The Drifter

Chapter 6: The Mountains

Once I had eventually stumbled my way into the thick lush mountains, my last main obstacle between me and San Francisco, I quickly realized that I felt even more weak than usual. That's when the coughing into my arm started, and I realized I was starting to get sick. I had to blow my nose several times that day and hadn't noticed it running before. Every second I felt a tickle in my throat. I felt as if I had inhaled some kind of smoke. This wouldn't really help my situation, as if it wasn't bad enough. But then it got worse. As I slowly made my way deeper and deeper into the wooded mountains to find an ideal campsite, the air got misty, then it began to drizzle, then it began to pour. I mean really pour.

The rain was unbearably drenching everything around, and that certainly complicated things. I was already sick, then the water flooded out any potential campsite, plus I was drenched from head to toe. It made the ground slippery, harder to walk, everything was for the worse. Just to add to my worries, my backpack has a few small holes in it and was filling up with water, which didn't have too bad of an effect on my things considering they were protected from the military ammo box, but all my clothes and everything were drenched, and my knife and gun would probably get rusty if they were in the rain too long, which was bad.

I couldn't find moss anywhere and took off my gloves and beanie. It wasn't doing anything to protect my head, so I stuffed it into one of my drowning boots, then both of the gloves in the other. My stick was significantly harder to keep a grip on, and my feet were trying to sink into the ground about three inches deep. Finally, a stroke of luck. I spotted a cave in the side of a large mountain and quickly made my way inside. It was small, and decently lit up with the sunlight. The rocky overhang sheltered me from rain, but it still wasn't too warm. It was more like a large hole than a cave, but it got the job done. I coughed into my jacket's sleeve hard for several seconds before finding myself in dire need of warmth. I figured with this rain I might have to make the journey in three days instead of two, which was just great. I pulled everything from my bag to dry, plus my knife and gun to the side. I stripped all the way until I was just wearing my jeans, nothing else, then tried to find something for a fire. I couldn't find anything at all that wasn't soaked.

I found most of my papers in my notebook were somehow dry and tore out several just to hopefully get a fire going as my teeth chattered and body shivered. I pulled out DJ's flip lighter and realized it was wet, too. I struck back the hammer a few times just to get a spark, and I was getting desperate. I realized I definitely made the wrong call about the mountains, but there was no turning back now. I struck that lighter for at least five minutes desperately before finally getting a small flame. I quickly gasped and struggled to slowly move it to the paper, but I guess the paper in a pile wasn't getting air very much because after it was lit it went out after just a minute.

I tried again, but nothing worked. I managed to get another tiny flame and held it inside my cupped hands for as much heat as I could get. But eventually, the flame dispersed, and another one refused to spark alive. I dropped the lighter and leaned against the wall of the small cave-hole. I decided to get something to eat and leaned over to my pile of supplies struggling to air dry. But as I dug through the entire pile, the only thing I had was a half-used bottle of water and a stick of gum that I quickly scarfed down. I could have sworn I had more food, but my ignorance caused me to forget to buy more rations. In a fit of anger, I lost control of myself and threw my notebook across the cave-hole into the wall as hard as I could. I dropped to my knees and buried my head in my arms, trying to breathe. Eventually I picked up my notebook and grabbed my pen, which was nearly out of ink, and began to jot down whatever I could think of.

Journal entry ___, I can't take it much longer. The precipace precipice of my sanity is teetering between gone and, well something. I feel like hope is lost. But at the same time, I am so close to my destination that I refuse to give up. Even if it strips me of my soul and condemns me to suffering. I have no food, low water, and am stranded in a small cave in the middle of the mountains while the sky empties ocean after ocean on top of me. I don't know what to do... I miss my parents.