Chapter 3
The pain in my stomach had settled into a burning ache, like a simmering, acrid boil. This morning when I awoke the hunger made it feel a rodent was trapped inside me, spikes of pain tearing and flashing inside. I arose, pulled the heavy pack on my back, and began climbing the next hill. Ten more steps. I recounted the adjustments I had made to the plan, forcing the gears to turn, crushing the hunger in the cogs. Find the next section of the map. Ten more steps. Combine the map sections. Ten more steps. But where was I on the map? Find a compass. Ten more steps. Use the major hills, the sun, and the compass to try and guess, find a town or sign that matched the cryptic Cyrillic characters. Ten mores steps. Ok, "Mcta". The map ended an inch further, but Steffon had said Svetlo would be far north up the coast. Ten more steps. Keep going east until I see the water, then turn north. Ten more steps. That's where Tony would be going, I know it. And that’s where rescue awaits. It has to be. Ten more steps, and I crested the hill.
I wasn't even sure how long it had been since they had gotten separated. When I had awoken to the sounds of Kalishnakov fire down by where we had the truck and fire pit, Tony was no where to be seen. I crept through the trees to see if they had him - it would be just like him to try something against the gang of men in fatigues and gas masks with only his sledge hammer. I couldn't see him, and when I snapped a deadfall pine branch, eyes began scanning far to close to where I was, and I just climbed and fled inland. Lost.
By now I'd solved the first problem somewhat, but the hunger was a much more serious issue now. I had to face the reality that starvation was real possibility. Perhaps I would have to resort to eating some of the berries that dotted the bushes along some of the old logging roads. I couldn't be sure they wouldn't be poisonous, but desperation was setting in. That and the rain. It seemed to always rain in Chernarus. A cold, driving rain that felt like little icy needles on my face, dripping down inside my collar and through the torn old poncho, drenching my patchwork pants and weighing down my jogging shoes. Each footstep sloshed and irritated the blisters covering the soles of my feet.
At the top of the hill I saw a tall red and white radio communication tower. Pulling back a loose piece of the chain link fence surrounding the base and slipping in, I nosed through the cardboard boxes inside a small shed. Maybe someone left an old back of chips or candy bar or something when they had been up here servicing the tower. Nothing. I wasn't the first person to climb through that fence, even out here. However, there was an old wood handled splitting axe leaning in a corner. I lifted it into my hands, judging its weight. I tore a loose strip of cloth off the nearly shredded hem of my pans, creating a loop I could use to sling the axe on the side of the pack. I tested it once, yanking it free and swinging at a pretend madman, doing my best impression of Tony. But my foot smacked the side of a crate, my ankle turned, and I went to my left knee and the axe swung hard against the shed door with a KARRANG! I winced, stood up, and slung the axe. I am going to die out here.
NO. Ten more steps.
I walked to the base of the tower, and ascended the ladder one hand on cold metal rung after another. At the top, the rain broke, and some rays of sun came through, washing down on my face looking up, providing a small glimpse of what warmth might actually look like. I could see the water, and a long stretch of industrial buildings caressing the foggy shoreline. In the other direction - inland - a narrow forested valley broke around the outline of a small hamlet. Pulling the map out, I examined points of reference, eyes glancing up and calculating angles. HERE! I sat at the top for some time, allowing my mind to play out several scenarios, each fork in the road, possibilities on each. As I began to lock in a course of action, mentally double checking, one more path appeared. Maybe?
I pulled the walkie talkie out of the pack that I had taken from the shelf in a Chernogorsk fire station weeks before. Numb fingers opening the back panel, I also took one of the nine volt batteries I'd taken from Svetla's apartment from its plastic pack. Bridging the battery nodes with my tongue, the small jolt told me it still had good life. Affixing the battery inside the walkie talkie, I stood up, working the dials.
I paused, momentarily unsure of what to say, of who I might even be talking to. Instinctually I said, "Hello?" Silence. Ok, c'mon shake the cobwebs out! "Break Break! This is unit Charlie Hotel, stranded Charnarus east coast. Need assistance and evac. Come in." I repeated the message several times on each available frequency, pausing and waiting. Frowning, I turned the radio off, and climbed down from the vantage point.
