I didn’t run at first.

I wanted to after the sick sight of their little message, but considering the aim that Viking woman had with her bow, no amount of running would save me if I bolted now.

I also wasn’t sure if this was a warning that I’d shown up at the wrong part of the river. All I guessed was that those bastards knew exactly where I’d been hiding, and they didn’t bother attacking me yet.

I just hoped I hadn’t stumbled into some kind of twisted game, and I turned away from the decapitated body to get the hell out of there. I crept through the deepest crags of the stony banks first while I periodically checked the upper ridge and the path behind me, and I kept working my way downstream for another ten minutes. Then I scaled the ridge as fast as I could while I stayed low amongst the shards of rock, and once I reached the top of the stacks, I had a clearer visual of the area.

There was still no one in sight.

Nothing but blank white stone and clear water stretched out below me, and as I crossed over the ridge, I could see the dim forest under the red pines was deserted. The lowest, winding branches only had scarlet needles clustered across them, and the tangled black thorns didn’t shift even the slightest bit.

I finally bolted like my ass was on fire.

I stayed within earshot of the river as I sprinted between ashen trunks without stopping once, and I expected to die any minute the whole time I ran. I ignored the stitches in my sides and the burning of my lungs while I forced my legs to keep pumping at full bore, but eventually, I had to stop around the four-mile mark from how heavily I was breathing.

I snuck over the rocky ridge and back down toward the river again, and after sticking to a path between two massive white stones, I dropped to my knees at the river’s edge. My stomach wasn’t acting up at all from the one drink I’d taken earlier, and my throat was burning to be quenched, so I gulped down about half a gallon of water. I dunked my head in the river to cool myself off as well, and when I resurfaced, I decided I’d keep running for another few miles just to make sure there was plenty of distance between me and the guy with the axe.

Then I turned around and stopped short.

A single decapitated rabbit head was perched on the slab behind me, and it had to be fresh because stark red blood was seeping from its hollow eye sockets and severed neck.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I muttered as my adrenaline shot up, and I didn’t bother sneaking through the stones this time.

I lunged to the top of the rocks and crested the ridge, and when I didn’t see anyone around, I barreled down the other side and straight into the forest. I knew the terrain would open up more the further I got from the river, but this would at least give me a better visual of my stalkers.

Now that I knew where the river was, I could risk wandering off the path a bit if it meant my neck was saved, and I was used to keeping mental tabs on my coordinates in the wilderness. I ran all-out for a mile before I turned left and kept on running, and I constantly checked my back for any sign of the Vikings.

When I got too tired to keep running, I climbed a tree and took up a post deep between the thickest boughs, and I waited to see if the band of four appeared. Several minutes passed with only weasels showing up, and by then, I’d recovered enough to sprint for a ways more.

I jumped down, checked the area, and took off again, and I switched my direction every few minutes while I timed the change ups. I must have run ten or twelve miles before I started making my way back toward the river, and I only took two breaks in the treetops along the way.

No severed bunny heads showed up again, but I was running out of steam, and I knew my best bet would be to cross the river if these stalking assholes had some kind of claim on this region.

I forced my legs to keep up a decent pace while I followed a roundabout path through the woods, and when I arrived back by the stark white ridge of stone, I didn’t waste a second before climbing up and over.

Then I waded into the river, and the water only reached my chest at its highest point. The current wasn’t too strong to swim across, either, so I made good time while I let the water drag me downstream a bit. I took drinks along the way before I came out on the opposite bank, and once I quickly climbed the ridge, I headed deeper into the woods again.

The plant life was more of the same on this side, but the shards of stone were closer to gray in the area, and the terrain rose and fell more ruggedly, too. When I came to a slope that led up to a gray embankment, I scaled it to see how secluded the area below was, and I ended up looking down on a sea of glossy black brambles.

I decided a spot like this would be as close to camouflage as I’d get in these woods.

