《Fox Fire Soldier》


 Slippery when Wet

    I carefully pick my way through the mountain laurels and hollys scanning the ground for mushrooms, shed antlers, or really anything interesting. I smile at the fat grey squirrel hanging upside down in a big shag bark hickory, barking at me, telling the world about the intruder. The machine gun like sound of a pileated wood pecker in the distance pauses the squirrel for a moment. I keep moving following a well-worn deer trail along the mountainside. Coming across a small spur, I spot a wash with a small creek running down from some spring higher up the ridge. As I drew closer, I spotted a grouping of bright red mushrooms and smiled at the thought of them fried in rendered bear fat with ramps and maybe a squirrel. Reaching the creek, I grab a mushroom and examine it, confirming it is a cinnabar chantrelle, one of the few mushrooms my stepfather taught me about. I gather them cutting off the stem to leave as much dirt behind as possible before placing them in a mesh bag at my hip where their spores can be spread throughout the rest of my hike. I work my way down the creek gathering as I go, filling one gallon sized bag and half another before the patch disappears. I continue along the creek until I find another well-worn deer trail to follow back around the southern face of the ridge toward my little homestead. I quietly slip my slingshot from my bag and place a steel bullet in the pouch. I scan the trees and the under story for squirrels, rabbits, or grouse. It''s not long before I get a shot at a healthy looking younger squirrel. I line up the shot and release the band, and watch the bullet zip through the air, nearly beheading my unaware victim who falls twitching from the tulip poplar he was sitting in. The small stab of pain in my heart for killing the little feller is overshadowed by my perfect shot. He felt nothing and lived a better life than any commercial meat. I pray I can have such a clean death up in the mountains where I belong. I walk over to pick him up, and as I grab his tail, my foot hits a piece of shale covered in wet leaves, shooting out from under me. For a fraction of a second, I feel myself falling squirrel in hand, ending abruptly as my head explodes in an instant hot pain, which quickly gives way to darkness.


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

 A squirrel in the hand

    I jerk awake frantically scrambling for my rifle and the MRAPs door handle. The ringing in my ears and tunnel vision only add to my confusion at being out in a forest laying flat on my back. With my head busting with pain and my ears ringing, I lay down and groan, trying to piece together what''s happening.... right, I was hiking.... I gingerly touch my head, finding my hair slicked back and sticky with half dried blood. "Fuck" I mutter I wipe my hands off on my heavy car hart hoodie before gently running my hands down my neck, and torso feeling for any obvious problems before checking them for more blood. With my hands coming back relatively blood free, I carefully sit up, ready to fall back down should I feel the need to. I manage to get myself into a cross legged sitting position my head cradled in my hands with elbows on my knees. I sit up completely and grab the canteen off my hip taking a small sip and start scanning my surroundings noting an odd lack of pain in my neck as I do so. I spend awhile just scanning the forest around me sipping water as my head ache and the ringing in my ears decreases ever so slightly. Now that I feel stable I start to notice something odd. It''s June, but a lot of the trees look like they''re already well into fall. The yellows and reds that cause southern Appalachia to be plagued with city people on the weekends are in plain view. I notice the squirrel I shot laying a few feet down the slope from me. I cautiously stand up and pause to see if I will keep my feet. Confident I won''t swoon I grab my squirrel and put it into my dumpsack. I check through my gear doing a quick inventory to make sure nothing came un stowed. I take a minute to look at my compass and study the mountains around me before scratching my head. "When all else fails, follow water." I mutter as I set off down the mountainside following a wash. I carefully pick my way down the mountain puzzled by how open the canopy of the forest is. I''m being forced to stay in game trails due to dense thickets of wild plums, service berries, blueberries, and to my great joy hazelnuts. I can''t help myself but fill my dump sack and pockets with nuts cracking several open with my Leatherman to check for worms as I go. As i follow various game trails down the mountain and across small creeks, I come across patches of Persimmon and pawpaw that are just out of season to my great disappointment. After a few hours of following these game trails, I''m getting more and more confused. I haven''t seen any sign of humans, and there''s aloy more evidence of fire than I''m used to seeing. There''s no litter. there are no sounds of traffic in the distance anywhere, no old logging roads or mining sites. Just untouch forest swarming with life. It''s not long before I lose track of how many deer I spook. I even come up on a bachelor group of three tom turkeys as I crawl out of an extra dense laurel thicket. When I come to a huge windfall tree, I sit down a minute to rest and look to see where the sun is in the sky to get an idea of how much daylight I have left. I judge I have about two hours of light left. Which is less than ideal given how hopelessly lost I am. I''ve hiked my land and the national forest around my cabin every day for three years. Ever since I got out of the hospital, and nothing looks familiar, I don''t remember ever seeing a hazelnut in the wild. Let alone thickets of them. Shrugging, I start to put my hand down on the forest floor to stand up when I nearly put it on the hateful husk of a chestnut. Standing up, I look around, and it doesn''t take me long to see that I''m standing in a grove of chestnut trees ranging from saplings to ancient monarchs of the forest 3 and 4 feet thick. My hands start shaking as I look at the impossible sight around me. The stories I heard from my pawpaw of his dad taking him out with mules harvesting literal tons of chestnuts to sell at the rail head. He told me about how they died out through his life and how blessed we were with the lone survivor tree he planted in the yard. I remember when I was in high school when men from the state came out and collected cuttings and seed from our tree, only for it to be dead and gone when I got home from Afghanistan. Through two back to back tours in hell, I never once broke down, I never once questioned God, but seeing that stump sitting in the yard surrounded by my mom''s hasta''s broke me. I collapsed in the yard, my mom and sister running to me as I curled into myself crying, over my pawpaw, my battle buddies, the full use of my body, and my tree.


