Coldwelders Log.

[Coldwelder]

The first few days-

First time back in the game since November. Loving the progress the game has made! I fired up a fresh file on Stalker, (first time choosing the difficulty) and chose the Coastal Highway, never having actually explored it, looking for a challenge. On night one I contract hypothermia trying to find a suitable shelter, nearly dying (2%) by the time I got indoors. I spend the next FIVE days at less than 40% Trying to stay warm without starving to death, moving from cabin to cabin, foraging for wood and canned beans. Then my eyes fall upon a proper house, two of them, and a metal shed. And I figure "I'm gonna make it", and quicken my step towards warmth and a full belly. But then, from 'round a blind corner, a wolf sprints toward me. Fumbling for my only flare, he pounces on me, thrashing and snarling. I break free, injuring the beast, and sprint for the flat-topped house, in shock and bleeding profusely. At under 10% health again, I gave up. I simply knew I was doomed to become a frosted corpsicle like the others. But then I saw it, the medicine shelf. Dizzy and disoriented I managed to stop the bleeding, drink some water, and fall asleep hungry and half dead.

I was amazed to see that I survived and, after a hearty breakfast I was in fact doing better than I had been in days, I had my strength back. But I was still hypothermic, so I stayed inside and slept for an entire day, having so little to eat, and only soda to drink. A few days later I passed through the abandoned mine, and into Pleasant Valley. I was healthy and prepared for the first time in days, ready to track down a serious dwelling. The sky was clear, and beautiful, and i decided to take what I thought was the long way down into the valley in hopes of finding some supplies. What I found, was a Hoth-grade blizzard. It set in so fast I didn't even get to find my bearings. I was in great shape when I exited the cave, but this blizzard was so cold, and so thick, I began to freeze. My pack became unbearably heavy, tiring quickly as I trudged through the snow. I began to drop my food first, then some tools, then it all caught up to me. I was exhausted, and frozen, with no sight of shelter. My condition worsened frighteningly quick, and the icy grasp of hypothermia set in once again.

Not a moment later, a bright yellow tractor emerged from the fog, and behind it, a red barn. I again, narrowly escaped death in that barn. Somehow managed to find the will to go on. "Where would I go? Is this as good a shelter as I will find? I'd rather die here, in comfort, than out there in the cold..." I thought. But as I sat there, living on crackers and condensed milk, passing the time. I decided to take one quick look around, now that the air was clear, to see if I could find any where better insulated, maybe I could find some tools too. So I set out with minimal supplies, sure I'd return, and I walked to the road, and down the hill, and it wasn't more than a kilometer. I saw exactly what I was looking for, a homestead, but before I could reach the cozy wooden home, another flash blizzard set in quick and deep. I sprinted for the door. Now here I am, nearly five days later, and the blizzard has raged every minute. I'm running low on supplies, but every day is a victory, I won't just give up.

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Day 14:

I awoke to the sound of my grumbling stomach, sounding hollow and vast. The howling of the wind had subsided, and gold light poured from the east window onto my face for the first time in nearly a week. The storm was over. Weak with hunger, I willed myself to fix a small breakfast of coffee and beans. It wasn't much, but it was enough to get me on my feet.

I had been living on scraps since I found the homestead, burning bits of furniture to boil my water and make tea, my mind racing with a thousand thoughts. “Why did my engine fail? Everything was just fine, then I'm smashing into trees...” I thought. I tried to convince myself that someone might know where I had crashed, that they heard my maydays.. But something tells me that my cries for help never left the cabin of that plane. And I knew the weather out here was rough, but something wasn't right. The blizzards rage like an angry mother bear, but then all falls silent and the blue sky sparkles with windswept ice. It all feels so surreal.

Outside, the air was crisp, and clear. I could see for miles and all seemed still, the gold sun growing paler as it rose. I had found a rifle in the house, along with two rounds, now sitting in my chest pocket. I took one out and slipped it into the rifle, and chambered it. And I set off to reclaim my supplies at the barn, and I had high hopes for a deer along the way. It wasn't too cold, but my coat wasn't too warm either, so I set a brisk pace and kept my eyes focused on the landscape around me. The walk was quiet, and I felt liberated to finally see my surroundings. It had been years since I spent any quality time with nature, and she spoke to me in a very real way in that valley. I knew I would make it, for I am part of the land.

The barn grabbed my eye immediately, so vivid and picturesque. “Where did they go?” I thought. It seemed as though they had left months ago, along with everyone else who lived out there. It didn't take long for me to gather what I needed and warm my hands, and I was ready to move on. I decided to make a big loop around the homestead and the farm, to look for any houses or supplies, and hopefully to find some real food.

The amber afternoon sun glazed the valley sooner than I had hoped, I had been wandering for hours, trying to stay near my shelter. I picked up some firewood, and borrowed a few energy bars from a frosty chap near the river. Without any luck with hunting, I ate one of the bars and started heading towards the homestead, knowing I would be hungry yet another night. But then my heart skipped a beat. A deep growl of a massive beast emanated from behind me, the sound clean and clear, carried on iced air. I whipped out my flare to scare off a wolf, and turned to see a black bear the size of a car jaunting up the hill to greet me. I swapped my flare for my rifle and sprinted towards the house. “Will the rifle even kill a bear?” I thought, as I fumbled for the other round, and loaded it.

