down. They were going to kill him. The lighter came free. What the hell, he thought, he was dead anyway.

He coughed the first drag out of his mouth. The second went easier. The third didn’t matter. Stepping from the vehicle, he went to the rear and opened the camper door then the truck’s tail gate.

It was all laid out for him. The back pack weighed close to eighty pounds as he pulled it back to the tail gate. Adjusting it to the side, he again reached into the truck for a .22 mag. rifle. The next that came free was a bow that had a hundred pound drag on it. Two quivers followed, one with the round tipped arrows for training, the other had fluted tips for hunting.

Rigging the bow and arrows onto the pack, he then reached in for the last of his survival gear, a .22 mag. Pistol and a .357 Ruger hand gun. These, he strapped to his waist. The rifle and .22 mag. Pistol he’d bought for game, the .357 because he wanted some protection if these mountains provided something the others were to light to handle.

Painfully, he slipped the pack across his shoulders. Adjusting the weight to a more comfortable position, he gripped the rifle in his hands, took one last look at the old truck and turned for the bluff. He was starting his new life and he didn’t see how putting it off was going to make it any easier.

Several rest stops, many bruises and the rest of the pack of cigarettes later, the ravine flattened out to a small creek. Finding another rock to perch on, he again reached for the pack of cigarettes. Cussing, he crumpled the empty pack in his hand. He thought of the half carton left on the seat of the truck. Tossing the pack into the creek, he thought, the hell with it, he wasn’t going back up that ravine side for anything.

He had climbed down the ravine in the dark. Though it was still so where he sit, he could see sunlight skimming the tops of the mountains. It was turning day but it would be a long while before the sun made it’s way down this low. Forcing himself to stand, he turned up the creek. This new life he had chosen meant he needed to find a home for how ever long this life was to be. A coughing spell racked his body. The eighty pound pack almost drove him to the ground. He fought his way back to standing. He grimaced. Judging by that, his new life wouldn’t be long.

Slowly, he traversed the creek bottom. He had to put distance between him and the truck. They’d find it. They’d send out search parties for him. He wanted to be far away before they did. He reached a fork. Cold water rushed at

his feet. Which way?

Flipping a coin sounded good. Reaching into his pocket , again he came up empty. He shrugged, it didn’t look as though fate was going to make it easy on him. The left fork seemed to put more distance between him. It was rough going for a ways but paid off for he soon came out into a small meadow .

Sometime in the past a storm had taken a tree with it, leaving a hallow in the ground wrapped in roots. He saw where something had at one time made a home in the roots. Hiding the back pack outside, he poked around for the notorious timber rattler but found none. The root system was tight but he made his way inside the hallow. He searched the surroundings and felt reasonably safe from detection. Making himself as comfortable as possible he closed his eyes.


© Copyright 2018 Hamp. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:

Comments

avatar

Unknown