It snowed and silenced the world.
This morning, I left my rescuers in the care of the Wulf and several others who had arrived from the hospital. I’d cleaned my Colts and loaded them, wiped the hammer down, and found some clothes that were not charred tatters.
With orders for them to return to the fortified hospital, I went out hunting on my own.
The world was silent.
No birds sang; no animals called out.
Only the sound of my boots punching through the thin crust of the snow filled the air.
I didn’t mind.
I’d hunted in the Hollow when the weather had been colder, and the dead littered the ground. I’d slept in beaver dams as a boy when the Mohicans were on the hunt and among the dead at places like the Wilderness and Chancellorsville. I’d known the bitter cold of Valley Forge and the bite of the same when we crossed into Trenton and gave the Hessians a rude Christmas gift.
As I walked, I came upon a great set of fieldworks, one that had been empty for some time. Perhaps even from the beginning of the attacks.
I paused at a deep trench and looked at a pair of huts, one of which had a door hanging from one hinge.
I listened and heard not a thing.
Still, I drew both Colts and cocked the hammers back, unconcerned about the noise.
I doubted anyone – either friend or foe – was here.
I searched the entire fieldworks and found them abandoned. All the supplies had been hauled away. Nothing, save a pair of spiked field pieces, had been left behind, and that pleased me. Aside from the one broken door, the encampment was in fair condition. A clear sign that someone had retired in good order. They had not been driven from it.
I did not find any graves or any sign of a medical tent having been set up.
Whatever unit had been stationed here had retreated.
Perhaps I would find them in another position, warm and strong against the cold.
Or I might find them butchered in a mass grave.
It was war, and I’d find out one way or another.
I always did.
#Denmark #supernatural #monsters #paranormal