Everything ached, from the top of my head to my toes. Each step I took was agony, and I wasn’t sweating, which was a bad sign. Shivering, I leaned on my makeshift walking cane, and pulled the canteen from my pocket, sucking down the cool water. This was the third time I had drained it, and each time, to my amazement, it had filled up again. It must have been designed to draw moisture from the atmosphere somehow.

I wiped my mouth, coughing. I shifted my bag, grimacing at how heavy it felt on my shoulders, checked my compass, and then started moving.

I wasn’t moving quietly. I knew it, and I hated it. Each step I made was obnoxiously loud, even to me, and I was on the verge of delirium. The bite wounds on my thigh continued throbbing, as if reminding me that the centipede had won. Or, at least, would win, very soon.

Ignoring my macabre thoughts, I pressed on. Cutting the walking stick had been a good idea on my part. It was perfect for pushing brush aside as I passed by. I was leaving a trail, but I figured it didn’t really matter—as animals were going to be following my scent anyway. And if anyone was looking for me… well, I wouldn’t be around for much longer, so let them find me.

I stopped my depressing line of thought yet again, not willing to agree with the part of me so eager to surrender. I wasn’t ready to give up yet.

I pressed forward, the leaves rattling all around me. The steps seemed to merge together as I focused solely on the ground in front of me. I stumbled and tripped constantly, but I picked myself back up, and kept going.

Talking to myself helped, a little bit. I kept urging my body on. It was hard. Each step felt like I had run a mile without stopping.

In a small clearing, I paused to take another break. I allowed myself the luxury of sitting down, but only to check my wound. The area around the bite was no longer red, but purple and swollen. The entire area was about as big as my fist. Liquid welled from the punctures with that same yellow pus tinged scarlet with my blood.

Crap.

I ripped another piece of my dress. What I was about to do was going to hurt, a lot, but I needed to drain the wound. Taking a deep breath, I started to squeeze the wound, forcing the infectious fluid out.

The agony was tremendous, like someone was shoving red hot pokers into my thigh and wiggling them around.

I managed to choke back my scream, but after I finished, I collapsed, dizzy from the pain. It took me a few minutes for it to pass, but when it did, I managed to rinse the wound off and wrap it with a new rag. The old one, I tossed on the ground.

It was tempting to stay there. The moss and debris covering the ground was soft, and I was so very tired. But I couldn’t let myself—I knew that once I closed my eyes, it would be impossible to get back up. So I forced myself to stand, using the walking stick to help keep my balance. I groaned as the weight of the bag hit me, and I almost collapsed again.

It was the egg. That blasted egg. It was weighing me down. I had to reconsider trekking through the forest with it, but I was worried hiding it this far into The Green would mean that it could never be recovered. I had to be smart about where I hid it, if I was going to leave it anywhere at all.

My mind wasn’t feeling particularly up to the task. It was difficult to hold a thought long enough to continue it. I took a long drag of water, and resolved to eat some of the food. Maybe it would help.

I pulled a tin out of the bag and cracked it open. The protein gel was so unappetizing, I felt my stomach tighten in protest, trying to force it out before it even went in. But I needed to eat. I was burning calories with each step I took, not to mention the fever I had. My body was already in starvation mode, and it would only get worse.

I closed my eyes and forced some of the gel into my mouth. The texture made chewing unnecessary, so I just swallowed it, forcing it down past the lump in my esophagus.

Once I finished the tin, I put it back in the bag, and took a deep calming breath. It helped me focus.

I pulled out the egg. The size and shape of it was distinct. If I hid it on the southerly route I was taking, I could use the compass to get me back. Provided I knew where to start from. However, there was no guarantee that I would choose the right path. And with how slowly I was moving, gauging the hiking time was out. I needed to create a landmark that only I could recognize, but be vague enough that everyone else would overlook it.

My time was running out. I could already feel my stomach rejecting the protein gel. I concentrated on my breathing, trying to push past it.

I needed a hole, somewhere safe and dark. I could cover it with moss, and then block it with a rock. Then, I could use the cloth from my dress and hang it in the area, so I knew I was in the right place. But how to hide the rock?

