The morning light crept through the gaps in the tree canopy, casting long, golden shadows across the forest floor. Caleb stirred awake beneath the crude shelter he had thrown together. The early chill in the air reminded him that winter wouldn't be too far off, and his shelter, barely more than a few hastily arranged logs, wouldn't be enough. His body ached from the endless work, but the weight of survival pushed him out of his makeshift bed. Today, he would begin working on something that could last.
After collecting water from the creek, Caleb sat beside the firepit, assembling a small breakfast—if you could call it that. He opened his bag to find a few bits of dried meat and half of a Slim Jim left. That, with a handful of wild berries he had foraged, would hold him over. His stomach churned at the lack of variety, but he had no choice.
As he gnawed on the last bit of jerky, his mind drifted back to his rebuilding plan. He had sketched out a rough idea in his head: a stronger shelter with walls high enough to keep out the wind and a roof sloped to deal with the rain. But he needed to be strategic. He had neither time nor energy to build it all at once.
First things first: reinforcing the foundation.
Caleb gathered his tools and wandered deeper into the woods to find a mix of larger, more solid logs to reinforce the base of his structure. As he worked, the monotony of the task threatened to dull his senses, but there was no time to slow down. He needed wood that would last—strong and thick enough to endure the coming storms.
Sweat and Labor
The hours passed as he hacked at trees, cutting them down, stripping their bark, and dragging them back to camp. It was grueling work, each step a test of his endurance. The wood he chose was dense, heavy with moisture, but would dry into a solid frame. The Shawnee had taught him a little about the local trees, so he selected sturdy hardwoods where he could.
By mid-afternoon, he was digging out shallow trenches for the logs to sit in—placing them like beams to form the framework of what would one day become a small cabin. He hammered them in with stones, solidifying their placement. Sweat poured down his face as he worked, the muscles in his arms and back burning with the exertion. But this—this was progress. Slowly, the foundation began to take shape.
As he dug and moved earth around the camp, something caught his eye—a footprint. It wasn't his; the size and shape were different, smaller. He stared at it for a moment, puzzled. Was someone watching him? The Shawnee had long moved on, and he hadn't seen any settlers for days. But the footprint lingered in his mind.
He wiped his brow and forced himself to ignore it. He had to stay focused. The strange footprint could wait—he had more pressing concerns.
Reinforcement and the Day's End
Once the foundation was secure, Caleb took a moment to rest. His body begged for a reprieve, but he knew the work wasn't done. The next step was finding a way to bind the logs together—something stronger than just placing them side by side. He retrieved some of the wire from his bag, careful to ration it. He had no idea how long it would be before he could find any more supplies.
Using the wire, Caleb reinforced the corners of the base, twisting and looping it tightly around the logs. It wasn't pretty, but it was functional. Every pull of the wire strained his hands, but he continued with grim determination. There was no other way. The wire, combined with the wood and some animal sinew he had saved from an old kill, would hold for now.
As dusk approached, the camp took on a new form. It was rough, sure—primitive compared to what he'd known in the modern world—but it was solid. The base was secure, and he could feel a small sense of accomplishment settling over him. He wasn't done—not by a long shot—but it was a start.
The forest around him had grown quiet, the only sounds being the faint rustling of the leaves in the wind. As he sat by the fire, sipping on water and chewing a few more dried berries, he couldn't help but feel a slight discomfort gnawing at him.
The footprint.
He glanced at the edge of his camp where he'd seen it earlier. It wasn't threatening, but it lingered in the back of his mind like an unanswered question. His gut told him he wasn't alone. And though he tried to shake the thought, the silence of the forest around him only amplified his unease.
Brainstorming for a Stronger Camp
Caleb's mind wandered back to his next steps. The foundation was done, but he needed to find ways to make the rest of his shelter stronger. His modern knowledge was a blessing and a curse in this world—it allowed him to think beyond what was possible in the early 1800s, but his tools were limited. He couldn't rely on high-tech solutions; he had to be practical.
Perhaps he could create a system for collecting water, using the slope of his roof to direct rain into a barrel. The Shawnee had shown him ways to waterproof wood with animal fat and natural resins, and he'd have to find a way to replicate that. He'd need better insulation too. Maybe he could layer bark and moss between the logs to trap heat when the temperature dropped.
As his mind raced with ideas, a distant sound snapped him out of his thoughts. It was faint but unmistakable—the crack of a branch breaking, far out in the woods. He sat up, muscles tensing. For a moment, he wondered if it was an animal. But deep down, he knew better.
Someone, or something, was out there.
The camp was secure enough for now, but as night fell and the sky darkened, Caleb realized that his work was far from done.