[ IP ] Wilderness

It seemed as though the walk was never ending. The scenery was the same, mile after mile- a desert of barren trees and half dead shrubs drenched in the stench of sulfur, or something else that they might have used. Whatever it was it smelled of rust, putrid eggs, and burnt flesh all in one. As terrible as it may sound, it was worse. 
 
 He could barely breathe, the ashes falling from the sky filled his lungs but he couldn ’ t stop now. His body ached and his feet throbbed, swollen. He had been trekking for at least two days and his damp socks were getting to him. He had read about this thing called trench foot in history books written about wars past. He ’ s never seen it, never knew anybody who had it, but he was sure he probably did. He was afraid to take of his boots for fear of prediction being true. Moreover, he couldn ’ t afford to stop, not yet. He couldn ’ t afford the delay, no, he had to be strong now. He was one of the only ones left, for sure the only one in that zone, and had to make it to the next zone to tell them what had happened. 
 
 He got more and more tired. He finally told himself he would stop at the next fully leaved tree, but the tree never came. He kept going; mountain after mountain, valley after valley. Then, all of a sudden just ahead, a large clearing appeared and, beyond the clearing, a peak. What lay beyond? He doesn ’ t know, he ’ s never been this far out of his zone, but he knows what lay behind. 
 
 He stops, finally allowing himself to take a rest. He looks back. His day was quickly becoming night but, in the distance, miles and days behind him, he can still see his home ablaze. The ashes falling from the sky coat the ground like a fresh snowfall but it ’ s not cold. He hears shuffling from some of the trees just down the mountain. Has one of the trackers caught up with him? How? He'd killed the entire patrol unit as he left the city. He ’ d not seen an animal for days; surely it ’ s not a bear. What could it be? 
 
 Unable to move, unwilling maybe, frozen in the pseudo snow he waits to see what presents itself. He lifts his rifle from his sling and flips off the safety. Finger on the trigger, he prepares to take the life of one of the few others who remain. It ’ s either him or them, and he ’ s sure as shit not ready to go. Then, as if it were a bright beam of light, a murder of crows squawks and takes flight from the trees. Wildlife, *finally*, wildlife! He must finally be outside of the poison zone. He realizes- he ’ s almost there! 
 
 He sighs in relief, lowering his rifle, but with that relief becomes sorrow as he remembers what has already happened. He looks back towards his city. There is nobody around to hear his screams, so he whispers. 
 
 
 “ You maniacs. You blew it up. Damn you. God damn you all to hell. ” 

