it off, he poured about half of the water into a large bowl and took the rest into the bathroom. He poured it into the basin. While it was cooling, he got some clean clothes and stripped off the dirty ones. The water was still too hot for him to leave his finger in for more than a second or two.
He thought about how long the water in his barrels would last. He needed water to wash his clothes, cook, bathe, and drink. That was probably more than three barrels would hold between rains. Heâd have to figure something out. Finally the water was comfortable enough for him to take a bath. He would have preferred a shower, but he still got clean. Donning fresh clothes, he felt ready to take on the day.
He headed outside and started working on his garden. Before long, it began to rain, and he quickly jumped at the chance to gather more water. He grabbed two five-gallon buckets out of the shed and started dipping water out of the barrels. He carried them into the bathroom and poured them into the tub. When it was full, he started on the tub in the other bathroom. The barrels now close to empty, Gabe focused his efforts on gathering all the buckets he had and putting them on the back porch to fill. Stepping back inside, he noticed how cold the rain had been. He removed his clothes and hung them up to dry. He dried himself off with a towel, vigorously rubbing the goose bumps on his arms. He pulled on an old pair of sweatpants and made his way to the kitchen. The soup heâd bought at the store looked tempting, and he fixed himself a can. Sitting down with some crackers, he ate slowly. The meal warmed him up.
CHAPTER 10
T he loss of the trailer and gear left DJ defeated. He hadnât been able to get any sleep worrying about how he was going to make it to his hideout. He gave up at noon and climbed out from under the poncho heâd strung up for a shelter. The rain had cooled things off some, but the air was still humid and thick. The sky was cloudy, and it looked as if it might start raining again at any moment. DJ thought about eating, but he really wasnât hungry.
He decided to try to do something useful to keep his mind occupied. He pulled out his map and started looking for a shorter route or a likely place to find some gas. DJ was staring at the map so hard an onlooker might have thought he was trying to burn a hole in it with his eyes, but his mind wouldnât focus on anything except how unfair it was that he was in this predicament. Now, with only half of his gear and not nearly enough gas, he had to come up with a new plan. One stalled train and two damn rednecks had ruined all his careful plotting and preparations. He felt the back of his neck warm up as he thought about what had happened last night. He wondered if heâd hit the rednecks with his gunfire. He hoped so. They deserved it.
He focused his attention back on the atlas, looking for any possible means to shave a few miles off his journey. There really wasnât any way and he knew it. Heâd already scoured the map to the point that it was almost committed to memory. There were a few towns on the map that could have gas, though. Who knew what dangers they might hold? But they were probably his best bet. He had almost three gallons of gas in the quad, and he had one five-gallon can. If he was fortunate, that would take him two-thirds of the way to his bug-out location.
He should have reached his destination already, he thought. He considered what he could have done differently. If he hadnât stopped to help Jacob, it probably would have saved him a day, and he might have missed the rednecks on the bridge. âLike they say,â he said to himself, âno good deed goes unpunished.â
It started drizzling. He climbed back under the poncho and lay down on his sleeping bag.
What else can go wrong?
he wondered, as he put his hands on his head. The drizzle slowly increased to a steady rain, and he brooded over his predicament.
He thought about how long the water in his barrels would last. He needed water to wash his clothes, cook, bathe, and drink. That was probably more than three barrels would hold between rains. Heâd have to figure something out. Finally the water was comfortable enough for him to take a bath. He would have preferred a shower, but he still got clean. Donning fresh clothes, he felt ready to take on the day.
He headed outside and started working on his garden. Before long, it began to rain, and he quickly jumped at the chance to gather more water. He grabbed two five-gallon buckets out of the shed and started dipping water out of the barrels. He carried them into the bathroom and poured them into the tub. When it was full, he started on the tub in the other bathroom. The barrels now close to empty, Gabe focused his efforts on gathering all the buckets he had and putting them on the back porch to fill. Stepping back inside, he noticed how cold the rain had been. He removed his clothes and hung them up to dry. He dried himself off with a towel, vigorously rubbing the goose bumps on his arms. He pulled on an old pair of sweatpants and made his way to the kitchen. The soup heâd bought at the store looked tempting, and he fixed himself a can. Sitting down with some crackers, he ate slowly. The meal warmed him up.
CHAPTER 10
T he loss of the trailer and gear left DJ defeated. He hadnât been able to get any sleep worrying about how he was going to make it to his hideout. He gave up at noon and climbed out from under the poncho heâd strung up for a shelter. The rain had cooled things off some, but the air was still humid and thick. The sky was cloudy, and it looked as if it might start raining again at any moment. DJ thought about eating, but he really wasnât hungry.
He decided to try to do something useful to keep his mind occupied. He pulled out his map and started looking for a shorter route or a likely place to find some gas. DJ was staring at the map so hard an onlooker might have thought he was trying to burn a hole in it with his eyes, but his mind wouldnât focus on anything except how unfair it was that he was in this predicament. Now, with only half of his gear and not nearly enough gas, he had to come up with a new plan. One stalled train and two damn rednecks had ruined all his careful plotting and preparations. He felt the back of his neck warm up as he thought about what had happened last night. He wondered if heâd hit the rednecks with his gunfire. He hoped so. They deserved it.
He focused his attention back on the atlas, looking for any possible means to shave a few miles off his journey. There really wasnât any way and he knew it. Heâd already scoured the map to the point that it was almost committed to memory. There were a few towns on the map that could have gas, though. Who knew what dangers they might hold? But they were probably his best bet. He had almost three gallons of gas in the quad, and he had one five-gallon can. If he was fortunate, that would take him two-thirds of the way to his bug-out location.
He should have reached his destination already, he thought. He considered what he could have done differently. If he hadnât stopped to help Jacob, it probably would have saved him a day, and he might have missed the rednecks on the bridge. âLike they say,â he said to himself, âno good deed goes unpunished.â
It started drizzling. He climbed back under the poncho and lay down on his sleeping bag.
What else can go wrong?
he wondered, as he put his hands on his head. The drizzle slowly increased to a steady rain, and he brooded over his predicament.
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