Chapter 1.4

In the morning I'm kicked awake by the last man on watch; most of the men had already packed away their things and were ready to move by the time I'd woken. After a few mumblings, we were back to silently stalking the forest. The scabs which had formed on my feet during the night, were soon bleeding with new wounds, but thankfully, after a few miles we came to a stop.

Ahead of us, the forest came to abrupt end, gutting into the terrain was a hidden road heading west, and beyond that a small river running alongside it. Rickon checked his watch and crouched down in the bracken. He gave a series of silent gestures, which his men responded by squating next to him, ready to jump out onto the road on a moment's notice. Silence was met between us as we waited, each staring at the road below us. We heard the truck before was saw it, and we shuffled our feet in impatience before it came into sight and got ready to jump before it came into line with our ambush.

I watched through the treeline a series of fast and co-ordinated actions that brought down the truck within sixty seconds. Dark Moon Squad lived up to its name; they slid down the rocks and leapt onto the top of the truck with a dull thud. It began to swerve as he driver panicked, but Rickon was already climbing through the window of the driver's seat and killed the driver before taking over control of the vehicle and bringing it to a stop. Another man from Dark Moon Squad did the same to the unfortunate passenger, while two more climbed into the back to inspect the cargo. The men didn't even have time to reach for their radio before their throats were slit and their lives had slipped away. It was morbidly fascinating, watching them work so seamlessly to end someone's life. Rickon brings the truck to a stop at the side of the road where the rest of the squad slide down the bank and inspect the contents on the back, throwing discarded items behind them in the road while pocketing anything of worth.

I hesitated before following them down to the truck. Then wavered again once I could see their faces of those lying dead in the front seats. I couldn't bring myself to take anything of value, my throat tightened thinking about squeezing a pair of boots off a dead man, but the passenger was gripping a first aid kit in one of his hands. I worked it from his grip, pulling at each of his fingers until it came loose. I rummaged until I found what I was looking for: two sets of clean bandages and left the remains of the kit in the foot well.

I approached the river, eased myself down onto the river bank, and edged my feet into the water, clenching my teeth as the freezing water bit at the open wounds on my feet, washing away the dirt, grit and blood that stuck to my soles, turning the water an awful shade of washed out red-brown. Shivering from the cold, I took the bandages I took from the dead solider and wound them around my feet three or four times, so that even when they got dirty and ripped from walking they would still protect my feet.

"I refuse to die." I muttered to myself, before staggering to a stand and returning to the group. The dead enemies were stripped of their clothes and flung in an undignified pile at the base of the tree, their pale skin reflecting in the mid-day sunlight.

"Quin, go wash the blood off these uniforms." Rickon ordered to one of his men, who took them without hesitation and disappeared to the direction I came.

"Kid, come here!" Rickon called when he notices me. "For this next bit, your going to sit in here." He motions to one of the wooden crates on the back of the truck. He grabs me by the collar and lifts me with one hand into the crate, where I gathered my legs up to my chest in order to fit. "if this lid, is lifted by anyone but me, lets just say an enemy commander for example, I want you to stab them in the throat." He holds out a black knife he'd taken from an enemy soilder, and with shaking fingers I reach out to take it. His hand catches mine, in a tight grip "aim for here," he lifts the knife up to the side of his throat a couple of inches down from his jaw line, "and push it in deep." He does a lunging motion. I found myself nodding, even though I had no idea if I would do it- if I could do it. "don't, and you're probably going to die." He added. The knife shook, nestled between by fingers in a tight fist, I held onto that knife with everything I had. I had to kill someone. If someone else lifts that lid… with my life on the line, could I do it?

And with that, the lid was raised over my head and slid into place, immersing me in darkness. Here in the darkness, I could hear only the blood rushing to my head and the distant sounds of the men on the outside. Then the engine starts and I'm lurched to the side as the vehicle begins to move.