VIII

For the past three hours now I had been running through the trees desperately trying to avoid my Uncle and the people pursuing me. No clue how my uncle managed to convince people to chase me through Sume Smrti, but I gave a silent shout of joy as the forest erupted with screams of terror and the dying. However my left ankle was twisted, my left wrist was either sprained or broken and I had a bullet hole in my left thigh. There was also an arrow sticking out of my right shoulder as well as an arrow in my back just below and to the right of my right lung. Little more to the left and a hair's breadth higher, and the arrow in the back would have been fatal if slow and painful.

 I was running on pure adrenaline and out of sheer terror. And I was currently lost. All that time I had spent learning the lay of the land for this exact occasion went out the window in a moment brought on by the constant near death run ins with my Uncle and his cronies as they sought to claim my life. It was currently dark and hard for me to see due to the dried blood in my right eye.

When the bullet went through my left thigh, I twisted my ankle and fell, hitting my head on a rock in the process. Somehow I had managed to lose my pursuers in the last half hour and was now leaning beneath a tree resting and tending to my wounds. As I was finishing bandaging my rib cage, my fingers spasmed causing me to drop the clasps that would hold the bandages in place. With an exaggerated sigh brought on by sheer exhaustion, I bent down to retrieve the clasps when something caught my eye out of my peripheral. Turning, I instantly recognized the area I was currently recouping in.

 A while back I had been hunting some wild game and one of my shots had missed leaving a mark on the tree. The only reason why this was remotely of interest was because it was the only spot in the entirety of Sume Smrti that someone had managed to leave a mark. Normally nothing man made could leave a mark upon Sume Smrti. Arrows and swords would bounce of leaving not a scratch. Fires, explosions, bullets and other projectiles would leave behind not a trace of smoke, burn nor scorch marks. However it was still possible to fall trees of Sume Smrti for lumber and firewood and such. Yet my missed shot on my prey had managed to leave a mark in the tree.

 It was recognition for that damaged spot that instantly allowed me to triangulate my exact potion to my sleeping quarters and the quickest and easiest route id need to take due to my injuries. I also planned to use my sleeping quarters as the base for my stand against my uncle and his cronies.

 Two and a half hours later as the middle of the night set in, I arrived at my safe haven only to find that my pursuers had not in fact been lost or had given up but had managed to locate my safe haven and trashed the place before setting up an ambush in anticipation of my return. Thankfully I'd had the foresight to plan for something like this and had several different "bug out bags" hidden all over the area.

As I moved to the nearest one, I got the feeling of being watched and followed but every time I checked my surroundings nothing was amiss. To late did I realize something was in fact wrong. This became apparent as I felt the cool metal barrel of a firearm pressed against the back of my neck as I leaned down to collect one of my bags.

 "Lookie what I gots me'ere. It's lil Jessie. You're lucky 'twas me 'ho found ye.'Cuz me boss wants to do ye in 'im self see. And yur Unc is payin me perrty well to turn you over to 'im so ye get to live a bit more. 'Owever don't ye get any ideas on escapin now 'cuz ill shoot yeez in zee kneez ifs is gots ta. Long as I bring ye back o live ya Unc pays me da sammage!"

 From the way he spoke and the smell coming off his clothes and his breath, I knew the man behind me was my Uncle's most trusted man and the top hunter/tracker Ouroborus had. The man's name is Hawkeye Bill. The barrel of the firearm that was pressed to the base of my neck was familiar to me to. It was one of Bill's personal favorites. He had taken a .45 cal Dessert Eagle and modified it.

It now not only shot the standard .45 cal bullets you can get with any DEagle, but somehow the workings of which was unknown to me Hawkeye could shoot any size, caliber, or type of ammunition he could get his hands on out of his gun. Not to mention it had the range of a high end sniper rifle and the accuracy of an automatic target tracking system that coupled together would make most military snipers look like amateurs who barely knew how to properly handle a firearm. The gun had the destructive power of a tank round even when shooting the standard .45 cal bullets. And Hawkeye Bill owned two of these guns. The only two in existence. One was pointed at the base of my neck.

As I stood there listening to Bill ramble on about how he wish I'd give him a reason to put a bullet in my knee cap, both of us knowing full well that if he did so I'd lose 3/4 of my leg and a chunk out of my other if not both legs, I desperately tried to figure out away to escape without getting my limbs blown off or dying in the process.