Green Bay Run

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The wolves would feast on his corpse soon.

He reached the top of a low hill and glanced over his right shoulder at the pack of seven dark forms flitting through the forest. A shudder rippled along his spine at the thought of their glistening teeth crunching into his body. He gazed up at the afternoon sun, sweat caking his skin, then hastened down the hill.

How much farther?

After coming so very, very far, after traveling hundreds of miles and having survived encounters with scavengers, mutations, and wild beasts, the idea that he might die brought tears of frustration to the corners of his brown eyes.

Not now!

Not when he might be close to his goal!

His weariness caused him to stumble over a limb lying on the ground in his path. He maintained his balance with an effort and forged ahead, his hands gripping his Winchester tightly, his knuckles white.

One bullet.

All he had left was one lousy bullet!

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