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

 Is Worth

    Standing staring in awe of the ancient trees surrounding me, I''m overcome with a sense of peace I''ve only ever known after bawling my eyes out at the altar. For the first time in years, I don''t feel any pain. Even my head where I fell isn''t hurting. I fall to my knees, "Lord, I don''t deserve this." I utter in near mute silence. I sit silently praying for a moment before turning my head where my eyes land on an odd little pile of leaves. The instant my eyes land on it, it explodes into a spiral of feathers as a grouse shoots into the sky like a short bus helicopter. "Holy fuck shit!!!" I yell falling onto my ass. I start laughing as my heart hammering in my chest. I watch it fly off into the trees, his unusual survival technique, never failing to give me a heart attack. "Way to prove a point," I say, looking pointed at the sky. Feeling silly at my vulgar outburst. "Pawpaw always said you have a sense of humor," i say half in prayer half in jest. I slowly find my feet again and put my gloves on to gather as many hood nuts as I can, looking over every nut for worm holes. It doesn''t take me long to fill my small backpack to bursting. Which leaves me with nowhere to put any more after my previous foraging. I pull my estwind camp axe off the side of my bag and carefully mark my path on downed logs and standing dead timber stopping to make sure it''s easy to follow as I continue to work my way down the mountain as I search for a creek to camp at. After only a half hour or so of wandering along game trails, I happen upon a small springhead trickling into a creak that I can see joining a larger stream just down the holler. I''m happy with my spot for the night, so I quickly set to finding a spot with no snags or widow makers and use my E-tool to dig a small fire pit clearing away leaves and debris In a five foot circle around the pit which I line with rocks until I have a suitable fire place then I set to finding a standing dead tree near by which I set to felling and processing with my katanaboy saw. With plenty of firewood stacked and ready, I set to starting a fire with my ferro rod and striker. In just a few tries, I have a happy little fire started, and I feed it twigs slowly, building it into a decent sized campfire with 6-inch logs burning over it. I spend a few minutes whittling out two Y sticks and a spit before quickly cleaning my squirrel. I set the spitted squirrel to the side until the fire burns down some while I bury the offal 50 feet from camp or so. I debated with myself briefly over keeping the pelt but decided against it for now and bury it as well. While I wait for my fire to burn down, I begin the well practiced task of setting up my tent hammock. I am feeling very pleased with myself for bringing my weekend pack instead of my day bag for today''s hike. With my shelter up and time to kill for the fire, I go through my bag and do a layout on my poncho. Just having my saw and axe are huge, let alone my hammock, sleeping bag, auger, pocket stove, and mess kit that I normally don''t bring. The water filter, first aide kit, flare gun, road flares, emergency MRE mora knife, pocket knife, sling shot, and Leatherman I always have. Add to that all the food I gathered through the day, and I''m actually in a great position going forward. I pack everything away and move back to the fire. With it nearly ready, I set up my little pocket wood stove and move a couple of coals to it and feed it some small sticks before I start my squirrel to roasting. Then i start rendering what little organ fat I got from my squirrel. Once it has rendered out a teaspoon or so, I add in a handful of my cinnabar chantrelles, which sizzle on contact, releasing an incredible aroma. Once they are cooked, I transfer them to my plate and set some chestnuts to boil in my little pot. While I monitor the food on the fire, I snack on my mushrooms, enjoying the crackling of the fire and the gentle burble of the creek. It doesn''t take long for the young squirrel to be cooked, and I take it off the fire and add a few logs now that it''s getting truly dark. I pick at the squirrel enjoying it despite how tough it is from being cooked so quickly. With my meal finished, I test a chestnut with my pocket knife and decide they are cooked enough, I pour off the water and set them aside to cool. After ten minutes, I gingerly start peeling them, discarding a few bad ones and putting the rest aside for breakfast. Exhausted from an incredibly long day, I put all my food into my bag and hoist it into a tree just outside of camp before banking the fire and crawling into my hammock where my new world sings me to sleep.


