Marooned

He woke to the clucking of a rooster, pecking the dry dirt around him in search of anything edible that could be found in this barren wasteland. He sat up slowly, pushing up with his arms behind him, his entire body aching. His wrists were sore and worn raw, a rope still knotted around his right. His head was pounding, no real recollection how he got here. Looking around at the vastness spread before him, he masseaged his neck, while working out where exactly he might be. He untied the rope from his right wrist, letting it fall next to him, and grimaced in pain.

Sitting on the hard earth, he took stock of his condition. Thankfully he was left clothed or the sun here could’ve killed him before anything else. His jeans had new holes in them but what is he do about that? At least he was left his boots and they seemed to be in fair shape. He had no hat and no water and there wasn’t any shade visible, much less any outline of a town on the horizon.

He mustered the will and pushed himself up to his feet, sending spears of pain shooting through his body. He cried out as he steadied himself and doubled over. Short of air and bearing the pain the best he could, he stayed hunched over to catch his breath. In that position, he saw, at his feet, tire tracks that continued off into the distance.

He knew what he needed to do now. He bent over, picked up the rope and pocketed it. He backtracked a few steps and scooped up the rooster to bring along. In this manner he began to limp in the direction of the tracks, cock held close. For walking was the only thing left for him to do.