Jonathan lay prone in the dense underbrush, the rain drumming steadily on his waterproof jacket and soaking through to his skin. The damp earth beneath him was cold and unforgiving, seeping into his bones despite the layers he wore. His rifle was cradled carefully in his arms, the barrel resting on a makeshift rest of damp leaves and twigs, perfectly aligned with the area where the deer had been spotted earlier. Jonathan took notice of how worn his C7 looked. The polymer handguard and stock, dulled and worn smooth in places and its receiver, adorned with the faint remains of its original finish, was now a canvas of nicks and faded spots.
The persistent rain blurred his vision, cascading down in a steady stream and turning the world into a dim, watery haze. Jonathan’s eyes, though bloodshot and weary, remained fixed on the narrow clearing ahead. He was fighting to stay awake, every second stretching into an eternity as he forced himself to focus on the shifting shadows in the undergrowth. His breath came in slow, deliberate puffs, fogging up the scope as he peered through it, each blink feeling heavier than the last.
The weight of exhaustion pressed down on him like an invisible hand, pulling at his eyelids and clouding his thoughts. Despite the cold and the rain, he forced himself to stay alert, knowing that a single lapse could mean missing the opportunity he had been waiting for. His fingers, numb from the chill, gripped the rifle with a white-knuckled intensity. As he squinted through the scope, his mind fought to push aside the shivers that ran through him and the temptation to close his eyes, if only for a moment.
Every rustle in the underbrush, every flicker of movement in the periphery, was scrutinized with painstaking care. Jonathan’s muscles were taut with anticipation, his focus narrowed to the point of obsession. The rain continued to fall, he couldn’t stand anymore of it and desperately wanted to go back to the cabin. But he couldn’t stand eating canned food anymore.
Przemek and Sofia had started working on a garden. With the help of the local settlement, KristianStadt as they called themselves they had gotten some seeds to get started.
Jonathan on the other hand had another task in mind. Jonathan’s journey to this rain-soaked vigil had begun hours earlier, in the dim light of dawn when the forest was still cloaked in a heavy mist. He had picked up the trail with practiced ease, his eyes scanning the ground for signs of the deer’s passage.
He began by examining the soft, muddy earth where the ground had been disturbed. Fresh tracks, the unmistakable imprint of hooves, marked the path the deer had taken. He crouched low, studying the tracks with the meticulous attention of a seasoned hunter. Each footprint was a clue, and Jonathan's keen senses picked up on subtle details—the depth of the impression, the spread of the toes, and the direction of the drag marks indicating the animal’s movement and weight.
With a careful, deliberate pace, Jonathan followed the tracks deeper into the woods. The forest was alive with sounds—distant birds, the rustling of leaves, and the occasional snap of a twig underfoot. He navigated through thick underbrush and over fallen logs, each step measured and silent, avoiding anything that might betray his presence. He used his experience to interpret the signs around him: a broken branch where the deer had pushed through, the scattered leaves where it had fed, and the scent of musk lingering in the air.
The trail led him through varying terrain—a mix of open glades and shadowy thickets. Jonathan adjusted his course based on the tracks and subtle environmental cues. Occasionally, he paused to reassess, using the surrounding landscape to determine the deer’s likely path. His attention was fixed on the smallest details, the changes in the forest floor, and any shifts in the wind that might indicate the animal’s proximity.
As the hours wore on, Jonathan’s persistence paid off. The tracks grew fresher, more distinct, leading him to the clearing where he had last glimpsed the deer. The light was fading, and the rain had started to fall, turning the forest into a slick, treacherous maze. Still, he pressed on, his focus unwavering, knowing that the key to success lay in his ability to read the forest as closely as he read the tracks.
He adjusted his Boonie hat just slightly, he had one shot at this. They had agreed with Kristian Stadt that only two bullets would be shot if someone is out hunting. More than that could attract unwarranted attention.
Jonathan’s interest in hunting had always seemed an anomaly to those who knew him as a city-dweller, a young man from the heart of the capital. The buildings and relentless pace of urban life contrasted sharply with the quiet, earthy rhythms of the forest. Yet, despite his urban upbringing, Jonathan had discovered a deep-seated passion for the outdoors, a connection to nature that he had cultivated from an unexpected source—his uncle.
The mornings spent with his uncle were a far cry from the daily grind of the city. He learned to wake before dawn, the air crisp and cool, the horizon painted with the first light of day. His uncle taught him the art of tracking, showing him how to read the subtle signs of wildlife—broken branches, disturbed earth, and the faintest traces of animal scent. Jonathan quickly discovered that the skills required for hunting were not just about the thrill of the chase but about patience, observation, and respect for the natural world.
