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Next morning Bill wakes to the chill of dawn air. The sun is sparkling brightly through the trees. He’s bothered by anxious thoughts. “Last night I dreamed I arrived at my stash and it was gone, everything stolen. And it was weird. My stash had been replaced by a rabbit hutch full of fat white rabbits that were jumping around and angrily screaming “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

He lightly grinds his teeth. “I Feel vulnerable here. I must move quickly.”

Bill packs his tent and all the gear that remains in his small stash at the Martin farm. “I don’t feel like eating.” He sets off towards the northeast. As he weaves through the woods he considers. “I sense that I’m not on a winning pace. I need to develop a more vigilant eye on my situation. I’m not sufficiently aware of my surroundings.”

Bill’s planning for this trek became serious a few months back when the riots began. Power stations were blown up. Government officials were resigning and police were quitting their jobs. People were afraid to travel, even to go to work. Roads, trains and planes were being sabotaged.

Here in the woods, there is no comfortable place to sit. There’s no way to order meals for delivery and bugs are crawling across the sweat on his face. He really misses his comfortable apartment back in the city. It’s all gone. No texting on his phone. No browsing the internet. He can’t go to nightclubs on Saturday nights and meet a nice lady. No AC. No electricity at all. No food in the cupboards.

“I have to focus on survival now, I must develop a survivor’s edge.” Bill is wearing hiking boots. He notices that his rapid footsteps through the underbrush are creating two issues. He is making a lot of noise and he can’t hear what’s happening around him. He decides that it would be smart to develop a routine of just stopping to listen. He walks to a large tree and slides down to a sitting position. That’s when he discovers that, right now, the woods are eerily quiet. He listens for a few moments. The silence is reassuring.

“I’m not going to reach my stash today. But I’d like to maintain a steady pace.” He sees that his GPS has stopped working. He digs into his pack for his compass. His voice trails off as he declares “It’s getting serious now.”

A few hours later Bill reaches a place where the woods is thinning and there is more sunlight. He spots a small stream. He drops his pack, empties his pockets and wades into the cool water. He drops to sit while the refreshing water washes over him. He is startled by the sound of quail nearby. “The woods might really be ending soon.” He stands to collect his gear. “Getting soaked might have been a bad idea. I don’t need a rash. When I stop for the night, I’ll get naked and hang up my clothes. Maybe I’ll use one of the body wipes.”

(We’ll continue Bill’s story soon.)