Holding Their Own: A Story of Survival (32 page)

Sanderton, Texas – September 18, 2015

Ghost T
own

Sanderton had been founded as a watering station for the Georgia-Pacific railroad shortly after the civil war. The town had flourished for several years despite its isolation and proximity to the Mexican border.

Since the 1980s, the story had been quite different. The town had experienced a continuing decline in population primarily due to the success of other towns in the area. By the year 2000, it was a completely uninhabited, semi-modern ghost town. There were still four boarded up buildings at the intersection, with weeds, fallen shingles and small bits of scrap iron scattered around the paved areas. Its primary role in the last 20 years was a destination for teenagers to sneak away and have beer bashes.

As far as the s
tate of Texas was concerned, Sanderton still existed, but the US government had closed the post office years ago. It had been located in the General Store, and when that shut down, there was no place left to house it.

As Terri slowed and approached the intersection, she realized that this was the first town they had entered without sneaking, scouting or crashing through since they had left Houston. The few  buildings still standing were within sight of each other, and she drove around each one making sure there were no other cars or sign of recent visitors. She had to be careful because broken glass and debris was scattered everywhere. She decided on a building that looked to be in the best condition and offered a little cover for the truck. There had been a small lean-to built  behind the structure, and there was still enough of it standing to hide the truck. While anyone going down the main road would not be able to see it, the hiding spot would not hold up to a closer inspection.
This will just have to do for now.

She checked on Bishop. He was still breathing well, and his pulse was strong. When she touched his wrist to check it, he moved and changed his breathing just a bit. She decided t
o let him rest while she nosed around a little.
Damn him
, she thought,
I am picking up his bad habits.
She started to grab her 9mm pistol, but had felt more secure with the rifle at the roadblock. She knew the basics of how it worked, and Bishop’s favorite one was lying on the floor of the truck. She pulled it out, made sure it was loaded and a round chambered. She made sure the safety on.

This rifle didn’t have a weapon light, and she really didn’t want one. She walked around the truck for a bit, peering through the night vision and listening. She went back to the truck to check on him again and tried to see how much he was bleeding. She knew that was her first job – stop the bleeding. Because of Bishop’s position in the truck, she really couldn’t tell how much blood he had lost since it was running through the crack in the seat. The white light of the flashlight made it difficult to judge his color.
At least he is still breathing, and the blood has not started running out from under the seat.

She locked th
e truck and proceeded to explore the building she had picked. There was a double front door surrounded by windows, all of which were boarded up. When she stepped on the front porch, she almost fell through the rotten wood.
Good
, she thought,
it will be hard for someone heavier than I am to sneak up on us.

Terri checked the back door, and it was boarded up as well.
Whoever closed this place down really didn’t want anyone inside.
Knowing she was going to have to break in somehow, she decided on the back door. That would leave the front undisturbed in case someone passed by. She checked the 2x4 boards that were nailed across the rear entrance. They were all solid and tight. She thought about trying to pry them off, but figured that would take forever, and she didn’t have anything to pry with anyway.

She opened the back of the truck and rummaged around, but couldn’t find anything that would help. She dug out a pair of her blue jeans and wrapped them around the middle two boards. She found a piece of rusty iron rebar lying nearby, put it between the legs of the jeans, and started twisting.

On about the sixth turn, one of the boards cracked. She hoped it would break soon because she didn’t think she had the strength to twist it many more times. She put all of her weight into it, and the bar went half a turn, and the top board went “pop” and came loose. She managed to tear the board away and repeated the process. In about five minutes, she had removed all but the bottom and top boards. The ruined jeans were thrown to the ground.

Behind the boards was a solid sheet of very thick plywood nailed to the doorframe. Her kick accomplished nothing but hurting her foot.
Is anything you see on television true?
She thought about trying to shoot the board off, but didn’t want to make the noise and was not really sure this plan would work. She grabbed a nearby rock that was about the size of a softball and threw it as hard as she could. It bounced off, almost hitting her as it rolled back.

It was time to regroup and think for a little bit, so checked on Bishop again. His pulse had slowed. Rolling him a few inches to the side revealed the entire back of the truck seat was covered in blood.
This is not good. I have to get him inside where I can work on him or he is going to bleed to death right here in the truck.

She returned to look at the door again, but just couldn’t figure out a way to get it open.
I have got to get this done, and right now.
She went back to the truck, started the engine, and inched it slowly toward the door. She knew the front bumper was engineered with a big rubber component that stuck out and hoped it protruded enough to meet the door before the rest of the bumper hit the doorframe. At this point she didn’t care if she hurt the bumper or not – she had to get Bishop where she could dig the bullet out. Moving the truck forward bit by bit, the bumper engaged the plywood door with more force than anticipated. The truck jolted enough that Bishop moaned, but the plywood gave way on one side. Terri backed up and re-aimed. This time she was able to better control and soften the impact. The second push left the plywood hanging loosely in the frame. She backed up the truck and got out to examine her dirty work. One good strike with her hand sent plywood crashing inwards, creating a small cloud of dust when it landed. 

She retrieved a flashlight from the truck and used the night vision to scan the inside first. The NVD showed her a small back room, completely empty. The flashlight revealed falling plaster on the floor and a few cobwebs.

The main part of the building proved to be empty except for one old chair, a few boxes of yellowed paper, and some scrap wood lying around. Dust covered everything. 

Terri pulled both hammocks out of the back of the truck and suspended one between two columns that ran through the middle of the main room.
She pulled over the chair and tested it – it would hold her.  She laid the other one out flat on the floor. She then ran back to the truck and retrieved the large medical kit and a small box of books Bishop had packed before they left. The last four bottles of their precious water came inside next.