In the field, Jonathan’s city demeanor softened. The hustle and urgency of urban life seemed to dissipate, replaced by a focused calm that allowed him to blend into the environment. He learned to move quietly, to listen intently, and to appreciate the intricate balance of nature. His thoughts dwelled back to his uncle before he forced himself to focus on the task ahead.
The experience had given Jonathan a profound appreciation for the outdoors, a skill set that extended far beyond the confines of the city. Even as he returned to the capital and navigated its complexities, the lessons learned from his uncle remained a touchstone, guiding him through moments of challenge and grounding him in a world that often felt far removed from the serenity of the forest.
As his thoughts dwelled to times long ago. He was dragged back to reality by the sound of a branch snapping. Jonathan’s senses immediately heightened. His heart skipped a beat, and he instinctively gripped his rifle tighter. He held his breath, trying to remain as still as possible, his eyes scanning the misty landscape for any sign of movement.
Through the curtain of rain and the blur of the forest, Jonathan saw it: the deer. It emerged slowly from behind a clump of thick underbrush, its coat a mottled blend of brown and grey that blended almost seamlessly with the forest floor. The deer paused, its head lifted and ears twitching, seemingly alert to its surroundings. For a moment, it stood perfectly still, as if assessing the area for any danger.
Jonathan’s gaze was locked on the deer, his breath fogging up the air as he exhaled slowly. The deer's large, dark eyes seemed to reflect the dim light, scanning the environment with a cautious yet curious expression. Its powerful muscles tensed with every slight movement, and Jonathan could see the steam rising from its nostrils in the chill of the rain.
With a controlled, practiced motion, Jonathan adjusted his rifle, aligning the sights with the deer's vitals. The rifle was overkill for such a task but it did the job well. The crack of the twig had given him the precise moment he needed. Now, with the rain beating down around him and the weight of his anticipation bearing down, he steadied his aim, readying himself for the shot.
Jonathan held his breath as he aimed at the vital parts, hearts and lungs. He looked it in the eye as he pressed the trigger. The rifle’s recoil jolted through his shoulder, and the sharp crack of the shot echoed through the forest, swallowed quickly by the steady patter of rain. His gaze remained fixed on the deer's dark, expressive eyes as he squeezed the trigger, feeling the weight of the moment.
A few minutes later, Jonathan approached cautiously, his boots squelching softly in the damp underbrush. The deer lay motionless on the soft moss, its once vibrant eyes now lifeless. The blood had begun to pool around it, mingling with the rain-soaked ground, creating a dark, glistening patch amidst the vibrant green.
Jonathan dropped to one knee beside the fallen deer, his breath visible in the cold, rainy air. He inspected the wound with practiced eyes, confirming the shot’s precision. Satisfied, he took a moment to appreciate the weight of the kill.
He stood up slowly, wiping the rain from his face, and prepared to drag the deer. Jonathan looped a sturdy strap around the deer's antlers, securing it firmly. With a steady grip, he began the laborious process of dragging the deer through the dense forest, each pull a mix of relief and reflection on the hunt. The rain continued to fall, pattering softly against the canopy above, as he struggled to drag the body he reassured himself by thinking of the look on Przemek ’s face when he would drag it in.
Jonathan emerged from the dense forest, his face streaked with mud and rain, the smell of earth and blood lingering in the air. The deer’s body, now tethered by a sturdy strap, trailed behind him, its weight adding to the journey. His boots sank into the soggy ground with each stride, and he used every ounce of strength to pull the deer through the wet underbrush toward the cabin.
The cabin stood in stark contrast to the wild, its weathered wooden walls and rustic charm seeming almost inviting after the relentless rain. Jonathan’s breaths came in steady puffs of mist as he dragged the deer to the back of the cabin, his arms and shoulders straining with the effort. The process was slow, each pull of the strap demanding focus and grit. The soft thud of the deer’s body against the ground punctuated the silence of the forest, a reminder of his hard-won prize.
Sofia watched from the cabin’s patio, her figure silhouetted against the muted light filtering through the overcast sky. Wrapped in a warm, knitted blanket they had found inside, she stood leaning against the railing, her gaze fixed on Jonathan. Her expression was a mix of relief and admiration, softened by the somber nature of the hunt. The rain drizzled around her, creating a glistening veil over the patio and the surrounding landscape.
