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Cold and unforgiving the winter snow blew around the dark spruce forest. Coating everything in its cold embrace the snow blanketed everything. The clearing was peaceful and serene. Small willow bushes filled the clearing, lining the edges of the small stream that flowed through its center. The stream snaked along with the terrain, carving its way through on its slow journey to some great body of water far away.
The cold wind was of little concern for the lone figure that sat hunched over the stream, washing his hands in the freezing cold water. Cold coagulated blood scrubbed from his hands, he scrubbed furiously to get it off. Human blood it seemed was harder to get off of your hands than an animalís was. He had killed many animals in his survival in the forest; he remembers sticking his hand into its warm guts as he cut it open, the smell, everything about it was invigorating. He had also killed many humans, but every time that he did he felt sick to his stomach, the first time he had puked afterwards.
This time however even though it had been many years since the last time he had killed one he felt the same way. He stood up from the water, drying his hands on his pants. Looking over his shoulder he saw the body of the man who had come after him. The figure was crushing the small willow bush that he had landed on, the gash across his throat was slowly letting off a steam into the air, and the blood was no longer flowing but was getting thick and sticky. The lone man stood silent for a few minutes taking in the strong breeze and smelling the air. Scanning with his eyes along the edge of the bush, he waited to see if there were more men coming for him. He let out a sigh and relaxed, then turned towards the corpse.
ĎAs much as I would prefer not to be around his corpse, the training in me is telling me to search him for anything I could use.í He told himself, looking down at his belt he also realized that he could use a better knife than the lock blade that he has been using for years.
Finally he moved to the body, trying not to make any eye contact with the glazed ones that were staring off into the clouds. After a few minutes he had the manís pack off and his boots, they were a little big but he could fill them with insulation to keep his feet warm anyways. In the pack he found even better rewards. Three days worth of MREís high in calories and protein these meals would help him if he ever needed them. The knife that the man was carrying was excellent quality, a fixed blade six inches long, one edge was sharp and the other had a gut hook and serrated edge. A perfect knife for combat and survival. A compass, toilet paper (that brought a laugh from him seeing as he hadnít used any for a long time), binoculars, matches, flint, first aid kit and some rope. The pack would defiantly be useful as well.
The best of all the things that the man had was the silenced MP5 that he was planning on using on him. He counted the ammo, eighty cartridges inside of four twenty round banana clips. The last thing that he grabbed was the manís radio; he could use it to scan the frequencies of any one that might also be out there.
Grabbing his new gear he headed back up into the snow covered hills to disappear again, no need to deal with the body. In a few days he knew that the wolves or coyotes would get him and he would vanish into the bush. As he neared the edge of the trees he turned and sniffed the air, nothing but the smell of fresh human blood filled his nostrils.
ĎThis isnít over; I know itÖ they will come for me again. They won't stop until I am dead.'
He turned to the trees and disappeared, his tracks being covered as he walked. The body of the dead soldier cooled as the snow stopped melting on his skin and began to hide his dead, unblinking eyes.
When you dream, make it a good dream.
For dreams never last.