“Alright, listen up you buncha’ goddamn leeches,” I say. “It’s morning now, so that means get off your asses and start doing shit for yourselves. Move out, make your own damn campground. And I don’t like it, but I’m here to teach you the shit you need to keep yourselves alive in this place. Got it?”

“Question,” mutters one of the men.

“Ask quickly,” I say.

“Right. Uh... do you know where we are...?” he asks.

“Fair question, bold of you to assume I know the answer, but a fair question nonetheless,” I say. “I don’t know why the hell we’re here. All I know is how not to get killed by it. Any questions regarding that? Make it snappy.”

“Here,” says a woman. “How do I make a fire?”

“Seriously?” I say. “My god, you all ain’t gonna last another night here, are you? Look, just grab a stick and light it in mine. Clear out an area so you don’t burn the whole damn forest down. Then stack a bunch of sticks and dry leaves in the middle, light it, and you’re done. Anything else?”

A man shuffles over to my fire, takes literally one or two steps away, then crouches down and begins clearing out a spot.

“Really, jackass?!” I holler. “You’re like, forty-five year’s old! Take your shit and move out already!”

The man, startled, stands up and hobbles about twenty feet away before sitting back down again.

“You’re not even— Ah, fuck it,” I glower. “Alright, follow that guy. No closer than that guy’s from mine, got it? Seriously, you’d sneeze and suddenly we’d all have a goddamn cold.”

They reluctantly begin to fan out, leaving Robin, Heidi, and I at the original camp.

“They’re scared. Aren’t you being a little harsh?” says Heidi. “Are you just assuming they’ve forgotten those few hundred screams cut short last night?”

“Yeah, I am. I have,” I reply.

“Well not everybody’s a soulless bastard like you. How many people do you think died?” she mutters.

“I made an estimation last night, but you heard me. You were awake that whole time, pretending to be asleep,” I retort.

“And who the hell could sleep through that nightmare?” she says. “Besides you. But like I said, you’re a soulless bastard.”

“You kiddin’? I didn’t catch a wink all night,” I reply. “Anyways, that was last night. Let’s put it behind us and find some food. I’m thinking we cook up a rabbit or two, but I’ll take whatever we can catch.”

“I’m a vegetarian,” she says.

“Oh, my apologies. Please feast on this lovely bowl of grass clippings and poison oak,” I say sarcastically. “The hell do I look like? Shut up and eat your meat.”

“Do you know how to make traps, M— T-Trevor?” asks Robin.

“Huh? Yeah,” I say. “But traps’ll take too long, and as I said before, I don’t wanna get anyone stuck in one. I’m gonna sharpen a stick, just to see what I can get.”

“A day in and you’ve already resorted to backwards savagery,” Heidi sighs.

“What, you’re expecting me to fistfight a squirrel or something?” I mutter. “If you ain’t gonna hunt, then pull your weight and start filling that tortoise shell with boiled water. We’ll need that thing full at all times.”

“Shoving me into kitchen work? So typical of you,” she says.

“The hell’re you talking about? You can’t cook for squat,” I say. “You didn’t even bother to learn the goddamn dishwasher buttons, so I had to do that shit. Are you just trying to piss me off here?”

“It’s working, isn’t it?” she laughs dryly. “Hunt your food. See if I care.”

An hour passes and Robin and I are out in the wilds. I make notches in the trees with a sharp rock every once in a while to keep myself from getting lost. Robin holds his spear to his chest, nervously glancing around, jumping at every sound.

“Y-You don’t think—“ he sputters.

“That there are wolves out here? Probably,” I reply. “Just means more meat for us. That is, if we can kill it before it eats us. But that just means we can say we really worked for our food, yeah?”

“How about like... a raccoon, or a deer, or...”

“First of all, a raccoon’d bite your face off. Second, why hunt something that’ll just run away?”

“Weren’t we originally out here hunting for squirrels?”

I make another notch in a tree.

“Probably,” I say.

“‘Probably?’ Isn’t it—“

“What, should I say that yes, we’re risking our lives for a day’s worth of food?”