Unfortunately, the daylight looked like it would be starting to dim soon, and I’d have to get some food ASAP if I didn’t want to draw attention with a fire tonight. I was tempted to skip it, but after all the running I’d been doing, my blood sugar had tanked, and I didn’t want to risk being more vulnerable than I already was.

Especially if more of these twisted Viking fucks were lurking around the woods.

I immediately set to work finding a straight enough stick to make a knife spear out of, but the task was surprisingly difficult given the sparse and gnarled plant life. Eventually, I found an ashen tree that looked like another wild cat had torn it up, and I was able to find a sturdy stick with a two-inch diameter in the wreckage.

The tree must have been shredded a while ago, because the debris was well dried, and I brought an armful of firewood back to the thorny sea at the base of the embankment.

All this time, I kept a close watch on the forest around me, but no more bloody rabbit heads showed up, and I didn’t hear anyone in the vicinity, either. It looked like I’d finally shook my trackers off my trail, and I tore my way deep into the glossy black brambles before I used my hunting knife to cut a small clearing out.

My jacket and jeans spared me from most of the thorns, but not all of them, and after taking dozens of inch-long spikes to my thighs, I knew this was an ideal place to hole up in.

I cleared the ground in the space I’d cut out so I could work directly on the dark soil, and then I promptly got to work on my spear. I split the tip of the stick I found down the center for about seven inches first, and I broke off half the split to make a shelf before I cut a long strip of fabric from the bottom of my shirt. Then I laid the handle of my knife along the breakage with the base of the hilt resting flush on the shelf, and I wrapped the fabric around several times to make sure it was tightly secured.

A couple minutes later, I was heading back toward the river, but I scouted the place much more carefully this time without crossing over the top of the ridge. It took a moment to identify the winged rabbits against the wash of white, but as soon as I spotted one that looked to be five pounds, I angled myself lower against the back side of the ridge.

Luckily, my grandfather had let me get my own atlatl when I was twelve and in my “primitive is best” phase.

I came to my senses and switched back to my compound bow after a while, but I spent that full summer practicing with the atlatl on old baked bean cans in his woods. By fall, I took down my first blacktail buck with the thing, and the head was still mounted on the wall in Burt’s shop. Unfortunately, it had been four years since I last took out my atlatl, and I didn’t want to break the tip of my knife on the stone.

I’d have to make sure I struck the rabbit straight from the side, and I took a deep breath while I steadied my aim for a moment. Then I threw the knife spear, and the blade pierced my target through the ribs as the whole flock took off in a flutter of white wings.

I waited where I was once the banks had cleared to be sure no one else would be arriving after the commotion, and then I swiftly jumped down the ridge and retrieved my kill. I tucked four larger rocks into my jacket while I was down there, but then I hustled to get back to my camp and start cooking.

The day was fading slowly at least, and I was able to use the dried needles from the forest floor as kindling. The old wood I brought from the tree was as dry as I expected too, so it didn’t smoke too bad, and when I had a small fire going in my clearing, I clipped the rabbit’s wings and severed the head before I cut a hole near his armpit.

Then I peeled the coat off in a few pulls, and I was glad to find he was a meaty little guy. The backstrap and rear quarters looked like they’d be plenty of sustenance for the time being, and I quickly sliced the meat away and laid it out on the inner side of his pelt. I shaved the thorns off a few sturdy bramble stems to make some skewers, and I cut the meat into one-inch chunks so they’d cook as quickly as possible. Then I stacked the four stones from the river on either side of the fire, and I laid the loaded skewers across them to let the meat cook.

I was enclosed in a mass of black brambles that rose about two feet above my head here, and the embankment began ten feet behind me and reached about twenty feet into the air. The sky was only just starting to turn duskish, so I figured this was as good as I could get in terms of concealment, and I finally let myself sit back for the first time in hours.

I had no idea if the four Vikings I’d seen at the river would keep trying to track me now that I’d shaken them, but the thought of getting my head axed off was enough to make it impossible to let my guard down completely.

