The next morning, Carl found himself awakened to the sound of banging on his bedroom door.
At first, it took him a minute to remember where he was and everything that had happened.
Things were changing so fast, one second he was living a normal life at home with his mom and dad, and the next his dad was dead and the world was collapsing around him.
Hearing more banging on his door, Carl quickly got out of bed.
"I'm up!" He yelled before putting on his clothes and walking out into the kitchen, where he saw Paul laying out a massive assortment of items on the table, some he had never seen before.
"Woah, what is all that?" Carl asked while getting closer to the table, earning a side eye from Paul.
"Your gear," Paul said simply.
Carl wanted to ask more, but Paul didn't give him the chance.
"Now start cooking breakfast."
"I don't know how to cook!" Carl looked around nervously. He never cooked anything, his parents always did that.
"There's oatmeal in the pantry. You can boil water, I assume?" Paul said flatly.
"Why do I have to do it?" Carl pouted while wanting to look through all the cool gear.
"It's part of your training, now hurry up before the sun comes up." Paul shooed him off.
Carl went over to the stove and spent ten minutes trying to figure out where all the pans and stuff were before putting the water on the stove and letting it heat up while pouring a few packets of oatmeal into two different bowls.
"Cooking is so easy." Carl smiled while making his first-ever meal.
He wished his mom were there to see him now.
"Hurry up, how long does it take for you to boil some water?" Paul's commanding voice came from the distant table, making Carl scramble to pour the water into the bowls.
"Coming!"
Carl ran over to the table while carrying the two bowls and setting them on the table before sitting down and looking over at Paul, who took his own bowl.
"I'm going to be honest, things are not looking good. I tried contacting a few people I know. Nothing." Paul said while taking a bite of his oatmeal.
His face didn't show much emotion, but Carl could see a calculated look in his eyes.
"What's going on?" Carl asked; he was worried about his mom.
"Something big, that's all I know. Either way, your training starts today."
"So tell me how many weeks can you survive without food?" Paul asked, and Carl knew Paul was testing his knowledge.
Carl racked his brain before smiling.
"Oh, I remember my dad told me you can survive for three weeks without food." Carl smiled proudly.
Paul nodded
"And water?"
"Uhh, a week?" Carl rubbed his head awkwardly, not telling Paul that he just guessed.
"Remember the three and three rules. Three weeks without food and three days without water. Of course, these are just general guidelines. You can survive longer with no food or less. Depends on the circumstances." Paul said while looking at Carl, who nodded and took in his words.
"What's circumstances mean?" Carl asked, making Paul sigh.
"I'm not your English teacher. Now listen up."
Paul stood up, so Carl followed along and did the same.
"This backpack right here has everything you need to survive in the wilderness.
Water filtration kit. First aid kit. Knife. Rope. Cordage. Water bottle. Iodine pills. Vaseline. Flashlights. Tent. Whistle. shovel. Compass. Map. Hatchet. Pocket knife. Food. Matches. Lighter. Flint. Pots. Meds. Toothbrush and toothpaste. Batteries. TP. Extra clothes."
Carl watched as Paul pointed to each thing that would be in his bag.
"Now this bag weighs eighteen pounds. So you're gonna need to work on your stamina and endurance cause you'll be carrying it a lot."
Carl nodded, though eighteen pounds didn't sound like much to him.
"Now buckle the knife on. That's the most important thing in this entire pack. As long as you have your knife, survival is in your hands."
Carl didn't really understand but still nodded and picked up the black knife the felt large in his hand.
"What kind of knife is this?" Carl asked while sliding it into the leather sheath on his side and enjoying the weight of it.
His mom never let him touch a knife before.
"That's a KA-BAR. Now put your pack on." Paul said while taking his last bite of oatmeal.
Carl went to put the pack on and wanted to cry as he felt the straps of the backpack dig into his skin.
It felt like a boulder was on his back.
He wanted to ask if Paul had the weight right, but he didn't dare.
He struggled to stand straight as the bag almost pulled him backwards to the ground.
Carl saw Paul enjoying the spectacle from the side.
"You'll get used to it."
"How? The bag is bigger than me!" Carl whined, no longer able to keep his grievances to himself.
"You'll grow." Paul gave him a pat on the shoulder.
"Let's go. Suns coming up." Paul said while walking toward the cabin door, and Carl slowly trudged after him.