As Jonathan reached the cabin, he paused for a moment, resting on his haunches and wiping his brow. Sofia approached with a silent nod, stepping into the rain-soaked grass to help. Together, they managed to maneuver the deer onto a prepared tarp next to the cabin, a spot Jonathan had set up for field dressing.
The rain continued to patter gently on the cabin roof and the forest floor, creating a rhythmic backdrop to their work.
Jonathan worked with methodical precision as he began the process of cutting up the deer. The tarp beneath him provided a clean surface, contrasting sharply with the blood-soaked ground around it. The rain had lessened to a gentle drizzle, and the air was cool and heavy with the scent of wet earth and the musky aroma of the deer.
He carefully made the initial incision along the deer's belly, his blade sharp and well-maintained. The knife sliced through the hide and flesh with practiced ease, revealing the rich, reddish-pink meat underneath. Jonathan's movements were deliberate, his hands steady despite the chill in the air and the dampness of the rain-soaked environment.
With each cut, Jonathan methodically removed the internal organs, placing them in a separate pile on the tarp. The liver and heart, still warm and glistening, were set aside carefully. He worked with a focused intensity, his breath coming out in short, visible puffs as he continued to cut through the muscle and fat. The deer’s bones, sturdy and strong, were revealed as he worked, and he expertly separated the different cuts of meat, making sure to preserve as much as possible.
Sofia watched from a respectful distance, her presence a quiet support as Jonathan worked. The soft light from the cabin’s windows cast a warm glow over the scene, contrasting with the stark, raw reality of the field dressing. The rain continued to fall intermittently, occasionally dripping from the eaves of the cabin and creating small rivulets in the ground.
Jonathan’s hands moved with the precision of someone who had performed this task many times before, each action fluid and assured. He paused occasionally to wipe his brow or adjust his grip, but his focus never wavered. As the sun began to set and the light grew dim, the process continued with a rhythmic determination, a testament to Jonathan’s skill and respect for the deer he had hunted.
Jonathan continued his work, the rhythm of his cuts punctuated by the gentle patter of rain on the cabin roof. He separated the various cuts of meat with practiced ease: the tenderloin, the steaks, and the roasts, each piece methodically wrapped in the tarp to keep it clean. The satisfying weight of the deer’s flesh in his hands spoke of the effort and care he had put into the hunt.
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With the carcass now efficiently butchered, Jonathan moved on to clean up. He wiped his hands on a rag, casting a glance at Sofia, who had stepped closer, offering a steady presence and a quiet look of approval. She moved to help, grabbing the wrapped cuts of meat and carrying them inside, where they would be stored and prepared for later use.
As Jonathan finished up, he took a moment to survey the area. The bloodied tarp and the remnants of the deer’s organs had to be cleaned up. They couldn’t risk anyone or smelling this. They hadn’t set eyes on any mad men in weeks but they weren’t in a hurry to meet them again.
Deep into the Swedish country side they were surrounded by kilometers of forests, behind those stood farm lands. Besides Kristianstadt and Halmstadt an hour away by car. Which was way too close to comfort for all of them.
“Do you hate my cooking so much you went and shoot your own dinner?” Przemek said making his way outside laughing.
“I’m happy to see you too Przemek !” Jonathan smiled.
“Well done! Do you need any help?” Przemek asked.
In the modest, dimly lit kitchen of the cabin, Jonathan, Sofia, and Przemek worked together with practiced efficiency. The air was filled with the earthy aroma of the freshly butchered deer, mingling with the scent of herbs and spices they were preparing for the brine.
Jonathan, hands stained with blood, stood at the counter where he meticulously prepared the brine. His movements were deliberate as he measured out coarse salt and sugar, blending them with water in a large pot. He stirred the mixture until the grains dissolved completely, ensuring the brine was well-seasoned with peppercorns, crushed garlic, and bay leaves. The warm brine filled the kitchen with a tantalizing, salty aroma.
Sofia, her sleeves rolled up, worked alongside him, carefully handling the cut pieces of meat. She rinsed each cut in cold water to remove any remaining blood and then patted them dry with paper towels. Her hands moved gracefully as she arranged the meat into large, non-reactive containers, ready for the brine. Occasionally, she glanced over at Jonathan, nodding in approval or asking questions about the brine’s consistency.
Przemek , the most methodical of the trio, was focused on the brining process itself. He poured the cooled brine over the meat, ensuring each piece was completely submerged. He used a clean, heavy plate to keep the meat under the brine, preventing it from floating to the surface. His attention to detail was evident as he carefully adjusted the placement of the plate to ensure an even curing process.
