Day 64

The English translation map said this was Bashnya. Didn't know if it was considered a town or that was the name of the forest that surrounded the house. The maps in Chernarus were bullshit. No legend or anything.
I'd been hiking now for 17 hours and the hunting blind and little hut were a welcome site. Not to mention the well that the little house had.
This was the nearest settlement to what had been our camp.
Our camp.
Guess there was no more "our".
Canteen's running empty at this point. We had planned it like that, drink till you're satisfied then when it's all gone not too long till Bashnya. The well was one of those hand pump jobs you see in films depicting the old west. Go to fill the canteen and see my hand for the first time since the massacre.
Blood. It had become such a familiar site in the last... 2 months? Christ it seemed almost forever ago. Literally a lifetime ago. Somehow this was different. It was the blood of the living, of someone I had known just 17 hours before.
Fuck, I had never killed anyone before, or had I forgotten?
When you finally break down, you really break down.
In this world the weak have been dead for months, and weakness has a way of killing you.
I went to wash my hands in the cold flow but the world started to go grey. The hand moving under the flow seemed to blur as it moved, it left traces of itself as it moved across my vision. The sound of the water splashing on the ground started to echo and then grow faint. The world was spinning and grey.
I fell to my knees and put my head under the flow of water hoping that would help. The cold shock brought the color back but when I went to stand the sudden loss of blood to the brain was all it took to make me fall.
Laying there looking up at the stars I though to myself, "My God, there's so many. How have I never seen this before?"

"Yhmmph... dalmphhh. Phmmph blumphh du lumphh?"
"Dalfummm mnf der blamphh dumm."
"Is hmf dead?"
"No, he's still breathing, keep your gun on him."
Like breaking the surface of water I awoke, gasped suddenly inwards.
"Whoa there cowboy, take it easy. Don't wanna have to put you down."
A firm hand put itself on my shoulder and pushed me back into the dirt.
I looked around from faceless silhouette to faceless silhouette. Two of them standing over me. Panic. Breathing like I had just sprinted a mile.
"What's your name son?"
"Sum just, uhhh..."
"He's just one of those crazy locals pa..."
"Shut up Pascal."
As my vision adjusted to the broad daylight of high noon I saw their faces. An older one and a younger one, the younger had an old Moisin trained right between my eyes.
"Pascal?"
"So he does understand English!" Exclaimed the older.
"I, uh, I am English! No, I'm American! I mean I speak English. I just. Pascal?"
"Yeah, that's my name."
"I named him that hoping he'd be smart. The best laid plans right?" The elder chuckled.
Long tense silence.
"Don't just stand there Pascal help the poor sap up."
Pascal shoulders his rifle and offers me his hand. I accept. That familiar weight on my side is missing
"If you're looking for your gun," Says the Elder, "It's right here." He gestures to his hip.
"Can I-?"
"Come on. You know the answer to that."
Another long tense silence.
"So I'm your prisoner then?"
They both laugh
"Prisoner. We don't got time for that shit! You're our guest." Says the Elder
"Well thank you for your hospitality. Give me my gun and I'll be on my way."
The elder takes my 1911 from his hip, takes out the magazine, empties the rounds, puts back in the mag, and hands it over.
"Thank you." I say and move next to Pascal who is facing his father, "You forgot the one in the chamber." I put one in Pascal's head while grabbing the strap of his Moisin. While he falls the strap slips off his shoulder and I turn to the Elder before he has time to react. The butt of the Moisin comes around with extreme velocity and violence and fractures his skull. While he lies there I give him two more hits with the butt of the rifle till I see his brains. That oughta do I think.
As I search their bodies I realize something. My heart doesn't race, my palms don't sweat, but I puke anyways.
Weakness has a way of killing you.