It couldn’t be that far.įire: A real problem. He’d have to start walking before nightfall to first find his van, then search for the hotel. Russ knew of an old lodge a mile or so from the Caravan, but its location was a mystery. No streams visible or heard, just murky pools from the recent flooding fifty feet below. Russ was surrounded by possibly radioactive lakes both north and south-undrinkable. Water: Dasani bottles back in the van, otherwise, ironically, no. Russ had murdered only cockroaches, spiders, and bugs up through his middle-aged life, though he squished a mouse once, an accident involving heavy boots in a dark basement. From the look of things, there were apparently no animals he could kill for food, as if that was possible. His thoughts wandered for a second, recalling his wife’s smile, his daughter’s laugh… so Russ shook his head and tried to assess the scope of the wager and not waste time daydreaming or remembering.įood: Stashed in the rear of his Dodge Caravan minivan somewhere down the hill. Here and now, outside of logically imminent death from predators, unknown forces of nature, lack of potable water, eventual starvation, or sheer loneliness, Perry’s chances for survival registered in the low zeroes. He stared past a newly-formed, misty glen as if seeing ghosts far off in the forest. Stranded near the top of a mountain, unblinking eyes still wide from shock and fear, Russ was tossing small stones across the flattened, damp grass, trying to keep from going batshit. Farther south, his home town of Bend was far away a silhouette of high hills and black forest blocked any conceivable view. Hood behind him, backlit by an eerie orange-and-pewter glow. Thick copper-colored, smoke-edged clouds drifted above, obscuring the stars.
Sitting cross-legged in mud, Russ Perry wondered: Am I the only one left?
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