The next time I woke the dogs were still gone and I was still alone, propped up against the dead tree stump. I looked up and noticed that it was getting dark. That or it had been dark and was now getting light. I had no way of knowing which. Hoping that it was getting dark I thought that I needed to get up and get going. So with that thought I stood up. I was stiff and sore. Every limb felt like it had the worst possible case of being asleep, but when I thought I should get up everything responded and without thinking about the fact that I hadn't been able to move all day, I simply stood up.

It wasn't until I stomped my numb feet on the ground that I remembered what had happened that day. That I'd been unable to move and convinced myself that I would die where I lay. Yet here I stood, completely numb but in no pain at all. I actually felt pretty good. Somewhere in my mind I worked out that the lack of pain was a bad thing. That my frostbite was so severe I couldn't feel the pain troubled me but not enough to change my course. I was in bad shape but I no longer believed I was going to die. By standing up I had found hope. From where I had laid at the mercy of those dogs a few hours ago a little hope was a precious thing.

Since crossing the creek about twenty hours earlier I had been walking north, with a slight western slant. There was a medium size college town in that direction so that had been my back up plan after not being able to catch the train. By my rough figuring I should've been less than ten miles from the town so hoped to be able to see its lights soon after it became fully dark.

I stood by that tree and stomped my feet until I figured it was dark enough that I couldn't be seen from a distant house. When I was comfortable with how dark it had become I continued my journey north. The clouds were low in the sky, as they had been the previous night and were the few times I had been lucid during the day. As I walked I thought about those low clouds. They looked like snow clouds but there hadn't been any snow. They were low and thick enough to not allow any visibility about them. The sun lit the clouds but they were so thick that I wasn't able to discern where the sun had been during the day. So thick that when I woke up and stood up I couldn't see where the sun had set, even though I knew where west was. With all of this in mind it occurred to me that I'd not heard an aircraft all day. Id expected an air search at first light but it was possible that the clouds had been too low to fly VFR. I've flown in clouds that low, I called it scud running, but it was possible that the professional pilots that worked for the government and the state wouldn't chance it. It was also possible that they had flown in search of me and that I'd been unconscious when they were near. Either way they hadn't found me, nor were they likely to search from air that night. Even I wouldn't fly below these clouds at night.

Well I suppose I would've if I could've found an airplane.

Though I began this night's walk feeling hale and whole, I went downhill fast. The first thing I noticed was that my brain stopped working, or at least it had stopped working well. I'd been thinking about flying then I just sort of spaced out and saw myself soaring into the clouds without an airplane. The next thought I had involved having my face planted on top of a rock hard clod of dirt. I had passed out and fell. Passed out so absolutely that my arms were at my side, having made no defensive move as I fell. When I stood I wiped my face and had blood on my hand. The blood immediately froze. I started walking again and vaguely wondered why my face didn't hurt from the fall and what the freezing temperature of blood was.

I hadn't walked too far before I found myself looking at the ground again. When I stood I had something in my mouth. Curiously I spit the foreign object into my hand. Two teeth. Still no pain. I walked on and tried to understand how I could fall to the ground hard enough to break two teeth but not feel any pain. This process repeated all night. I would wake up with my face planted in the dirt and realize I had passed out, then get up and start walking again. Several of those times I had to spit out teeth. Thinking I'd figure out a solution I got up again and walked backwards, figuring that when I fell I wouldn't bust out anymore teeth. Only this time I fell after a few steps. I didn't pass out this time, I tripped. Rather than landing on my face I landed on my butt. Strangely my butt hurt from the fall yet my face didn't.

On one of the walking stages I figured out that my problem was actually sickness. Well not that exactly, but the same thing. When a pilot flies about 12,500 feet for an extended period of time he is required to have supplemental oxygen, but always when above 15,000 feet. I'd flown this high without supplemental oxygen once and nearly lost control of the plane because I couldn't think clearly. At this point my training kicked in and I looked out at my fingertips. They were blue, which meant my extremities were deprived of oxygen due to the reduced air pressure of high altitude.

