Read Online Fuel (Best Laid Plans Book 1) by Nathan Jones - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Nathan Jones
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made sure the upper tarp would drain water to the ground below rather than somehow making its way inside.
Once he thought everything was as good as possible he grabbed the shovel and set to work on the final difficult task of filling the hole, with was thankfully much easier than digging it in the first place. And finally he spent several minutes smoothing the dirt and then kicking dead leaves and mulch from the rest of the copse over the spot, then gathering any deadwood he could find to spread around to further disguise it. Then he stood back to inspect the area and make sure nothing would draw the eye.
It looked pretty good. At last, after roughly four hours of exhausting work, he was finally finished. He sincerely hoped it was worth it. He'd heard the sound of a few semis and a single car driving by on the highway above while he'd been working, but unsurprisingly none had stopped. He didn't know whether that was a good thing, since they wouldn't know about his supplies or his cache and be tempted to steal from him, or a bad thing because it meant he couldn't hitch a ride.
Oh well, maybe he'd get lucky and another semi or car would pass by going the right direction and offer him a ride once he was on his way.
All that was left was to find a way to shove everything he'd left out to take with him into his pack or tie it to the outside. He had so much stuff that he ended up taking out his sleeping bag, tent, tarp, and inflatable pad and wedging them under the pack's front straps as he pulled them tight in order to fit everything else inside. He still had to strap his camping shovel across the back and carry his Mini-14's case in one hand, balancing it out with a bag of ammunition and sundry items in the other.
It wouldn't have been ideal if he'd had to do the slightest bit of climbing, but for just walking along the road it should be okay. He gave his car a once-over to make sure he had everything, locked it up, and then with some effort lifted his pack and pulled it onto his shoulders, grunting at how heavy it was as he buckled and adjusted the waist and chest belts.
He'd done his best to keep the weight at 80 pounds, not counting the stuff he'd be holding in his hands, since that was the weight he'd heard soldiers carried in the field. He might have gone a bit over, but either way the pack was so heavy he had trouble leaning over to pick up the case and bag without losing his balance. That, too, wasn't ideal, but he only had to go 50 miles and this was all stuff he felt he needed to take with him.
Trev worked his shoulders under the pack's straps, hefted the stuff he'd be carrying, and gave his car one last longing, slightly resentful look. A half hour of driving this morning, maybe closer to forty-five minutes. That would've taken him at least another third of the distance, maybe even gotten him to within 10 miles. No help for the past, though, so he got going.
Since he'd ended his drive at the bottom of a hill with even steeper hills ahead he got the treat of having to climb for the first few miles, which was an excellent way to demonstrate that he'd definitely packed way, way too much. By the time he'd gone a mile he was absolutely exhausted. The pack, which had seemed cripplingly heavy at first, now felt like a mountain on his back, threatening to topple him over with every tottering step.
Eighty pounds, he'd figured. Now he was wondering if it didn't weigh closer to a hundred. And for that matter, those eighty pound packs were being lugged by trained soldiers in the best shape of their lives. He rarely exercised more than the occasional game of volleyball or swimming at a nearby apartment complex's pool. Even that wasn't really swimming, more goofing off with his roommates.
There was no help for it, he was going to have to lose some weight. Hopefully not physically, although that would probably happen all too quickly once meals started getting scarce, but his pack definitely needed lightening. He hated the
Once he thought everything was as good as possible he grabbed the shovel and set to work on the final difficult task of filling the hole, with was thankfully much easier than digging it in the first place. And finally he spent several minutes smoothing the dirt and then kicking dead leaves and mulch from the rest of the copse over the spot, then gathering any deadwood he could find to spread around to further disguise it. Then he stood back to inspect the area and make sure nothing would draw the eye.
It looked pretty good. At last, after roughly four hours of exhausting work, he was finally finished. He sincerely hoped it was worth it. He'd heard the sound of a few semis and a single car driving by on the highway above while he'd been working, but unsurprisingly none had stopped. He didn't know whether that was a good thing, since they wouldn't know about his supplies or his cache and be tempted to steal from him, or a bad thing because it meant he couldn't hitch a ride.
Oh well, maybe he'd get lucky and another semi or car would pass by going the right direction and offer him a ride once he was on his way.
All that was left was to find a way to shove everything he'd left out to take with him into his pack or tie it to the outside. He had so much stuff that he ended up taking out his sleeping bag, tent, tarp, and inflatable pad and wedging them under the pack's front straps as he pulled them tight in order to fit everything else inside. He still had to strap his camping shovel across the back and carry his Mini-14's case in one hand, balancing it out with a bag of ammunition and sundry items in the other.
It wouldn't have been ideal if he'd had to do the slightest bit of climbing, but for just walking along the road it should be okay. He gave his car a once-over to make sure he had everything, locked it up, and then with some effort lifted his pack and pulled it onto his shoulders, grunting at how heavy it was as he buckled and adjusted the waist and chest belts.
He'd done his best to keep the weight at 80 pounds, not counting the stuff he'd be holding in his hands, since that was the weight he'd heard soldiers carried in the field. He might have gone a bit over, but either way the pack was so heavy he had trouble leaning over to pick up the case and bag without losing his balance. That, too, wasn't ideal, but he only had to go 50 miles and this was all stuff he felt he needed to take with him.
Trev worked his shoulders under the pack's straps, hefted the stuff he'd be carrying, and gave his car one last longing, slightly resentful look. A half hour of driving this morning, maybe closer to forty-five minutes. That would've taken him at least another third of the distance, maybe even gotten him to within 10 miles. No help for the past, though, so he got going.
Since he'd ended his drive at the bottom of a hill with even steeper hills ahead he got the treat of having to climb for the first few miles, which was an excellent way to demonstrate that he'd definitely packed way, way too much. By the time he'd gone a mile he was absolutely exhausted. The pack, which had seemed cripplingly heavy at first, now felt like a mountain on his back, threatening to topple him over with every tottering step.
Eighty pounds, he'd figured. Now he was wondering if it didn't weigh closer to a hundred. And for that matter, those eighty pound packs were being lugged by trained soldiers in the best shape of their lives. He rarely exercised more than the occasional game of volleyball or swimming at a nearby apartment complex's pool. Even that wasn't really swimming, more goofing off with his roommates.
There was no help for it, he was going to have to lose some weight. Hopefully not physically, although that would probably happen all too quickly once meals started getting scarce, but his pack definitely needed lightening. He hated the
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