“I mean... it helps to have—“

“Sh—!” I hiss.

“What are you—”

“It means get the fuck down,” I whisper, pulling him with me to the ground.

As I do, a deer walks by. It lumbers slowly, majestically past us, a colossal twenty four-point buck that’d put any hunter’s trophy to shame. It looks down on us, but seems not to care. I stand up, but the beast hardly acknowledges my presence. It has to be the size of a fully-grown horse, and to not be startled by us means it must be an extremely powerful creature, able to fend off even the wolves for so long.

“We’re not gonna— y’know... Are we?” Robin mutters.

“N-No, no,” I reply, unable to peel my gaze from the animal.

There is a sudden gnash of teeth and blur of gray, and the beast is sent crashing to the ground. A giant wolf snaps at the animal as it struggles to get back up. Without thinking, I tear the spear from Robin’s hand and charge at the wolf with the point drawn. I slam the sharp edge into the wolf’s side, causing it to reel backwards, off of the stag. The wolf paces backwards a few steps, crouching down and baring teeth at me. It sits there, waiting for the right time to strike. But before it can, the stag barrels past me, antlers down and angled for the wolf. The wolf lets out a yelp as it is impaled by twenty four piercing antler spikes. As the wolf lets out its last breath, the stag steps back. It turns to face me, nudging closer. I put my hand on the side of its neck and pet the gargantuan beast with cautious strokes.

It’s then that I notice its rough edges; the pieces I hadn’t seen from afar. Scars and other healed wounds dot its entire body, the fur just barely covering them. The blood-soaked antlers only make the fact more clear to me.

“We’re more alike than I thought,” I mutter under my breath. “You’re a survivor— just like me.”

The stag trots away moments later. The wounds the wolf gave it don’t seem to phase it at all. That’s not surprising though, seeing that it must’ve already taken and healed from much worse.

Robin looks down at the wolf.

“So... are we—“

“Yeah, we’ll... take it back with us,” I reply. Wouldn’t happen to have a pocket knife, would you?”

“No... Sorry,” Robin mutters. “—B-But hey, with this we’ll be able to feed a lot of people, right?”

“We’re gonna dry it,” I say. “We’ll need a rack and something to filet the meat with. We can use the bone to make better spearheads, and the pelts for warmth. Stretch out cut strands of the intestines and we’ll have some hefty rope in no time. We’re gonna use every last bit of the thing.”

“And you know how to do that?” he asks.

“I’m backwoods Florida-born, believe it or not,” I reply. “Grew up skinning gators I caught with my dad. I get the basics— and I’m not afraid of a little blood, which seems to be an unfortunate trend here.”

“Ah. Good, because I’m— *urp* ...Not all that great with it.”

“And yet you volunteered to go out hunting.”

“I figured I’d... close my eyes, or something,” he mutters.

I let out a sigh.

“Lemme teach you a little lesson about living out here,” I say. Before he can react, I grab him by the torn collar. Maybe it’s just to scare him, or maybe I actually care this once. “Lesson one; if you’re gonna kill, you bet your ass you should look them right in the eye when you do it. Cuz out here, your life don’t mean squat against another’s, even a goddamn animal’s. You gotta prove to every single kill that you’re the one on the top. You hear me?”

“L-Loud and clear, s-sir—!” he sputters.

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

For just a moment, his voice sounds eerily familiar. But that moment quickly passes, and my mind runs up blank. I decide to leave him be. I let go of his collar and point down at the dead beast with a motion of the thumb. He doesn’t argue one bit.

“How heavy do you think a grown wolf is?” I say.

“J-Judging by your face, it sounds like you already know,” Robin says through gritted teeth.

“Lift with your legs,” I reply. “And... no, I don’t know. I’m a history teacher, not a biologist, or... whatever profession deals with that shit.”

“Ah. Well, judging by the fact that it’s taken us a half an hour to heft it the length of a football field, I’d say it’s a few thousand pounds.”

“Exaggerations aside, it’s definitely one of the bigger fuckers, I gotta say. Not as big as the one that tried to bite my arm off, but... pretty damn big.”

