Going Home by Angery American Read Free Book Online Page A

they were still in the travel lanes, but I never saw anyone. Plodding along, my mind started to wander a bit. I was thinking of home, Mel, and the girls. I really missed them but took comfort in the fact that every step took me closer to them. My muscles ached from the weight of the pack, and with my mind in neutral for a minute, I could really feel it. My mind changed directions, and I started to wonder why I wasn’t seeing anyone. Nineteen was a substantial highway with four lanes but was kind of off the main route. Most people going north or south would use I-75.
    I was jerked back to reality by the thundering sound of an engine, a really loud engine. I stopped and looked back. In the northbound lane was Lonnie’s truck heading south. I guess he was doing that just because he could, with no authority and no rules. He let off the gas as he passed by. The median was between us, and Thomas threw a mason jar out the window; it shattered on the road. Looked like they managed to trade for some ’shine. That was all I needed, those two drunken idiots messing with me. But Lonnie got back on the gas and kept on down the highway. I walked for about another two hours; it was after two, and I stopped for a break. I slipped off the road into the woods a bit and dropped the pack and sat down.
    I wasn’t hungry, but I drank some water and just sat there stretched out in the sun. I took the opportunity to change my socks; I’d been wearing the same ones for three days, and they were getting crusty. I let my feet air out for a while; the sun felt good on the tops of my feet. While sitting there, not really thinking about anything or looking at anything in particular, I realized I was looking at a piece of survey ribbon, the kind a hunter would use to mark a trail. I looked back toward the road and realized I had actually walked down a very dim trail, unknowingly taking the path of least resistance as I entered the bush.
    After putting the fresh socks on and my boots, I walked over to the ribbon and looked into the woods. From there, I could see another. I walked over to it and repeated the process. Eventually I came to a nice ladder stand chained to a tree. I climbed up into the stand and sat down. It was a great location; there was a nice group of oaks out front with acorns all over the ground. Those and the giant salt block guaranteed a kill. I was sitting there looking around when I noticed some dried palmetto fronds. They just looked out of place. I climbed down and went over to them; pulling them aside, I found a green Rubbermaid tub underneath. I popped the top on it; inside was an assortment of items.
    On top of everything in the box was something I just had to have. I didn’t really need it now, but I might later. It was a rather nice homemade gillie suit. It wasn’t like the military ones made for crawling; this was a stalking suit. It had camo on the front as well. Going through the box didn’t reveal anything else I thought I really needed. There were latex gloves—I already had some—and a bottle of water that might be water or a trucker bomb. There was a drag rope and a foam seat pad. Taking the suit, I headed back to my pack. This thing was too bulky to put in the pack. I cut some 550 cord and made some compression straps and compressed it as tight as I could and then tied it to the MOLLE webbing on the back of the pack.
    Adding this weight was enough for me to reevaluate what I had that I could get rid of. Going through the pack, the only things I had that I couldn’t justify were the lineman’s pliers and the screwdriver. I took them out and set them aside. Strapping up the pack, I hefted it back on, hung the binos around my neck, and started out again. I had walked about an hour and a half when I heard the truck in the distance again. I stepped off the road, under the shade of the trees, and glassed the road. I could see the truck about a mile up; it turned off the road on the northbound side and disappeared. I