Martin woke up with a cry. He was drenched in sweat, his fitting reward for digging himself under as many blankets as he could find. The remnants of a nightmare lined in his mind, slowly replaced by thoughts of the real nightmare he was living through.

He was alive. For the moment, at least. Maybe, just maybe some of the others had survived. He had seen Bjorn go down. Rather than try to help him, Martin had escaped. To be fair, he had been panicking at the time. Could he have done something differently?

And Anne, poor, poor Anne. He had listened to her beg for mercy before she was shot, from his hiding place in the same room. She hadn’t deserved that. None of them had.

With a lot of luck, maybe Sofie and John had survived. He hadn’t witnessed them falling, at least. He had few reasons to believe they were alive, but he could hope. Pray.

Whether or not he survived, the Dancing Dreams orchestra was undoubtedly dead. Heh. More like Dancing Nightmares.

They were dead. Why was he alive? Anne should have survived, being the youngest one of them. He had lived a fairly long life. It would have been better for him to die instead of her. The thought stung him like a knife to the guts.

Great. Survivor’s Guilt. Just what he didn’t need right now.

Shaking off the thoughts, he slowly rose from his bed, wary of his physical condition. In addition to the weakness of his body recuperating and the tiredness from his trip here, he was famished. Time to see if there was anything edible in here.

The trek from the mansion to the cottage had been long and painful. If he’d been in good shape and walked in daylight, it would have taken him less than an hour. He’d spent at least four hours, nearly fainting multiple times. He had forced himself to stay on his feet all the time, knowing he risked freezing to death if he sat down and fell asleep. Yes, it was still early fall, but the nights were cold, and he had hardly been dressed for a forest trek at night.

It was fortunate that he found the cottage without too much trouble. It belonged to a local scout group. He had visited it multiple times with his daughters as they grew up.

The worst part had actually been reaching the cottage and not getting in. He had almost been too weak to get the window open, despite breaking the glass. That would be a pretty embarrassing way to die after everything he’d been through. He’d pay for the damages if he survived. If not, the cottage was hopefully insured.

He wrapped himself in a blanket and made his way to the bathroom, downing double the recommended dosage of painkillers. Good thing they had a well stocked medicine cabinet here.

Next, he rummaged through the kitchen. They had only dry wares stored, but he wasn’t feeling particularly picky at the moment. Three cups of instant soup and a small mountain of crispbread with canned mackerel later, his hunger was finally satisfied.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

He boiled water to sterilize it. As much as he dreaded it, he knew he had to clean the wound. He had already gone too long without taking care of it.

The first problem was getting his clothes off without restarting the bleeding. Since he lacked any spare clothes, he couldn’t afford to cut them up with the scissor. It was a painful process, in both the figurative and literal sense.

He pried his cell phone loose from the make-shift bandage, only to discover it was dead. Whether due to lack of battery or death by drowning in blood, he didn’t know. He could not for the life of him remember how much charge he’d had at the start of the party. A snicker escaped him as he thought of how the shop would react if he asked if drowning in blood was covered by the guarantee. It wasn’t even particularly funny, he was just grasping for straws at anything that could lift his mood.

The wound looked nasty, even before it started bleeding again. Thankfully, not too much this time. There were yellow traces of pus around the wound, a bad sign if he ever saw one. Almost certainly an infection, which could easily spell his end. Between the infection and the bullet still lodged inside, he had an urgent need for medical attention. Preferably without more bullet wounds from any hitmen.

Roaming through the medicine cabinet, he found some antibiotic ointment. It was meant for minor infections in wounds, not exactly what he was dealing with. Still, it was all he had. He used a generous amount of sterilized water to clean his wound, applied a thick layer of the ointment and a proper, sterile bandage this time. He made a lot of pained sounds while working, but the end result was hopefully good enough.

Eh, who was he trying to fool? His future prospects were downright grim. But at least he had made an effort.

He laid down on a couch while figuring out what to do next. Staying here was not an option, for multiple reasons. When the break-in was discovered, the police would be called in. He needed to have as large of a lead as possible at that point to avoid getting caught.

If he somehow managed to reach a hospital or something, he would also attract the attention of the police. It was standard procedure whenever someone was shot. He needed someone that could help him without involving the cops. Too bad his knowledge of criminal groups that could help him was literally non-existent.

Who did he know that he could reach on foot before he fell dead to the ground? Only one person came to his mind. An old classmate of his, Karin. They had reconnected through their children after not seeing each other since primary school. Her son, whose name escaped him, had been a scout along with Martin's eldest, Elly.

Karin lived on a farm within walking distance from the cottage, at the edge of the same forest. She had fulfilled her life dream of working with horses by buying up an old farm. People could pay to keep their horses in her stables, and she provided the necessary facilities. Martin had visited her with his children when they were young.

The hike to the farm would be hard, but doable. He could follow dirt roads, no need to trek through dense forest paths. Before that, though, he needed to prepare as much as possible, particularly if he had to camp out overnight. Annoying that he couldn't check the weather forecast.

A search through the cottage yielded veritable treasures. An old backpack, somewhat damaged but still completely usable. A basket full of carving knives, of which he took two. A slightly too small homemade wool sweater. A bag full of forgotten clothes, actually, but almost all of them were child-sized. He found a scarf and a cotton cap he could use. Two empty water bottles. An old flashlight. The battery was somewhat flat, but it was better than nothing. He filled the rest of the backpack with medical supplies, food and blankets.

Now, prepared as he could be, he was ready to… take a nap. Even this moderate amount of work had left him worn out. If that meant he had to start the journey in the evening, so be it.