Mike crept through the woods, moving steadily inland. He clutched his hatchet in one hand and an improvised spear in the other. He had found a camouflage shirt in Ryan’s bag, and he’d donned it in the hope it would help him blend in. This morning, he had planned to fashion some makeshift bracers and shin guards from the snakeskin, but it was still too grimy to work with. He’d have to leave it for at least another day to properly dry out. Beneath
10