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Hey guys, ill be updating this thread as I write new chapters. Hopefully you guys will enjoy this...
Chapter 1
The wind was cold as it moaned its way through the oak and maples as the man slowly made his way towards the ridge. Pausing at the edge of a now defunct gas line clearing he lowered his pack to the ground. Choosing a sheltered spot on the leeward side of a deadfall, he waited. Ahead in the clearing, the snow was deep; much deeper than he would have liked. Had it been as shallow as under the trees, he might’ve been able to leave no trace of his passing, but as it was there was no chance of leaving no trail across the gas line clearing.
He was cold clear through, dangerously cold, but inside him still burned a fire that would not let him quit. Not now. He had lost too much, given up too much to quit and give his enemy the victory. The man knew he needed to make it to the small cave and build a fire to warm himself before frostbite could set in.
After a few minutes, he was satisfied the coast was clear. He stood and stamped his feet in place to attempt to increase circulation, then struck out with long strides to cross the gas line and regain the relative security of the woods on the other side. With clear skies still a shimmering blue, slowly giving way to the purples and greys of twilight, there was no hope of hiding his trail in the snow should any choppers come by and chance a look down at the gas line. The man swore under his breath, and prayed the cold weather would keep the choppers and small airplanes typically used for scouting grounded another day or so. The man prayed the wind that had been slowly picking up as the sun casting its weak rays gave way to darkness would drift the dry, powdery snow into his tracks and hide them.
His feet had once again begun to lose their feeling by the time the small shelter he made by hanging his small tarp across the back of the cave had started to warm from a small, smokeless fire. The man began to get out the beginnings of what would have to pass for dinner. All he had left to eat were some dehydrated vegetables, a pound or so of jerky, a handful of rosehips he'd gathered along a creek bottom, and some crabapples that the deer had been unable to reach. Melting some snow from the mouth of the cave in his stainless bottle over the fire, he let it come to a boil and then added some of the jerky cut up into pieces, a few of the dehydrated carrots, and the rosehips to make a thin stew of sorts. While the stew was cooking, he went back to the mouth of the cave and made sure that there was little to no smoke making its way into the sky from his fire. Satisfied that the brush atop the face of the cave was dispersing what little there was, the man went back to settle in for the night and eat his meager dinner.
Sitting Indian style on his sleeping bag, the man began to check his weapons. Confident that he had not been followed, yet still wary, he did not do as he once might have and empty his sidearm and rifle at the same time to clean them. Clearing his rifle first, as the pistol would be of better use in the close confines of the cave should it come to it, he set about cleaning it. His rifle was nothing special, having only what accessories absolutely necessary. Not only did this reduce the weight, it also increased his effectiveness in a firefight should it come to that.
Then, hearing a noise from outside, the man took up his pistol and loosened the tie-down on his belt knife, a wicked blade ten inches long he had forged from a huge machinist's file, and eased past the tarp partition, into the cold crept silently toward the mouth of the cave. Had a patrol followed him to the cave, he would be in for a fight there was a very high chance he wouldn't survive. Reaching the cave mouth, he soon caught sight of the source of the noise, a whitetail doe and her yearling. He debated taking a shot at the yearling for the fresh meat, but decided the risk of discovery wasn't worth it. Turning into his sleeping bag an hour or so later, he decided to find a suitable stave and build a bow as soon as he could.
Chapter 1
The wind was cold as it moaned its way through the oak and maples as the man slowly made his way towards the ridge. Pausing at the edge of a now defunct gas line clearing he lowered his pack to the ground. Choosing a sheltered spot on the leeward side of a deadfall, he waited. Ahead in the clearing, the snow was deep; much deeper than he would have liked. Had it been as shallow as under the trees, he might’ve been able to leave no trace of his passing, but as it was there was no chance of leaving no trail across the gas line clearing.
He was cold clear through, dangerously cold, but inside him still burned a fire that would not let him quit. Not now. He had lost too much, given up too much to quit and give his enemy the victory. The man knew he needed to make it to the small cave and build a fire to warm himself before frostbite could set in.
After a few minutes, he was satisfied the coast was clear. He stood and stamped his feet in place to attempt to increase circulation, then struck out with long strides to cross the gas line and regain the relative security of the woods on the other side. With clear skies still a shimmering blue, slowly giving way to the purples and greys of twilight, there was no hope of hiding his trail in the snow should any choppers come by and chance a look down at the gas line. The man swore under his breath, and prayed the cold weather would keep the choppers and small airplanes typically used for scouting grounded another day or so. The man prayed the wind that had been slowly picking up as the sun casting its weak rays gave way to darkness would drift the dry, powdery snow into his tracks and hide them.
His feet had once again begun to lose their feeling by the time the small shelter he made by hanging his small tarp across the back of the cave had started to warm from a small, smokeless fire. The man began to get out the beginnings of what would have to pass for dinner. All he had left to eat were some dehydrated vegetables, a pound or so of jerky, a handful of rosehips he'd gathered along a creek bottom, and some crabapples that the deer had been unable to reach. Melting some snow from the mouth of the cave in his stainless bottle over the fire, he let it come to a boil and then added some of the jerky cut up into pieces, a few of the dehydrated carrots, and the rosehips to make a thin stew of sorts. While the stew was cooking, he went back to the mouth of the cave and made sure that there was little to no smoke making its way into the sky from his fire. Satisfied that the brush atop the face of the cave was dispersing what little there was, the man went back to settle in for the night and eat his meager dinner.
Sitting Indian style on his sleeping bag, the man began to check his weapons. Confident that he had not been followed, yet still wary, he did not do as he once might have and empty his sidearm and rifle at the same time to clean them. Clearing his rifle first, as the pistol would be of better use in the close confines of the cave should it come to it, he set about cleaning it. His rifle was nothing special, having only what accessories absolutely necessary. Not only did this reduce the weight, it also increased his effectiveness in a firefight should it come to that.
Then, hearing a noise from outside, the man took up his pistol and loosened the tie-down on his belt knife, a wicked blade ten inches long he had forged from a huge machinist's file, and eased past the tarp partition, into the cold crept silently toward the mouth of the cave. Had a patrol followed him to the cave, he would be in for a fight there was a very high chance he wouldn't survive. Reaching the cave mouth, he soon caught sight of the source of the noise, a whitetail doe and her yearling. He debated taking a shot at the yearling for the fresh meat, but decided the risk of discovery wasn't worth it. Turning into his sleeping bag an hour or so later, he decided to find a suitable stave and build a bow as soon as he could.
