It was about 7:00 in the evening, and my brother Paul and I were out hunting. We hoped for some deer to be around that evening for dinner. It was silent and cold, the snow melted on my neck and dripped down my back. I shivered. “Hey Paul, can we head back? We have been out here for two hours.”

Paul looked back at me, annoyance in his eyes. “I just don’t understand,” he said, “They should be migrating through here. They do every year.” Paul was smart. He was in his early twenties. I was about thirteen that year. It was 1935, a cold year for us. We were out hunting for food because of the lack of money from our jobs didn’t help us buy food for dinner.

I heard a growl. It was deep and low. It sounded not very far from where we were. “Paul,” I said quickly and silently, “I’m scared.” The growl sounded off again nearer. It got Paul’s attention. Paul readied his gun and motioned me to do the same

A large bark came from the woods. “Run,” Paul ordered me. Paul and I started making our way back through the woods and towards our home in the woods. From a small ledge in front of us came a wolf that jumped down on Paul. I heard him scream in pain as the wolf bit into his arm. He screamed so much that he couldn’t talk. He couldn’t stop screaming. I got my gun ready. I aimed, but froze in fear. I couldn’t shoot.

I was frozen in time as my brother was being killed in front of me. In my head, I felt a change. It felt like someone using only their hands to move Big Ben’s arms. I began to move. This time, fearless and strong. I ran up to the wolf and hit it as hard as I could with my foot. It moved off of Paul. It got on it’s legs and was about to attack. I pulled the trigger.

I had to help Paul get home so we could bandage him up. We would get him to a hospital if the storm didn’t prevent us from getting there. That night we had wolf for dinner. I ended up getting a bit of buckshot in mine. I flick it out, hitting against the floor. Paul, pale but alive, smiled at me, his arm in a makeshift cast and covered in dried blood. “Way to man up, little man,” he said in celebration. I smiled, knowing that nothing could scare me anymore as long as I fought for someone. That’s the day I knew I would become a man, and a soldier.

I sat there, cold and shivering. It was night, pitch black around me and I couldn’t get warm. I took some of the wreckage of the plane and used it to build myself a roof and three small walls. It would be enough for the night, but I don’t know how I was going to survive.

It was a Friday evening, the sun going down and the clouds moving away. The moon was slithering its way up in the distance. The plane was a small, private jet. My family was holding a reunion and I couldn’t wait to see them again. The plane took off, and the sky grew darker. It was supposed to be a two-hour flight so I opened my bag. Since it was a private jet, I had a survival kit. It was a basic kit that could be used in any situation. The apocalypse, zombies, terrorists...you name it, I had something that could help me. Inside, it had a first aid kit, a flare gun, a buildable pistol with ammunition, a knife, and a hatchet. We flew over some mountains about an hour in. My parents lived in a secluded place, one with a lot of hunting forest. All of the sudden, the plane started to dip. I felt the pressure and gravity change. I ran to the cockpit. The pilot was worried. We had hit a flock of birds trying to make it home before dusk. We were going down.

I slept horribly in my small hut. It was Saturday morning, and my family was waiting for me. Help should be on its way, but I couldn’t know for sure. I grabbed my bag with my kit and I set out for high ground.

I found an open area on the mountain side. It would be a great place to be spotted, so I set up camp there. I used my kit to start myself a fire, but I needed wood. Knowing the danger of animals around, I built my pistol kit and went out. The woods were dense and quiet. I picked up as much wood as I could and brought it back to my spot. I built a fire using what was left of my boy scout skills. The fire was warm, and it helped me greatly. I now needed two things: water and food. I was hungry, but water was more important. I walked about a quarter mile and found a small creek. I took my hands and put them in. It was cold and fresh. I drank some, then filled my bottle with some more.

I stopped for a second. I heard a helicopter. I ran back to my spot. My flare gun was aimed to the sky. The helicopter spotted it and moved closer to me. I was happy that I was being rescued. If I had been lost any longer it could have killed me. I didn’t see any animals for food, so it would have been a problem. The helicopter came down and picked me up. I was only lost for about a day, but it could have been an eternity.