I remember the cold wind, raising the hairs on my neck. The old pale, potato sack there to cover my head, loosely it came off. I remember the damp feeling rising up my legs and chest, trainers already drenched deeply. The field, stone dry dead with no direction of wind to help it brush by. The yellowy-tan colour to pursue surrounded by trees upon trees, stacked high up the mountains that enclosed me like a zoo. The taste of blood in my mouth and the smell of hay-bales roaming around me. A small pile of crushed metal and gunpowder on the floor in front of me, my backpack ruined with holes and tears. If only they hadn’t found me…
The morning sun rose upon me, flowers drifting through the sky and the smell of my rustic campsite roaming like an animal. The trees swishing from side to side with their leaves falling off and the sound of gunfire in the distance. My eyes opened realising the sound I had just heard, intrigued I was. But feeling faint I slowly arose with a dark dizzy tint to my eyes.
I opened the tent allowing the air to rush in, greeted by a bee on a flower collecting the pollen from this lifeless plant. I kept staring at him and him with his 1,2,3,4 maybe 5 eyes. Dark, lifeless as the plan but he stared right back at me no movement just the small amount of wind blowing his plant from side to side. Then he flew right at me, right at my head. I dodged quickly, flailing my arms around like a wacky waving arm flailing tube man. Hoping he wouldn’t land on me, throwing myself onto the ground the buzzing sound, ringing in my ears stopped. I had crushed this flower he had been sitting upon, I slowly rose like the sun to see a flower, crushed into the ground like a chocolate wrapper. I grabbed my bag, bright red, largely unnecessary, but good to carry supplies I had gotten from the town.
I could see the edge of the forest, but largely overrun by wolves, every step closer to the edge got more dangerous as they would expect to wait for me. Patiently like they had most days. It was maybe around 11 steps away where there was a stone, surrounded by others. I hadn’t seen them here before and was in shock, trying to make little sound as possible I stepped on it, unaware of what was beneath my feet. I ran, one howl signalling they knew I was here, and the second meaning they were going to attack me. The town ahead quite large, filled with interesting, different and dangerous people. A small corner pub where everybody gathered every night for as long as they could for entertainment and just talk to some of the survivors of the Chernarus explosion. I turned to see if I was safe. The sun still not at its brightest and the darkness still being made by the forest surrounding this large field leading up to the town of Severograd. 5 or 6 green eyes, following me down the path in the coverage of the path. The feeling of being surrounded, fell deep inside my veins travelling around my body giving my bones a shaky feeling which sometimes made me more hostile. Armed with a small pistol found at the local military road block, silenced I raised the latch on my leather chest holster taking the gun loaded with 7 rounds in each mag. I pointed the gun up towards the surrounding trees. Silence, there was no sound apart from the trees in the wind. Not a gunshot, or a wolf could be heard.
Inside the 3 story apartments now I rushed up the stairs past, these old shelves trying to avoid the rusting bannister from allowing me to drop 3 floors down, a picture painted at the top of the apartments, a face, painted in black. It used to be a smiley face but as the face became more visible with my bad eyesight. Another picture entered my mind. A large lake with 2 cabins next to it. I wanted to be there away from all this madness. Gun shots, dangerous people, wolves. I remember the lake in the photo almost moving as if I was standing there. Staring deeply into the lake, a face became visible. I put my hand against the painting trying to save this poor, drowning man. A door at the bottom of the stairs had opened and I could now sense they were looking for leftover food or clothing to spare from this terrifying, walking disease as I was. I couldn’t help but stare at this photo and these footsteps didn’t distract me. I just kept looking into this photo. Closer now, and closer, the footsteps became clearer and the tapping of this person’s feet rang in my ear like the bee that had disappeared. I held my ears in pain cowering to the floor below the photo, for a man to enter upon me…
Heathen Kjarten was his name. I don’t remember much of the occurrence that had happened at this photo after he came in. He was a nice fella, great fashion sense. Blue Checked wool coat, Black slacks and an old British flat cap also to match his wool coat, they looked rough like he had been in a fight or something but still a good fella anyways. His was about 2 years older than me, but you couldn’t tell much of a visual difference as my childhood growing up wasn’t pleasant and the scars on my face were almost similar to the rips and tears in his shoes.
