Penguins of Anarchy IV: Endgame

Five

The conditions were worsening. It was snowing so hard that the visibility was about three meters. Drake, Camo, Gostt, and Glyphton spread a map on the floor of their crashed aircraft's fuselage. Gostt impaled a specific point on the map with his knife—a point in eastern Russia. "We might be somewhere near the Verkhoyansk Range," he said. Unlike the others, he wasn't shivering, and there was no trace of shakiness in his voice; his wool jacket and mask had to have helped.

"That would explain the mountains in the distance," Camo replied as he trembled from the cold.

"We can't stay here any longer," Glyphton stated. "We need to find a place to make camp. We need shelter, wood, fire, food, and a water source nearby."

"We're in a shelter already," Camo replied, looking the fuselage up and down for emphasis.

"A shelter that can keep out the cold," Glyphton clarified. He looked back at Dreemo, Felly, and Riker; the former two were in each other's arms as they shivered violently, while Riker was half-conscious and moaning in pain—they were out of painkillers. "Look at them. They won't survive like this much longer."

"Don't even say that," Drake growled. "Whatever we need to do, we'll keep them alive. They're strong."

"They've been weak and injured for four days," Camo reminded him. "They're going to run out of juice before much longer."

"Let's just worry about finding a place for them to recover," Drake said hastily. The others saw how carefully he was avoiding the idea of being the cause of three more deaths.

"Two or three of us should scout the surrounding area," Gostt said. "Maybe we'll find a good place to make camp. Who's going with me?"

"I'll go," Camo said grimly.

"Maybe I should stay here and just keep an eye on them," Glyphton said. Drake once again recognized the sheepishness creeping into his demeanor. He still didn't understand where it was coming from.

"Drake, you up for it?" Camo asked.

Drake made eye contact with his brother. He could clearly see Camo wasn't about to let him stay in here and do nothing. Camo knew his big brother—keeping him cooped up in here would drive him crazy. "Yeah, of course I am," Drake replied.

Camo tossed him his assault rifle, then grabbed his own. Gostt remorsefully recalled that he had left his custom sniper rifle in Alcatraz and checked his pistol for ammo. "Not much ammo left," he reminded the other two. "Don't shoot unless you need to." He holstered his pistol and produced his long, gleaming knife.

"Keep a close eye on them," Drake told Glyphton.

Glyphton pointed at Riker's wounded arm. Its flesh was ragged, and the veins near the wound were turning a dark reddish-purple. "His blood is getting poisoned," Glyphton said darkly. "He can't keep that arm much longer. Should I wait for you to get back?"

"If you can," Camo replied. He furrowed his brow as he gazed at Riker's wound, and then shivered even harder when he recalled getting his legs amputated by Greeney decades ago.

"When will you be back?" Felly asked concernedly as she opened her eyes.

"Hopefully not long," Drake replied, warmth in his tone.

"Yeah, we won't last out there long," Camo added with a frown.

"Let's go."

As the three of them left the gunship and came into the open air, Drake took a euphoric breath. Despite the cold, the open air was refreshing. Camo looked indifferent, while Gostt scanned the nearby trees warily. "We need to move," Gostt said firmly.