Chapter 2 REVENANT'S PAST - PART 7

It should be Three in the morning if my internal clock isn’t rock. The witching hour. There’s no witching to be done in the post-apocalypse. Or is there? I’ve only had a couple of days out here and know absolutely nothing.

“Ugh.”

Even thinking is a problem, lugging the weight over my shoulder. It’s smaller than the ones I caught earlier but it’s real heavy. Each step was crushing.

My destination: The witch looking old lady.

Walking through the thatched huts and tents the place was eerily silent and lonely. But I didn’t feel the loneliness where you’d feel like someone or something would reach out from the darkness at anytime and grab you, rather there was some distant—vague feeling of people around.

Come to think of it: what is the price of a life in this end times? And would this monster corpse be enough to pay of the price of saving the Trog’s life with the witch’s evil-looking potion?

It took a while but I made it. A knock late I let the beast on my shoulder drop with a thud,