|Image CC-BY by The US Army|
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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