Holding Their Own: A Story of Survival (33 page)

She tried to remember anything she had ever read or seen about how to stop bleeding. She had been watching a survival show once where they cauterized a wound with
gunpowder, but that had been on the outside of the body. She flipped through the Army manual again and didn’t find anything about cauterization of wounds.
I have no choice here
, she thought,
he is losing blood and if I don’t get it stopped, he will die.

She got up and walked around for a bit, trying to think. She stepped on something that felt different from the floor, and realized there had been a coal stove here at one point. The floorboards stopped at a large iron plate, and she could see where the stovepipe had gone through the wall. She kept walking around for another
10 minutes, and then checked Bishop’s pulse. It was really fast now, and he was very pale. I’m going to have to cauterize that tube inside of him, but how? What did she have to use to sear the wound? And once she found a tool that would work, how would she manage to heat it to the right temperature for burning the flesh?    

She thought about the car engine, but it was filthy under the hood. She thought about building a fire outside, but anyone nearby would see that for sure. She didn’t think burning the booze would make it hot enough. It took a little bit, but she finally formed a plan.

She ran outside and found a pile of old bricks. She grabbed as many as she could carry and brought them into the building. On the old stove plate, she stacked them into a circle. She used her rifle barrel to punch out the plywood covering the hole where the old chimney had been vented through the wall. She went back outside, retrieved a piece of tin siding, and leaned it against the wall such that the top just barely covered the old smokestack exhaust. After gathering some of the scrap wood and yellow papers, a single click of a disposable lighter started the fire. Terri draped Bishop’s body armor on one side of the tin to channel the smoke out.

She watched the wood start to burn while nervously fiddling with the lighter. Her tired mind drifted back to the day they were in the camping store looking at various fire-starting options. Flint and steel, waterproof matches and various other devices were available. She remembered how Bishop
had said, “I am not spending $40 on some fancy thing I’ll probably lose anyway. Let’s buy a big package of lighters for four bucks and keep them handy.” He had spread them all over the place, and she stumbled across at least three stashed in the truck cab alone.

Bishop kept a rifle cleaning kit on his chest rig. She had watched him take the metal tubes and screw them together to make a long rod. He would shove the rod in and out of gun barrels to clean them. She hunted around until she found one of the rods and thought it was the perfect size. She screwed three of the pieces together and then wrapped a “handle” using a piece of Bishop’s shirt to keep it cool.

After checking him again and looking at the results of the surgery, she scrubbed the arm wound, deciding it was now or never. She carried the gun-cleaning rod to the fire and stuck it in the flames.

“Bishop, your arm won’t stop bleeding. I’m going to have to hurt you again. I’m sorry
, baby.”

His voice was distant and weak, “What are you going to do?”

“I have to stick a red hot rod inside of you.”

“I thought that was my job.”

“Breathe deep. I’m so sorry, Bishop,” and a single tear slipped down her cheek as she shoved the hot metal all the way through the wound.

Bishop screamed and jerked, but she had been ready for that. She pushed and pulled in almost one motion, hoping to get it in and out before his fuzzy brain reacted from the pain. The smell of his burning flesh made her gag and turn away. He panted and rolled his eyes a few times and then settled down. She heard him whisper, “Remind me to be gentler next time,” and passed out.

Terri checked outside again, but didn’t hear or see anything. She took some of the fishing line and an old can and made a tripwire like she had watched Bishop do a dozen times in the last few days. She intended to stay awake, but fell asleep in the chair watching him breathe.

Water, Water Nowhere

Terri heard something that snapped her head up. She rubbed her eyes and looked around, letting it all come back into her mind. She heard the noise again, “Terri – water.” It was Bishop, and she rose up out of the chair and went to his side. He weakly drank a bit of water, but she thought he looked a little better now than before. She glanced around the room, trying to determine the source of the light that streamed from above. Her eyes adjusted in a few seconds, allowing her to make out the skylight in the roof of the building. Yellow, crusted, and old, it still let in light, which meant the day had dawned. She looked at her watch and gave Bishop another dose of the broad-spectrum antibiotic they kept in the medical kit. He swallowed the pill and went back to sleep.

An inspection of her surgeries found that the wound to Bishop’s ribs had stopped bleeding and looked fair - for a gunshot wound. There was still purple bruising and a lot of swelling, but no pus or red color.

The arm was a different story. It was not clear to her if it were worse or just the same. The bleeding had stopped completely, but from the elbow up, the arm was almost twice its normal size and was still very dark blue and puffy. She adjusted his arm to elevate it as the book said, causing him to half-protest in his sleep, but he did not move it back. There was no sign of infection.

Terri went outside to use the ladies room, carrying her rifle and proceeding cautiously. As she passed the truck, she heard dripping and looked under the front to see a small damp spot in the sand caused by a slow but steady drip. She had a throbbing headache that really intensified when she stood up. She went around to the back and squatted, but was surprised that very little urine came out.
Odd
, she thought,
I normally make quite the puddle in the morning
.

Her stomach then started doing its new trick, and she tried to vomit, but there was nothing to come up. She dry heaved a few times and then the feeling passed.
I can’t get sick now
, she thought. As she went to take a drink to wash down two aspirin, she realized it was the first water she had swallowed in hours. She was dehydrated and embarrassed because of the countless speeches Bishop had given her about drinking enough water. She finished half of their last bottle of water and thought about the situation. She had no idea of how to fix the truck, but knew whatever the solution, it would require water. She had done everything she could for Bishop, but he was going to require water. She was dehydrated and needed water, too. Water should be the first priority.