The soft clinking of the plate against the container and the muted hum of conversation punctuated the otherwise quiet room. As they worked, Jonathan explained the importance of brining, sharing his knowledge of the traditional method and its role in preserving meat. Sofia listened intently, occasionally asking questions about how the flavors would develop. Przemek , meanwhile, meticulously checked the salt concentration, ensuring the brine was just right.
Once the meat was fully submerged and the brine was securely in place, Jonathan covered the containers with tight-fitting lids. The trio moved the containers to a cool, dark part of the cabin where they would remain undisturbed for the next several days.
With the brining process underway, the atmosphere in the cabin relaxed. Jonathan, Sofia, and Przemek shared a sense of accomplishment as they admired their handiwork. The kitchen was now a mix of scents, from the salty brine to the lingering traces of the deer’s rich flavor.
Jonathan, his hands still damp from washing, glanced over at Przemek and Sofia, his brow furrowed with concern. “Hallboke, someone spotted a stranger nearby. I just heard about it,” he said, drying his hands with a grimy towel.
Przemek raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “When did you hear this?”
Jonathan shook his head, frustration evident in his voice. “Yesterday, when we were out getting seeds. The guard told me. I thought it was important, so I’m bringing it up now.”
Sofia, who had been quietly organizing supplies, looked up with a frown. “Why didn’t they tell us while we were there? It would have been helpful.”
Przemek leaned forward, his tone edged with curiosity. “What was the guy like who told you? Any sense of how serious this is?”
Jonathan’s expression grew more troubled as he recalled the encounter. “He looked terrified, honestly. You’d think he’d seen a bear or something. It was like he was on edge the entire time.”
Sofia exchanged a glance with Przemek , who was nodding thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s a strategy,” Sofia speculated. “If they can convince us that it’s nothing to worry about, it might make them look more capable. They don’t want us to think they’re out of their depth by sending us every time a raccoon is stuck in their attic.”
Przemek considered this, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “That’s possible. It would certainly make them look less like they’re struggling if they can pass off a potentially a serious threat as a minor issue.”
Jonathan sighed, his gaze drifting out the window as he mulled over the situation. “Whatever. I just hope they keep us out of it.”
The room fell into a contemplative silence as each of them processed the new information, their minds racing with the implications of the mysterious sighting.
Przemek ’s eyes gleamed with a mix of mischief and practicality. “Hell, I say we go there, spread a little chaos. Tell them there’s a psycho on the loose, make up some wild story about him taking down ten men with a fork or something, and then wait for them to offer us a fat bounty for our services.”
Jonathan and Sofia burst into laughter at the absurdity of the idea, the tension in the room easing with their shared amusement.
“A real businessman you are,” Sofia managed between giggles, shaking her head in disbelief.
Przemek grinned, his tone unshaken by their laughter. “No, seriously. We let this problem spiral out of control and watch them come crawling to us for help. We play it smart, let them think they’re dealing with a bigger threat than they can handle.”
Jonathan raised an eyebrow, his expression thoughtful. “We don’t even know if it’s a real problem yet. It might just be a false alarm.”
Sofia shrugged, her laughter subsiding into a more contemplative mood. “Time will tell. We’ll keep our ears open and see how things unfold. Until then, we stay alert and prepare for whatever comes our way.”
A few hours later, the three of them were huddled around a weathered Monopoly board on the patio, the game’s colorful tokens and cards scattered across the table. The air was thick with a mix of laughter and mild frustration as they played. Przemek , leaning back in his chair with a frown, struggled to keep up with the ever-evolving rules.
“It’s supposed to be four houses before you can build a hotel!” Przemek protested, eyeing Sofia and Jonathan, who were deep in conversation over their latest house rule.
Jonathan smirked, casually rearranging his properties. “Well, it’s more fun this way. You gotta adapt to the situation, right?”
Sofia, laughing, added, “Yeah, it’s called ‘Monopoly with a twist.’ Keeps things interesting.”
Przemek shook his head, bemused. “Interesting is one thing; You two just make up rules as you go along.”
Jonathan grinned. “That’s the beauty of it. Keeps everyone on their toes.”
Despite his complaints, Przemek couldn’t help but join in the laughter as the game continued. The rules might have been flexible, but the camaraderie around the table was genuine, and for a moment, the outside world and its uncertainties were a distant thought.
