Orca Island Mercantile Diaries — Entry 2

1/11/18

Another frigid, snowy day on Orca. I had to spend a few days recovering from a gunshot wound, and I’m still trying to piece together what happened. My memory is a a little fuzzy and I’m still not yet back to full strength.

What I can remember is that it was sunny. Finally had a decent break in the weather, but still a little chilly. I had returned from the woods nearby with several bundles of logs to resupply the fires. I squatted down by the fire near one of the railings on the road and began to stoke the embers.

I heard the unmistakable sound of suppressed gunfire hitting the ground and metal around me. Many shots were fired, but none landing. It was the obvious work of a coward, and a bad shot, hiding somewhere nearby.

I ran to the outpost, trying desperately to find cover. As I ran for the outpost I thought, “Eventually this guy will get lucky and land a shot.” I was right.

The last thing I remember was feeling a sharp pain when “eventually" finally happened. Then darkness. I’m not sure how long I was out, but I finally came to in a dried pool of my own blood. The small bits of ammo I had were gone. A couple .357 rounds, a few 9mm, and my food I was carrying. It’s a shame as I probably would have traded or given it if he would have asked. I do have a little pleasure in knowing he spent several rounds from his rifle to get those few handgun rounds.

So now it’s a new day. I’ve been watching a large buck for most of the morning. He cautiously makes his way closer to the outpost, before slipping back to the woods. One thing I have learned living in the South is to be patient.

I make my way down and hide in the few bushes that line the roadside. Eventually he lets his guard down and steps within range. I jump from the bush, trusty rusty hatchet in hand. With one swift swing the deer is dispatched.

I take all I can from him, leaving as little to waste as possible. The hide will make a waterskin, the fat for candles, the guts for food in a pinch, and the meat goes right to the fire. As the steak starts to cook I sit and wonder if I’m still being watched. If there is still someone lurking around, waiting to take another shot at me.

The crack of my handheld radio startles me right out of my seat. A man’s voice comes through. It’s a young guy asking for help. I make out what seems to be an Australian accent, something I’ve never heard around here. He asks for help building his shelter. He’s needing some larger walls built and could use the help of someone knowledgeable in their construction. I radio out for help and my good friend, Pat, happens to be in the area and agrees to assist.

I meet up with Pat and we make our way to the coordinates. I tell him about my luck. The bad with with gunmen and the good with the deer. We discuss the weather changes, deer recipes, and possible ways to fortify the outpost. As we come out of the woods, we find our new friend’s home.

He tells us he has the materials needed to build the walls and we begin construction. We’ve built outposts, forts, and numerous other buildings all over Orca, so this was a simple task. Pat gives advice on security and fortification. He also comments on some possible instability issues with the structure.

With the walls built, I move towards the door to assess possible locations that we could be scouted from. As I approach the threshold I feel a very familiar pain and an equally familiar feeling of blacking out.

I wake up to Pat standing over me. He’s slightly concerned, but more amused. “Did I get shot again?!?” I ask.

“Nope,” he replies. “Just wrong place, wrong time when our new friend here collapsed a load bearing wall. Got you right in the head.”

That was enough for me to call it a day and decided to start making my way home.

Some obvious short term losses the last few days. But I’m sticking to my plan. I’m still going. I’ll count that as a win.