His Gift

I woke up lying on scrubland, flat on my belly, my face pressed down into the short, harsh grass. I was totally exposed to the dark, storm-filled skies above me and an increasingly high wind. It was also raining heavily, a steady beat on my back. The water clawed its way through my shirt, running in rivulets down my sides to the ground. Out of the corner of my half-closed eyes I could see tall trees in the distance, but the only things in the immediate vicinity were turf and soil: sparse, grimy, and slick with rain. I shifted slightly and my knees scraped against gravel. When I moved my leg in another direction, something tugged in resistance. I heard the deep, sucking sound of wet mud at my ankles. I seemed to be half in a ditch and I hurt. A hell of a lot. With difficulty, I struggled to my feet. I couldn’t believe how long it took me. My limbs were both exhausted and wayward, and the pool of mud was equally reluctant to let me go. It clung to my clothes, seeping through the fabric in cold, clammy trickles. My shirt was torn in several places and my jeans were sodden from hip to hem. Every time I moved, there was a fierce pain at my hip that made me shudder. When I put a cautious hand to my side, there didn’t seem to be any blood, but something that excruciating had to be really serious, I was sure. If I’d had the energy, I would have cursed long and hard. When I was finally upright and looked around, I saw a deep ridge in the soft mud, the width of a man’s body and running back down from the solid ground into the depths of the ditch. I’d obviously dragged my body up from there. The rain beat fiercely at the mud now, and the traces would soon be obliterated. I had no idea where I was, or what had happened. In fact, for a very frightening moment, I struggled to remember my own name. I patted down my back pocket for my wallet, dragged it out and flipped it open. It was soaking, like the rest of my clothes, but I could read the name on a bank card. Steve Macklin. Of course, that was my name. I was stupidly relieved. So things weren’t that bad, right? I could remember who I was. I tried to recall other things, like what day it was or what I was doing here, but I couldn’t concentrate properly. In fact, the effort made my head hurt. I heard noises and twisted around. Was there company in this Godforsaken place? But I quickly realised it was only the rain splattering on the stones in the ditch, combined with the remnants of my own laboured breathing. The whole area was deserted. I couldn’t see any sign of life, whichever direction I searched. I knew I had to get under cover somewhere, though, and examine where I was hurt—how badly I was hurt. Then I could worry about how the hell I got here in the first place. I peered over at the copse in the distance. The rain dripped off my hair and ran down my nose, but beyond the trees I reckoned I could see the evidence of a proper, man-made road. I felt a wash of relief. There was civilisation! I couldn’t see any farther, but it was likely there’d be a town, or at least a small community there. Houses, transport, telephones. Someone who would help me. I put a foot forward and winced as pain shot through me. No other choice but to keep going, I told myself through gritted teeth. I shuffled the other foot to meet the first, and gradually I built up a rolling gait that got me going.