"Please…" the boy whispered, "No hyenas, dad… I'm afraid." He went silent.

That was the moment when old Crogan went mad. He cried, tearing his hair out one moment, praying the next, he cursed, he begged his son to wake up… Then the world went dark for him, literally, for Crogan went blind.

Kangassk caught a glimpse of a dark figure walking through the fog. Soon, a stranger emerged from beyond the misty veil. He wore no kevlar, just a green woollen cloak over his worn leather clothing. The gun he carried had a black, bulging “eye” on its barrel. Uncovered, the “eye” blinked with every step. Kan couldn’t stop looking at it.

“This is your punishment, Crogan,” said the stranger, “Do you remember how you tortured my son to death? He was about the same age as yours. Does it seem fun to you now?”

The old man didn’t answer. He kept raving – praying, cursing, begging… but suddenly there was a glimpse of consciousness, so brief yet so bright.

“Kill! Kill me as well!” demanded Crogan.

“No,” the ghost shooter shook his head. His voice was icy cold, merciless. “I want you to live. And suffer, like I did.”

That said, he stepped over the dead boy’s body and approached Vlada and Kangassk.

“I’m Sasler,” he introduced himself. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you since you left the old road, wanted to keep you safe. Little did I know where you would lead me, kids. But I’m grateful. I dreamed of revenge for years. It feels good to be free again… Now, take the guns from the dead and be on your way. No one will hurt you any more.”

He didn’t wait for the answer, he just turned around and walked away. Soon, he was no more than a dark silhouette in the fog. The “eye” on his rifle kept glimmering through the white veil long after he had disappeared altogether.

Vlada and Kan left the deadly place with a heavy heart. All the way to the border of the region they kept hearing the old man’s cry.

Chapter 3. White gloom

The wounds didn’t let Kan and Vlada walk far, so they camped as soon as they left the Burnt Region behind them. Making a fire so close to the bandit territory was a bad idea but they needed hot water to wash the wounds, so Vlada decided to risk it.

They made their camp at the foot of a bare hill near a chatty cold rivulet snaking between the stones. Vlada left Kan with the chargas and went to fetch water. While she was away the good-natured beasts licked the boy’s wounds as well as their own. He didn’t protest. He was unable to, being barely conscious with fever. Hyena bites are nasty.

The travellers were lucky that burngrass, a field medic’s best friend, grew in abundance around that hill. It makes an excellent antiseptic when boiled in water. The chargas sniffed suspiciously at the cauldron with the burngrass potion. Obviously, treating them with it was out of question.

Kangassk’s leg, the one bitten by the hyena, swelled so badly it barely fitted into the boot now. Vlada, too, hadn’t come out of the battle unscathed this time. She got a stray bullet to the shoulder. Her kevlar cloak did help a lot, but the nasty piece of lead went through it anyway which resulted in a shallow but painful wound surrounded with a darkish bruise.

Their wounds treated, the travellers ate a cold supper and tried to sleep. It wasn’t easy. Kangassk could only guess what his companion might have been thinking about; as for him, he couldn’t close his eyes without seeing the battle again, the old man crying over the dead boy, or a dark shadow of Sasler the punisher walking through the mist, the bulging eye on his rifle glinting with every step.