The more I thought about it, the more I realized it was hopeless. There was no way I was going to be able to backtrack my way in a forest this dense. I had to carry it.

I tucked it back into the bag, my body movements leaden and weak. I shouldered the pack, and started walking again. My vision was growing gray. Not rapidly, but I noticed blurriness just at the edges of my peripheral vision.

I stumbled as a stick rolled under my foot, my ankle folding. I jerked my weight back, trying to avoid falling, but I overcompensated. My body impacted with the ground, but it took my brain a moment to register.

I groaned, and started to sit up, when a flash of silver caught my attention. Turning my head to the left, I saw a massive coil flex, the scales shimmering as it moved. Tracking the coil, I found the head looming up over me.

I gasped.

The snake stared at me, the beady eyes black and unexpressive. Its head was as big as my torso, much bigger than the one Ms. Dale scared away. Its tongue flicked out, pink and forked, tasting the air. I was aware of the sound of it breathing, like air escaping a tire. The coils tightened, and it reared back.

I rolled out of the way in time for its head to impact the ground with a snap. Adrenaline was flowing through me, cutting through the fog and pain. I continued to roll on my side, and then tucked my body. My muscle memory was working for me for once, and I managed to roll so I was up on one knee. I drew the gun from my pocket, sighting down the barrel.

The python hissed at me, the coils spooling up again. I exhaled, and squeezed the trigger, unloading the entire clip into its open mouth. I was glad the target area was so large, because even though the adrenaline was helping, I wasn’t sure I would have been able to hit a smaller mark.

The snake thrashed, blood pouring from the twelve bullet holes in its head and mouth. For a second, I thought that somehow, even with all of those bullets, I had missed the vital organs. I started to reload the clip when it suddenly collapsed, the coils slackening.

I exhaled, my breathing hard. Leaning over, I tore off my mask, and immediately emptied the contents of my stomach onto the ground. The adrenaline was receding, leaving me even more tired than when I had started. Yet again, I was faced with the option of just lying there and going to sleep.

I wasn’t sure how I kept getting back up. It was almost mechanical at this point. My body was beyond exhausted, but it was like it didn’t know how to do anything else but walk.

Picking myself up, I staggered under the weight of my bag, but remained upright. I picked up my stick, and then continued moving south. I double checked my compass, just to make sure I was reading it correctly.

I walked until I thought my vision had gone dark. It took me a while to realize the sun had set. I took out my flashlight, and began stumbling around, looking for a place to sleep. Eventually, I found two massive roots to a tree sticking out of the ground, providing cover on both sides. I sprayed it with the aerosol can, watching the moss wilt and die under it. I managed to place the pack gently on the ground, and then I allowed myself the luxury of collapsing.

I rolled over, so I was lying on my back. I was thirsty again, always thirsty, so I tried to work my canteen out of my pocket. I couldn’t even feel my fingers, so it took me what felt like an eternity to get it out. Rolling over to my side, I managed to pry it open, and tilt it so that the cool water trickled past my lips.

I immediately vomited it up. I tried again, drinking a smaller amount, with the same result. After the third attempt, once I finished heaving, I gave up, and rolled over on my back.

Once again, the Benuxupane filled my thoughts. It wasn’t because of fear, or grief, or pain, or even the guilt that I thought of it. Those feelings were there, but they were buried under something greater. Something more terrifying and upsetting.

I wanted the Benuxupane because I knew I was finally giving up. I could feel the icy darkness of sleep waiting just behind my eyes. Every time I shut them, I could hear the beating of great wings, ready to pick me up and carry me off to wherever the dead go. I didn’t want to feel myself surrender to death. I didn’t want to experience the feeling of being beaten. It was a point of pride at this point, but this final act was mine and mine alone.

Reaching out, I felt around on the ground, searching for the strap of the bag. I couldn’t roll over at this point—I didn’t have the energy to burn anymore. So I reached, until I felt the canvas fabric in my hands. I pulled it over, finding one final burst of energy to pull it until it rested against my stomach.

My vision was almost completely faded at this point, the darkness creeping in. I reached in the bag, my fingers seeking the vial of pills.

Then darkness claimed me and I was falling away from the world, into a pit of black.