As she walked around the building, she studied the landscape in all directions. Barren hills that looked like a volcano had recently erupted bordered the little hamlet to the north and east. Sharp purple and dark brown rocks jutted out in every direction and steep-sided ravines could be seen in the distance. There was not a green plant in sight except for the weeds in the paved areas of the ghost town. To the far south, the land gradually sloped downwards into a dry, flat desert. Through a valley of small multi-colored mountains, the two-lane highway that brought them here could be seen snaking its way back and forth. She could see for quite a distance, and thought in any other situation the sun rising over the mountains behind her would have been a picture worth taking.

Another two-lane highway intersected and went to the north right in front of the building they occupied, but it crested a rise about 400 yards away and disappeared. The north was the only direction that did not provide for a long distance view, and she made a note to explore that direction first.

Water. It seemed like every survival show, book and movie ever made focused on water. They had purchased a water purification system for camping some years ago. It looked like a small bicycle tire pump and pushed the source liquid through ceramic filters to get rid of the bad stuff. It was slow and difficult to pump for any period of time, but was worth having in case of an emergency. Bishop once made her sample a drink of some puddled, muddy water he had filtered, and she quickly spat it out. The water may have not been dangerous, but it sure tasted like sour muck to her. It was that experience that resulted in there always being several cases of bottled water in the pantry next to the hurricane boxes. They had packed those cases of water before leaving Houston, but now there was only half of a bottle left. If the truck had not required so much water last night to fill the leaking radiator, there would have been plenty to get to Meraton. The purification kits were in their backpacks, stacked in the truck bed. If she could find water, she could either boil it or run it through the purifier.

She went to check on Bishop and found he was very warm to the touch and sweating again. A fever meant infection, and she thought about giving him another pill early.
No, I need to give the antibiotic time to work, and there are no signs of any red streaks or pus.
Her assessment caused him to stir, and he wanted another drink. She opened the last bottle, and he took a few mouthfuls before going back to sleep. She took two swallows herself and put the cap back on. She had to find water.

She went back outside and checked the road as far as she could see. It was empty. She put on her “ninja suit,” as Bishop called it, and prepared to explore. Her ninja suit consisted of a body armor vest he had purchased for her years ago and a photographer’s vest with lots of little pouches where she stored various items that she might need handy. She also grabbed a rifle.

She did not want to get out of sight of their building, so she started by looking around the other three abandoned structures neighboring it. One had been a gas station, but the entire rear wall had collapsed years ago leaving only the façade in front. The other two were a mystery as to their original purpose, but after poking around them, she decided they were not safe to enter. She then widened her search and found nothing that even hinted at helping them. At one point, she thought about walking a little distance into the surrounding mountains, but dismissed the idea quickly. If she fell and twisted an ankle, they were toast. A rattlesnake or other poisonous bite would have the same result, and she could not go far in any direction without losing sight of their building.

She decided to walk up the hill to where the intersecting road disappeared and see what was on the other side. She stayed off of the pavement and hoped a car would not suddenly appear over the hill because there was no place to hide. She tracked up the rise
, cursing the weight of her ninja suit the entire way. When she reached the crest, the view on the other side provided more of the same landscape she had been eyeing all morning. The road meandered north through ever larger mountains for as far as she could see. She looked around a little bit and could see nothing of value. At the top of the crest, she noticed a hard, packed path leading off of the road to a small fenced in area. It appeared that years of heavy truck tires driving to the fence wore the path before her. She walked over and looked, but there was nothing inside of the area, and she had no clue why trucks would drive there. She was tired from her hike. It was getting hot, and they had had a night from hell, so she decided to head back down the hill to check on Bishop again.

On the way down, she started to get angry.
Why did someone shoot at them? Why were they even here? Why did Bishop guide her to this stupid, bumfuck town?
As her anger started to boil over, she realized it was not going to help them get through this.

She entered the building and took off her gear. Bishop was still asleep and still felt hot. She made up her mind to take another small drink from the quickly disappearing bottle and limited herself to one mouthful. It took all of her discipline not to drain the who
le thing. She checked her watch; time to give Bishop another pill. She woke him up and made him take it, which was not easy. She had to pull the water away from him and a little spilled, which made her really mad – “Damn it Bishop!”

He looked at her with distant eyes and whispered, “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t find water, and we don’t have much left. I feel like shit, and I hate this place and don’t want to die here.”

“Other than that Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?”

Bishop’s remark made her even more upset, and she took in a deep breath preparing to let him have it. Something inside stopped her, and she began laughing. He tried to laugh as well, but the motion hurt him, and then he started coughing. The effort exhausted what little strength he had left.

“That will teach you to be a smart ass.”

He just nodded and closed his eyes again. Terri checked his wounds and found the entry wound on his ribs was bleeding again.

She paced around the building for a bit, but it was getting too hot inside to move, so she just sat and thought, staring at the last little bit of the water. Bishop moaned again and tried to roll over but gave up.

More to herself than Bishop, she said out loud, “These people who lived here had to have water. I can’t find any wells, tanks or anything. How did they get their water?”

Bishop moved his head slightly, and without opening his eyes, whispered one word, “Gravity.”

Terri thought about what he had said for a minute and figured he was dreaming. She went through everything she had seen on her tour this morning and couldn’t recall anything that had to do with water.
What if I think about it the opposite way? What did I see that I can’t explain? I always wanted to be an archeologist, so now is my chance. I will determine how the ancient tribe of Sandertonsoians lived, worshiped, ate, and most importantly, drank.