The house was only thirty meters away now, but I knew I only had a matter of seconds before I was being mauled to death. The bear sounded a battle cry as I turned to him, looking straight down the sights. He lunged for the kill, and I pulled the trigger, with the beast at barrels length.

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Coldwelders Log: Blood, Snow, and Sky.

My ears rang, the crack of the rifle was the last thing I remembered. Now I was laying on the ground, looking up at the monster as he chewed, and clawed at my face. I was helpless, I tried and tried but could not get away. My vision blurred, and trailed and smeared with blue sky, black beast, and blood-drenched snow. I couldn't tell how much of it was mine, and how much was his, but somehow I was on my feet. Staggering for the door, and bleeding like a faucet. I managed to get inside and close up the wounds, and take some antibiotics for infection. But I was as good as dead already. I could barely see straight, and I collapsed onto my bedroll.

Day 16:

The house was completely silent, and dawn shone through the windows like a brilliant fire. My body heavily bruised, and patched like old jeans. I wasn't in great shape, but I was alive. I allowed myself a small chuckle for an unlikely victory, but it hurt, and I coughed for two minutes. I was starving, and I knew I wouldn't be getting any better if I couldn't get some calories. I had one bullet in my rifle, and I was lucky enough to find a ravaged carcass a few days ago, where I picked up some gut, which was finally cured. I went down to the cold, lonely basement to break up some crates and craft a few snares. I was starving every second, growing weaker and weaker, despite my valiant survival the day previously.

I set the traps out in the orchard, hoping for even the most meager meal. But a rush of warmth and hope spread through my body when I saw the titan lump of black fur just over the snowbank. “Ha!” I yelled out loud, “Look who came out on top you hulking ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥!” I was Elated, and I found the strength to carve a few kilos of frozen meat from the carcass, and cook it before I passed out from starvation. Things were looking up, I just need to rest a bit more and I would be back at it. So I spent the day repairing my shredded clothing, and gathering the rest of the bear meat, along with his hide and gut. Now that I had nearly 30 kilos of solid food, it was time to start getting supplies together. I couldn't stay here for more than a few more days, having run out of just about everything other than water and wood. I needed a better coat, some warmer boots, and was eventually going to need a bow. Sitting still wasn't going to help, and I didn't really like that cabin, it gave me the chills every time the sun went down.

The fog rolled in and the wind picked up again, and I decided to stay a couple of more days, prepping for a longer trek. I figured I would head for the hills on the other side of the valley, hoping to find a town, or anything really. I was sure I wouldn't last out here in farmland, but I wasn't sure if I would last over the next ridge, so I was going to take my chances. It had only been two weeks, though it felt like much longer I remembered how desperate I was after the crash, how hopeless I was. Yet, there I stood, fed, warm, and hydrated. “I can do it again.” I thought.

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Coldwelders Log: Hunter, or hunted?

Day 20:

The hard snow crunched under my boots as I ran. My heart raced and my breaths were deep, fog rolled from my mouth. I gripped my rifle tight, finger on the trigger as I peered through the thickening mist. A trail of spattered blood wandered off through the trees, deep into the forest, away from my cozy cabin near the lake.

A wolf had taken me by surprise on my hardwood collecting run. I had stopped to start a small fire, just enough to warm up and brew some coffee. The air was clear, but cold. And I had found a decent coat but the wind cut through to my core. I had my eyes peeled for deer, I had food for a day or two back at the cabin, but I needed something more substantial than soda and crackers. I finished my coffee and started to head down the hill towards the lake, picking up any sticks or branches along the way. I had bent down to break a branch, and when I looked up, an ash-gray wolf pounced from at least three meters away, knocking me down, with her jaws clamped onto my arm. She looked me dead in the eye before thrashing my arm, tearing muscle and skin. I fought back, sliding my dull knife into her neck at least once. She yelped and ran up the mountain, into the sinking mist. I wrapped my arm in an improvised old mans beard wound dressing. But I was hungry, and now I was mad.

I knew she couldn't have run far. She was bleeding heavily, and she was slowing down. I needed the meat, and the hide. I had maybe an hour of daylight left, and the fog was heavy. I could see perhaps five meters in front of me, and snow began to fall. I slowed my pace, trying not to over exert myself. And I was sure I would find the dog over the next hill. I would take a few kilos of meat, and come back for the rest the next day. But I knew the trail of blood would disappear under newly fallen snow within the hour. So I focused on my breath, and trained my eyes on the blood, listening to the silent forest. Then the wind began to whistle in the trees and cut through my jacket, the cold was setting in. I crested a small hill to do a final check before turning back for the cabin, quite unsure whether I would even find it. But she was nowhere to be seen. And just as I turned to head back, I spotted a haggard green shed tucked under a large outcropping of black rock.