The pub was unusually empty and so was the town, deserted with a couple camper’s tents and barrels. Loaded with clothes almost spilling out the top like water from the waterfall, you know back in England… not here though no, not here. I pondered around looking through these tents for quite some time before my backpack almost became too heavy to carry anything and having a large backpack in this country will not let you get anywhere quickly or safely before being followed by one of these, discarded humans. Heathen was a bit like me, didn’t like to kill people or harm them but always got the thrill from robbing them as it sent chills throughout my whole body. I couldn’t stop shaking while I did it, maybe it was the fear for my life or the rush of enjoyment I gained from it. Many people tried to avoid me, but now they’re in the big blue above ground, high up. I still grin to this day remembering them people who tried to go against my sense of aggression and Joy.
The diversity of people at the town was slim, little of one kind and an extreme amount of another. I dreamt that everyone would get saved… well not everyone. Those stupid people that robbed people and killed people… Not me, no not me I had a good reason I didn’t mean to, I did but I didn’t mean to it just came through me like some sharp object.
The day was May, something and having no clock, phone or a top of the notch radio with all these special buttons and symbols, I had no chance of knowing. I had been up in my camp and around the country for 200days before having some recognition of my whereabouts and it was about time I moved before people started robbing me blinded. I put on a lot of clothes, a large number of layers so I could carry less in my backpack and leave space for the oversized, 1-man tent. Packing up the tent was a nightmare, steaming hot, dying of hunger, dehydrated. The start of the day wasn’t good for me, running around trying to find a new location wearing all these clothes and in this hot weather it really restricted me, especially carrying around a Mosin Nagant with a compensator and a couple hundred round of ammunition for hunting and self-protection against these again… discarded humans. I met a new man that day, by the name of Yasen part of a small group called Res-Publica which tried setting up a bar in Severograd when a large hostile group called anarchy came along and forced them to move to a town named Lopatino, where they were told ‘if you leave, you die.’ Which Yasen was out of town and seeking help against them, I came along with a large military group who in this case was named The Socialist State of Zagoria armed forces. Which were ex-military and police men who wanted to make sure the empty side of Russia, Chernarus was communist and nothing more. I didn’t really believe in there ‘communist ways’ but we travelled to the town of Novoya Petrovka where they had a small base set up in a newly built school which was never finished and left abandoned before this infection began to spread. This school was large, stone grey and quite bold but huge with modern levels of height and looks with it smallish classrooms and hundreds of classrooms with a gym the side of two tennis courts put together. I didn’t want to stay here so I left my unopened tent in one of their broken down, engineless cars with no windows and only 3 doors on a 4-seated car.
We were just upon the town of Lopatino which had quite a big church surrounded by smaller houses and sheds which were also surrounded by tents and barrels. There was quite a lot of people in the town, wearing their bright coloured clothing and their dark blue armbands. They didn’t look friendly, high powered rifles in their hands and their backs, not a sign of military in the town as a wise man once said. The Anarchists Past, was the Anarchists future. They didn’t acknowledge a large group of us coming in from the hill and me being Johnny Hart not wearing anything which resembled a military man. I went in as a distraction, hoping not to be injured or shot by the anarchists I went in and started talking to a man waiting by a bus stop, which was never going to come. He was a human wreck. Ripped jeans and a dirty hoody, his name was Kenneth, a hobo who wanted some protection and moved into the town. The chat we had was short and stubby like his shotgun, sawed off is the correct term. The casual conversation around the town ‘Need any food or water or medical supplies’, it came quite boring but with a stern ‘no’ from him I started to ponder around the tents, looking for ammo for the drum mag on my gun, but I was abruptly interrupted by a Cherno-Russian man screaming ‘Everybody put your hands up right now’ it was the Socialists and with little help I considered to help out but I just put my hands up and walked into the church where I was surrounded by gun fire, from all angles and pure darkness inside this church of hell. I laid down for about 10 mins hoping nothing bad would happen for footsteps to be right outside the church door, and two loud smashes on the door made them open making me lifeless keeping as still as possible. The door swung slowly open with a small, old croak to It and a man ran in with his gun raised and pursued to push me against the wall with brute force screaming at me, and me not understanding anything apart from whatever was about to happen was not good. My hands bound together by zip wire and my head covered with a small potato sack, smelling of rotten potatoes and gun powder from wherever this may have come. I could feel the man’s skin against my wrist, twisting and pulling. Thrown into a truck and driven a mile, into what seemed mud beneath my feet.
I stayed still listening as hard as I could for words that I could decipher. All sound had stopped and the bag lifted off my head, stripped of my bag and my hat. I slowly peeled my eyelids open to see a blue truck, driving far away beyond the hills that surrounded me. A field I was in, lost, alone and cold. I am only here today, if you found this story… I hope someone finds me, no way of escaping… I am trapped… am trapped… trapped.