#12
Milo hustled back to camp and had Toby walk over to where Gary was pretending to sleep. "Seamus's feet are in terrible condition. The boots he has were tanned with something," and Milo shrugged his shoulders, signifying he had no idea what it was. "It's acting like acid on his feet. I've got him soaking them in the creek, and the boots are rotten smelling inside. The problem is, he wears a size 15. Those don't grow on trees around here, or anywhere, probably for that matter."
"A man that big wouldn't have small feet," Toby said absently, looking out over the meadow as if the shoe store was right around the corner. "We'll have to keep our eyes open for some kind of material to craft a type of shoe with. Right now that doesn't look promising, there's nothing here but nature."
"Toby, I need you to guard Gary while he gets some sleep. I've got to go back and guard Seamus, he's out in the open and vulnerable with his feet in the water and no boots on." Milo put the multi cammo watch cap back on, his red hair attracted attention from quite a distance, and he fleetingly thought about Ted. There was a pang that went through his heart at the thought of what Ted had been when he was younger, and what the end product had been and what his reward might have been for being and doing the right thing; instead of the way he ended up.
Milo shook himself hard, rearranging his wayward brain cells, and went to guard their unusual combat companion.
Gary was shaking his head, when Toby pointed to the prone man's sleeping bag. "I'm trying to sleep, it's just not easy during the middle of the day."
Toby got a wicked grin on his face and went over to tell Gary his suggestion in a very low voice. Both men shouted with laughter and Gary rearranged himself in the sleeping bag once more and turned to face the rock, still chuckling.
Toby tidied the camp, slipped his New Testament copy into his shirt pocket and picked up his rifle and melded into the woods, stopping to tell Milo where he would be stationed to stand watch over Gary.
To men that were used to being on the move, the rest was more bothersome than restful. It made them restless and more suspicious of every little noise in the forest. Along about two in the afternoon, both Milo and Toby picked up of whisps of wood smoke carried on the breeze. They met under cover of the dense forest and conferred.
"I think it's very probable, other people have survived," they both agreed on the premise. "Now we have to decide if they will be good guys or bad ones. On the whole," Toby gestured a three-sixty circle, "It appears as if a lot of the bad ones have been removed. But we do need to keep in mind that even the good ones can become bad, given sufficient provocation. How's Seamus's feet looking ?"
"Better, not good, just better than they were. I don't think the man has washed his socks since he bought them. Poor situtation," Milo regarded Toby as they both looked through the tree clogged opening where Seamus was sitting, drying his feet in the sunshine.
Toby was about to say something when they were interrupted by an unearthly sound. Wolf howls sounded not all that far away from the camp.
"I'll get Gary," Toby spoke low, "Get Seamus back to camp, and his boots."