To Hell and Back by Adam James Bagnall - HTML preview

Chapter Ten

He lay amongst the pebbles, looking up at the night sky.

It had taken him a long time but bit by bit, he had dragged the deer back to the fire. He had skinned and cleaned it as best he could and cooked it on a large flat rock he placed in the fire.

It tasted good.

Oh how it tasted good!

Unfortunately, he had used all his matches to keep the fire going. Tomorrow he would move on, regardless of his physical condition.

His thoughts turned to the future.

What now? He had decided to follow the river back to town. He figured it couldn't be too far.

He hoped it wasn't too far.

With a bit of luck he might meet someone on the way.

And then.... He didn't know what would happen after that. Back to Courtenay, and his mother. She would be devastated, he knew that for sure. But she would also be glad that he was alive.

The dawn sun shone down on his dirty face and he opened his weary eyes. It felt like he had only been asleep for a few minutes. He stretched and arose from his slumber.

Walking down to the water's edge, he felt strangely excited.

It would end today.

Today would be his final day of hell. He washed his hands and started out, on a parallel path to the river, which this morning seemed less menacing. He brushed through the trees at a brisk pace, a determined, steely face amongst the trees.

His clothes were still damp but that was good enough for him and he had eagerly put them on.

His shirt was tattered and his pants filthy but it was better than nothing.

30

The water was only ankle deep and he was amazed at how calm he was. Only yesterday, he had been swept away in this very river, battered on the rocks and rejected onto the shore. Now he was wandering in its shallows. It was a calm day, eerily silent. He was still bruised and, every step he took ached.

The rocks were like broken glass, and they were everywhere. But, gritting his teeth, he fought back tears and battled on like a soldier on the front line. His feet were bleeding but he ignored it and continued on.

The man sat on the rocks and cast out.

For about twelve months, he had fished this very spot, every morning rain, hail or shine.

He never caught much.

The others would ridicule him, calling him senile and incompetent. But he ignored them and kept up his habit despite their criticism. He enjoyed his time alone in the cool mornings. He had only lived in the area for about a year and he had some emotional scars he was still dealing with.

Mistakes he had made, things that he had done that couldn't be undone.

He was enjoying his new life, his new identity; he just wanted to forget his past.

Somewhere below a fish nibbled his bait and he jerked his rod.

Too late.

Grunting, he pulled in his line to check his bait. Nothing. One day he would catch the big one he thought to himself as he re- baited.

A distant noise made him look to his left, upstream.

A lonely figure walking met his eyes and he squinted trying to make out what was coming towards him. His eyes weren't as good as they once were. Once again, he saw the figure, hobbling along in the shallows of the river.

Gasping, he dropped his rod and hurried upstream.

The stranger was the best thing Joseph had seen in a long time. He fell to his knees, completely overcome with pain and exhaustion. He tried to get up but couldn't.

The man grabbed him and embraced him.

Joseph looked into his saviour's eyes, and a light went on inside him.

“My son,” John Marsten said and hugged him for the first time since he had disappeared.

The End