The fire is warm and I wish I could just fall asleep. But I’m so hungry and start to think even favorably of those yellow and gray meal portions that looked like mashed potatoes went bad, the ones they used to feed us back in jail around the clock.

Even my Personal Intelligence Assistant uninvitedly displays me a blue screen saying,

Warning: Energy is below 50 percent

That’s not bad. Why would that be so alarming? Explain, please.

Estimated Energy in 24 hours without replenishment (assuming the same level of activity as the last 24 hours): 20 Percent

Estimated Fat Deposit in 24 hours: 25 percent

Your Physical and Mental Abilities will be negatively impacted starting tomorrow

“Shit, I guess I should better eat something then,” I say out loud. “I don’t want my mental abilities to deteriorate even further than they already are.”

“Yeah, we would not want that,” Zan says sarcastically.”

“So, let’s eat.”

“Well, I wish I could tell you they left us some energy bars in any of the backpacks. But, they did not, I looked, and they didn’t,” Zan adds, the growling of his own stomach reaching my ears.

“But I have to eat,” I say with a tone and determination of a madman. “Anything will do.”

He looks at me with worry on his face, suddenly crawling up in a ball, becoming smaller. “What, what are you thinking?”

“I know where there’s meat,” I look at his face, almost have to laugh seeing his expression. “Not you, you moron.” His mental abilities seem to be already impacted, severely. “The wolverrie I killed.”

“That meat stinks.”

“You know of any better alternative?”

“Nope,” he answers swiftly.

“Besides, it smelled bad because I opened its inside. The meat on the back of his spine might not smell so bad at all.”

He looks at me, but his stomach answers.

“That’s what I thought,” I say. “I’ll cut some meat up, and you cut some branches off. Try to pick those that are not all dried up. That way, they may not burn so fast when we roast our meat on them. We’ll make us some kabobs.”

“Okay,” he agrees readily, and we go outside.

The body of the wolverrie is there where I left it, a few steps away from the entrance but now already half-covered by snow.

I work fast. I first finish opening up his belly and finish taking out his intestines, heart, liver, and all other organs. I throw them as far as I can. But that does little to help my nostrils. The smell is ten times worse than before, but I care not. The bad stench will not kill me.

I scream to Zan not to move too far into the night looking for sticks. It's so fucken' dark and the light of the fire is hidden by entrance rocks that he might lose himself rather quickly. But then I realize just because he is small that does not make him a child. He probably knows what he is doing.

So, I go back to carving the animal up. There is plenty of meat on him, but I do not want his legs or shoulders. I go for his backstrap. The blade is good and sharp and before too long, I open his back enough to get a long strip of meat out, maybe good three pounds of it.

When I get back in, Zan is back inside ready with the twigs he sharpened on one end, cleaned them nicely all around. And we swiftly work on slicing the meat in bite sizes, sticking it all on.

As soon as the meat hits the fire, the smell actually becomes almost tolerable. Almost pleasant. So pleasant that it does not take long for Zan to decide to take a skewer, ready to bite into it.

I almost don’t have enough time to stop him before his teeth sink into it. “Stop!” I say. “You don’t want to eat that yet. This is a strange new world, own parasites, and bugs. We need to cook it well, very well, all the way through, or else you may be sick like a dog in a few hours.”

“Didn’t think about that,” he says as he slowly puts the wolverrie skewer back on the fire. “Thanks for the warning.”

“Better give it a minute or two longer. Turn it around a bit, let it sizzle some more.”

I go back outside. It’s a dark night by now. Snow is falling down in full force. I rub my hands and try to clean them all I can till the cold does not start to bite me too much. Then I pack a bunch of snow inside my water bag and return to the cave.

Zan is there, staring at the skewers. “You think they are done yet?”

“Oh, yeah,” I say and reach out for one.

I do not need to tell you how it tastes. I do not even pay it any attention. Just swallow it hot, let the stomach do what it’s supposed to do. Then I wash it down with some cool water that was snow just a minute ago.

Zan does not comment on the taste either. It’s so good we leave half of it close to the fire. Maybe if it smokes a whole night, it would be better in the morning.

As I settle comfortably next to the fire, I check to see my energy now.

Energy: 60 percent and rising.

Projection: You have enough nutrients inside the stomach to raise it to 90 percent when fully absorbed.

Good. That's taken care of. Not worth talking or thinking about it. No. Not at all. The wind is howling outside, but I’m nice and warm. Tired. And sleep comes easy.

The sleep overcomes me, for how long, I don’t know. But at one point, I become aware that I’ve drifted to a place that is wrapped in a strange fog with tall pine trees around, just like the ravine we landed on. And just like what happened before, there are all these people around me. Some are familiar faces, others are strangers.

It’s almost as if I’m rewinding the film from the day passed. Yet, it feels different. Feels very weird. But it’s almost like it’s the same scene just shot from a different angle. Somehow I know wolverries are coming, and I don't want to be among that crowd when they do. So, I ran, far and away. But as far and fast as I run, I am still not far away enough, and I decide to climb a tree.

It is all so familiar makes me think if I’m just recounting what had just happened that day. Maybe. My brain or my chip is just processing information.

I was sure I ran for a long time, but I'm close enough to watch as wolverries come, not in dozens but hundreds, a whole army of them. Moving quietly and inconspicuously around. I watch them approach and I'm silent, not shouting a warning to the people I left behind. Then, as the beasts circle them all in, something strange steers in me as I see a face of a person there.

He's young, in his teens. Actually, it occurs to me that I know exactly how old he is. Only fifteen. Fifteen, the number of years I spent locked up in the penitentiary. And I know who he is. Never met him before, never saw his face, but I know who he is. A tall, skinny fella, with strong face lines. Good-natured lines, not like mine, evil and threatening, made of killing and exterminating life across the whole galaxy. He has big blue eyes, like mine. Looks so gullible, so vulnerable, looking around, not knowing what to do, not knowing what is about to happen next.

I feel a sharp pain in my heart, my chest, and I want to scream to him, to run, to hide, away from the beasts, those he is among and those that are encircling them around, hidden by the trees and undergrowth, sneaking upon him with their heads nudged to the ground, ready to attack him any second.

I want to scream but it's too late, the wolverries attack, and I... know I should have warned him, should have yelled a warning when I still had a chance, and now it's too late. He will die. I've seen Mr. Death too many times not to believe in him.

So, I need to jump the ground and run, try to save my boy, run like crazy among all the beasts and fight against Mr. Death for the right of my unborn son to live.

I move but my legs are constrained, and I kick and fight, but I'm tied up and can't move an inch.

WARNING! WARNING!

Something different. It echoes loudly in my head, and I shake it as I open my eyes.

Instantly feel better to realize that was but a dream. No matter what feeling it left me with, it was just a dream. I feel better. I recall I did not see the face of my boy dead. There is still time. I feel almost relieved. But only for a length of a single breath.

Because the blues screen pounds a warning in my head again,

WARNING! ATTACK and DEATH are imminent!!!

"What the hell?"

Through the light of the last rays of dying fire, I see something move in the darkness, want to move my legs, but can't. The ground is moving under me, around me, constraining me.

I try to kick my legs free as hard as I can, but they are stuck, and the dark ground starts to close in on them, constraining them so hard it makes me want to scream in pain.

"What is that?" I say out loud, and two things instantly appear, a head of a huge wiper, raising up from the ground, leveling above my head, ready to strike me. I finally understand why my legs won't listen.

Simultaneously, the blue screen informs me,

WARNING! EITNIAN WIPER is within reach of striking and killing you.

You fucken' tell me that now?