Miljan crouched behind a rock the size of a small dumpster, peeked around the edge, and studied the open field. It may have been used for crops at one time but now it lay fallow, or it had simply rotted under the sun. He had to get across the area but it would make him a sitting duck, make that a running duck. So instead of risking it, he waited, even though he had a feeling the zones would soon begin to close again. He would cross that bridge when he came to it. There was little choice because if he had done his calculations correctly, based on the closing zones, the center of the battlefield would lay just beyond the field ahead.

His face itched but he ignored it. After one of his kills he had dabbed his fingers in blood and then drawn a streak from his forehead, across his nose, and down his right cheek. One of Miljan’s favorite American movies was Braveheart, the story of a Scotsman who had led a revolt against England.

Miljan didn’t really care for the story. He enjoyed the movie because of the bloody battle scenes. The crimson stain on his face made him feel more connected to the game. If he won, feeds of his exploits would be available, and he would go on interviews and tell them that he had won blood money in Chicken Dinner.

The big Serb had come up with a couple of kills and he also had an assortment of weapons, including an AKM, a pair of magazines full of 7.62 rounds, a .44 revolver, and the versatile M1911. All of that added up to a lot of weight, but Miljan was used to going into battle with an assortment of weapons.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

The field. How in the hell was he going to get across? For all he knew, there were two or three other players hiding out, waiting for him to show his face.

Something cracked in the woods to his rear. He shifted and turned around in slow motion. Miljan didn’t have good cover, but with his shirt being beige and brown it would probably conceal him from a cursory glance. Of course, that didn’t mean he could be lax.

Miljan lifted the AKM and waited a few seconds. If there was someone there, they would show themselves soon enough.

The seconds turned into a minute and just as Miljan decided there was no one there a shape darted through the rugged brush to his rear. With his gun already trained on the possible target he exhaled as he put his finger on the trigger.

But the target wasn’t a person at all. A gaunt rabbit stuck his head out from the brush, and his or her nose twitched back and forth a couple of times. It met Miljan’s eyes and instead of darting away, the little creature held his own. If the pitiful excuse for wildlife here wasn’t afraid of humans, that meant they hadn’t been exposed to them in a long time.

Miljan returned his attention to the field because sooner or later someone was going to have to cross it. He relaxed and took his seat between the two large rocks again, and put his shrub camouflage back in place. Anyone studying the area might spot him, but a cursory glance would leave him hidden.

He would wait.

It was twenty minutes later when something in the distance caught his eye.

Miljan shifted position and lifted the rifle. He stared into the scope and then sat back in surprise.

His patience had finally paid off.

Just then his watch buzzed quietly against his arm. He turned his wrist and read the display.

17 - There were 17 players remaining in the game.

But there were about to be 16.