    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

 Two in the Bush

    I wake to gentle rustling in a thicket off to my left. I lay quietly for a few minutes listening and waiting to better determine what''s out there. As the rustling continues from at least two spots, I slowly unzip my hammock cringing at the noise. I carefully take my head lamp out of my pocket and slip it on, covering it with one hand while I switch it on with the other. Ready to rock, I roll out of my hammock away from the rustling, uncovering my head lamp and reaching for my belt knife. "HA BEAR!!!" I yell, expecting the noises to just be curious black bears or raccoons. I''m startled to see  two short hairy, human like creatures squealing and bolting into the thicket in fear. With my heart hammering, I quickly survey my surroundings and throw more wood on the fire, digging in the coals to wake it. I sheath my belt knife and retrieve my camp axe before getting my 4 rechargeable mini lanterns out and spreading them around the camp site. Slowly calming down, knowing i wont be able to sleep i start stacking my firewood under my hammock to make a barrier at one side of my campsite, leaving a larger log to sit on facing the fire. I sit watching the peaceful magical dark forest long into the night, imagining eyes staring back at me. My mind occasionally sliping away to the countless hours of D&D and Pathfinder that the boys and i played in our downtime. Goblins just keep coming to mind. Sure, they weren''t green or anything, and honestly, it looked more like a chimp got freaky with gollum, but still. "Fucking goblins." I whisper looking down at the axe sitting in my lap. I laugh at myself for wishing it had just been a black bear. I know black bears they are easy, don''t corner them or get near a baby, and you''re fine, especially with how much food is available around here. But this, these i have no idea how to handle. Are they aggressive predators, curious scavengers, playful herbivores, or hell, even sentient people?  If I hurt or kill one, will a whole tribe of them descend upon me? They obviously are at least a little social. In the morning, I will look for tracks and see if I can learn anything new before I start building a safer camp. At least the goblins ensure I''m not in my mountains anymore.


    Watching the sum slowly rise while camping has always been magical to me but never quite so much as this morning. Something about an unknown danger lurking in the darkness gives you a whole new appreciation of the sun. I set my chestnuts in a pot of water to warm by the fire as I gathered my lanterns and head lamp before setting up my little power station and foldable solar panel in a sunny spot. I look around for something to do, hoping not to waste too much daylight. Coming up blank on any obvious tasks I set to walking in expanding circles around camp, keeping my gear in sight at all times, just scouting around looking for anything I might have missed yesterday. I get excited to find a spicebush near the little creek and harvest a small handful of its berries, making the short walk back to camp to add some to breakfast. Standing up from giving my pot a stir, I notice a coppery glint half hidden under some leaves where I saw the creatures last night. I cautiously walk over and use my axe to prod the object. It''s a  copper knife with a blade about a foot long and a leather wrapped handle. I gingerly pick it up and look it over, noting simple engravings on the blade. "They must have dropped it when I scared them," I say to myself. A tool/weapon like this would be incredibly valuable to primitive tribes. I can''t help but wonder if they made it or acquired it some other way. I know several North American native tribes figured out how to work copper gold and silver before Europeans arrived, and that would explain the signs of fire as well as the prevalence of edible plants. The Cherokee were incredible foresters managing huge orchards of semi domesticated fruit and nut trees all over the mountains. I walk back to my little fire, fiddling with the knife all the while. I gently lay it down on a log and set to eating my chestnut porridge, enjoying the spicy citrus flavor, the spicebush brought to the table. I make a mental note to make sure I have plenty for the future.


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    After breakfast, I pack up my hammock and check my battery levels. With all of them being around 70%, I figure they are good enough for now. I don''t plan on going far. I pack them away aswell. With camp all packed up, I use my pot to douse my fire and my e tool to bury it. I look over my trophy knife for a minute. On one hand, it''s cool, and you can never have enough blades, but on the other hand, it gives me an avenue for peace. With peace always being worth working toward I spend a few minutes laying the knife out on a log next to my fireplace along with some spicebush berries, hazelnuts, and chestnuts hoping my guests last night get the picture. With that handled, I set off following the little creek, keeping an eye out for a good defensive position to call home for a while.