[at-l] *Fiction, Part 15*

[Felix <AThiker@smithville.net>]

...and then there were no pies.


"Oh, I've got a pretty good idea," I said, having no clue what he was 
talking about. I didn't figure he knew either. It didn't stop him from 
talking. The lack of knowledge never keeps people from talking. He went 
on to tell a story about his son. His son was a swimmer, that is about 
when I stopped listening. I went back to his "You don't know, do ya?" 
remark. I had a nervous weakness, a burning in my stomach.

What don't I know? Generally, that would be an all-day conversation. This 
time, this time was different. He knew something that I was supposed to 
know. I didn't care. The more I thought about it, the less I cared. I 
wanted nothing more than for the old man to leave me alone. To stop his 
story telling. To vanish. Leave me alone. 

As the evening crept along, it grew lighter outside. The skies had 
cleared, and the Moon was near full. As I listened to the old man ramble, 
I decided what I must do. I had to get out of there. Once I made my 
decision, I was up and loading my pack in a heartbeat.

"Where ya going?" he asked, interrupting his own story.
"I gotta get going. It's a near full Moon and I need to make up some 
time" I said in a rush.
"Oh, I see" the blind man said. "Won't do any good, though."
"Well, if I can make a few miles tonight and camp, it'll be a few miles I 
won't have to do tomorrow" I reasoned. I had forgotten that I had no tent 
again. Maybe I just didn't care.
"Do what you think is best" he said.

The air was crisp, clean. As I stepped away from the shelter, I looked in 
and said "Take care of yourself, old man." He said nothing. My lunar 
lantern lit the night like a gray Winter day. More than enough for 
hiking. I was glad to be out of the confines of the shelter. My thoughts 
were able to roam freely. Not being suppressed by the old man's stories. 
I felt free again. I made good time, too.

As I got to the pasture just south of VA 672, I could hear some commotion 
across the field. As I got closer, I could see quite a gathering of 
emergency vehicles. I slowed down a bit, as I didn't want to see what was 
going on. I checked my watch. Nearly 3 o'clock. Seemed it was always 
nearly 3 o'clock. 

It became obvious that whatever was going on wasn't going to be gone 
before I got there, so I decided to continue. After the Trail crosses the 
pasture, it enters the woods briefly, then climbs a small incline to the 
road. At some point in the woods, I noticed that my legs felt the best 
they ever had. No pain, no aches. Walking was effortless.

As I climbed the incline, I heard someone yell "He's dead. He just don't 
know it yet." This stopped me in my tracks. I was unnoticed by all those 
around the scene. My pack seemed to disappear with all the excitement 
around me. Things seemed to be getting grayer, darker. And then, like 
cold water in the face, I was slapped to reality.

I eased up the incline. Looking around, things seemed very familiar. 
Frighteningly familiar. All of the people there had been with me on the 
Trail. The man who doctored my face was leaning against an ambulance. The 
side of the ambulance read "Pearis Township Ambulance Service". The woman 
with the lilt in her voice was tending to someone on a stretcher next to 
a pick-up truck. The two guys who ignored my tent fire were standing at 
the side of the road, watching again. They were all there. Then, and only 
then, did I realize what was going on.

In the bed of the pick up truck was a Doublemint sleeping bag. On the 
ground next to the truck were two hiking sticks. I walked over and took a 
look at the guy on the stretcher. Just as I suspected, he was wearing a 
blue fleece jacket. On the ground, next to the road, was a green Gregory 
pack. 

As it turns out, my section hike didn't go as planned. Seems I never 
quite made it to the trailhead. Somehow, my truck found its way into a 
bad situation while travelling VA 672. I had, apparently, hiked my hike 
while drifting in and out of consciousness. Some men picked the stretcher 
up and walked passed me. I could see the gapping wound on my cheek, 
singed hair. 

As they neared the back of the ambulance, my vision grew dimmer. A man in 
a uniform was looking in my wallet. "Cute girl," he said. "Too damned 
bad". At this moment, I realized the one thing I was going to miss. As 
they slid the stretcher into the dark ambulance, my vision was gone. I 
was gone.


-- 
Felix
Quote of the Week: "I have a little thru-hike to plan here."
Stop and see me at:  http://members.tripod.com/~Felixhikes/index.html

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