Down The Path Page 7
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Cooper pitched his tent on a large outcropping along the river. He had gathered several large armloads of the soft grass and placed it under his tent. It created a very soft bed for him and he was anxious to get to bed as he was so still so tired.
He decided to stay awake and watch the sunset from his small camp perched along the rock. Still lacking an appetite, he decided to eat some salted crawdads because he knew he needed to. He was prone to forgetting to eat when he was excited and usually paid for it later. Forcing himself to eat, even when not feeling too hungry, was stressed heavily in his survival book.
The sunset that evening was breathtaking in its beauty, full of oranges and deep yellows shooting across the skyline as if they had been splashed against a portrait of the sky. He was fighting staying awake when the sky had gone dark and he crawled inside his tent. The grass crinkled pleasantly under his body. For the first time on his journey, he decided to pull out one of his thin blankets. The air near this river seemed to be colder than his other campsites, or perhaps it was the fresh rain. In very short order, Cooper drifted off to sleep, completely unaware of what tomorrow would bring him.
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When he finally opened his eyes, the sun was clear of the horizon. He and his blanket were soaked in sweat. His head was pounding in a way he had never experienced before; it nearly forced his eyes to cross when they were open. Coop realized quickly that his head screamed less when his eyes were shut, so he lay there on his grass mattress, with his eyes shut, trying to gather his thoughts.
Something was wrong, that was very obvious. Did he have an infection? He didn’t notice any of the warning signs on any of his small bites or scratches. No swelling or redness other than the actual bites, no sore spots in one area. Hell, his whole body felt sore, he couldn’t tell if one area hurt any more than any other as he ached all over.
No, he didn’t think it was an infection. That only left two things, poison or sickness. He had only eaten salted crawdads yesterday and he doubted that would make him sick. One of the special abilities was to keep almost any meat safe to eat if you salted it heavily enough and those crawdads were still very fresh.
This must be a sickness and he knew the most important thing was water. He drank several large gulps from his bottle and immediately spit it out. What if the sickness was in the water? He knew for any water that was suspect he could put his red liquid in it to make certain it was safe, albeit bad tasting. He had been trying to save the red liquid, but with the way he currently felt, saving things for future use was not something he needed to worry about. He liberally added drops of red liquid to all his canteens, shook them up and set them aside.
Cooper sat up a little straighter, the pain in his head had now migrated to directly behind his eyes. He needed to view his surroundings again, even if it hurt. With the way he currently felt, he knew was not leaving at all today. He would stay here until he felt better. He had to focus on getting well because thinking about the other option in this scenario resulted in certain failure, Christopher had taught him well.
Although his head pounded and his body was weak, he still had a little energy. He ventured out to stock up on supplies in case this got worse. Moving slowly, Cooper gathered dry sticks. Here on the rock, there were even logs to burn thanks to the trees lining the river. The logs would burn much longer than the light honeysuckle branches he was used to.
Taking a deep swig on his treated water, the taste of the red liquid hit him immediately. It provided a musty and bitter flavor to the water, but it gave him peace of mind, so he choked it down. He had several empty canteens and decided to walk the short distance and fill them up from the river. Even though the river was moving swiftly and he saw no way any illness could survive in it, he treated it with the red liquid just the same. It took less red liquid than he thought it would to treat all the water, and he still had ample left.
With plenty of firewood, plenty of water, and all his food reserves, he felt that he was as prepared for several days. He had been sick while in the city several times, although he never felt like this. Usually his nose would start flowing and his ears would clog up, but it would always take several days for it to go away. That is what he would plan for now - several days.
Cooper spent most of the day laying on his comfortable grass bed, trying to sleep. He was still sweating heavily and his skin seemed very hot to the touch, but he felt cold and was wrapped up in his itchy wool shirt. He had no appetite at all, but forced himself to eat some crawdad soup he made with the salted critters and water set over the fire. It tasted salty but filled his stomach. It seemed nothing could take away his thirst.
He had slept several times throughout the day, but as the sun set, he was ready for sleep again. There was no going outside the tent tonight to look at the sunrise. He seemed to be getting weaker. As he drifted off to sleep, he began to fear how he would move around if he got much weaker, but then his dreams crept in from behind his eyes and began terrorizing him throughout the night.
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After tossing and turning all night long in the throes of fever induced nightmares, Cooper finally opened his eyes. The headache was back with full force, and he was covered in sweat but freezing. He had not expected to be this weak.
Most of his supplies were out of reach and he lacked the energy or the motivation to get them. He could reach his water though and haphazardly splashed some into his mouth. He knew he needed to stay hydrated. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten and he was pressing his eyes shut hard to dull the pain, he fell back asleep.
Cooper woke with a start. Looking around he did not remember where he was, or why he wasn’t in his box. He was incredibly confused and began crying out for anyone. Why did his head hurt so much? Why was he so cold? He looked at his normal pale skin and saw it covered in dots. Not the dots he has always had his whole life, these were much darker and concentrated around his ankles and his wrists. There were so many on the palms of his hands that they appeared dark red all over.