I dashed down the hillside to take shelter from the encroaching storm, and as I approached the small shack, I saw a larger cabin with solid walls and a chimney. I found some firewood in that shack and gathered it up and set a swift pace for the cabin, now nearly shrouded in fierce winter.

I was halfway across the clearing when I heard her snarl. She was right behind me, following me. I whipped around and shouldered my rifle, she stood her ground and warned me with a nasty bark. I didn't have enough ammo to miss, and my adrenaline surged. So I crouched and set my sights, and waited for her to approach me. I learned my lesson from that bear, I wasn't going to let her get that close. She lurched forward, the rifle kicked, and she collapsed in the snow. The shot was eerily soundless. It must have been the adrenaline, but my ears rang nonetheless. The storm was raging now, and I was beginning to freeze. I left the wolf, knowing she would be there in the morning, and ran for the door.

Coldwelder -

Musings of a Dead Man - Day 29

I sat on the cold floor, near as I could to the whimpering fire in the stove. It was barely enough for me to stop shivering, but if I was careful with the sticks and reclaimed wood I had, I could last another night. The lookout tower in the Coastal Highway region was ideal for scouting, but certainly not ideal for supplies. I was running out of food, and good firewood. Burning sticks and branches wasn't going to cut it for much longer. I had suffered a rather serious wolf attack nearly two days before, whilst foraging for wood. I had mostly recovered, but it left me weak and my clothes in shreds. It was clear and beautiful outside, but the wind howled and whipped at twenty degrees below zero, I would nearly freeze just gathering sticks from the nearby trees.

I thought about that damned airplane. Wingless and splintering through the forest. My hands clutched onto the yoke, still trying desperately to pull up...

No one had come to look for me. In fact I hadn't seen or heard a single aircraft since I crashed. My memories were already fading, I couldn't remember what had happened before the plane lost power, and I began to plummet.

I breathed into my bare hands, and rubbed them by the stove, trying to remain focused. I had been running on fumes since before I ran into that wolf. And I left a lot of blood there in the snow. I struggled to dress my wounds and prepare water, blacking out for long periods in between. Sure, I had survived, but at what cost? I would survive for maybe another day, maybe another week. “Hell, what does it matter?” I thought. “No one is coming, it's been almost a month already.” I shook my head and looked out at the mountains in the distance. “It's just to far.” I looked down at my feet, wrapped in tattered boot. “At least a hundred miles. Maybe two.”

I shook my head again. My vision was blurry and my head throbbed. I drifted off on the bed, my little fire crackling, and the wind singing softer.

I woke up cold again, and it was morning. I had slept all evening and all night. I couldn't believe it, I hadn't slept like that in years. But the lookout was frigid and I was ravenous. So I gulped down the last of my water and started a fire, throwing the rest of the wood I had on top of it. “A nice hot fire for once.” I smiled, optimistic about my situation. “I'll go down to that little house out on the lake.” I cooked a cans of beans and ate them while I melted snow to prepare water.

“I'll be able to fish, and it looks like there is a lot of firewood out there. I could last a while, maybe someone will come...”

I finished my breakfast, and even had a few cups of hot coffee, with one to drink cold a little later. So I gathered up my things, which wasn't much. And realized again how weak I felt once I donned the backpack. I had healed quite a bit from the wolf attack, but was still low on blood, and had eaten very little real food. But I was hopeful, and well rested.

So I set out. Down the hill where I was attacked, the blood now snowed over as if nothing had ever happened. Through the neighborhood which I knew to be barren, and wolf-infested. Across the road, and down to the lake. The wind was cold but my coat was holding up alright, and the coffee in my belly sat warm and reassuring. “No wolves in the 'hood this morning.” I thought, smiling to myself, with everything quieter than the step of my boot. As quickly as I had the thought, I regretted it.

Two wolves emerged from behind a large rock, both snarling, with shoulders raised.

I had no flare. No rifle. No food.

So I ran. And I weaved around some fallen logs, panicking as I knew I could only delay the confrontation. But they outsmarted me. I had been herded into a trap, and one of them pounced.

I fought with all of the strength I had left, stabbing the animal repeatedly until he yelped and ran. I stood up, disoriented and bleeding. And tried to run for the cabin on the lake. But the other wolf was hot on my tail, and leaped onto my back, tearing me apart in all the places her friend had missed before I stuck her with my knife, killing her on the spot. I struggled to get out from under her dead weight. I jumped to my feet with my knife ready to brawl. But the other was gone, a trail of blood leading back to shore. Then I realized what had just happened. I had been torn to shreds.

I thought of my family, their memory distant but fond. I hoped they were alive, and I felt like a fool for leaving them on their own. I shuffled one foot in front of the other, eyes fixed on the island cabin, silhouetted by the golden sunlight. I was no longer cold. I looked down at my hands, seemingly miles away, and watched the blood flow through my fingers, pouring crimson onto the blue ice. I tripped, and sprawled out onto the hard ice, and the daylight faded, into the long dark.

Coldwelder-