Ray Gorham - 77 Days in September

Donovan’s idea had been to scavenge wheels from an old, broken bicycle and construct a cart that Kyle could tow behind him. Using Donovan’s half-stocked workshop, the men had worked all day Monday, and until just past noon on Tuesday, mustering enough wood, nails and screws to cobble together the cart. Logan and Cheyenne, making the ultimate sacrifice, had donated the wooden ladder from their swing-set to be used for the arms that extended forward for the cart’s handle. The finished product had a bed approximately four foot by three and a half, with three sixteen inch tall sides, and a back that was twenty-four inches high, giving Kyle a comfortably sized wooden box for his supplies. The two wheels from Donovan’s bike were attached to the sides, and the side pieces from the playground ladder extended four feet beyond the front of the cart with a shovel handle secured between them, which left a small space for Kyle to walk in while pulling the cart.

When they had finished, Kyle had been both relieved and embarrassed by their efforts — relieved that the cart worked and was sturdy enough to carry more weight than he expected, but embarrassed by the crudeness of the construction, the result of using handsaws, screwdrivers, hammers and nails.

Worried that he would forget something important, Kyle once again inventoried the items in front of him, most of which he had taken from the Wal-Mart on Saturday, but the list remained the same: four changes of clothing, unopened bags of underwear and socks, a new pair of hiking boots, a blue backpack, a case of water, three boxes of food, a sleeping bag, a thin jacket and a sweatshirt, a hunting knife, a .22 Marlin rifle, and two boxes of bulk ammunition. Donovan had also contributed several items to the pile: a small tent, a frying pan, a hatchet, matches, a leather canteen, a first aid kit, a half-full can of mosquito spray, an old pair of tennis shoes, an extra blanket, and a dozen trash bags.

“Doesn’t look like much for such a long trip, does it?” Ed said, summing up Kyle’s thoughts succinctly.

Kyle shook his head. “No, but I’m not sure what the right amount is. The more I add, the slower I’ll go.”

“Are you sure that peashooter is going to be enough?” Donovan asked. “I have a real rifle, if you want to take it.”

Kyle laughed. “I think I’ll be good. I won’t be hunting big game, just rabbits and raccoons, maybe an armadillo or two. Besides, I’ve got a thousand rounds of ammunition for this little .22, which should give me more than enough opportunity to get some food.”

“But what about for protection?”

“I’ll just be careful and avoid dangerous situations as much as I can, besides, the better armed I appear the more likely anyone will shoot first and ask questions later. I know things are bad, but I’m not planning to shoot any big game, or any people for that matter, so the .22 should do. Besides, the six of you need protection, too. Don’t you?”

Donovan looked uneasy. “I suppose. I guess I just still think you’re crazy to try and walk. The offer to stay here still stands,” he said, shaking his head slowly.

“I know, and I appreciate that,” said Kyle, “but I’d go insane sitting here, even one more day. These past four have been hard enough. At this point, I think I’d rather die trying.”

Wednesday, September 7 th

San Angelo, Texas

The sun glowed a bright orange on the eastern horizon and a hint of the early morning coolness still hung in the air as Kyle made the final adjustments to his load.

Ed, Virgie, Donovan and Wendy watched Kyle, not knowing what to say.

“You ready for this?” Ed asked finally.

“Ready as I’m ever going to be,” replied Kyle. “I certainly wouldn’t be this ready if it wasn’t for all of you.”

“You saved my life; it’s the least we could do. Sending you off on foot sure doesn’t seem very gracious though. I wish I could drive you home.”

Virgie stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Kyle. “Once we get through this, you’d better come back with your family to visit,” she said. “We need to tell them what kind of a hero you are.”

Donovan extended his hand. “It was great getting to know you. Thanks for helping my dad, Kyle. Good luck with your trip.”

“Thanks. Don’t forget, I owe you a bike, and Cheyenne and Logan a ladder. Please be sure and thank them again for me.” Kyle shifted his weight from foot to foot, the fear of heading into the unknown resting heavily on his mind. “Guess I’d better get on my way, before I chicken out.”

Kyle stepped behind the handle of the cart, picked it up, and started to walk down the driveway, his pace slow. “I feel like I’m pulling a rickshaw,” he joked. “Anyone want a ride?”

The four Davis’s laughed. “I don’t think I trust the cart,” said Ed. “I know who put it together.”

Kyle laughed and waved. “Wish me luck,” he called over his shoulder as he approached the front street.

Virgie wiped away a tear. “I’ll be praying for you, Kyle,” she called out. “Please watch out for yourself!”

“Good luck, Kyle!” Ed shouted, his voice breaking with emotion. “Be careful, and Godspeed.”

Kyle gave a half-hearted smile as he once again said goodbye, then turned onto the road and headed off. He forced himself not to look back. They had been through a lot over the past few days, and Ed and Virgie had come to feel like family. Walking off into the heart of an America he was no longer sure he knew was more difficult than Kyle had expected it to be.

To keep his mind off of his emotions, Kyle forced himself to think about the task at hand. Twenty-five miles a day was his goal, at least to start, and three miles an hour was the pace he was striving for. That meant eight to nine hours of walking each day, not including breaks, meals, and sitting out the hottest part of the afternoon if he needed to. If he could cover twenty-five miles on the good days, and fifteen to twenty on the tough ones, Kyle estimated he would be back home before Thanksgiving.

What he was confronted with still didn’t seem real. A week ago he was scheduled to make the trip in a few hours with minimal effort, the only concerns being making his connection and finding the right souvenirs for his kids. Now he was setting out on a trek in excess of fifteen hundred miles, pulling a homemade cart in which, he hoped, he was carrying the items he needed to survive. He was stepping into the unknown: no guaranteed shelter, no guaranteed food, and no one who would know where or how he was.

Kyle approached the first corner and turned back to take one final look at his friends. Ed and Donovan stood in the street watching him. Kyle raised an arm over his head and waved in a long sweeping motion. Ed and Donovan returned the gesture, and he could faintly make out their shouts of encouragement over the breeze blowing through the trees.

His throat tightened, and he closed his eyes, then turned back to face the road. He glanced at the map Donovan had drawn showing the quickest way to the highway while avoiding the city, a detour that had been planned after Wendy had come home Tuesday afternoon with frightening tales about the chaos at work.

The situation at the hospital had been reasonably calm through Sunday, but on Monday, safety and order had rapidly deteriorated. A gang fight early Monday morning had resulted in a number of wounded people, accompanied by friends with weapons, demanding treatment and threatening the staff and other patients. Without police or any viable security, the staff, which was short-handed to begin with, had started to walk off the job, one after another. To compound the hospital’s troubles, their supply of drugs had been robbed, the generator powering the hospital had only enough fuel for maybe another four days, and the condition of their patients was becoming more desperate by the minute. Finally, after a nurse had been shot and killed during a brawl in the emergency room, the hospital director had called the staff together and ordered them all to go home.