Gritting my teeth, I wedged my rifle between the trap's jaws and used it as a lever, forcing them apart. The spring resisted, but gave way, millimeter by millimeter. Pain slashed through my leg, but at least the crushing pressure of the teeth eased.
Once the trap opened, I pulled my leg free and collapsed to the ground.
"Motherfucker… Who the hell scatters traps in the middle of the damn forest?"
He was probably not the only one. There had to be more of them around I needed to get back to the truck. Quickly looping a tourniquet above the wound, I tightened it until my leg went numb. I rolled up my pant leg and inspected the deep punctures. I rinsed everything with antiseptic, clenching my jaw against the burning. Pulling out bandages, I started wrapping my leg.
"Woof, woof!" I heard Buddy bark.
I looked up. The dog was staring toward the bushes. A human silhouette flashed there someone was aiming at me. I rolled sharply to the side. The shot hit the ground where I'd been a heartbeat ago.
Without hesitation, I rolled behind a tree. Another shot cracked. The bullet whistled past and splintered the bark by my face.
"Slippery bastard!" a voice shouted from the bushes.
I was out of time. Quickly finishing the bandage, tightening it however I could, I realized my rifle had fallen somewhere behind me out of reach. I yanked the pistol from my holster.
"Woof! Woof!" Buddy barked again.
"Fuck off, you stupid mutt!" the same voice yelled.
I lunged out from cover, pistol raised, and fired. The bullet slammed into the shooter's shoulder.
"Aaah, fuck!" he screamed, dropping his weapon.
At that same moment, Buddy clamped onto the man's leg, tearing through cloth and flesh. Limping, I began to move closer.
tsk-tsk
Buddy released his leg. The old man writhed on the ground, and I recognized his face instantly. He was the collector. Seeing him reach for something behind his back, I pressed my boot into his shoulder and aimed the pistol at him.
"Why the hell are you shooting at everything that moves?" I asked, breathing hard.
I'd met plenty of people over the years most were wary but not hostile as long as you didn't push them. Only the ones with no moral brakes at all chose violence the moment they saw me. I avoided people whenever possible easier that way. You never know what's in someone's head. I'd been shot at more than once, and every single one of them had paid for it.
"What the hell are you doing wandering around here…" the old man rasped through the pain.
"Why'd you scatter traps all over the forest?" I asked. Just curiosity. I wasn't going to save his life.
"So assholes like you don't go snooping around!" the old man snapped. "You all want my stuff! Screw you! The only thing you'll get is lead in your skulls. And you, asshole, would've died too if you weren't lucky. Back in the day, when I was young, I could hit a squirrel in the eye from a kilometer."
"Not very polite of you," I said.
"I don't give a shit. Why the hell should I be polite to you? Go on, shoot already, you fuck! Took you long enough to try to kill me or do you wanna play with my corpse first?" he spat, showing no fear at all.
"Someone's trying to kill you?" I asked.
"You're not one of them?" the old man barked back. He calmed a little and started looking me over. "Then… sorry. Mixed you up. Those cocksuckers have attacked my fortress so many times I've pumped their asses full of lead."
"No," I answered evenly. "I came for the weapons in your shed. If you were alive, I'd trade for them. If dead I'd just take them."
The old man fell silent. He stared at me through pain and suspicion. Buddy trotted up, carrying my rifle in his teeth smart dog. I took it and slung it over my back.
"You can take whatever you want… but help me get revenge on those bastards first," the old man finally said. "They killed my son."
"I'll think about it," I said. "But right now, I'll help you get back and treat the wound. For that and for the fact I spared your life you'll pay me with weapons. Deal?" I offered him my hand.
"Deal… damn you," the old man muttered. "Why the hell didn't you say earlier you weren't one of them?"
"You shot at me first, you senile idiot. And I've no way of knowing who 'they' are," I said, grabbing his left arm and helping him up.
"Ahh, hurts like hell… Whoever brings up the past loses an eye," the old man grumbled jokingly.
I placed his arm over my shoulder, and together we hobbled forward. We walked slowly toward his base. The place looked exactly like in the photo with a few changes: barbed wire stretched along the top of the fence, and poles with cameras stood at the corners. Reaching the gate, the old man pulled out keys, unlocked the padlock, and once inside, slid the bolt shut.
