𝙲𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚗 𝙾𝚏 𝚅𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 | 𝚃. 𝙾𝚝𝚝𝚘 𐂃

Chapter 11

Cristine looked at her dirty, worn out boots. In the first lights of the morning sun, she took a few painkillers to help with the ache. In the light she carefully raised the ends of her top and winced when detecting the purple welts that would deepen in color over the coming week. Against her sandy brown skin they were grotesque, but luckily no broken bones - that would be a liability.

With a sigh, Cristine lowered her shirt again. Her face hurt too and she was probably walking about looking like she came off worse in a good beating. At least she dispatched the two would be rapists in their ambush. Sucking in another deep breath, Cristine rubbed at the corner of her bruised left eye.

With physical pain and mental restlessness, sleep became a torture. While the others embraced what little rest they could get at night, a few hours at most, Cristine kept herself busy with menial things.

Clean her gun. Sharpen her knife. Stand guard near the perimeter for dead, alive whether animal or human. The nervous energy kept her on edge. The distractions were the ostensible measures Cristine took so she didn't lose focus. The process of keeping her thoughts from wandering difficult. Every once in a while, Cristine has to squeeze her hands into the solidity and safety of the weapons on her. The pain in her palms a sure tactic to center her focus again.

As the sun rose, the air turned warmer and it wasn't until her ears detected the rousing of the rest. It stole Cristine her attention and looking over her shoulder, the guys stirred awake. Through her unblinking stare, their bodies slowly moved in getting up and for a moment Cristine looked absolutely weary.

-

He'd seen them.

They were with six, five men and a woman. Donned in army fattigues and packing heavy guns. He'd camouflage himself with dirt, blood and leaves so that he'd mix with the smell and look of the forest.

He wasn't 100% sure what they were looking for, but if they found him it would most likely be his last day on earth. A thick coat of spit got forced down his throat and biting his lips Ben decided to go back to the cabin.

Hopefully, Joey and Dan were still there... but he doubted it since he heard the gunshot. Something must've happened, something really bad and he connected it to the group in fattigues.

Ben cursed his luck.

He felt like a caged animal. The radio didn't work for jack shit this deep in the forest, he only had a knife and barely knew the terrain. He tried to go deeper into the woods, but it was too much dead to avoid by himself with no gun and barely any food on him.

Ben was alone in these godforsaken woods. Spend the night by himself. Heard the winds shrieking through the leaves and the distant moaning of dead wandering between the trees... all while biding his time alone. He woke up alone and ate what he could forage alone. He tried contacting his group, his older brother Aaron, futilely alone.

As he waited by himself, lost and unsure if he should take the risk of going deeper into the area or try his luck back to the cabin and the truck, a twinge of despair tightened within Ben's stomach.

-

Troy stepped in place with Willy, more so to check on the man than anything else. Something about that deeply lined, sour face puzzling to Troy. If this sort of reaction was made by any of the other guys, Troy would've mistaken Willy's behavior as anger on behalf of Cristine. But for Willy that was far from the case.

Willy rather see the woman gone than anything else. Troy remembered what Cristine said to him last night.

"He didn't follow protocol and got me in that mess."