Thinking that this was my problem now, I looked at my fingernails. I had to laugh because it was so dark I could barely make out the shape of my hand much less the color underneath my nails. Yet I knew that a lack of oxygen was my problem. Since I didn't have an altitude problem I was able to sort out that frostbite was to blame. I couldn't work out the details, but I knew that my frostbite was severe and for some reason it was stealing oxygen from my brain. Knowing this didn't help as I kept passing out, spitting out teeth, then getting up and repeating the process.

It was a long night. I remember the few lucid thoughts which I have shared already, but everything else was a jumbled mess. As I walked I thought I was flying. Peter Pan type flying. Flying sans airplane. I also thought of a beach and a warm sun, but it was a tropical beach, like Hawaii, a place I have never been. No thought, lucid or otherwise lasted long. Everything that night was interrupted by my constant sudden loss of consciousness. I reached the point that I wasn't surprised when I woke with my face on the hard ground. I'd simply spit the blood out of my mouth and the occasional tooth, then get up and keep walking.

Through this long night there were always the lights of a farm in view, so I always had the option of walking to one of the farms and asking for help. That would mean capture, but it would also mean a hospital and the medical care I desperately needed. Several times I considered this and each time I decided not to. I knew I was in danger of dying from exposure, but I wasn't willing to give up. I kept walking.

About the point where I sensed the night was nearly over I finally reached the outskirts of the small town I had been walking towards. I needed to reenter civilization. I needed to get out of the cold. I figured I'd covered enough distance and time that I would be reasonably safe to walk the streets, but I couldn't do so dressed like a pumpkin. I needed something to wear other than a bright orange prison jump suit.

Because the houses were closer together now I was forced to walk close to a farm house. When I was about two hundred feet from the house I spotted a big dog house. From my angle I could see into the dog house and saw that it was empty. Of course, I should have thought of this. It was too cold to leave your dog outside. I'd been avoiding going near a house for no reason. Knowing this and a growing sense of desperation made me bold. This house had a pickup truck parked outside a stand-alone garage, far enough from the house that I decide to risk checking it out. The truck was unlocked but there were no keys. But what I did find on the front seat was well-worn insulated Carhartt overalls, an insulated shirt, and a baseball cap. I took the jumpsuit and baseball cap and slipped into a small stretch of woods across the street from the house. It was the first woods I had seen since my escape.

In the relative safety of the woods I put the shirt and the brown Carhartt overalls over the top of my prison orange. Even though I couldn't feel the difference in warmth--I couldn't feel anything--it did feel better having the shirt and insulated overalls on. In the pocket of the overalls was a pair of insulated work gloves, also great to have, and in the breast pocket a small pair of scissors. The scissors were a significant find.

I hadn't cut my hair during the seventeen months of my confinement. Every time someone asked me when I was going to cut my hair I would always answer the same way. I'd say, "I'll cut it when I get out." So my hair was the longest it had ever been, long enough to tie in a ponytail. That long hair was also my most distinguishing feature. I am sure every cop in Illinois was on the lookout for a middle-aged white guy with long dark brown hair. So the scissors were important to my disguise.

Before putting the gloves on I cut my hair. My fingers were so numb I had trouble holding them. I lacked a mirror or any light so everything was by feel, but I couldn't feel anything. Still, I did my best and cut my hair short. Then I put the gloves on and walked towards the lights of the town. It was still dark so too early--or late at night, I couldn't know which--to just walk around town so I looked for a place to hole up until morning. It was then that it started raining. It must have warmed up some because the rain didn't freeze to me. Being wet didn't bother me since I couldn't feel anything but I knew it wouldn't be healthy for me to get too wet. I'd reached a business of some sort that had two big six-wheel delivery trucks in the back. The first one was unlocked so I crawled into the cab, glad to get out of the rain. For the first time since my escape I'd found shelter. This should have comforted me, but instead I started shaking uncontrollably.