The Devil's Bag Man (2015)
“He had yet to locate the limit of his endurance; he knew how to tire himself enough to sleep, but he’d never pushed past what the weightlifting magazines of his youth referred to as muscle failure. That last rep you just couldn’t power through, that wind sprint your body insisted you abort.
He was determined to do it now. He’d move until he couldn’t. Drop where he stood. The tank had to empty out sometime.
But when the pink blush of dawn came, he was still putting one foot in front of the other.... Just as remarkable, he had one full jug of water left, slung across his back in what had once been his best shirt—best and second-worst—and was now a makeshift bandolier.
The early morning desert stretched out in front of him, an endless gold-lit vista of scrub brush and cacti, rolling hills and shallow valleys and big sky. He’d been charting a rough southeastern path, keeping well off anything that resembled a road and tacking wide anytime he saw so much as the distant glimmer of lights.MoreLess
He was determined to do it now. He’d move until he couldn’t. Drop where he stood. The tank had to empty out sometime.
But when the pink blush of dawn came, he was still putting one foot in front of the other.... Just as remarkable, he had one full jug of water left, slung across his back in what had once been his best shirt—best and second-worst—and was now a makeshift bandolier.
The early morning desert stretched out in front of him, an endless gold-lit vista of scrub brush and cacti, rolling hills and shallow valleys and big sky. He’d been charting a rough southeastern path, keeping well off anything that resembled a road and tacking wide anytime he saw so much as the distant glimmer of lights.MoreLess
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