Michael shivered at the icy wind. He tossed and turned, and every muscle in his body ached as if someone had beaten him senseless. Had his mother punished him for doing something stupid? But that wasn't right. His mother was not abusive. The punishments he received from her were never painful. They were always constructive. Then what had happened to him?
Michael groaned, turning again.
His butt itched. Michael scratched at it and found a lump there. He woke up screaming.
"What was that?"
He stood up and looked behind himself. A black, slimy, thumb-sized creature was protruding from his butt-cheek. No, not just in his butt—there were three more of them; one on his ankle, one beneath his ribcage, and the last below his elbow.
Michael plucked the one protruding from his butt and tossed it. He stomped on it, and blood squirted out of it. Michael retched.
And now he understood what they were. Leeches. He had never seen one before. Michael plucked all three remaining ones as well and threw them as far as he could. Blood welled up in his puncture wounds and flowed freely.
Michael looked down, frowning at the bloodstain resulting from the leech that he had stumped upon.
"Damn it, I just cleaned that yesterday." Now he understood why his mother got angry every time he littered. All that hard work only to be faced with this new stain. It was infuriating.
Michael had filled all the largest pots with water. He drank from one of them. And used the water from the same pot to wash his face and clean the blood.
Curiously, as soon as he cleaned the blood, it welled up again, flowing once more. After three failed tries to clean it, he gave up. The blood just did not stop. The wounds itched horribly.
Michael realised he has to pee and poop. But there was no toilet here. How was he to do this? Peeing was not the problem—it was the number two that gave him a headache.
In the end, after quite a bit of searching, he found a place surrounded by bushes and small trees. He carried the shovel with him and began to dig.
It wasn't much of a toilet, but it had to suffice. Michael crouched over the pit. What was he doing hiding behind a bush? It wasn't as if there were people to gawk at him. And yet the thought of doing it in the wide open space sent a chill down his spine.
"The soul wants what it wants."
Once he was done, he used leaves and water he had brought to clean himself. He buried excrements, but not the entirety of the pit—he thought he could use it for about a week.
Michael returned to the pavilion and used ashes from last night's fire to bathe in the nearby river. His wounds wouldn't stop itching or bleeding. The bleeding weren't too excessive to be dangerous, but it was a constant flow.
Michael went up river to inspect the fishing net.
"Let's see. What do we have here?" Michael muttered to himself as he examined the fishing net he had set up the previous day.The fishing net had proven successful, ensnaring thirteen fish of various colours and sizes, all still wriggling with life. Michael's eyes lit up with satisfaction.
Michael carried the fishing net back to the pavilion and carefully transferred the fish into makeshift containers—two of the barrel-sized pots—before going back and resetting the fishing net.
The pots with water kept the fish alive and fresh until he decided to cook them. If only he had seasonings. His stomach rumbled at the thought of a hot meal, seasonings or no.
The other day, he had roasted the fish over an open fire. Today, he boiled the largest fish in the pot. Variety was crucial when every meal consisted of nothing but fish.
After a satisfying meal of boiled fish, Michael felt a renewed sense of energy and purpose. It was time for him to explore beyond the pavilion, to see what resources the forest might offer.
Michael walked cautiously into the forest, his axe gripped firmly by his hand. The forest floor was carpeted with low grasses, and the trunks of the trees towered overhead. Michael had never encountered trees so immense before; their girth made him feel insignificant. Mars didn't have such enormous trees, it barely had any, for that matter.
The dense canopy above blocked the sunlight, casting the forest floor into a sense of evening. Despite the expanse of the forest, he noticed the absence of birds, though the occasional rustle in the leaves hinted of other creatures.
Hopefully not snakes. Michael loathed snakes. There was just something about them… He shuddered.
Amongst the towering trees, Michael spotted numerous beehives clinging to branches. Finally, something promising. He made a mental note of their locations; honey was a valuable find, especially for his wounds.
Determined not to lose his way in the forest, Michael carefully carved marks into the bark of several trees as he ventured deeper into the forest.
After several minutes of hike, Michael detected an unusual sight. Was that a trail? The path bore signs of human influence: trampled vegetation and disturbed earth. Curious, Michael followed the trail. It might lead to civilization. He forgot the fact that he was naked.
In the middle of his journey, A faint, unpleasant odour wafted through the air. Michael smelled a whiff of something rotten. Though it might be dangerous, he followed that smell, holding the axe before him.
There, amidst the fallen leaves, he found the source of the odour—four decaying carcasses, with deep lacerations. They were humans and something had ripped their flesh apart. Michael's stomach heaved, losing the fish he had eaten.
Four corpses, it couldn't be. The number jogged his memory. There were four upended chairs in the pavilion, when he at first found it. And now he finds four human remains in the forest—it wasn't a coincidence.
Why had they run away and what had killed them? He tried not to think about it.
Michael inspected the remains, touching none of them. He wanted to vomit once more, but he forced his nausea down.
They had nothing in them. Nothing but clothes. Michael was tired of being naked all the time. It was morbid, but he could use those clothes after washing them. They were torn, but usable.
Michael removed the clothes from all four of them and gagged at the smell, but what choice did he have?
The clothes had worn out, and he knew it would tear easily. But these clothes were better than nothing.
His mother had once told him that everybody had their place in this world. It seemed that the statement was true for even the dead. After all, they had been useful to Michael. The least I can do now is bury them.
Michael brought back the shovel from the pavilion and buried them in a single grave. He marked the grave with a stick. He had nothing else.
He carried the clothes he had salvaged from the dead, washed them in the river before setting them to dry in the sun. He decided to do it multiple times until there was no smell.
Of course, he had to be delicate. He did not want to damage the clothes further. It would probably take him days.
With little else to do, Michael experimented with the skill he had acquired, [Life Detection], a skill that allowed him to perceive living beings in his vicinity. He learned that the skill's effect lasted only a minute and had to wait an hour to use it again.
Through further hours of waiting and experimentation, he discovered that by reducing the radius of detection slightly, he could extend the skill's duration to about two minutes. It wasn't a significant improvement, but it was something useful to know.
Beyond this, Michael found little else to enhance the skill.
Of course, it was a useful tool to find game in the forest to hunt them. That way, he won't have to eat fish all the time.
It was nightfall, so went to sleep. Not outside, but in the cabin, he did not want to be bitten by leaches again. It had taken a long time for the bleeding to stop.
Inside the cabin, Michael settled down uneasily. The memory of the corpses he had encountered haunted his thoughts, Keeping him awake for much of the night.
What had killed them? It gnawed at his mind. Was he following in their footsteps?