Miracle In Leather, Why 31 Rowdy Bikers Refused To Stop Searching When The Police Totally Gave Up On My Son

Down in a hidden ravine, buried under decades of vines and rot, stood a collapsed hunting cabin that was invisible from the road and the air. There, at the bottom of a steep embankment, Walt and his crew had found him. Caleb had tripped on the first day, shattering his ankle and rendering him unable to walk. He had crawled through the brush for hours until he found the shelter of the shack. For nearly seven weeks, my son had survived on rainwater from a nearby creek and whatever meager vegetation he could identify from survival shows he’d seen on television. He had lost thirty pounds. He was paper-thin and shivering, his body on the verge of total shutdown, but his eyes were open.