Monday, August 20, 2012

Model Thirty-Eight

Grigori surveyed the remains of the camp. It took all the strength he had left to avoid another confrontation with his men after what just transpired.

His team has been tracking this particular band of survivors for well over a week, in the hope that they would be led to their camp and hopefully to what Grigori has been tasked to look for.

It has been months since they have began feeding off solely on what they could gather from foraging, which wasn't much. There was a growing urgency to their mission now that the days were once again growing shorter, a telltale sign that another Siberian winter was on its way.

Sergei, his second, signaled for him to come over. His men began gathering around what was formerly the largest tent in the camp, supposedly belonging to the survivors' leader. Sergei pointed to a piece of metal clutched by one of the nomads. It was barely distinguishable, but there was no mistaking it. This was a P38, unfortunately ruined beyond repair due to the firefight that ensued earlier.

It was obvious that every one of his men wanted to know who fired the first shot which has caused them precious time and possibly their lives. Before one of them can speak, the familiar guttural howls that often followed the scent of death emanated from the edge of the dense woods.

With heavy sighs, Grigori and his men started heading for the opposite direction. This camp belonged to the ghouls now, and their lives to the fickle hands of fate.

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