The Lieutenant passes out for good this time, and I'm left with only an invalid between me and a Platoon. Looks like my plan went south. No point in escaping. The commanding officer gives the order to advance, as the rest of them cut the power to my cabin. I grab my rifle and prepare to make my last stand. The first one comes through the door, and I make an effort to aim in the only place where they have no protection.
Flashbacks of hunting with Verdinia race through my mind in milliseconds. She'd lure the prey and I'd go in for...THE KILL (BLAM!)...one down. Two more enter...I hit floor face up. For The Bisons, we went for the knees...(BLAM!, BLAM!)...three down. Two more come crashing through the living room. The Jackals...yes...we ate them, as well. A strike to the throat (BLAM, BLAM)...five down. I reload as the rest crash through the back door...The pack...The Wolves were the hardest. You had to become one of them to get close enough. It's their chaotic nature not to notice a sheep in their clothing. I lie still disguised as one of them. They don't bother picking up the scent, even in their ravenous state. One by one with my knife...I slit their throats in the darkness....until there are none.
Standing there...caked in the dead soldiers' blood, with the adrenaline still coursing through my body...the strange sense of nostalgia slowly fades away. I consider putting the Lieutenant out of his misery. Just as I put the blade to his throat, I remember....Verdinia....
What a great hunting partner she was.