The Long Road Home

Chapter Four

Pig closed her eyes after she let go of the oars. She sat fighting to catch her breath. The last hour she had pressed herself to her limit to get as far from the spot where the motor died. Even the pain of the blisters that had formed on her palms rupturing and bleeding could not stop her progress. The screams had died down the father she went and silence returned.

Pig took a deep breath and grabbed an old paint can full of concreate someone had turned into an anchor. She lowered it into the water carful not to let it splash or make any noise. After washing the blood on her hands off in the lake, she slathered her raw red palms with antibiotic ointment then bandaged the sores.

The rumble in her stomach reminded her she had not eaten since this morning. Pig pulled a bag of chips and a bottle of water from her pack. After she ate and drained the bottle, she pulled everything out of her pack taking stock of all she had.

As she repacked the bag she kept her eyes out for trouble. She left the camping stove, propane tanks, Camp toilet and the litter like substance that came with it in the bottom of the boat. She also left the three lanterns realizing they would draw unwanted attention to her camp. A few other useless items she knew she would have no need for joined the discard pile. Lifting the bag she found the weight far more manageable. Pig sighed setting the pack back down and looked around. She could see the shore off to her right. After checking her compass she was sure that was where she wanted to be.

 Pig felt bone tired, had a headache and now her hands and back were on fire, but she knew she needed to get off the water before dark. With a whimper she grabbed the rope holding the anchor and tried to pull it up. Her arms were just too weak and the strain on her hands to great. She cut the rope instead and moved back to the oars. Pig closed her eyes and against her better judgement, pointed the boat toward the shore and rowed. The bandages cut down on the rubbing on her hands, but the pain was gut wrenching.

She did not stop knowing if she did, there would be no way she would start again. Counting her breaths and every stroke of the oars helped her keep her mind off of the fire running through her palms and back.

Pig jumped when the boat hit something. She turned and realized it was the shore. Relief flooded though her body and it took everything she had left in her not to break out in tears. After reaching the quiver to her waist, she grabbed her bag and put it on.

Without the extra weight it sat comfortable on her shoulders and back. Pig grabbed her bow and attached it to the pack’s frame. There was no way she could fire it until her hands healed so there was no point in holding it.

Looking at her watch, she frowned seeing how late it was getting. Pig walked into the woods heading east to find a good spot to camp. She had hoped to reach the highway first, but it had taken her all day to get across the lake and she was too tired to keep going.

The woods thinned out a little and she found a small clearing that looked like someone before her had camped here. A ring of fat rocks marked a spot where there had been a fire at some time. Pig ignored it afraid if she built a fire it would attract the monsters. She had no idea if there were any in the woods here and did not want to find out.

Propping her pack against the tree, she took her sleeping bag off the frame. Pig ignored the tent knowing her hands would be too sore to put it up. She rolled out the bag next to her pack and climbed inside. 

As tired as she felt, sleep would not come. Every little sound made her jump. She felt too exposed and unprotected her on the ground.

Getting out of the bag she rolled it back up and went to a massive old tree with low branches. It was difficult, but she climbed a good distance up the tree and found a nook where several of the branches met. Pig set her bag down and lay on it.