The sound of a woodpecker knocking away at the trunk of a dying tree told him otherwise. He stretched, feeling the stiff muscles in his back ache with pain. The shelter he’d built yesterday had kept him warm, although it certainly hadn’t done wonders for his spine. The mattress he and Diane shared at the cabin had been harder than their king-sized pillowtop back home. That was a transition he’d been fine with. Even dozing off in the front seat of his Blazer, while not ideal, had also been better than his current bed of pine needles and dead leaves. To make matters worse, by the time he woke up, the mound he’d collected had been pushed to the side so that John’s back was digging into the hard forest floor. Some of the possum was still left over from last night and he ate half of it, washing the tough meat down with a drink of water. He was eager to get a move on. If he kept up the pace, there was a chance he might just reach the Patriot camp by dusk. After reapplying duct tape to his blisters, John slung the AR and the shotgun over his shoulder and headed out.
What do You think about Last Stand: Patriots (Book 2)?