“Are we almost there? I can’t... Go on... much—“

“—Further?”

“I was gonna say ‘longer,’ but... sure,” he says. “I’m just so fu.... Just so... Just so dang tired.”

“Say it,” I say.

“Huh?”

“Don’t piss out. We’re in the middle of goddamn nowhere, so say whatever the hell you were saying, and don’t substitute shit out for kiddie words. Seriously, you’re an adult, aren’t you?”

“I’m just... I’m just so... Argh! Fuck! I’m so fucking tired! Whoo—! That felt good.”

“Was it three more miles good? Cuz that’s just about how much we’ve got left,” I say.

Finally back at camp, we throw the carcass over in defeat and slump to the ground. Heidi comes up to us and looks down with almost mild concern. But more, just plain shock.

“You both set out to fetch squirrels—“ she says, “—And you came back with a whole... How...? I’m just... I’m at a loss for words, honestly.”

“Yeah yeah. Hey— mind asking around to see if anyone’s got a pocket knife on ‘em? Really, anything’d work,” I reply. “In the meantime, I think I’m just... gonna...”

I fall asleep for about an hour. When I wake up, Robin is sitting on an overturned rock, whittling a stick. When he sees me, he waves.

“Hey! Found a knife,” he says. “We’ve got a good few, actually. I guess people like keeping them as keychains, or something.”

“Thanks,” I nod. I sit up and rub my head where I rested it on a rather uncomfortable tree root. Looking just to my side a bit, I see the tortoise shell. Just like I’d directed, it’s filled to the brim. I bring my lips to it and drink a few gulps before peeling away. I look out, only to find a few dozen more fires than before. Apparently a huge group of people came by in my sleep.

“We’re getting pretty hungry. Are we gonna... cook up some of that, or—“

“You’re gonna have to go back out,” I say. I bring my attention back to him.

“Sure, s— Hey, wait... What do you mean?”

“I mean... We ain’t gonna eat this right away. We need to think ahead, and spare what we can for when we really need it,” I reply. “You aren’t gonna die from not eating. At least, not for a good few more days. That should be just about enough time to either hunt smaller game, or to get these nice and dried.”

“Seriously? We risked our lives for that, man,” he whimpers.

“No, I risked my life for that. You were making tremors, your legs were shaking so bad.”

“Then... what am I supposed to go get?”

“You’re the one with the sharp stick. Find a pond, maybe spear a fish or two. Or, if that doesn’t work you could always go looking for snakes.”

“I’m... gonna pretend I didn’t hear that one,” he mutters.

“What? There’s a shit-ton of snakes out here,” I say.

“Nope! Didn’t hear a thing! Did you say something? Cuz I didn’t hear a—“

“Snakes.”

“I’m... just gonna go hungry.”

After about a half hour, I finally convince Robin to go back out. Even so, he does it reluctantly, but seems more willing after some random hunter guy decides to join him. I wish them luck, then turn my attention back to the carcass in need of butchering. Borrowed pocket knife in-hand, I begin the procedure. I pull the bloody mess out a ways, and lay it on its back.

I make the first incision starting below the rib cage, just thin enough to pierce the skin. With a good bit of effort, I manage to pull the knife down to the base of the tail. The organs slump bulbously out onto the ground, sending a putrid stench wafting into the air. I push through it and finally sever the ends from the carcass, and shove them aside.

I put the knife bit away and take out the jagged saw blade piece that comes with it. With as much caution as possible, I begin separating the pelt from the flesh.

“Why the hell does it smell like— Oh, god! Wh—“ Heidi turns away, retching from the stench.

“Smell that? It’s called survival of the fittest,” I say.

“Wh— Why would you do that here...?” she mutters.

“Where the hell else would I do it?”

“Anywhere but here!”

“Hey, do me a solid, will you? I need you to make some sorta rack that’s high off the ground, about eye level.”

“Why should I do that for you?”

“Because I’m asking nicely. I could tell you to shove off and go get your own food. But instead, here I am being nice.”

