She grabbed it and scooted out, sitting up to look at it.
The box said ‘Grade-Schooclass="underline" Awards, Ribbons & Mementos.’ Graysie scrunched her eyebrows together. What the heck did she want with those? Did her dad think her childhood accomplishments would inspire and encourage her to get home? What the heck, Dad?
She ripped the paper off anyway. When she lifted the lid, her eyes widened. It was her dad’s favorite pistol—a Smith & Wesson .38 Special—and two full speed-loaders with fifty rounds of ammo each, and another full box of ammo. She’d shot with this gun many times and had begged him to bring it to school—just in case. But he’d always told her no.
It’s been here all along?
She could just about squeal with excitement, but she kept it to herself. Since the power had gone out, and there was no background noises, she could hear conversations all the way down the hall, behind closed doors. That meant they could hear her too. And no doubt, she was probably the only kid in the college with a lethal weapon, and many would probably try to take it from her.
She climbed onto the bed and slid the pistol and ammo under her pillow. She picked up the letter again and continued reading.
I know your first instinct is to want to come home the same way you would if you were driving. I don’t know what the scenario is right now, but regardless, if there is an emergency, the interstate route isn’t the way to come. It will be gridlocked. You could take Hwy. 29. It’s back roads and rural. You’d still get here in nearly the same time, unless you’re stuck in traffic. Bottom line, it’s safer than the interstate and same drive-time.
If you’re walking, don’t take the highways or the interstate. It’s not safe for you! Walking will take you much, much longer to get home than the normal one hour drive. You’ll find a compass in this bag, with instructions. Read the instructions before you leave. If you don’t understand how to use it, you may finally realize that daddy was right. Should have listened. But since you didn’t, find yourself a nice boy scout to help you. You’ll be following the compass through the woods. You’ll have to cross roads and highways. Be alert! Hide until you know the coast is clear. Cross quickly and get back under cover. See the map. I marked that route for you.
I know you can do this, Graysie. I’m so proud of you, and I love you. Whenever you’ve set your mind to something in the past, it’s been Katie, bar the door. So set your mind to this, and get your ass in gear.
Come home to me soon, baby girl.
Graysie’s chin quivered as she held her hand over her mouth. Tears pricked at her eyes until finally, she left them flow. She rocked back and forth and squeezed her eyes shut.
She wanted her dad. This letter from him made it all too real. She was truly in deep shit. She couldn’t do this alone. She didn’t know how to read a compass. She dug in the bag and found the small army-green pouch. She opened it to find a folded instruction manual atop compass. Quickly, she scanned the instructions. It didn’t make a lick of sense to her. She needed help.
The backpack was heavy. There was no way she could carry it all the way home, if she had to walk. Plus, she was sure her dad hadn’t packed her any clothes. She’d need at least one spare set. She folded up the letter and put it back in the envelope, holding it up to her nose.
She couldn’t smell him, but the memory of his clean scent still filled her nose.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she held the letter to her heart. Ivory soap and Old Spice. She teased him about the Old Spice, telling him it was for old men, but secretly she loved his old soul. He was forty years old this year. It seemed ancient to her, but a lot of her friends’ dads were much older.
She dumped everything out on the bed, and then opened all the zippers and compartments, throwing everything into one big pile. Then she sorted into three groups: sanitation, survival and sustenance.
In the sanitation pile, she put a plastic baggie of too-little folded toilet paper—too stingy on the tp, Dad—and a small clear bag that she could see through. It contained a toothbrush and toothpaste, Dove soap disposable washcloths, and a small bottle of hand sanitizer. A tiny bottle labeled bleach, and a ShawWow towel also went into that pile. And lastly, a Diva Cup. Ewww. So maybe he wasn’t as squeamish about girl-stuff as she thought he was. She giggled as she thought about him handling it. Although still new in the box, he’d probably picked it up with gloves on.
In the sustenance pile, she placed a compact Rocket Stove. It was in a tiny orange case not much bigger than a pack of smokes. The picture on the front showed someone feeding pine cones and sticks into it. Super cool, since it wasn’t necessary to carry fuel. Smart, Dad.
She sorted a blue over-sized camp cup, a fork/spoon combo attached to the top of a small mess kit, a water bottle/filter combo, a canteen, water purification tablets, and food: two vacuum-sucked pouches of what looked like Stove Top Stuffing. Written on the side was a note: Add boiling water. There was also beef jerky, two envelopes of Instant Lipton Cup-a-Soup Chicken & Rice, a small jar of peanut butter with honey, two energy bars and several baggies of GORP—good ‘ole fashioned raisins and peanuts—and a can of tuna. The tuna had a note folded and taped to the bottom. It said: “Tuna Torch: Can burn up to 3 hours for light, and then be eaten. Unfold for instructions.” A tuna-scented candle? That ought to smell nice. Not.
She smirked and tossed it into the pile.
Into the survival pile she placed the folded map, an emergency Life-Straw, a small first aid kit, a folded Mylar blanket, a bundle of paracord, and a small mirror—Good. I can use that. Also, a pack of three Bic lighters, a small fishing kit in a tin Altoids box, an Army Swiss knife/multi-tool thingy, a poncho, bug deterrent wipes, water purification tablets, duct tape wrapped around a pencil, a bundle of wire, a hand-crank flashlight, and a bottle of Advil.
She was left with a cluster of zip ties—what the heck am I supposed to do with those? —a rolled-up hat with a brim, a stack of five surgical masks marked N95, several sets of latex gloves, goggles, a pile of small assorted clips, a bandana, and two brown medicine bottles.
She popped open the top of one of the medicine bottles to find cotton balls stuffed inside that smelled of petroleum jelly. She shoved the lid back and looked at the side of the bottle. In black sharpie her father had written in tiny letters: Use 1 to light fire. The other bottle held waterproof matches. She threw them into the survival pile.
She put aside the face masks and gloves. She wouldn’t be needing those.
Digging deeper, to the very bottom, she found a large K-Bar U.S. Marine knife in a sheath and two pairs of good walking socks.
Graysie raised her eyebrows. It was a lot of stuff.
The hat looked slightly too big. She flipped it over to try it on and found another note taped to the inside.
“If you’re walking, put up that hair! Try not to look like a girl. If someone messes with you, fight like a man.”
She ripped the note off the hat, finding a hair-tie and some hair pins underneath.
She stuffed everything back in and grabbed a pair of jeans and two T-shirts. She twisted the clothes into tight rolls and crammed them in the top of the bag. Now to get some help figuring out this stupid compass.
She shoved the backpack under the bed and went in search of a boy scout.
14
GRAYSON TILTED his head up at the mountain of Puck. “Come on, son. What’re you waiting for? Jump down here.”