I’d cut plenty of heads off game in my life, so the bunnies were only mildly disturbing, but I’d honestly never seen a decapitated man before. That was a new one. I’d also never been deliberately stalked and toyed with in the middle of the wilderness by bodybuilder Vikings, and these were only a few elements of the ridiculous day I’d had.

Waking up uninjured in a scarlet forest without my truck around would have been weird enough, but add in the massive wild cat, the creepy weasels, and the flying rabbits, and I didn’t even know what to think. Apparently, legitimate Vikings still existed too, with access to steroids or something, and they wanted to catch me without knowing who I was or where I’d come from.

So… I had to ask myself once again… what the fuck?

I stared at the flames as I considered all this, and I slowly rotated the skewers to keep my nerves steady. Eventually, I realized all of these factors pointed to an alarming notion.

I couldn’t disregard the reality that I would have died at the Matanuska after a crash like that. There was no doubt in my mind I’d fallen to my death out there, but I didn’t remember the exact moment it happened.

I remembered the cold drop, and I remembered seeing everything above and below me. My life wasn’t flashing before my eyes, either, so I was completely present, but the moment before I landed was a blur. It sounded too impossible, but the world had faded to black like I’d dropped into a tunnel or something, so was it actually possible I’d been reborn, or transported to another world?

I couldn’t help snorting at the thought because it was the kind of crazy shit Brandon would have brought up. My brother was always devouring stories about interdimensional travel, alien warfare, and shit about riding dinosaurs, and if he was in my position, he probably would have jumped to this conclusion hours ago with an eager grin on his face.

And maybe he’d be onto something.

This wilderness was like nothing I’d ever seen or heard of on Earth, and I was never one to live under a rock. I might have spent my whole life in Alaska, but I’d read enough books and spent enough time online to have a broader scope of things than most of the people I worked with, and with all I’d learned, I couldn’t think of another explanation for how I would have ended up in a place like this.

On the other hand, I was sitting here as the exact same Aaron I’d been before, and I didn’t feel dead or reborn at all. Sure, I was miraculously unscathed from my tumble over the cliff, and I only had a stubborn and dull ache in my chest to show for it, but I was as hungry and worn out as a living man, and my thighs bled from the thorns like a living man’s would.

When I’d seen that Viking chick at the river, I felt pretty fucking alive too, and just the thought of her knotted braids tumbling over her bow and quiver made my blood heat up all over again.

Then I smirked at the flames, because the fact a woman like her even existed seemed like the best proof I’d landed in an alternate universe, and it might not be the worst thing.

I’d never known a woman who could handle a bow like that, especially not a simple longbow against flying targets, and she was even built like a goddess. Blonde hair, pink lips, and a perfect ass, but to top it all off, she seemed to have the primal senses of a wild animal.

So, yeah, to say I was intrigued would be a gross understatement. Half the reason I wasn’t panicking right now was because those splayed-leg squats kept replaying themselves in slow motion through my mind, and I couldn’t deny, I wouldn’t mind crossing paths with her again.

Not that I usually thought with my dick, but at this point, I was beginning to feel like I could almost afford to.

If I really was in a different world, then I hardly had anything to lose.

Well, aside from my life, but in all likelihood, I could survive out here. I had plenty of experience getting by in harsher terrain than this one, and I had all the tools I needed to live. The weather was mild, and I’d learned a decent amount about the area today, so I could already work on avoiding the primary predators.

One of my bigger issues was the hulking dudes with swords and axes, but if I figured out what spots to avoid, that could end up being less of a concern as well.

Why the hell something like this was a concern, I couldn’t be sure yet, but overall, I never would have gotten to witness a woman like that firsthand if the issue didn’t come up, so it was kind of worth it.

Then I remembered the sight of the eyeless bunny heads all staring up at me, and my focus abruptly shifted back to the issue of the decapitated body.