Frederik burst out of the bush, his breath ragged and face flushed with exertion. Isabel, just behind him, stumbled onto the patio, her eyes wide with panic. Przemek , already on high alert, had his pistol leveled at them. Sofia and Jonathan quickly followed, weapons at the ready.
“For Helvede, what did we tell you about the code?!” Jonathan roared, his voice echoing in the tense silence.
Frederik and Isabel didn’t respond immediately. They leaned heavily against the patio stairs, their chests heaving as they tried to catch their breath.
“We need you!” Frederik gasped, desperation clear in his voice. “We just ran all the way from Hallboke and up this hill!”
Sofia stepped forward, her face a mask of concern. “Slow down, what’s going on?”
Frederik struggled to regain his composure, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “We were sent to collect some belongings from one of the houses. Sven—he’s the one who sent us. We were supposed to grab some books and bibles and head back, but things got out of hand.”
Przemek , still tense, holstered his pistol but kept his gaze sharp. “What exactly happened?
Frederik swallowed hard, his face pale. “Chris was watching the car outside while we and Kevin packed up the bibles. We heard a scream and ran out. Chris was on the ground, his leg—” he faltered, swallowing again before continuing, “—his leg was torn open from the waist, like someone had ripped it open.”
Sofia’s expression darkened. “Where are Kevin and Chris now?”
Isabel stepped forward, her voice trembling. “We managed to get Chris into the car. He was barely conscious. Kevin drove him back, and we came straight here to find you.”
Jonathan and the others exchanged worried glances, the gravity of the situation settling over them like a cold, heavy fog.
Jonathan spoke; “Alright, you two stay here on the patio and keep watch. We’re packing our stuff and we’ll all drive to Kristian stadt.”
As the trio went outside, Jonathan spoke “How much should we pack for this outing?”
“I thought you were in charge.” Sofia answered sarcasticly.
“We knew they’d come for us, no need for sarcasm right now.” Przemek said.
“Pack as much ammo and water. Jonathan don’t forget the thermal camera.” He added.
Jonathan pulled rainjacket over his, knowing they'd be out in the rain for a while. He filled up his CamelBak, preparing for the long haul. Whether this was a job for Kristianstad or not, their cabin’s proximity to the village meant any trouble could quickly reach them.
He meticulously checked his equipment, ensuring everything was in place before donning his daypack. "Frederik, Isabel," he ordered, "put my machine gun in the backseat of the car. We might not need it, but I’d rather it not be here if things go south."
Jonathan inspected his rifle, counting out his magazines. Four full magazines. It should be enough, but they’d need to figure out where to find more ammo soon. Przemek had six mags for his FNC, and Jonathan knew he could rely on him for a spare if needed. Sofia had six for her m/45, and they had so much ammo for it that she had more bullets than magazines. Hauling those extra bullets had always been a hassle.
With everything ready, Jonathan felt a moment of calm focus. He knew the stakes and the risks, but he also knew they were as prepared as they could be.
Przemek and Sofia emerged from the bedroom, fully kitted out. Sofia had traded one of her earrings for a police stab vest. It had pockets for her magazines, but the reflective "Polis" lettering on the back wasn't something any of them wanted to wear outside at night.
"Are you ready?" Przemek asked.
Jonathan nodded, giving his gear one last check. "Yeah, I’m good," he said, glancing at Sofia's vest. "We might need to cover that up, though. Don't want to be a beacon out there."
Sofia shrugged, pulling a dark jacket over the vest to hide the reflective lettering. "Good call," she replied, fastening the jacket.
Outside, Frederik and Isabel were still visibly shaken, their panic evident in their hurried movements. Seeing the calm, methodical preparation of the trio, they began to relax. The experienced demeanor of Jonathan, Przemek , and Sofia was reassuring, a stark contrast to the fear that had gripped them earlier.
Frederik and Isabel loaded the FN MAG into the backseat as instructed. The group moved with practiced efficiency, each of them aware of their roles and the seriousness of their mission. Jonathan took a deep breath, feeling the familiar weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders. They couldn't afford any mistakes.
The drive was short, but Przemek behind the wheel was relentless. They couldn’t waste any time. As they neared Kristianstad, they followed the code they had set up with the sentries. Przemek slowed down and flashed the headlights on and off five times, waiting for the inevitable reply from the sentries who did the same with their flashlights.
They drove into the small settlement as the sentries shut the gate behind them. Normally, there would be two of them, but that night, five armed sentries stood watch. The heightened security was a clear sign of the tension that gripped the place.
