driver-side door, but I couldn’t see inside. I could still hear the yelling, which now I could tell was coming from a guy inside the truck.
“Would somebody help me! Somebody help me, please!”
I dropped to my side and pointed my AR inside the truck. When he heard me move, he looked toward the window.
“Shit, man, don’t shoot me! I’m hurt. I’m stuck in here, and I think my foot’s broken.” He had a look on his face that was scared, pleading, and pained.
“What’s your name?” I asked, never taking the rifle sights from him.
“My name’s Jared, but they call me Norman,” he replied.
“Who’s they, and why do they call you Norman if you’re named Jared?” I asked.
“They are my family, and they call me Norman because they think I look like the guy who played Norman Bates on A&E.” As I looked at him, I could see the resemblance. He was skinny and had dark hair and big ears. Hell, he looked more like Alfred E. Newman from the old Mad Magazine comics I read when I was a kid.
“Okay, can you move at all?” I asked, a little less concerned for my safety now.
“No, man. I’m trapped in here.”
“All right, stand by a minute,” I said as I slung my rifle over my back and tried to pull open the driver’s door. It was jammed shut, so I ran around to the passenger side and tried the passenger door. It moved a little but was also jammed. I leaned into the passenger window.
“Look, both doors are jammed. Give me a few minutes, I’ll be right back.” As I ran back to my pack, I could hear him pleading for me not to go. Soon, I could only hear his muffled yelling again. I slung on my pack and ran back toward the truck. Along the way, I saw a decent-sized tree that was young and green and looked like it could withstand the pressures of being used as a lever. I dug my pruning saw from my pack and cut down the tree and cleaned as many branches off as I could. I grabbed my pack and ran back to the truck.
Norman was still yelling when I got back to the truck. I thought to myself that this guy needed to shut the fuck up before every turd on the planet heard him. I took the tree and slid it into the gap I made the first time I tried to open the passenger door. I pushed and pulled with all that I had. I was able to get the door to move inches at a time. It was slow and took a lot of energy, but I was eventually able to get it open enough to get into the truck.
“Okay, Norman, how are you trapped in here? What’s got you trapped?” I asked.
“My foot’s trapped between the roof and the back of the seat. I can’t move it.” He started to move around, trying to pull himself free.
“Okay, hold on.” I got my lever and worked it into a small space between the seat back and the roof. I pried and pushed until I was able to get one end of the lever as close to his foot as I could. I got my end of the tree on my shoulder and pushed up. Eventually, I was able to push the back of the seat up enough to create a space big enough that Norman could slide his foot out.
“Oh man, thanks. Thanks so much. God, my foot is killing me. Man, thanks.”
“Relax, Norman, I’m not in the mood for any kissing just yet. Let’s get you out of here.” I threw the tree out of the truck and grabbed Norman under his arms. I pulled him out of the cab of the truck and laid him on the ground. He looked around, smiling like it was the first time he had seen trees.
“Oh man, is it good to be out of there. I’m dyin’ of thirst. You got anything to drink?” he asked.
“Sure, gimme a second,” I said as I got up and walked over to my pack. I took out my canteen and handed it to Norman. He drank until he had his fill.
“How long have you been in there? What happened anyway?” I asked as I knelt down to look at his foot.
“I’ve been stuck in that piece of shit for three days. Damn man, go easy!” he yelled as I pulled, prodded, and twisted his ankle. I was no doctor—hell, I wasn’t even a medic—but from the grinding sound I heard in his ankle, I could tell it was broken.
“I was out hunting for me and my wife, which reminds me, don’t forget my rifle in the truck, it’s the only one I have. Anyway, I was driving home and a freakin’ bear ran across the road. I swerved to miss it, lost control, and rolled this bitch. Dammit, that’s the only truck we got too,” he said. I wasn’t sure if he was pissed at the bear or himself for wrecking the truck.
“Brother, you don’t look old enough to have a wife. How old are you?” I asked as I smiled at him.
“I’m thirty-five,” he said, puffing up his chest and getting a proud look on his face.
“My wife’s name is Amanda, and I got a six-year-old boy too. His name’s Andy. We call him Dozer ’cause he’s as strong as an ox and runs around pushing everything over.” The proud look on his face got more legitimate as he talked about his boy. Not as comedic as when he told me his age.
“How far from your house are you?” I asked.
“Maybe six miles that way,” he said as he pointed down the road.
“Where’s your wife? Do you think people will be out looking for you?” I asked.
“No, it’s just me and her. I told her not to leave the house unless I was gone for more than a week. Then she was to hike it to the neighbor’s house through the woods about a mile from our place. But we got enough food in the house that she can feed her and Dozer without me. I just went out to look for some meat to supplement what we already got.”
“Okay, let me get some stuff to make you a splint and a cheesy crutch. Then I’ll grab your rifle and we’ll head out. You think you can make it home with a crutch?” I asked as I started to look around.
“Fuckin-a, man, I miss my wife and kid,” he said, the excitement about getting out of here evident on his face.
I pulled my Bowie knife from its sheath and crawled back into the cab of the truck. I cut several long strips of cloth from the seat covers. Once I crawled back out of the truck, I took the pruning saw and cut the tree I used to pry open the door into several pieces about a foot long. I used one of the pieces as a baton, using it and my knife to split one of the other pieces of wood into two. I then placed a piece of the split tree on each side of Norman’s leg. I finally took the cloth strips I cut from the seat to tie the splints to his leg.
Once that was done, I walked back into the woods and found a tree about the size of a man’s wrist. The tree had a Y in it about five feet from the ground. I cut the tree down with the pruning saw and adjusted the size until Norman could use it as a crutch.
I walked back to the truck, crawled back into the cab of the truck, and used my Bowie to cut a couple of chunks of padding from the seat. I used the last strips of the seat cover to secure the padding to the Y in the crutch.
“Okay, Norman, this’ll need to do. Let’s get you up and we’ll start heading to your place. You just point us in the right direction,” I said as I reached out to give him a hand up.
“Damn, dude. You fixed this shit up like a pro. You know what you’re doin’.”
“I’m no pro.
