Lonely, Dark and Deep

A Wild, Bloody Ride for Help

Here is what two campers -- in a state of shock, on a mountaintop with a calculating killer -- had to do to get help: They had to remain conscious amid all the blood. They had to watch the drop-offs on one side of the road -- some drops are 10 feet, some 20 -- as they were curving downhill in the dark in Farmer's truck. They had to get medical attention, with the nearest hospital more than 30 miles away. They had no cellphone reception in the remote woods. And they had to worry that the gunman might be barreling down the mountain after them: Scott's truck, with the keys in the ignition, had been left behind.

Even so, this wasn't 1981, and it wasn't the Wapiti Shelter, which was more remote. The two victims on that night had no access to an automobile. And, though terribly injured, the two men had each other -- Farmer with his strength, Johnston with his exacting will. Half of each man made nearly a whole to get them down the mountain.

Still, Farmer's truck was zigzagging and careering out of control. "I'm screaming 'Stop! Stop!' " says Johnston, who wanted Farmer to slow down.

He also wanted to steer. He took his finger out of his neck. Blood squirted everywhere; Johnston jammed the finger back in.

And then it happened -- bam! -- right into an embankment. "Sean, we've been shot! We are going to die if we don't get help!" Johnston screamed. "You can't go off the road!"

With a bullet in his head, Farmer was drifting, his hands sliding around the steering wheel. But they got back onto the road.

One minute seemed like 30; five like forever. It took a lifetime to cover the five miles before they saw houses on their right. The first house was still under construction. They cursed. The second was dark. Then, finally, lights.

Johnston ran to the door and began banging.

"Call 911! Call 911! Me and my friend have been shot!"

Farmer was still in the truck. The inside of his mouth had swollen; it felt as if golf balls had been stuffed inside of it. He couldn't talk.

Melissa Miller, who at first thought it might be a home invasion, finally came outside.

"I said, 'Oh my God,' " she recalls.