Forest Fryer

Image CC-BY by The US Army

by DB


Slack Batterton dodged off the footpath, out of sight of his pursuers.

“Christ, that was close,” he muttered, wiping the sweat from his tanned brow. He looked around for a likely place to hide so he could rest for a while. It had been hours since he’d stopped running. Spying a depression in the ground, he quietly edged toward it, picking up some fallen branches that he pulled on top of himself for camouflage once he lay down.

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