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Harry Shark Day

A Shark out of Water - Short Story Selection

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ATTENTION : BAD LANGUAGE AND SWEARWORDS ARE USED IN THIS TEXT

((A Shark out of Water is an episodic history of my current character, Shark - Henry James "Shark" Day, a Royal Marine who is eventually split from his company, and lost in Chernarus.

I will be posting these short stories whenever I can get one out. Please note that this is not only for the entertainment and enjoyment for those reading it, but also my method of character-building. Yes, this is me in the process of finding out who my "Shark" is, and making a vivid person out of him. Enjoy!))

1: The Remaining Few

A dim, swift sun rose over the small camp that sat in an unknown location in Chernarus. Three men, dead-faced and tired, were lit by the few rays of light that seeped through the thick, gray clouds that hung like veils over the barren land. Three tents, one for each, none to spare, formed a ring around the burnt-out campfire that had long ago lost its flame.

Around the camp was a dying world that stretched as far as the eye could see; trees swayed lifeless in the thin wind, houses lay broken and decayed on the edges of overgrown fields - fields which were once harvested by the living; fields now mourned by the living dead. All that lived near this camp were the coniferous hosts of nature, the trees that could survive the late-autumn cold that shrouded the land. Indeed, one would have been hard-stretched to find a broad-leaf tree thriving around so much death; dead spirits, dead morale, dead people, and a dead world. For these three marines, brothers in survival, only the trees gave living company to their lonesome surroundings.

Shark was the first out of his tent, as if the first sapling of life sprouting out of the farmer's spring fields. He stretched, squinting at the brightening horizon. He stood dumbly by the used fire, looking about himself. Disbelief struck over him, as it did often, as the world told him differently from what his dreams had made him believe - oh, yes, in such harsh times, even your sleep turns on you.

"Holy shit," he says aloud. "How in hell am I here?" he asks. Scratching his side, he knelt down and studied the fire, confirming that every ember had died in the night, and that this damp wood would be of no use. Standing back up, he looked out over the horizon again. After a slight incline from their camp, the field dipped over a hill and into a valley. Trees followed the edge of the field over that hill, and down into the valley, almost forming a wall around the three marines - a living, breathing, wall, that kept them safe from the winds and rains of Chernarus.

Second from the tents, slowly and tiredly, came Paddy, almost twenty minutes after Shark. Like his two remaining comrades, he still wore his dirty, stinking combats - in these worn clothes he slept, walked, ran, and sat. They saw his life and will eventually see his death. Clothes were not in abundance for these Marines.

"Well you're up early," mocked Shark, grinning.

"Get out, Jaws," retorted Paddy, arching his back in a stretch.

Shark snickered, turning and leaning into his tent, pulling out his rifle, an SA80A2, readily loaded and always by Shark's side. "You look like shit, Pad," he said, coming back out from the tent.

"Think I could say the same about you," said Paddy.

At that moment, a voice came from the third tent, quietly and calmly: "We all look like shit, Shark, it's a fucking apocalypse."

"Speak for yourself, Ant," replied Shark, gaining a smile from Paddy. "If we find someone who doesn't look like shit, I'd think I was hallucinating. I'm tellin' you, Ant, you can't let this "undead" stuff get to you. If they were dead, they wouldn't be moving."

"It's not the zombies that scare me, dude, it's the fucking people. These Chernarussians are scary. I don't like 'em," said Ant, stepping out to join his two comrades.

"Oh, pull yourself together, Ant," laughed Paddy, "They can't shoot for shit."

"But they have guns, and they don't like us being here. And fuck knows how many of them there are," said Ant.

"There's less of them than there are Z's," said Shark, "and that's enough to scare me shitless. Now get your rifle. We're heading north."

"I thought we didn't have a compase," said Paddy.

"We don't."

2: What Goods May Flow

What shallow light of the sun that could be seen that day was now setting, and under its settling glare three rugged men walked carefully and with thought. They were armed, ready for anything, expectant of everything, their guns already loaded, and the safety button swithed to "off".

"Hey, Shark, can't we stop? We've been going for three days straight!" complained Paddy.

"No," replied Shark, inbetween a breath, "we keep on until morning, then we can stop."

"But where are we going?" came Ant, from the back of the group.

"I told you, we're going north, where other people are."

Paddy chuckled grimly. "Up north, where other people are? Dude, none of the people here want to see us, unless at the end of their barrel. Why are we even looking for other people, let alone not trying to avoid them?"

"Because we need food," said Paddy, in all the seriousness he could muster.

"And drink," added Shark. "And perhaps even weapon ammo. You heard those screams lastnight. That's what happens when you run out of rounds. They find you. They'll kill you. They'll kill us, damnit."

There was silence for a second. But then the silence was bropken by Ant: "Well fuck me sideways, Shark, this place has really gotten to you. You're almost as braindead as them."

SHark turned swiftly, marched up to Ant and grappled his shirt. "You don't fucking get it, do you, Private? We're still soldiers, aren't we? And we s till have a mission, right?"

And nodded quickly. Shark let go.

"Then fucking act like it, or you'll find yourself dead. Got it?"

"Yes sir."

"Good," said Shark quickly, moving back up to the front of the group. "Come on, we go until sunrise."

And so the small group continued until the specs of light peered through the cold, hanging clouds of the dawn. But they could not go forever; their packs were becoming heavy, their guns going empty, their legs getting tired. When would they find life again?

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