Maybe the Viking chick hadn’t been the one to do the deed, but she didn’t seem rattled about being in the dead body’s company. Hot or not, she could still be batshit crazy for all I knew, and she ran around with some burly ass men. Just recalling the way my blood turned to ice when I came out of hiding sent a fresh dose of anxiety through my limbs, and a hundred unsettling questions popped into my head all at once.

I took a deep breath as I rotated the skewers again, and I decided I’d focus on one thing at a time until I figured out what the hell had happened to me. Namely, I would avoid the area where the bunny incident occurred, even if the badass blonde might be nearby. Tomorrow, I’d work more on getting my bearings in the forest, and I’d see what I could do about figuring out which way I should head next.

Preferably, away from the guy with the bloody two-bit axe.

For now, I was set, and the meat was finished cooking just in time for the day to turn blue around me. The firewood was almost burned up, and I started in on my skewered dinner as soon as it cooled down a bit.

I was relieved to find the flying rabbit meat was absolutely delicious, but it didn’t taste like any rabbit I’d had before. It was closer to dove in both flavor and texture, but it was damn good, and I devoured all of it by the time my fire was down to embers. Then I tamped out the last of the coals with my boot before I stirred the soil up, and I quietly waited where I was for a while as I listened to the forest around me.

There was still no sign of anything bigger than the rodents I’d seen earlier, and I didn’t want to attract larger creatures to my spot while I slept, so I stood up, gathered the rabbit pelt and scraps, and brought it all toward the river. I dropped them near the base of the ridge for the scavengers to take care of, and then I climbed up to scan the darkened banks of white stone.

Now that it was decently dark, my attire helped me out more, and I quietly climbed over the ridge and stayed between shadowy crags to reach the water’s edge. I got my knife cleaned up and sheathed first thing, drank my fill of water for the night, took a piss, and glanced toward the sky. It didn’t smell like rain, but the sky was heavy with gray clouds, and a breeze had picked up that was coming downstream. I could tell the weather might take a turn soon, but more creatures were still coming out and squawking in the forest on either side of the river.

I headed back to my campsite before many more could start prowling around, and only a couple minutes later, a flicker of lightning flashed above the boughs. The wind picked up a bit as well, but it was several beats before a low rumble of thunder followed, and I zipped my jacket up against the fresh chill in the air.

It wasn’t too difficult finding my way in the dark. There was no moonlight, but the sparse terrain was easy to navigate, and the bit of lightning that came through the thick branches above provided a little extra visibility now and then. Mostly, I was just glad I finally blended in out here, and the notion relieved the last of my tension. At this point, my stomach was full, I’d recovered from my day of hauling ass, and I could sleep in the trees without having to worry about too much.

I focused on listening to the wildlife as I wove between the ashen trunks, but it was hard to gauge how many animals might be out there since even the huge wild cat I met earlier was capable of being deadly quiet. I could hear more clearly once the rushing river was farther away, and it sounded like most of the nearby creatures were of the bird variety. I assumed there must be a wider array of nocturnal rodents here than diurnal ones, and I was almost to the embankment when I registered something more distinct than I’d been hearing so far.

I slowed my pace as I squinted around at the darkened wilderness, and it still looked pretty barren between the large shadowy trunks. I couldn’t see well enough to distinguish between the thorny bushes or the stones, but from what I heard, there was definitely something traveling along a similar path as mine.

A few paces later, I realized the sound of steady footfalls was coming from two different points.

My concern heightened as I gauged that the two creatures were flanking me about fifteen feet away on either side, but when I heard something scrape against a trunk directly behind me, I knew I was being hunted.

I pulled my knife from its sheath as I scaled the slope of the embankment, and I decided my best bet would be to get lost in the sea of thorns below. Whatever was after me would most likely prefer prey they didn’t have to get cut up to catch, but before I could make it to the edge of the stones, I heard a low chuckle straight ahead.

“Hope you enjoyed your last meal, slave,” a woman murmured in a strange accent, and I halted as I realized the four Vikings already had me surrounded.