CHAPTER 3

When Gage Martin came to his senses, it was to a piercing cold that he could feel all through his body. It took him a moment to realize where he was. It all came back to him quickly. His mad dash through the forest, his leap from the cliff, and finally pulling himself from the river and into this tiny refuge.

Reaching into his pocket he pulled out his cell phone finding that the water had ruined it as he had expected.

His first thought was for his wife. He had no way of reaching her. He knew she would worry when he didn't return from his morning hunt. She was more than aware of how accidents could happen to even the most careful person. He didn't know if his call to the police would generate any sort of search. He figured that the police would be able to find out whose phone the call had originated from. Assuming that, he hoped they would contact his wife. Once she knew the situation she would still be worried but would trust him to make it through.

Pain and cold were not new things to him. His Ranger training had taught him how to deal with both. Nor was he afraid. He had been hunted before, in the mountains of Afghanistan. The only difference was, now he didn't have a squad of his brothers to lend assistance.

He glanced at his watch to find that he had been unconscious for most of the afternoon. He felt for his knife which he found was still securely held in place on his belt. Gage knew what his pack contained, and knew what he could do with those items inside. Through all this madness he had managed to hold onto his rifle. Unfortunately he realized he had only three rounds for it. It had been a little too prideful of him when he told others that he never planned on shooting more than three deer at a time. It had never occurred to him that he might have to use his rifle for anything other than that.

Every move he made brought forth a new sensation of pain. He checked his arms and legs and found them to be responsive, if a bit stiff and clumsy. He had several cuts, and many scrapes and bruises, but nothing seemed to be broken and he didn't feel as if he'd lost very much blood.

Reaching into his pack he brought out his extra shirt. He cut a strip from the bottom, then broke down his rifle and wiped away as much of the water as he could. He reassembled the rifle and closed his pack back up.

Hunched over under the sweeping boughs of the spruce tree, Gage took stock of his situation.

He was alone in the wilderness. He was wounded, but not gravely. He had his rifle, knife, and the rucksack he always carried when hunting. He knew he would be trailed, and if he remained where he was they would find him in no time at all.

He had to move and the only way he could go was deeper into the forest. Standing up, he returned to the river, splashed some water on his face to help clear his head, and did his best to wipe out the tracks he had left when he struggled out onto the bank.

He turned from the river and headed farther into the woods. He used every trick he had learned in his evasion courses to hide his trail. He worked his way through the forest, trying to avoid areas that would leave visible foot prints, and careful not to disturb any thing that might reveal his passing to a skilled tracker. He wasn't sure just how skilled those trailing him would be, but he new that it was never wise to underestimate the abilities of you enemy.

Twice during the afternoon he had to stop and rest. The second time he took the time to eat the trail mix and dried fruit slices that he like to have with him while hunting. His trials from earlier in the day had taken more out of him than he realized, and he needed the energy the food would provide. His body ached at even the slightest movement, and he had no proper bandages for the several cuts he had sustained. Though not severe, he knew that without proper care, they could become infected and kill him more surely than any person.

As he traveled, his clothes slowly dried themselves of the last of the water they had absorbed from the river.

As the light began to fade he tried to find a sheltered place to spend the night. With nothing as convenient as a cave close to hand, he found a place where two large boulders stood close together along the face of a small rocky ridge.

He placed fallen branches across the tops of the boulders. Then with his knife he cut boughs from the nearby pines and lay them on top of the branches to form a ceiling. It was a small shelter, only large enough to crawl into, but it gave him refuge from the wind and offered his mind some small comfort on which to hold. Before he retreated into his shelter, he stuffed his coat with as many dead leaves and pine needles that he could, hoping to create some insulation against the cold night he knew was to come. Exhausted beyond belief, he didn't even attempt to build a fire. He simply crawled into his improvised shelter and once again nestled down into the fallen leaves. He was asleep almost instantly.