A woman stood by the entrance to the storage yard, weapon pointed directly at us.
"Lower the gun, woman. He's alright," the old man said, not raising his voice.
She slowly lowered the barrel, though her eyes stayed watchful.
"What happened?" the woman asked.
"Oh, calm down. Just a couple of scratches. Let's get inside, I'll explain later," the old man grumbled.
"Who is he?" She didn't take her eyes off me.
"Leave it, woman. Can't you see? The wound needs tending. Restless as ever," the old man snapped and kept moving.
Inside, I helped him lower himself onto the nearest couch and carefully began taking off his upper clothes.
"The bullet didn't hit anything serious," I said, inspecting the wound.
"You've got good aim. Served somewhere?" the old man asked, squinting through the pain.
"Last year, you could call it that. Plenty of practice. Burned out eventually," I answered, avoiding details about my past.
"So you did serve," he chuckled, as if confirming his own guess.
"Step aside, I'll take care of the wound," the woman said as she approached.
She had medical tools and supplies in her hands. I moved away, lifting my pant leg to unwrap my bandage. Needed to fix it properly. Spotting some water nearby, I washed my hands and the wound. Then applied antiseptic, grabbed fresh bandages, and began wrapping my leg again.
"Let me help," the woman said.
She took the bandage from my hands and tightened it around my leg with practiced confidence. It was obvious she had done this many times before.
"So what happened?" she asked, not looking up from the dressing.
"Those bastards attacked again. He helped me drop those scumbags," the old man said.
"Then why does he have a trap wound on his leg, while you've got a bullet in your shoulder and a dog bite? And he just so happens to show up with the dog," she said, tightening the bandage on my leg harder than necessary.
"I told you how it was. The dog bit me by accident. Total chaos," the old man grumbled irritably.
"Understood," she said shortly, putting away her tools and leaving the room.
"My son's wife. Nasty woman… had him wrapped around her finger," the old man muttered more quietly.
"I haven't left yet, and I heard everything just fine," came a voice from the hallway.
"Yeah, whatever," the old man yelled back, though his voice carried no anger just his usual grumbling.
Maybe it was the painkillers finally kicking in, or the bottle of alcohol he'd somehow procured despite being forbidden to drink but his tongue loosened.
He started pouring his soul out. His son had once been a forest ranger: protected wildlife, patrolled the reserve, and when they found injured animals, he took them to the vet clinic. That was where Rebecca worked. Eventually they married, though the old man never really accepted it.
His son visited less and less. Then stopped almost entirely. The old man hid it, but it was obvious how much it hurt him. He loved his son remembered how he grew up, how he ran around the yard as a little boy. His grandson became his only real joy, often staying with him on weekends. The boy brought life back into the house and gave the aging man strength.
After the chaos began, they settled at his base, and his storage turned out to be priceless. Over time, they cleared out all the infected nearby a fortified base, space for crops… everything they needed. But then people showed up. His son decided to help them, following his wife's advice, despite the old man's warnings. It ended in horror: his son was stabbed, and the visitors filled their vehicle with stolen goods and nearly escaped. But the old man, in his fury, killed them all without giving anyone a chance.
Later he learned those people were part of a surviving group from a nearby town raiders who prowled surrounding territory. After their deaths, the group launched a real assault on the base, but they survived. From that day on, the old man filled the entire forest and shoreline with traps bear traps, tripwires, mines.
Since then, fewer people wandered through, but leaving the base became dangerous. And food wasn't plentiful. Once he tried to drive out for supplies, but they caught him. By some miracle he made it back, and after that they were stuck here no safe way out.
Eventually the old man tired himself out talking and drifted into sleep, snoring. Almost at the same moment, Rebecca walked back into the room.
"I don't know who you are, but you're not a welcome guest here. I suggest you leave as soon as possible otherwise you won't get out," Rebecca said coldly.
"I need my truck. I have to retrieve it," I said, pushing myself up. Pain shot through my leg in a sharp tug, but it was bearable.
"I'll go with you. My father-in-law has mines and traps everywhere. You'll step on something for sure," Rebecca said, already pulling on her jacket.