That was when it hit him - The dots, the illness. His journey. This is what killed the men that came back to the city. He had the very same sickness, except he was going to die out here, alone. He had no way of getting back to the city in his weakened condition. The men that made it back died anyway, even with the help of the only doctor the city had.
Giving in to his fate, he began sobbing. He opened his tent flap but lacked the energy to crawl out. If he was to die, he wanted to do it outside, on this rock overlooking the river, but he just couldn’t force his muscles to move his body. He tried over and over again, but it was as if his arms and legs were glued to the ground. Suddenly, his tent seemed to start spinning and Cooper fell over on his side to be reclaimed by those same haunting nightmares.
He dreamed of many things, but mostly an entire city crying out for him. Blaming him for not coming back. These were not people that he wanted to let down and they were all angry with him. Angry for giving them hope, angry for taking so many treasured supplies only to never use them and die out here. Many figures seemed larger than the others and they were the most angry with what Cooper had done.
But what had he really done? He couldn’t remember. They were all yelling so loud at him. Then the entire mass started chasing him out of the city. He startled awake again, a scream catching in his throat as he saw a figure dashing away from his tent. He turned his head quickly to follow the movement but his eyes couldn’t keep up and he got intensely dizzy.
Cooper tried to center himself, regain his focus. He sat up very slowly and thought of everything he knew about his situation. He had a spotty rash over much of his body. He had a very high fever. He did not know how long he had been out. He was intensely thirsty. He took several glugs of the water and then splashed some on a rag that he placed on his head as he lay back down.
He tried to fight it, but he passed out again.
When he woke up this time, it was dark. At least, he thought it was dark...and he
thought he was awake. He was beginning to have a hard time telling reality from his fever dreams. He was a little bit hungry though, so he pulled out some salt carp from his pack, nearly fainting from the effort, and nibbled on it. The salt felt glorious on his tongue. It burned slightly in his dry mouth, but washing it down with some water seemed to greatly improve his state of mind.
That was when he heard it, a distinct, but very quiet swishing sound outside. It was right near his head on the other side of his thin tent fabric. No other movement, just a swish swish swish swish. It seemed to go on and on as his fever gripped him and dragged him back to the land of nightmares again.
The next time he woke up inside a dream, some sort of animal was over the top of him dripping the most heavenly cold water down onto his head, some running onto his parched lips, as the beast licked at his hand. That dream didn’t last as long as he had wanted it to and he was quickly swept off to another where he was on a boat being pushed into the lake. All the residents of the city were yelling that they didn’t want him, he was a failure. The dreams seemed to be hurting Cooper more than his illness.
He felt those heavenly cold drops on his head again. His entire mop of red hair was soaked with ice cold water. It felt so nice; he just laid there and reveled in it. That was when he heard it again…swish swish swish but this time he felt the air move around his head.
Cooper lacked the energy to panic, but was certainly worried what he might see when he opened his eyes. He was fairly certain this was not a dream. It was full sunlight outside, the light sneaking in through his pale and sunken eyelids told him that, and most of his nightmares were not this bright.
He opened his eyes to a sight unlike any he had seen before. Inside his tent, was a straw colored dog, staring right down at him. This dog was standing right over his head, and must have recently been in the river because she was dripping wet.
12
The young man was at a complete loss as to what to do. While Christopher had attempted to prepare him for every eventuality they could come up with, this one never made the list.
Judging by how wet his hair was, as well as most of his body, that dog had been standing there for quite some time. The water had run off his head and pooled around his body inside the tent. Since the tent was so waterproof, it had nowhere to go, so he was lying in a shallow bath of cold water.
He had gotten his wits about him much more, he knew this was real. Closing his eyes, he could feel his eyelids were no longer on fire. His fever had broken. While Cooper was elated at this, he had the more pressing matter of the dog.
How did she even get in here? He didn’t remember opening the tent, and lying prone on his back, he couldn’t tell if the door was open or she had simply chewed her way in.
He remembered dogs from his youth. The city had a handful of resident mutts that would run around. They seemed to have disappeared as had most of the city’s population until one day there were no more dogs. He remembered a few things about them though.
He spoke in the calmest voice he could. Not actually saying anything important, just seeing how she would react. The dog cocked her narrow face from side to side as he spoke. Apparently trying to decipher what he was saying. She had shown no aggression thus far, and beginning to feel fairly ridiculous in the situation, he gently sat up.
The skinny beast jumped backwards and then shifted to his side as he finished his rise. Cooper might have taken off running if he had the energy when she moved, but he still felt very weak. Now, resting on his knees, with this dog to his side he could clearly see her entire figure.
She had small ears that almost stood up before flopping over and a medium sized face that was incredibly pointy; so much so, he thought he could make out some veins running along her snout. Her hair was long, but not thick and entirely the color of straw, except for the splatters of black starting at her head and gently running down only one side. It was as if someone had thrown black paint onto the perfect golden canvas. Her legs were skinny but strong, built for speed he imagined. It all culminated in her long golden tail that had a gentle lilt to it. The tail was still making that swishing sound, apparently pleased with his mental assessment of her.
