Page 10 - FINAL DESTINATION

G B TAYLOR
So, with a dozen pair of bovine eyes watching, he picked a spot halfway between two fence poles, where he could get the most sag. He placed his hands on the wire and pressed down. Stooping, he balanced on one leg as he carefully stepped the other leg through. Halfway there, he thought. So far so good. But as he tried to pull the other leg through, the pressure on the wire lessened, pushing him up. His back scraped against some- thing hard and sharp. Losing his balance, he fell the rest of the way through. He could hear the ripping of his shirt as it caught, and he felt the barbs clawing at his back. As he fell, he lost his grip on the lower strand letting it snap up to bite at his trailing leg. Its barbs tore through his trousers and the skin of his calf.
"Damn it!"
The nearest cows startled, moving away.
Neil sat up, surveying the damage. A strip of white shirt
hung from a barb on the fence. He reached around his back to find the rip and probe the tender skin of his back. His fingers came away with just a trace of pink from the scratch. The leg was another matter. The gash was deeper and large dark beads of blood drip from it onto the brown grass. He pulled a hand- kerchief from his pocket and pressed it to the wound. He took it away and another blob of blood would form, so he pressed the handkerchief back. Press, hold, release. Over and over until the bleeding slowed to an ooze.
Convinced that he would not need stitches, Neil stood, cursing himself for ever agreeing to this silly idea. She was dead, what did it matter where her remains spent the rest of eternity .
He picked up the box and looked at the old house. It was just visible through the thicket that surrounded it. He could make out the front porch where the roof over it had partially collapsed. Surprisingly, it looked like the windows were intact.
Picking his way through the undergrowth, he saw that the front steps had rotted away along with most of the floor. The
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