Author Note.
* Clear heads up here. The chapter is going to be on the short side.
* It was originally a two part Pov chapter. But I scrapped the idea and never thought of adding on it.
* As always, thank you for reading.
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[ Time / Location ]: 2nd of October 2031 / Lakeside Resort. Main Lodge, Western Wing
[ POV ]: David
I sat at my desk. Hands crossed on the table. Staring intently at a map of the resort and it's surrounding areas. It was filled to the brim with checked locations.
Slaaam!!
" Fuck!! " I exclaimed loudly while slamming the table. It's been a goddamn month.
A month since I lost five of my men ( 3 men ; 2 woman) to whoever set that fire.
Not only that. We lost about 3 months worth of food ( human flesh).
That wasn't the only bad News... No!!. It kept going and going.
It's been exactly 4 weeks since I sent out the first scouting teams. A month since the forest started swallowing my men like cheap vodka down the throat of a dying addict. No bodies, no traces, just gone.
Thirty days ago, I had fifty-seven men rotating patrols across seven zones. Now? Twelve. Maybe thirteen. One hasn't come back from latrine duty since dawn, and I'm not exactly holding my breath.
We don't even know what we're up against. Could be one man, could be ten. All we know is, something, or someone, has been gutting my operations right under my nose. Smart, calculated, efficient. Not a single bullet casing left behind unless he wanted us to find it.
He didn't just stop us from finding him, he made us afraid to look.
Anymore and I'll lose whatever respect, trust or fear my men had for me. To them, I'm the one who's been sending them to their deaths one after the other.
I see how they look at me now, my leadership is hanging on a thin line. Most of them don't know the lengths I go for them. Eating and drinking without a care.
I already lost almost all of who know about what we truly do to survive. Their families blame me for their deaths, not knowing that whoever set that fire could easily expose us to other groups. Ones that don't play around, and would wipe us out in a heartbeat.
But of course, the problems kept piling up. Infected are being seen more frequently in these parts. If this keeps up, we might need to relocate elsewhere.
At first I thought I had everything in control. But, for every lost or dead man, I felt less certain of my actions. My mentality crumbling away.
***
Scout Log Summary. Week One to Week Four
Compiled by David.
Week One:
• Sent out small groups, 2-3 per team. No issues for the first three days.
• Then silence. One group vanished, no radio chatter, no return. Figured infected got 'em.
• Reassigned routes, added runners with flare signals.
I kept moving forward with the plan to catch whoever's out there interfering with my operations. Dead set on capturing them, torturing them until I felt satisfied and vindicated for what they have done.
Week Two:
• Three more teams wiped.
• One team's last report: "Saw movement. Setting a perimeter." That was it.
• Pulled in patrols, switched to 5-man squads. I assumed it was a group of survivors, maybe smugglers, maybe deserters. Didn't consider a ghost.
My Hope for ever catching them started to thin day by day. Thought maybe we're dealing with a rival group. Someone or some people that have they grudge against us.
Week Three:
• Booby traps.
• Pitfalls, snare wires, even one guy exploded after tripping what looked like a rigged gas trap.
• Only reason I know that is because we found his boots and parts of his femur embedded in a tree.
That confirmed it. We are being hunted like pray. And it's definitely a group, they know our movements too well. We might be surrounded as I'm thinking to myself.
How did it turn out like this.
Week Four:
• Nothing. No patrols. No volunteers.
• Half the crew thinks it's a lone psycho.
• The other half thinks it's something worse.
• Me? I think someone's making a very personal point.
We are being played with. Like a cat toying with mice. We might have crossed someone we shouldn't have. No one goes this far if it's not personal.
God save us all. It's truly pathetic coming From someone in my position.
***
The lodge isn't the stronghold it once was. We still have supplies. We still have walls. But we don't have nerve. And that's more fatal than a missing food stockpile.
Most nights, I walk the halls alone. Not because I want to. Because no one else will.
The Stranger
I don't know who he is. Hell, I don't even know if it's a he or a group.
Could be a ghost. Could be a rogue firefly with a personal vendetta. Could be someone we pissed off years ago. Wouldn't be the first time.
All I know is, someone set fire to one of our cabins. And the rest is history.
Casualties Confirmed So Far: 46 Men
Yes, I counted. I'm not sentimental, but I'm not stupid either.
All good scouts. Some better than others. One of them even taught me how to rig claymores back when we still believed in prepping.
Now he's fertilizer.
Known Facts (and I use 'facts' loosely):
• Attacker is methodical.
• Doesn't leave traces unless he/they wants to.
• Avoids gunfire unless necessary, most kills are silent.
• Infected aren't slowing him down, might even be working in his/their favor.
• Set a large fire, possibly as a message or to draw our people out. It worked.
• Took down 10 men in one instance. No sign of struggle. Just... gone.
My Theories:
1. Ex-Military or trained by someone who was.
2. Has knowledge of the terrain. Possibly a local.
3. Has supplies, or a supplier.
And worst of all? He doesn't make demands. He's not sending messages or asking for surrender. No ego. No grandstanding.
Just death.
The Joke I Promised Myself I'd Make:
"If he's this good, maybe we should hire him." Of course, I laughed at that alone, in a room where the lights flicker and the only sound is the wind. Great job, David. Still got it.
We'll need to make decisions soon. I can't keep bleeding men like this. Either we flush him out which is impossible at this point, or we cut our losses and move camp completely.
I hate running. But I hate funerals more.
One month.
Forty-six men.
And the only trace of him we've found… is a perfectly clean kill zone.
I don't even know what he wants.
But I think I know what he is.
A monster.
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Word count: 1090 words.
Thank you for reading.
To be continued.