At the base, I trotted through the trees towards the small hamlet I had observed. More likely to avoid scavengers or more gas masked men. Maybe no one had come across this small village. The chance was small, but I calculated it slightly higher than along the coast. Of course, the towns residents might still be there, their blank eyes staring, waiting. But at least they would have left any food.
Descending the muddy hillside, I could see the outline of buildings below. The rodent was back, gnawing painful bites on my left side. Tensing my core, I forced it back. Ten more steps. But as I forced myself forward, a slick rock jumped beneath my foot, the ankle again barking in pain. Foolishly, I favored it and lost my footing completely. The tree canopy flashed above me then plunged down as I tumbled down the hill, landing on my left side. I felt the axe head push its broadside into my ribs. This is how it ends, falling on a rusty axe? I slid down another ten yards and lay soaked and muddy against and old picket fence on the edge of the hamlet.
I just laid my head back, saw the rain fall down on to my face, tiny freezing pelts barely noticeable mixed with all the other pain in my body. I exhaled deeply, closing my eyes. I could hear her sultry laugh in the distance, comforting. Gears began to grind to a halt, their tension momentum relaxing, forming silence. I strained further into the darkness to listen again for the laugh, but a whining throaty cry rose up back where I had come from. A dim, broken light shown back in that direction, as if through the darkest imaginable clouds. One small cog began to turn, I guess there was still time to investigate. I cracked my eyes open.
The bleating cry rung out again, long and agonized, and was accompanied by the rattling of wood. I struggled to my knees, and peered over the fence. At this point no undead or psychopath was more scary than the ravenous clawing on my insides. There, across the small stony yard of the farmhouse, a goat was tangled and trapped in a wire section of the fence. One leg was bloody and torn, distended in a way that said it had been struggling so hard it had broken, trapping the animal further. I stared, for a moment, letting the gears align and begin to spin and achieve full throttle, then went to work.
Later, back against the wall inside the log house, firelight from the hearth danced on the walls happily around me. My stomach still hurt, but it felt unbelievably good to be full. Leaning on one side against my backpack, l used my greasy left hand to cradle my cheek. I closed my eyes again,smiling, but there was no laughter. No more steps today.
The pain in my stomach had settled into a burning ache, like a simmering, acrid boil. This morning when I awoke the hunger made it feel a rodent was trapped inside me, spikes of pain tearing and flashing inside. I arose, pulled the heavy pack on my back, and began climbing the next hill. Ten more steps. I recounted the adjustments I had made to the plan, forcing the gears to turn, crushing the hunger in the cogs. Find the next section of the map. Ten more steps. Combine the map sections. Ten more steps. But where was I on the map? Find a compass. Ten more steps. Use the major hills, the sun, and the compass to try and guess, find a town or sign that matched the cryptic Cyrillic characters. Ten mores steps. Ok, "Mcta". The map ended an inch further, but Steffon had said Svetlo would be far north up the coast. Ten more steps. Keep going east until I see the water, then turn north. Ten more steps. That's where Tony would be going, I know it. And that’s where rescue awaits. It has to be. Ten more steps, and I crested the hill.
I wasn't even sure how long it had been since they had gotten separated. When I had awoken to the sounds of Kalishnakov fire down by where we had the truck and fire pit, Tony was no where to be seen. I crept through the trees to see if they had him - it would be just like him to try something against the gang of men in fatigues and gas masks with only his sledge hammer. I couldn't see him, and when I snapped a deadfall pine branch, eyes began scanning far to close to where I was, and I just climbed and fled inland. Lost.
By now I'd solved the first problem somewhat, but the hunger was a much more serious issue now. I had to face the reality that starvation was real possibility. Perhaps I would have to resort to eating some of the berries that dotted the bushes along some of the old logging roads. I couldn't be sure they wouldn't be poisonous, but desperation was setting in. That and the rain. It seemed to always rain in Chernarus. A cold, driving rain that felt like little icy needles on my face, dripping down inside my collar and through the torn old poncho, drenching my patchwork pants and weighing down my jogging shoes. Each footstep sloshed and irritated the blisters covering the soles of my feet.
