No One Cries For The Lost

X: The Thunder Spoke Back

X

The

Thunder Spoke

Back

Day 186

Martin and I remain up ontop of the mountain ridge for the rest of the day. As bad as I need to find water and try and clean my wounds, I'm too exhausted to move until nightfall comes around, and by then it's too dangerous to try and traverse the terrain and get down the other side of the mountain in the dark. One wrong step could spell disaster...and death. And not just for one of us. If I go, there's no way Martin can survive on his own. If he goes, there's no way I leave anywhere without him. We're a package deal now.

But come Tuesday morning, we manage to make it down the other side of the mountain safely. Or at least, semi-safely. Neither of us dies at least or gets injured...more injured, so that's a plus. I change Martin's bandage on the way down. He's not very happy with that, and I can't say I really blame him considering the amount of fur that there is still around the wound. I'm sure I gave him something akin to a waxing ripping the bandage off like that. But at least his wound looks to be healing. Or at least, beginning to heal.

Martin and I make it to the forest below by dusk and set up camp not far from the base of the mountain near a couple downed trees. I take the time to pull the bolt back on the rifle and eject the spent casing. I pull out the box of ammunition from my survival pack. Martin watches me with curiosity as I count the remaining rounds of the rifle. 25 left, give or take. I might have dropped a couple at the bottom of the pack. Five months and I've only expanded 25 bullets, plus about five for the two 22.s, not bad. My knife has really come in handy after all. Looks like I'm a real natural when it comes to conserving ammo. Then, I haven't really had much of a choice either. But it's probably best I keep up the conservation.

"Sit tight, bud." I tell Martin as I get up to go looking for a good stick.

I stay away from pine in my search because I know it will be too brittle for what I want to do. I end up coming across an elm tree. The wood is perfect to use. And I need nothing less than the perfect wood. I cut it with the serrated hunting knife, it takes a bit to get the sapling off the tree, but it comes off eventually. I set the sapling down at the camp after I finish my search and set back off but this time Martin seems intent on coming with me. He stands to his feet and tries to follow me along on my way.

"What?" I ask him, "you can't come with me." He tilts his head and keeps looking at me with those begging eyes, "no, stay here."

He walks towards me, his head remaining lowered for most of his walk. He knows I don't want him to come with me. He's just too damn stubborn. He sits down in front of me and lets out a whine while he pants.

"Fine, get over here." I gesture him to come along, reluctantly, this really isn't a two-man job, but I guess it can't hurt to have an extra set of eyes and ears out here, especially considering how easily that damn grown bear cub got the drop on me earlier." Just...stick close." I tell him, "try not to get lost."

I keep my Remington 600. Mohawk rifle slung firmly over my right shoulder, ready to go at a moment's notice. Overkill? What overkill? My big, tough bodyguard keeps following not far behind. Despite him likely overtaking or at least rivaling me in weight, Martin still somehow manages to tread softer and far more quieter than me though the woods. I barely hear a twig snap or a plant get crushed under his paws versus my boots. One of which I can feel is still full of blood from my half-chomped right foot. Fucking wilderness, I hate this shit. First thing I'm doing after I get home is head right for a five-star. That is, if and when I ever do get home. Hopefully sometime soon.