She pauses to think for a moment.

“Fine, just get rid of that awful smell.”

She leaves, and I get back to scraping up the pelt. It really does smell terrible, like shit and vomit all churned up in a cauldron of piss. Then again, stomach acid, feces, and urine is all that’s in the pile. That, and some flabby packs of guts. Then again, I’ve smelled worse.

“Sorry bud,” I say, carving around the neck until the head is completely severed. I finish up separating the pelt, and use it as a table for the meat. I cut the legs at the bone and rest them beside the body. I decide to let it sit for a good while before stripping the bone as well. I realize just how much time has passed only by the sun disappearing into the densest part of the trees. I then look at my hands, which are covered in blood. And they ache. I set the knife down in the pelt and move back over to where the water hole sits. I swipe up the empty bottle and fill it with murky water, pouring it over my hands and scrubbing to feel even somewhat sanitary.

Someone taps me on the shoulder. I turn around to see a pair of bare legs. I look up.

Heidi smiles down at me, more a look of ‘admire my work,’ than anything else. I scowl.

“Is the rack finished?” I ask.

“Now is the time for praise,” she says. “A few women came by and helped me finish. It’s a work of art, I’ll have you know.”

“A utensil built on pure estrogen,” I mutter. “I’ll be the judge of this so called ‘work of art.’”

I stand up. She leads me over to where a cluster of young ladies sit. I actually recognize a few of them from my neighborhood.

“These are the wonderful and talented young women that helped me,” says Heidi.

“You sound like an old hag,” I mutter. “Alright, well where’s this thing you’re so proud of?”

Heidi lifts it so it stands upright.

It’s certainly a cooking rack, that I can tell. It’s a little shorter than I wanted it, but looks reasonably sturdy. It’s wide and long, which I hadn’t asked for, but it’s a nice inclusion nevertheless. The actual ‘rack’ bit is stripped wood pieces woven into a lattice pattern. I’d been thinking to hang the meat, but with the grill pattern I’m now thinking otherwise. Simply put: I’m impressed.

“How do you like it? I made it big so there’s room for your ego as well,” she says.

“Nice job,” I say.

“Wh— really? No snide remarks?”

“You did good,” I say. “I’m not an idiot. I can see that the other ladies did most of the work. That failed lattice mesh over there was yours, wasn’t it?”

“—And there’s the Trevor I know,” she sighs. “Well are you going to take it, or not?”

“Of course I’ll take it. Like I said; I’m not an idiot. It’s good craftsmanship.” I turn to the ladies, three young women besides Heidi. “Come on over to my camp in a while. Robin should’ve brought back something to eat by then.”

They nod cautiously. Evidently, Heidi’s told them all about me. This must be a bit shocking to them. I’m not saying that I played the nicer route just to piss Heidi off, but... yeah.

After cutting the meat off the bone, I’m finally able to put the drying rack to use. I lay the strips as close together as possible, while also keeping a certain amount of distance between them. With the rack now filled up, I turn to the side— only to find that I still have a fuck-ton of meat left. I decide it best to finally put the intestines to use. Grabbing the ends, I walk out as far as possible before squeezing the rest of its contents out into a hole. The sour stench of it makes my eyes water, and I hold my breath for as long as possible until I’ve emptied it all out. I kick loose dirt into the hole before hauling ass to get away from the smell.

Back at camp, I tear the intestines to long ribbons, stretching each strand out and tying them to two opposite trees. The end result is something like a disgusting spider web of dripping mucus, but it will serve its purpose soon enough.

Lastly, I look at the stomach. I’d heard some ancient tribes used them as water pouches, but I’m not in too much of a rush to try it out. I’ve already emptied it, so the only problem is getting it to set. I could tie one end and leave the other open, but then the problem that still persists is getting it to keep its shape. I decide to fill it with water so at least the outside can dry. I hang the mass on a tree, and go back to work more on the meat.

I take a long strand of somewhat-dried intestine lace, and poke holes in all the meat that’s remaining. I cut the strands of entrails and thread them each through the punctures. I then put them up to the rack, and tie them around the support. Surprisingly, it all fits. Sure, the rack bows a little, but that shouldn’t be much of an issue.