At the top of the hill I saw a tall red and white radio communication tower. Pulling back a loose piece of the chain link fence surrounding the base and slipping in, I nosed through the cardboard boxes inside a small shed. Maybe someone left an old back of chips or candy bar or something when they had been up here servicing the tower. Nothing. I wasn't the first person to climb through that fence, even out here. However, there was an old wood handled splitting axe leaning in a corner. I lifted it into my hands, judging its weight. I tore a loose strip of cloth off the nearly shredded hem of my pans, creating a loop I could use to sling the axe on the side of the pack. I tested it once, yanking it free and swinging at a pretend madman, doing my best impression of Tony. But my foot smacked the side of a crate, my ankle turned, and I went to my left knee and the axe swung hard against the shed door with a KARRANG! I winced, stood up, and slung the axe. I am going to die out here.
NO. Ten more steps.
I walked to the base of the tower, and ascended the ladder one hand on cold metal rung after another. At the top, the rain broke, and some rays of sun came through, washing down on my face looking up, providing a small glimpse of what warmth might actually look like. I could see the water, and a long stretch of industrial buildings caressing the foggy shoreline. In the other direction - inland - a narrow forested valley broke around the outline of a small hamlet. Pulling the map out, I examined points of reference, eyes glancing up and calculating angles. HERE! I sat at the top for some time, allowing my mind to play out several scenarios, each fork in the road, possibilities on each. As I began to lock in a course of action, mentally double checking, one more path appeared. Maybe?
I pulled the walkie talkie out of the pack that I had taken from the shelf in a Chernogorsk fire station weeks before. Numb fingers opening the back panel, I also took one of the nine volt batteries I'd taken from Svetla's apartment from its plastic pack. Bridging the battery nodes with my tongue, the small jolt told me it still had good life. Affixing the battery inside the walkie talkie, I stood up, working the dials.
I paused, momentarily unsure of what to say, of who I might even be talking to. Instinctually I said, "Hello?" Silence. Ok, c'mon shake the cobwebs out! "Break Break! This is unit Charlie Hotel, stranded Charnarus east coast. Need assistance and evac. Come in." I repeated the message several times on each available frequency, pausing and waiting. Frowning, I turned the radio off, and climbed down from the vantage point.
At the base, I trotted through the trees towards the small hamlet I had observed. More likely to avoid scavengers or more gas masked men. Maybe no one had come across this small village. The chance was small, but I calculated it slightly higher than along the coast. Of course, the towns residents might still be there, their blank eyes staring, waiting. But at least they would have left any food.
Descending the muddy hillside, I could see the outline of buildings below. The rodent was back, gnawing painful bites on my left side. Tensing my core, I forced it back. Ten more steps. But as I forced myself forward, a slick rock jumped beneath my foot, the ankle again barking in pain. Foolishly, I favored it and lost my footing completely. The tree canopy flashed above me then plunged down as I tumbled down the hill, landing on my left side. I felt the axe head push its broadside into my ribs. This is how it ends, falling on a rusty axe? I slid down another ten yards and lay soaked and muddy against and old picket fence on the edge of the hamlet.
I just laid my head back, saw the rain fall down on to my face, tiny freezing pelts barely noticeable mixed with all the other pain in my body. I exhaled deeply, closing my eyes. I could hear her sultry laugh in the distance, comforting. Gears began to grind to a halt, their tension momentum relaxing, forming silence. I strained further into the darkness to listen again for the laugh, but a whining throaty cry rose up back where I had come from. A dim, broken light shown back in that direction, as if through the darkest imaginable clouds. One small cog began to turn, I guess there was still time to investigate. I cracked my eyes open.
The bleating cry rung out again, long and agonized, and was accompanied by the rattling of wood. I struggled to my knees, and peered over the fence. At this point no undead or psychopath was more scary than the ravenous clawing on my insides. There, across the small stony yard of the farmhouse, a goat was tangled and trapped in a wire section of the fence. One leg was bloody and torn, distended in a way that said it had been struggling so hard it had broken, trapping the animal further. I stared, for a moment, letting the gears align and begin to spin and achieve full throttle, then went to work.
Later, back against the wall inside the log house, firelight from the hearth danced on the walls happily around me. My stomach still hurt, but it felt unbelievably good to be full. Leaning on one side against my backpack, l used my greasy left hand to cradle my cheek. I closed my eyes again,smiling, but there was no laughter. No more steps today.
Live every life like it was they day before a character wipe.