Martin had never been the biggest fan of mornings. Right now, however, he made an exception. After all, when he went to sleep last night, he hadn’t been completely certain he’d wake up today.
He had considered all the different risks to his life. First and foremost was freezing to death during the night. Not normally a problem in the still fairly hot parts of fall, but temperatures had recently dipped below freezing during the night. A more likely scenario because of the amount of blood he had unwillingly shed. To combat this, he had dug himself into a pile of dry leaves. Those Boy Scout years weren’t for nothing!
On the topic of blood loss: His wound flashed pain at him every time he moved. He suspected it was infected, but there really wasn't much to do about that right now.
He also feared he’d be found during the night. Not that he could’ve done much to combat that. A tracking dog would have found him with no trouble at all. He had considered wading through water to throw off any pursuers, but decided that it was more likely that it’d kill him due to heat loss.
He had put a decent distance between himself and the crime scene. Well, as far as a wounded man could move given the time available.
Now that his head was a bit clearer, he’d figured out his destination. During his years in the Scouts, he had hiked to a cottage not too far away from the villa he performed in yesterday. If nothing else, it’d put a roof over his head.
Fortunately, he and his fellow Scouts had done orienteering in the area several times when they borrowed the hut. As a result, he had a reasonable idea on how to find the cottage without resorting to the map on his cell phone. If he could at all avoid it, he’d prefer not to turn it on. He had the presence of mind to turn it off last night and even took out the battery to make sure it couldn’t somehow still be broadcasting his position.
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As the saying went: “Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t after you.” He didn’t recall who said it, but he felt it fit his current situation. Maybe they had not noticed him leaving? Maybe they wouldn’t come after him because that would compromise themselves or something? So far, he had failed to convince himself that coming out of hiding would be a good idea.
And so, his unplanned hike continued in his, now bloodied, performer's attire. Not exactly the best possible equipment for the trip. He hoped he’d reach his goal before hunger got the best of him. After all, yesterday’s dinner had hardly provided him with any nourishment before he had unwillingly dumped it. Despite any scouting experience he might have, he was unlikely to survive foraging without appropriate gear. Add to that that working with customer service for the last ten years had not done wonders for his shape; it was not exactly a very physically taxing job.
The trek gave him ample opportunities for reflection. Chief among the questions that bothered him were “What exactly happened?”, “Why?”, “How did Unfazeable locate the people who had hidden?” and “Why wasn't he caught?” So far, his tentative conclusion was that Unfazeable had some kind of device that pinpointed the position of living creatures, and that the device somehow failed on himself. Why, he didn’t know. The alternative explanation was that he for some reason decided to allow Martin to live. That made even less sense.
There was also the tall guy’s actions. To gun down a decent amount of thugs, seemingly faster than his gun could shoot, demanded some explanation. Even a second gun did not solve the riddle of how he could aim that fast.
Martin was an avid reader of Fantasy and Science Fiction. Among all possible suspects, cyberpunk-like implants stood out as the least unlikely scenario. That could at least explain the ‘detect heart frequencies’ — or whatever that ability was — as well as superhuman reflexes.
There were also plenty of other thoughts vying for his attention. Would he ever be able to see his family again, without risk of indirectly killing all of them? What would he do once he reached the cottage? Also, what was the reason he never finished the SAS survival guide? At least he could figure out the answer to his last question, even if he regretted it somewhat now. Procrastination was his middle name.
While the hike did not provide him many answers, it offered plenty of hunger with a side-dish of near-constant pain. At least water was relatively easy to find.