It took a few attempts, but Bishop finally opened his eyes to look at her. His pulse sped up, and she thought that was a good thing. She told him where they were and that it was safe, but he had to get up and get inside. He nodded and with her help, managed to get out of the truck and into the building. She took off his chest-rig, body armor and cut his shirt away. Guiding him to the floor hammock, she had him lay on his stomac
h so she could see the damage.

The bullet had entered through the upper arm and exited into his rib cage through the opening in his armor below the armpit. She remembered seeing something on TV once that talked about how bullets can take random paths through the body. She traced the path of the bullet by the swollen, purple flesh. This one had been deflected by his ribs and traveled upwards into the muscle covering his shoulder blade. There was no exit wound. The bullet was still in there. She ran back and retrieved two flashlights and using the duct tape, secured them to the columns shining down on Bishop. He turned his head a little and told her he was worried about the light. He wouldn’t relax and tried to get up, so she walked around the building quickly to make sure there wasn’t any light leaking out that would be detected by passersby. He relaxed a little bit and seemed to go back asleep.

The arm was still bleeding, but most of the blood was coming from the entry wound on the rib cage. She looked around in the box of books and found the US Army Survival Manual. Its third chapter was about treating bullet wounds in the field, and she read it as quickly as she could. She checked his pulse again. It was even faster than the last time. She flipped through the book and re-read the section on shock. An increasing pulse rate was a sign Bishop was going into shock.

She grabbed a clean shirt and spread it out on the dusty floor. She spread out the contents of the medical kit and took a quick mental inventory. As she was getting organized, Bishop turned his head and said, “Baby, I need water. I need it real bad.” She grabbed a bottle, and he drained it without pausing. He said, “I’m so thirsty. I think it is because I’m losing blood. I could drink
10 more of those. I’ve never been so thirsty.” She handed him another, and it was gone in a few seconds. They had two bottles left. She started to use one to wash off the wound, and remembered the two bottles of bourbon that were in the truck. They were a door prize at a company party, and Bishop had brought them along for bartering.

She used the expensive bourbon to wash the dried and caked blood away from the torso wounds. She would deal with the arm later. Much to his displeasure, she pushed gently on his shoulder to see if she could find the bullet. There was a red streak that started at the entry and when she followed it around, she found the bullet about one half inch below the surface of his skin in the muscle below his shoulder blade.

“Bishop, baby, I found the bullet.”

“It has to come out. How deep?”

“Less than an inch. I’m going to have to cut you. I don’t know about this Bishop.”

“Terri, I love you. That bullet has to come out, or I’m dead from infection. You are going to have to cut it out.”

“Do you want some booze? They do that in the movies, you know.”

“No, but a bullet to bite on might help,” Bishop joked to lighten the mood a bit.

“Funny. This is all swollen and purple back here, and I think it’s going to hurt. Are you ready?”

“I was born ready. Terri, I say crazy shit when I’m in pain. Do you promise not to hold it against me?”

“I promise. Okay, here goes.”

She took the scalpel from the medical kit and o
pened the sterile wrapper. Her first attempt to cut his skin barely drew blood because she didn’t press hard enough. She pushed harder, and the skin sliced open. Bishop tensed, but didn’t say anything. She pulled apart the skin with her fingers and stuck tweezers in the incision, causing Bishop to inhale sharply and arch upwards.

“I HATE YOUR MEATLOAF!” he growled.

She smirked and thought,
I don’t make meatloaf
, then dug around very gently with the tweezers until she felt the bullet.

“THOSE NEW SANDALS LOOK LIKE OLD LADY SHOES!”

He’s delirious because my sandals look great.
She tried to put the tweezers over the bullet to pull it out, but the skin would not stretch enough, and she didn’t want to tear the skin and hurt him.

“YOUR ASS LOOKS FAT IN THAT NEW BATHING SUIT!”

This time Terri pushed the tweezers deep and hard, grabbing the bullet and tearing tissue - but it came out.

Bishop was panting
, and sweat was beading up all over his back. Terri set the bullet down and poured more bourbon over the wound to clean the blood. She dried the surgical site, opened a packet of antibiotic powder, and sprinkled it on the wound. Then she pulled out a suture, threaded the enclosed needle, and poked him with it, waiting on his next outburst. When he didn’t say anything, she proceeded to sew and bandage the incision. She decided to let the entry wound drain after reading the army manual. She put a sterile strip on top of the wound and then focused on his arm. He weakly drank another bottle of water, this time taking much longer to do so.

She started concentrating on his arm, when she thought she heard a car go down the road. She turned off the flashlights and went outside with the night vision to look around. She couldn’t see or hear anything except a coyote far off in the distance.

After she returned, an examination of Bishop’s arm made her second-guess working the shoulder first. While it did not seem to have bled as much as the other entry, the entire top of his arm was swollen and purple. When she moved his arm to get a better view, blood poured out of the exit wound. The injury was bleeding heavily inside of the “tunnel” created through his flesh as the bullet bored through.

She was at a complete loss as to how to stop the bleeding. Pressure and bandages were a simple fix, but how do you stop bleeding inside of a hole like that? She re-read the manual again, but it was not much help. Bishop moved his head a little bit and said, “It’s so cold in here. Why is it so cold?”

Terri thought it was anything but cold. She was dripping in sweat, and Bishop’s bare back and forehead were beading up as well.
He’s going into shock.