Another attempt at getting away.

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Ch. 3. Getting Started (Again)

I came up gasping for air, legs hurting and fur soaked cold. The darkness of the bay blocked any chance I could see of shore. Shouting could be heard above me on the high up bridge. Although I hurt all over, I started swimming in some direction, struggling to stay above the cold water. After what seemed like forever I felt wet rocks in my grasps. I had to drag myself on the safety of land, shivering and in pain. I needed to get to my pack and supplies, I was cold, hungry, hurt, and not to mention scarred out of my mind.

I could barely hear at this point from the throbbing in my head. The pain in my back and legs didn’t seem to get any better, but I had to move. Mustering all I had, I crawled up a bank and slowly stood. My boots were full of water, and everything on me was wet. Lying down and sleeping would have felt so nice, tired and hurt. Maybe I should have just stopped; I was barley from home and already so beat. No, I had to keep going, I had to move on. The first step was agonizing and I almost fell, my shins were killing me. Each step kept hurting more and more, but I couldn’t stop, I knew I was getting closer. The shadows provided my hiding from any gang members that looked from the towers.

I don’t know when I got to my stuff, but I know it was late. My legs wanted to give out and I slid down the ditch to my stuff. “That… sucked.” I said out loud and lay back, relaxing in the dirt. It felt so good, to just lay there, safe. But I still was exposed and hungry; the food in my vest was ruined now. My vest felt heavy and I slowly started to undo the thick Kevlar straps holding it on. Just feeling the weight gone made me feel better, my short sleeve olive shirt was exposed fully now.

Checking my chest and abdomen, I was relived to only see some scratches on my skin. I turned my vest around to see what hit me; little lead balls were embedded into my vest. I was shot by a shotgun, and survived. My back still hurt, but after learning what happened, I could manage. The buckshot was mostly gone, washed out by the bay or my walking. Putting the vest aside I removed my shirt and laid it on the black Kevlar. There were small sticks around and I slowly grabbed a few and some old paper to start a fire.

I crumpled the paper into balls and put sticks over them. The need for warmth was great and I wanted to sleep. With the knife back in my possession, I grabbed my flint from my pack and held it in my left paw. The knife was damp on the cloth but the blade was sharp and dry. Sparks flew from the flint as I struck it with my knife. Smoke started to come from the paper; I blew on it to hopefully get a fire started. Embers slowly formed into flames and the sticks started to light. Flames danced on the paper and the logs started to glow and light up.

Fire had always had some sort of lure to me. The way flames danced and waved, so random, so lucid, so beautiful, it’s like its alive. Even as a child I liked fire, it mesmerized me. But now that I was on my own, it had more of a purpose then just to entertain my eyes. I moved my wet cloths closer to the fire. As they dried from the heat, I lay back against my pack and looked at the night sky, beautiful. I pondered what else is out there, how big the earth was, how long would it take me to get to The City of Iron Grass, how many bridges there were, how many other furs were in the world.

My thoughts drifted around in my head, contemplating many things. When would this journey end? When would I get to see my parents? When would I get more food? When would I be safe? Could I make it? Could I even get out of San Francisco? Could I kill someone? Could I live with myself? Why me? Why me… I sat up and put some wood in the fire, keeping it small. The once wet clothes were just a little damn, so I let them sit there a while longer. I watch a small streak of light go across the sky, almost like a small flash. I pondered what those were, I’ve seen them in the past, but never knew what they were. Keeping my eyes on the sky I let the fire simply burn, slowly burring itself out. Slowly sitting up, I put my shirt back on, it dry and warm by now. My vest, being thicker, was still damp. I rested my head on my pack and closed my eyes, drifting into sleep.

Sun hit my face, the warm glow slowly waking me. I sat up and looked around, silence in the air, almost eerie. The morning air was cool and relaxing, pleasant almost. The fire had burnt itself out over night, leaving only ashes and a light orange coal. Digging into my pack, I pulled out some dried meat and tore a chunk off with my teeth and slowly ate it. The meat was warm from the fire, but tasted salty and tough to chew. But I didn’t care; it wasn’t the worst thing I’ve ever eaten. When I started to put the meat, I thought, “Is a small breakfast smart?” I didn’t know the next time I would have a chance to eat or even stop. So I took it back out and started eating aging, tearing chunks out. Pork I think, the meat was pork.

After eating what I had, I stored my flint in my pack. The sun was still coming up and the air was humid, fog everywhere. I could barely see ten feet in front of me, but I wasn’t letting hamper my journey. Picking up my backpack, I kicked dirt on the smoldering coal. Taking a deep breath I started walking out of the ditch and onto the road. The street was crumbled and broken but still traversable, my boots making it easy over the uneven terrain. The once looming city was now hidden behind a wall of thick white mist. So I walked down the highway, keeping my ears perked and sniffing to catch anything ahead. My legs still were sore but I knew waiting was just wasting time.