Chapter EightMitch sat down in frustration, picked up a rock and hurled it with all his might. It hit the base of a tall tree many yards away and startled a critter, which scurried away. They had travelled less than two miles since breaking camp that morning. The terrain was steeper than it looked and had soon taken its toll on the motley group. They’d slept rough for several days and most of their calories had come from alcohol. Even the Predators suffered and they were hardened drinkers.
Mitch’s stamina was unaffected and he cursed everyone around him for their weakness. He should get rid of the dead wood. They’d travel faster without the soft civilians. Besides, what good would they really be in a fight? Would they be useful against the army vet they sought? Just having sheer numbers m
