It all happened so quickly. It was a blur, really.
One second I was hiking, soaking in the beautiful scenery, the next I was laying in a motionless heap on the dirt trail, screaming in agony.
A pothole embedded deep in the trail. I caught my foot at an odd angle, tried to correct myself, and managed to snap my leg in half.
After I wiped away my tears, I could tell that the break was messy. To my absolute horror, I saw shards of white laying on the ground.
Bone. My bone.
Then came the blood. Not a lot, but enough to soak through my pant leg. The stickiness was warm and a deep, rich red. Almost like wine.
My shattered leg was bent numerous degrees in the wrong direction. Once the adrenaline kicked in, I managed to start crawling. Slowly at first, and then slower still as dirt nestled its way into my leg, infecting it. Ants started nibbling at the pools I was leaving in my wake, whether it was blood or urine I couldn’t be sure.
As the afternoon wore on, I assumed I would see other hikers and seek help. Even though this hiking trail was remote, I didn’t think I’d be alone for this long. I started to worry as the sun’s rays started to get longer. I managed to perch myself up against a tree and sleep the first night.
I was thrust awake by a voice. I jumped up, startled. I screamed out as pain rippled up my leg and into my ribs.
“My oh my feller, that’s quite nasty, isn’t it?” An old man. His grey beard hugged his cheeks. He wore a black suit and a top hat. His soft, high pitched voice and overall demeanor reminded me of a man who was not of this era. Lost in the wrong universe perhaps. A wanderer.
“God it hurts so bad.” I managed to squeak out.
“I can sympathize. I used to be a surgeon during the war, mind if I take a look?” He asked, placing a leather travel bag on the ground next to me. I nodded my head as I bit my lip. The man retrieved a pair of scissors and sliced through my crusted over pant leg. He peeled the two stiff flaps apart. Immediately his hand flew to his mouth. He started to dry heave, but he didn’t turn his head away.
My leg had maggots crawling in the bloody, bone exposed, purple-tinted flesh. The old man vomited at the sight of this, a horrendous shade of green sludge exited his orifice and splashed down right into my broken leg. I wailed in revulsion and misery, the fresh stomach acid burning my exposed pain receptors.
“Fuck! Jesus fucking Christ!” I shouted.
“Sorry, sir. I mean no ill intent. I’m gonna have to do one of two things for you.” He wiped his chin with his sleeve.
“What?” I was hyperventilating.
“Well, your leg is gangrenous. How long you’ve been out here?” He looked up towards the sun.
“I don’t know. A day or two?” The old man shook his head in disappointment.
“I can amputate, which I recommend, or I can set it. Either way, your legs more than likely gonna have to face the axe I reckon. Either here or elsewhere.” His face was grim, he shook his head again, this time in pity.
“Hell of a thing, partner.” He finished.
“Can you set it?” I asked wearily.
“Well, it’ll hurt like a bastard, that’s for sure mister. I’m gonna have to tie your arms and torso to that there tree so you stay still.” I shuddered, my chest constricted in anticipation.
“And amputation?” I dredged up the courage to ask.
“The same. But worse.” That was all I needed to hear.
“Set it then.” I leaned back against the tree as he used his belt to tie my hands around the trunk, behind my back. He fetched some rope from his bag and tied a knot I didn’t recognize around my chest. The knot made me completely immobile from the neck down.
Then, as if the stuff of nightmares, the old man pulled out a hammer and two planks of wood. My stomach lurched at the sight.
“Whu… what are you doing?” My eyes started to water in fear. The man slid the wood planks along either side of my leg. Even that caused me to wince. My mangled mess of a leg was a cacophony of color. It was still bent in the complete wrong direction.
“For the pain.” He pushed a bottle of whiskey to my lips.
“I’m not a drinker.” I protested.
“You have to be or you’ll start going insane.” He tipped the bottle forwards and forced the hard liquor down my throat. After a few long pulls that burned like the pits of hell, he pulled it back. He raised the hammer to the side.
“There’s gonna be intense pressure.” His eyebrows furrowed.
“You’re gonna feel it penetrate your muscle and hit against your bone. Don’t feel embarrassed if you relieve yourself, everyone does.” He grimaced, then steadied himself.
“Wait, stop!” I shouted. Second thoughts intruded into my brain. There had to be another way! My pleas came too late as the hammer swung downwards in one fluid swoop.
I heard the bone crack first. Then…
“AHHHHHHHH! OH. MY. GOD! AHHHHHHH!”
Inhuman.
Demonic.
Ape-like.
“FUCK NO!” I couldn’t breathe.
“NO! NOT AGAIN!”
Another swing. I didn’t scream this time. The pain was so intense I wheezed, my mouth unable to do anything but inhale and exhale. I shook violently against the tree stump, leaves falling down in response to my convulsions. My bladder released. My bowels released. My eyes rolled. I didn’t pass out, but I wanted to.
I’d have rather died than felt pain like that. The old man winced again.
“Well, it’s not ideal, but I’m gonna need to cauterize the wound. Kill all those critters.” He mumbled to himself as he pulled out a torch.
“Nuh-uh.” I mumbled incoherently. I couldn’t shake my head. I remember my vision going fuzzy. I couldn’t move. Blackness began invading my eyesight as I lost consciousness.
I don’t know how long I was out. I remember jolting back to lucidity. I studied my surroundings. The old man, the trail surgeon. Seated next to me.
“You know, I don’t care for you all that much.” He sighed. I groaned painfully.
“So I’ve decided to leave you all tied up. Watch you die. The gangrene is spreading up the leg. Ya don’t have too long, partner.” He laughed. I screamed. No words. Just sounds.
He and I sat for hours.
“Fuck you!” I shouted. He snickered.
“Should’ve taken my advice. Should’ve amputated, but I suppose you knew better.” He shook his head arrogantly.
“I was a surgeon on the battlefield, you know.”
“Piss off.” I hissed.
“I don’t have a saw with me. Couldn’t amputate your leg anyway. But I could…” He trailed off as he shifted towards me. He bent down towards my battered leg.
He bit into it.
Like a zombie.
I screamed. As loud as before. Birds flew upwards. I kicked and fought back, but my tied limbs were of no use. I wretched and bucked ferociously.
Suddenly, a sound. From up the trail. I screamed louder now. The old man looked up, his mouth covered in flesh. He picked up his bag, instruments spilling out, and hoofed it into the woods.
A couple, a man and a woman, approached me. When they saw my gruesome condition, they both vomited onto the ground simultaneously. I started sobbing. Once they composed themselves, they approached me, horrified.
“Oh my god!” The woman shrieked.
“What happened?!” The man asked, dumbfounded.
“I broke my leg a few days ago…” I was panting, sweat soaked my clothing.
“This crazy… old man tied me up to this tree and tried to eat me!” The couple looked at each other, pondering their next move. Surely I sounded, and probably looked, insane.
“Just now?” The woman asked.
“Yeah, he went that way.” I pointed out into the woods.
“What a psychopath!” She exclaimed.
“Yeah! Could you guys untie me?”
“Sure.” They both said uneasily. My broken leg assured them I was no threat.
I was escorted out by a rescue helicopter shortly thereafter. The surgeons at the hospital were able to save my leg.
I don’t know who that trail surgeon was. I don’t know where he wandered off to. He could be anywhere. I don’t recommend you go hiking by yourself, but if you do…
Don’t let him operate on you.