The group exited the vehicle, their movements brisk and purposeful. A woman approached them, her expression a mix of relief and urgency. "Sven is waiting for you guys in the infirmary, in the greenhouse!"
Jonathan nodded, glancing at Przemek and Sofia. The familiar sounds of the settlement—soft murmurs, the clinking of makeshift tools—were overshadowed by the palpable anxiety in the air.
As they walked, the sentries exchanged wary glances, their eyes flickering to the newcomers with a mix of hope and fear. Jonathan could feel the weight of their expectations pressing down on him. They needed to solve this quickly, for everyone's sake.
The barn stood at the edge of the settlement, its weathered wooden structure a testament to years of exposure to the elements. Once a haven for livestock, it had been repurposed into a thriving greenhouse. The transformation was evident from the moment one approached: the large, heavy doors were propped open, revealing the lush greenery inside.
The barn's high, sloped roof was now adorned with sheets of transparent plastic and salvaged glass panes, allowing sunlight to pour in and nourish the plants below. Inside, the air was warm and humid, filled with the earthy scent of soil and the fresh fragrance of growing vegetables and herbs. Rows of wooden shelves, meticulously arranged, held pots of various sizes, each brimming with green life.
Old wooden beams, sturdy and robust, crisscrossed overhead, supporting the makeshift roof and adding a rustic charm to the space. Vines of tomatoes and cucumbers climbed up twine that dangled from the rafters, while leafy greens filled every available corner. Along one wall, a series of rain barrels collected water from the roof's gutters, ensuring a steady supply of irrigation.
The floor, once a dirt and straw mixture, had been covered with gravel paths, allowing easy movement between the plants. In the center of the barn, a long table made from reclaimed wood served as a workspace for planting and potting, its surface covered with gardening tools, seed packets, and trays of young seedlings waiting to be transplanted.
The barn had had its roof collapsed even before they settled here. Instead of refurbishing the roof, which wasn’t doable, the survivors opted to reinvent the place into a greenhouse for their plants and vegetables. All of it powered by solar panels installed outside. They made their way through the aisles of plants, fruits, and vegetables to the back of the barn where an out-of-place office had been converted into an infirmary for the wounded and sick. A guard at the door, or better said, a teenage girl holding a hunting rifle, seemed scared as the three approached. She opened the door for them.
“Dzięki,” Przemek said in Polish, smiling to reassure the scared girl.
Inside stood five people: Sven, two armed men, and the local doctor aided by Linda.
“We got here as fast as we could,” Sofia said, before hugging Linda. They had grown quite fond of each other ever since they had rescued Linda a month ago.
The makeshift infirmary was a stark contrast to the greenery outside. The converted office was a small, cluttered space filled with an array of medical supplies, makeshift beds, and improvised equipment. The walls, once lined with farming tools, were now adorned with shelves stocked with bandages, bottles of antiseptic, and an assortment of medicines.
A single, flickering overhead light cast a dim glow over the room, highlighting the wear and tear of the hastily repurposed space. The air was thick with the scent of disinfectant, mixed with the earthy aroma from the greenhouse outside. None of them figured out why the infirmary had been installed here.
Two cots were set up against one wall, one empty and one with a body under the blanket. An old wooden table served as the main workstation, piled high with medical instruments, a small stack of medical books, and a radio used for communication. In one corner, a portable heater hummed quietly, providing much-needed warmth.
The local doctor, a middle-aged woman with graying hair pulled back into a ponytail, was bent over one of sinks washing one of the tourniquets they had desperately used.
Everyone's attention was focused on the bed with a body in it, the blanket near one of the legs soaked with blood. The air in the makeshift infirmary was thick with tension and the faint, metallic scent of blood.
“Did he say anything before he passed?” Przemek asked Sven in English, his voice low and urgent.
Sven sat in the corner of the room, his gaze fixed on the floor. He didn't respond, his silence unsettling. Linda stepped in, her voice quiet but steady, breaking the oppressive stillness. “He was full of morphine. We used the last we had on him.”
Przemek 's eyes flickered with worry. “What did he say?”
Linda continued, her tone somber. “He kept raving about the men who did this to him. He didn’t shoot at first because the man was talking to him, saying he was sane and not one of those madmen. He apologized because he didn’t have time to shoot before the man was on him.”
Jonathan paced back and forth, his jaw clenched. “We need to find out who did this and why. If there's someone out there targeting us...”
“Someone told us they saw someone in that village earlier, anybody else see him?”
Chris looked up, Kevin blood still on his shirt from earlier. “Yes, by the old school.”