Angus

The searing pain in Angus’s calf was unbearable.  The sweat rolled off him in rivulets, down his face, neck, back, groin; anywhere a pathway existed.  He knew it wasn’t the heat making him sweat like he was stuck inside a furnace.  It had to be the wound; it was infected.  Of course, how could it not be, he thought.  He had hobbled at least a mile through the woods on the same deer trail as the one they came in on, he thought.  But, to add to his troubles, he was probably lost, because he should have arrived back at the campsite by now.  He didn’t know what he would do once he got there, probably just get in the canoe and try to run into someone, anyone that could help him get the medical care he needed. 

Through a break in the trees he thought he caught a glimpse of the lake.  He quickened his pace and stumbled forward, falling in the process and smashing his cheek into a boulder.  The impact sent a jarring pain through his cheekbone and into the back of his head.  He couldn’t tell if they were tears streaming from his eyes or sweat, but at least he didn’t lose consciousness.  Grunting with the effort to pull himself to his feet, Angus fumbled for his stick, found it, and pushed his mammoth body to a standing position.  

Bent, and leaning heavily on the stick, Angus moved haltingly toward the lake.  After several excruciating minutes of labored walking, he reached the opening where the lake stretched in front of him.  Angus halted, and perched on a boulder overhanging the lake.  He was twenty feet above the water.  Well, he thought, it wasn’t their campsite, but it was the lake.  

Looking at the calm, rust colored water, he thought how refreshing it would be to just leap into the lake from his perch.  Upon closer inspection, though, he noticed his leap would have to extend several feet outward.  There were rocks jutting from the surface of the lake below.  He searched for a safe route down to the water and fortunately, found a narrow passageway between slabs of rock, clinging brush, and boulders thirty feet away from where he had sat.  

Angus negotiated his way through the tapered passageway.  He tried to avoid touching  rocks or bushes, but halfway down, branches scraped against his injured leg sending tentacles of pain throughout his body.  He let out an involuntary screech and pulled his leg away from the branches, being careful to steer clear of other obstacles.  

When he finally made it to the lake, he was almost delirious with excitement thinking of how the cool water would soothe his burning wounds.  Angus sat on a rock made for him and removed his boots and socks, then dipped both his legs into the water.  A shock of pure pleasure overcame him.  The coolness of the lake washed over his wounds, making him temporarily forget the sharpened stakes that had torn through his flesh and the ravaging pain that ensued.

He took the blood-soaked socks and began a routine of scrubbing them against the rocks and then rinsing them in the lake.  When he was satisfied the makeshift bandage was as clean as he could make it, he  laid it out over branches to dry.  He took both shirts off, tearing the tee-shirt into strips.  He used these dry pieces of cloth to tie over his wounds and then put his flannel shirt back on.  

Angus didn’t know if it was a chill in the air or a fever that made him shiver, but he knew he needed warmth.  Away from the shoreline, he found two, large slabs of rock that formed a wedge he could fit himself into.  Tearing bushes away from their roots and gathering pine boughs, he heaped them over himself.  He sat on dry earth with his back against the rocks, jammed in so tightly he could barely move.