Finally, I begin with the fire. I place a few armfuls of kindling underneath the rack in a square pattern, then stagger a bundle of bigger sticks atop it. I layer that with wet chunks of wood bark, and lay another few dozen sticks to weigh it down. The moisture of the bark should keep the flames from rising too high, while also giving off plenty of smoke. I know I said I’d be ‘drying’ the meat, but this’s what I meant, I guess. Jerky doesn’t go bad all that easily. And if I just left it out, it’d probably kill us all. So yeah, jerky works best.

“Zo-o-o-o-o-uee! Ha-ha-hahaha!”

From the peripherals of my vision come two ecstatic figures, waving spears with one hand and holding various smaller animals in the other.

“Good hunting, huh?” I say.

Robin tosses the spear so it lands sticking up in the ground. “You know it! Tom here’s an awesome tracker! He chased down a raccoon and caught it with his bare hands!”

“Ah, so that’s his name,” I note. Honestly, I hadn’t cared before— and even now, I don’t. But good for Robin, pulling his weight for once.

“We caught a few gophers, and a duck too,” says Tom through a very thick southern accent. “Don’t know how gopher tastes, but I guess it’s that or duck to fit yer fancy. Duck on the other hand— that’s world-class. Been eating that since I was lil.”

Tom is this tall white guy with short red hair and a wild smile. He’s probably forty years old or so, but talks and acts like he’s in his twenties. He’s got this total redneck look going on for him, and he’s even missing a front tooth.

“Can’t be easy, getting all that with a wooden stake,” I say. “I bet you’re used to shooting, aren’t you?”

“Me? Nah, I used to go out’n spear boars back in Texas. Haven’t in a while though, since I threw out my shoulder chasing a runaway hog through some bramble.”

“Ah. Must be... uh, refreshing, to get back into it,” I say.

“Yup, air sure is cleaner out here too.”

“Well, as you can see, I’ve just butchered a... very large animal,” I say. “Need a knife? I’m sure as hell not cutting those up.”

“‘Course. It’s my, uh... philosophy to cook what you kill,” Tom nods. “‘Ey, Robin! Ready to cook up your first kill?”

“The duck,” Robin grins, turning to me. “I got the duck.”

“Don’t ducks only show up near water?” I ask.

“We killed it off the big lake over that way,” says Tom.

“Oh, right! I was gonna tell you about that!” Robin exclaims. “Yeah, we found a big lake out that way. I honestly can’t pin it to any landmarks back home. What do you think?”

I pause.

“Ah, shit. Why the hell didn’t I think of that sooner?” I say. “There aren’t any big lakes back in our world, but that’s only cuz gold miners drained the lakes back in the eighteen hundreds. I remember learning that shit back in college.”

“So... we really do have lakes in this world, then, and it wasn’t some kinda... celestial mistake,” Robin nods. “That kinda makes our little water well obsolete, doesn’t it?”

“There goes my edge over everyone el— I mean... Yeah. We should probably move there soon.”

“Now hold up there, partner,” Tom interjects. “That there lake’s prime hunting ground. Put people by it, and we lose all the animals.”

“It ain’t like they’re gonna he gone,” I reply. “Just track ‘em down again and find another spot. We need the water more than we need the food.”

“Well sure, but...”

“Look, I get what you’re saying. But we’re all probably gonna die if we stay all the way out here. The water’s basically a natural wall that’ll partially protect us from just about any animal trying to kill us,” I say. “Plus, where there’s a lake, there’s bound to be fish. What we lose in game we can easily recover by fishing the lake. Don’t tell me you’re the kinda redneck that doesn’t like fishing?”

“Alright, you’ve got me there, I do love a good day out on the lake,” Tom sighs. “Well, you’re the boss. If you say move, I’d bet those folks’ll do it.”

“I’ll look into it,” I mutter. “For now, why don’t you... I dunno, go clean your kills or whatever.”

They head off, and I’m left sitting alone by the fire.