The Pounding Rain: Chapter Two
McCall lifted the blanket, slowly, pain shooting up his arm.
He felt weak, but struggled to clear his befogged mind, and inspected the blanket.
It was large, heavy, and made of buffalo hide, and McCall didn't fancy the prospect of crawling around the landscape carrying that, but he'd die without.
As it was, he'd probably die anyway.
He banished the thought, and returned to the brooding present, looking up at the sky. Iron grey, with some wind from the North. It was nearly noon, and time to get going.
He looked at his house, the charred, black, smoking remains of what had once been his home. Salty tears trickled their way down his face, but no sobs came. He thought of the murderers of his family, and the rage took hold of him again, and twisted what had once been a handsome, shining face into a bloody grimace bursting with fury.
With difficulty, he abandoned them from his thoughts.
Survival first.
He could wait. Years, decades, if necessary.
McCall turned his back, and started limping, the blanket draped around his shoulders, every now and then falling on his knees or stomach to crawl for a while. He vanished into the trees, leaving a trail of blood droplets on the ground.
His first goal was the river, about a day's easy march away from where he was now.
McCall caught sight of a long, straight stick lying among some branches, ten paces off. He lurched to it as fast as he could, and bending stiffly, picked it up.
It was oak, very strong, and would support him well. It reached from the ground to his shoulder. It was a little primitive, but it would do for now, at least until he got to the river.
McCall moved faster now, and made better ground, but in the late afternoon, he stopped, and grew aware of the fact that he was famished, and looked around, trying to see through the close trees.
Nothing.
He stumbled on, and after a few minutes, caught sight of a bush with berries growing on it.
Ignoring the red color, and the fact that he did not recognize the berries, he gorged himself, ripping the berries off by the handful, ignoring the sharp thorns and the sour taste.
When he had finished, and left only a few berries, he lay down to rest.
It was an hour later that the stomach cramps started. His stomach contracted, heaved. McCall rolled over, panting, and threw up violently, green bile passing his throat, burning it.
He lay there the whole night, the poison passing from his system, and just before sunrise, he started to feel a little better, although he was so weakened that he could barely move.
Why the hell was I so stupid?!
After resting for a few more hours, he shakily got back up, and journeyed on, the pangs of hunger still sharp.
As he journeyed on, he grabbed a few leaves from a tree which he knew had healing properties, although they were rather bitter.
He grimaced. What he needed was the vitamins, and strength, and blood he could only get from the meat that he so craved.
He started. He could hear rushing water, faint, but clear. Images of water, and fish hovered in his weary mind, and he hurried on as fast as he could, the sound becoming more and more audible.
McCall raised his tired eyes, and saw a small kind of hilly embankment, and struggled up it, but fell onto his knees, and crawled. He dug his fingers into the soil at the top, and pulled himself up.
The grey, rushing river was stretched out before him.
Nothing.
He stumbled on, and after a few minutes, caught sight of a bush with berries growing on it.
Ignoring the red color, and the fact that he did not recognize the berries, he gorged himself, ripping the berries off by the handful, ignoring the sharp thorns and the sour taste.
When he had finished, and left only a few berries, he lay down to rest.
It was an hour later that the stomach cramps started. His stomach contracted, heaved. McCall rolled over, panting, and threw up violently, green bile passing his throat, burning it.
He lay there the whole night, the poison passing from his system, and just before sunrise, he started to feel a little better, although he was so weakened that he could barely move.
Why the hell was I so stupid?!
After resting for a few more hours, he shakily got back up, and journeyed on, the pangs of hunger still sharp.
As he journeyed on, he grabbed a few leaves from a tree which he knew had healing properties, although they were rather bitter.
He grimaced. What he needed was the vitamins, and strength, and blood he could only get from the meat that he so craved.
He started. He could hear rushing water, faint, but clear. Images of water, and fish hovered in his weary mind, and he hurried on as fast as he could, the sound becoming more and more audible.
McCall raised his tired eyes, and saw a small kind of hilly embankment, and struggled up it, but fell onto his knees, and crawled. He dug his fingers into the soil at the top, and pulled himself up.
The grey, rushing river was stretched out before him.
