Page 16 - Homestead By Ann Newhouse

I left my lair early, to make use of the cool morning air. I tried to keep going for the rest of the day in the hope of finding some form of sanctuary. When it started to get dark, I just sat up against a lone tree, exhausted. I slept fitfully until the sun came up. I had a small drink of water and just some bread with cheese, then started out again, with my spirit lifted slightly.
I had travelled for many hours, when, standing on the edge of the mountain, I could see what I thought was the Rio Grande Gorge. It appeared to be a slither of glass in the distance. I walked ahead with my 10-gallon hat pulled down low on my head shielding my eyes from the blaring sun. I had only approximately been able to tell the time of day, by the height of the sun. By now it was quite low and a strip of sky, blood red, appeared. I guessed it was late afternoon. I passed many sandstone cliffs, a neat clump of pine forest and a small river valley; just the place to fill my empty canteen. I reckoned I had walked many miles since the start of my journey, but it was so easy to lose track of time. Blisters had formed on my feet and it felt like the soles of my boots were thinning. I had to consider using parts of my leather jacket to line the soles. I felt as if I was sleep walking. My brain was slowing down, with the lack of nourishment and water. I feared I was dehydrating.
It was tempted to sample the nectar of my father’s favourite tipple. I had taken the last small bottle of whiskey from my father’s hands before he passed. I had dropped it into my rucksack for an emergency. I considered just a quick drink to somehow ease the pain, so I could carry on. I had always been afraid to indulge for fear of liking it too much, as it was, perhaps, in my blood from birth, passed down from my father. Cautiously I took a sip, then another, as it hit the back of my throat, the evil liquid started to work, with the pleasant soothing of my dry throat, and easing of the pain in my swollen feet. A strange feeling of devil-may-care took over me. I wasn’t sure of the taste, but the feeling was worth it.
I walked in a zigzag across the barren land hoping to see a sign of human life or a place to shelter and settle for the night. The heat and terrain were taking their toll on me and I became slower, and slower, climbing over rocks, not big enough to shelter in. Giant cacti plants seemed to be sprouting up all around me. I needed a water hole to submerge myself in. By now my skin was starting to burn like dried leaves on an open fire. As the sun dropped towards the horizon, it had started to cool down. I guessed it was early evening and I needed to rest as my feet and body were beginning to suffer. Finding a large boulder with a deep raised crevice in it, I decided to settle for the night, as it was big enough for me to sit up but not lie down in. I wanted to read the last letter and look at the paper cuttings in the evening light. I opened a can of cold tomato soup, for my hunger and to ease the thirst, as I needed to preserve my drinking water. I was still not sure how long or how far I had been walking.