Vincent’s wounds had gone from bad to worse. He could ignore the pain for a time, but it had slowly increased to the point where it was now excruciating.

He was far beyond the threshold of shrugging it off. It was so severe, that he had begun to drift in and out of consciousness. He was disoriented; spiraling into an increasingly incomprehensible fever dream.

He periodically experienced brief moments of clarity, but more often than not, he was completely unaware of time or place. He wasn’t sure where he was or how he had come to be here.

He only knew that he had to stay alive. But even this was beginning to lose meaning. His troubles were now reduced to some distant nagging sense of unrest pressed against the back of his mind.

Some deep-seated instinct that told him he had to keep fighting. What it was that he was supposed to be fighting on the other hand, was currently beyond his comprehension.

The pain in his body was like a thousand tiny needles. He felt hot, then cold. Then empty. The only sight was darkness, the only sound, his own shivering, accompanied by the chattering of his own teeth. He had another brief flash of clarity and he suddenly realized that it probably wasn’t a good idea to fall asleep. If he did, there was very little chance of ever waking up.

This moment of temporary sanity should have been a boon to him, but in his condition, it was little more than a frustration. Sure, ideally, he would stay awake and alert, but he was far too weak and in pain to do anything about it.

Even if he wanted to. He drifted back into an uneasy, feverish, state of mind. Battling against the shadowy phantoms of his own troubled thoughts before slipping into utter darkness. When he awoke sometime later, he was unaware how much time had passed and his body was strained to its limits.

Begging for him to fall back into the sweet, senseless, seclusion of unconsciousness. But Vincent was determined to gain his bearings. For all the good it would do him. He searched his memory, hoping to find any hint of what was going on around him.

Scant, vague memories, drifted through his mind, but he was unable to concentrate on anything long enough for it to take shape. Then he suddenly remembered the roar of a bear and the ripping of his own flesh.

He smelled the foul stench of the beast and remembered the battle. He’d made it out alive… barely. After fighting tooth and nail, he ended up convincing Ezra to leave him behind. The irony was so palpable, he would have laughed if it weren’t so utterly depressing.

Although, as he pondered on his sacrifice, and what it would mean in the long term, he found himself oddly at peace. Ezra could go on, claim the gold that they had found, and bring it home safely to his family and to Vincent’s. This was no small feat. This meant that he had succeeded in what he set out to do. For his family’s sake.

Even if he couldn’t be there to celebrate with them. He relaxed and felt himself beginning to let go. He was a fighter at heart and would give all he had to the bitter end, but he didn’t have to fight anymore. He’d already done his best and there was nothing more that could be done. He could die without guilt and as long as his final moments didn’t consist of screaming while being eaten alive, he could die without worry, fear, or shame.

Now, the best thing he could do was to get as comfortable as he could manage, attempt to ease the pain as much as possible, and die in peace. He wrapped his fingers weakly around his canteen and took a long, slow, drink. It was refreshing and as he savored it, some of his pain seemed to subside. Maybe his body was going numb, maybe he was so close to death he had begun to lose feeling.

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Whatever the reason, he welcomed the relief. The cold hard ground and the chill air he’d experienced only moments before seemed to transform into a warm bed and he smiled to himself. He didn’t have to die cold and alone. Even though he was. Just as he was acclimating to the feeling of warmth, it disappeared in an instant, just as quickly as it had come. He slowly opened his eyes and saw the darkness.

Then felt the cold claustrophobia of being buried alive under a pile of rocks. It brought about a confusing wave of emotions. He was relieved to be alive, but also disappointed that he had yet to slip away into a peaceful death. He wasn’t sure why he had awakened, but he sensed something wasn’t right. He strained to see, but it was too dark.

There were the faintest beams of light emanating from the moon. Which to his delight, were able to seep through small cracks in the rocks, but it wasn’t much. It was enough that he could make out unclear shapes in front of his face. This meant he knew approximately where the rock wall was, but nothing more. He strained to hear, wondering if some strange noise had awoken him. He waited silently for a time but heard nothing.

He felt his muscles relax and was glad to know that he had only been paranoid. “There’s nothing there,” he reassured himself. Unfortunately, that thought was short lived. Just then, he heard what sounded like footfalls nearby. Followed by rustling. His heart began to race and the familiar sensation of adrenaline shooting through his veins placed him on high alert. “Calm down,” he scolded himself silently. “Don’t let paranoia get the best of you.”

He had never wanted to be paranoid more than he did at this very moment. To his dismay, his sudden fight or flight response was not simply a figment of his wild imagination. His fears were in fact, well founded. He thought he could hear the sound of heavy breathing and cursed silently at the idea of that nightmarish grizzly returning to finish the job.

He tried to remain as quiet as possible, but the anticipation was too much and the walls surrounding him suddenly seemed to be closing in. He became acutely aware of the small space and was beginning to feel like weak prey, caught in a deadly trap.

The air grew heavy, and he began to sense a powerful cloud of claustrophobia enveloping him. Vincet began to hyperventilate. Seemingly unable to absorb enough air to satisfy his lungs, as the atmosphere became increasingly thick and humid. As he struggled to steady his breathing, he strained again to hear. Expecting that at any moment, the horrifying roar of a monstrous grizzly would echo through the night.

Instead, he heard a piercing howl. The bone chilling cry was somehow, both viscous, and melancholy. And the beasts clarion call was enough to make him shiver with dread. Vincent fumbled around in the dark, searching for his weapon. He wasn’t sure if the pack -- of what he thought to be ravenous wolves -- would be able to breakthrough the barrier that Ezra had erected to get to the tender morsel inside.

If Vincent hadn’t been so fraught with fear, he might have chuckled to himself at the thought of being considered a tender morsel. But his battered body and soul simply didn’t have the capacity for humor right now. Especially considering what he’d been through in the past few days. Not to mention the current situation.

He found his hands to be stiff and uncooperative. It could have been from the strain of everything he’d been through recently. It could be the blood loss, stagnation, or simply from the cold. It didn’t matter the cause, the result was that he had very poor coordination, which would almost certainly spell his doom. Dexterity and agility were crucial at a time like this, and he began to realize that he would be lucky enough to find his weapon in time, let alone actually fire it with any speed or accuracy.

Before Vincent had the chance to feel for his weapon -- or even the chance to recover from the blood curdling howl -- another sounded nearby. Then another. His terror reached its peak as Vincent realized that he was surrounded. Worse still, was the sinking realization that he would not be granted the dignity of a quiet or peaceful death. His worst nightmare had become a reality.

He would be eaten alive…