A soft crunch echoed out into the woods; the brittle, dried leaves and crackled twigs had very little noise control, which was detrimental to anyone who considered the woods to be the perfect hiding spot. The uncaring drag of a freshly-killed deer left dark red lines along whatever bit of ground the beheaded carcass fell at. It was cold this early morning, not unusual or unexpected this time of year, but this cold was biting, even more so than usual.
How long had it been?
How long had it been since time stopped, since human life long vacated this desolate world?
How long has it been since that fateful day when those bombs fell from the sky?
Now wasn’t the time for such questions, as the luxury of time fell away from the necessity of survival. At least that was the case for the deer’s frightening killer, a man no older than twenty-five, surprisingly fit and healthy given the time he lived in. These thoughts drove him away from the piercing chill that shattered the barrier created by an old woolen sweater and a fluffy, feather-down coat. He had to live by the code of survival, an almost common code the he abided by when he was in the military, along with rules of engagement.
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The man tugged at the deer he was carrying with what bit of strength remained after his long way back home; another harsh crack, the skull of the dead beast had slammed itself against a heavy tree stump and had split wide open, the gummy insides dribbled out of the gaping