She stared at him, then pawed gently at his pack, giving out a slight whine and staring straight at him. Her eyes were large and framed by very long, nearly blond eyelashes. He couldn’t understand why this dog did not fear him? All the other animals he came across ran as fast as they could in the opposite direction. Granted, some did not run fast enough in the case of the crawdads.
Pulling his pack towards himself, she watched intently. No longer whining at all, just staring directly at the pack. He ran through the mental checklist of the foods that were in his pack, but so much of his recent history was a blur, he had no idea how much food, if any, remained.
Since this animal had apparently carried buckets of cold water in her fur and inadvertently cooled off his body, he decided it best to share with her. Christopher had told him two strict rules about sharing food. The first, always share if the stranger seems friendly; it builds good relations as well as trust. The second, never let the person see exactly where the food is stored, if at all possible.
Well, this golden haired beauty had figured out where the food was, not that it was difficult, he had only one pack. She certainly seemed friendly. He reached inside his pack and quickly noticed the dog’s head going in alongside his hand. Without thinking, he snapped the pack shut quickly and yelled ‘Hey!’ She backed up, looking unsure. Cooper’s resolve was a little shaken and he crawled outside the tent to sit on the rock.
The effort it took to get outside and sit down was exhausting, but he had been able to manage. The dog trotted up and sat beside him, right next to the pack. Informing her that he was going to try again, he reached his hand into his food stores. Her head was very close, apparently savoring the aromas coming off his bag, but did not go inside the pack again. He snapped off a small piece of salt carp and then gave her half while he ate half.
He had no idea how long it had been since he had eaten, but he savored the carp. Allowing it to rehydrate and become tender in his mouth. The pooch, on the other hand, had eaten hers so fast that he started to wonder if he had actually given it to her. The carp seemed to disappear the second it hit her mouth. She was licking her pointy face though and swishing her tail. Yes, she had enjoyed it, somehow.
He broke them each off another piece but this time tore hers into several smaller pieces while he drank some water. He handed her each piece individually, and each one was immediately swallowed.
While she looked skinny, she did not appear to be unhealthy. She was not a starving animal, she just really enjoyed carp. Perhaps it was the salt, he wondered. Truly, it didn’t matter, for this short time he had a companion. He could not continue to feed her his reserves, so he imagined she would leave soon.
Taking a look at the landscape, he grew worried. Things had changed since he last remembered. It had rained heavily at least once, as the ash from his fire had been washed away. Even more unsettling, the ground as well as the extra wood he gathered, was bone dry. How long had he been inside that tent? Was his sickness really gone?
Then he remembered the spots all over him. Had that been real or part of one of his nightmares? He could faintly see marks around his ankles and wrists, his palms still looked odd, but not frightening. He was still very weak though. Standing up, he noticed his pants did not fit correctly, they were slightly loose. He had lost weight while he was locked away inside his fever nightmares.
13
Cooper had allowed himself several days to recuperate more, but he was noticing that he wasn’t regaining his energy level quickly. He could walk around better now though, and that had allowed him to gather more crawdads.
The strangest thing was that the dog had never left, not for long anyway, even though he stopped feeding her carp. The longest she had been gone was one whole morning and when she returned she brought a small rodent in her jaws a
nd plopped it at his feet!
The behavior amazed Cooper, and since he had already eaten breakfast, he skinned the rodent and cooked it over the fire, feeding her half of her catch. He ate the other half mostly just to try it. It wasn’t a rodent like he had seen in the city. This one did not have a hairless tail and was much larger than his thumb. It had a bushy tail and a good deal of meat on it. Measured against his own hand, this creature’s body was slightly longer than his hand, not counting the bushy, gray tail.
While recuperating, Cooper’s thoughts went to the dog frequently. He imagined at first that she just wanted food, until that day when she brought food to him. Now he had settled into thinking she was lonely and wanted a friend. Since she appeared to have no problem finding food, he didn’t see any problems with it.
It had taken nearly a week to get his energy level to a point where he felt it was safe to travel. He had been eating as much as he could bear and drinking several canteens of water a day out of the cold river. It hadn’t taken him long to decide the water was not making him sick, since he had no idea how much he had drank after it ran off the dogs fur and yet he still recovered.
In this time, the animal had brought back three more large rodents and they feasted on them together. He could not decide if she preferred her rodent cooked or raw, she always gobbled them down with abandon.
By his logic, if she was going to be his companion, she needed a name. He could not continue to refer to her as dog. After a dinner of salted rodent meat soup, he stared at her in the campfire light thinking of a name. She gazed back, blinking her long, blonde eyelashes contentedly. The most recent woman he had spoken with was Nancy, but that name didn’t fit. He wished he knew any of the young ladies who had smooched him as he left the city. Both the ladies and the dog were sweet and he felt that would be fitting.