75

The coarse stammer of the clansman’s machine pistol is the last sound you hear. Sharp, stinging cores of pain punch you repeatedly in the stomach and fearfully you clasp your hands to your midriff as you tumble backwards into the hollow. Warm blood oozes between your fingers, but although you are incapable of moving, you no longer feel pain. Aware that you have been shot, and that the shock of your wounds has numbed your senses, you close your eyes and slip away into the timeless embrace of death.

Tragically, your journey and your life end here at Round Mountain.