text: [Themes: horror, war, historical]
  
  No, you are in no condition to go on a goose hunt for the Lieutenant. You can only hope that his training at the Naval Academy will help him lead a group of frightened men- if they encountered the mist as well. Going to the river might also increase your chances of finding help. You're sure its the right choice.
  
  Bronski fashions makeshift crutches for you before leaving. They're unwieldy and catch easily in the jungle underbrush, but at least Bronski won't have to babysit you on every step. Despite your situation, you're glad that at least you're here with Bronski. He's saved your life several times last night, so you hope you can repay the favor.
  
  Slowly but surely, you follow the squad's tracks from before and end up at the river. The flowing stream seems clean enough, but you pop some purification tablets into your canteen anyway. You and Bronski take a short nap near the river, before deciding on your next course of action.
  
  "Johnny, maybe we should search along this river. We've lost our radioman, but we need to signal for help somehow." You look down at the long stretching river, which goes far into the distance. Certainly, if you travel along its banks long enough you'll find something or someone that could help you. However, you've lost an entire squad already. You try to push the fact away, but it haunts you at the back of your mind. You can't let that happen again, and with the Lieutenant in charge, who knows what could happen to the rest of your men?
  
  > return to the jungle to find the Lieutenant
  "No, Bronski, I can't abandon him. Too many have already died."
  
  "Johnny, I know you feel guilty, but the best thing you could do for him is to find help!" You shake your head, and Bronski sighs.
  
  You search the general area, not finding much due to the nature of the jungle- footprints and broken twigs are quickly concealed by new growth. Yet, you notice a faint smell in one part of the jungle. A familiar smell, one recognized from prior experience traveling through devastated battlefields in the sweltering sun. It's the smell of death.
  
  Bronski recognizes it as well, and you head in its direction. Eventually, you arrive at a clearing containing man-made defenses, like log walls, trenches, and sandbags. In the middle of the clearing stands a tree, where a pile of bodies is stacked against it. One of the bodies dangles from a rope around its neck. The flies covering the body fail to conceal the single gold bar on his lapel. It's the Lieutenant.
  
  Bronski bends over and throws up. You control your gag reflex, as you've seen far worse than this. Other than the bodies, the clearing is abandoned. Looking around, you quickly deduce what occurred here.
  
  The Lieutenant wasn't a popular man, given his insistence on following military regulation to the letter. Likely, he was killed by his men, once they grew dissatisfied with his leadership and especially since you and Bronski weren't there to stop them. Known as "fragging"(due to the use of grenades), you've never seen this happen in such a visceral way as hanging. Looking at the stacked up bodies, you realize why.
  
  A gruesome disease seems to have afflicted them. Their veins at the surface of the body are black, the skin slowly peeling off. Looking at the scratches on the tree and the dirt, you realize that those men had died thrashing around in pain. No wonder why the Lieutenant was killed by the platoon. They must have blamed the Lieutenant for the plight of the sick men. Afterward, without a proper leader they would scatter into the jungle, and who knows where they are now?
  
  Bronski is still retching and sick, which surprises you. He's an experienced Marine and surely shouldn't be put off by a few bodies, though he may have been especially close to the dead men. Maybe there's something else bothering him. Suddenly, he runs into the jungle at full speed. You try to chase him, but you can't catch up by using your crutches. Your only friend has abandoned you in the jungle.
  
  > That night...
  Your entire platoon is either dead or deserted, and even Bronski has abandoned you. You are extremely angry at your lack of control; it's as if the world is stamping you the ground, grinding you to dust. You haven't felt this way since... your wife left you and took everything you held dear- your home, your children, your status. And now this jungle will do the same for you.
  
  Unconsciously, you wander around the mass graveyard of your platoon. Ignoring the bodies and the smell, you gather all the weapons and ammunition you could find. You end up with around six rifles, three pistols, as well as a machinegun and a rocket launcher with ammo to spare. You decide to find a nice vantage point and wait for night to fall.
  
  Tonight, a blood-red moon is in the sky, its glare illuminating your surroundings. The mist rolls in, with the return of the voices of your squadmates accusing you of their death. Added to the cacophony is the Lieutenant's voice. You lie in wait as the first of your dead comrades walks into your sights.
  
  Firing the machine-gun, you cut it down, but the mist creature soaks up far more shots than a regular human would. More and more of your dead platoon members return, but your accurate gunfire stops them. Though they get up and reform after falling them, you fire the rocket launcher at the horde, which scatters and destroys them. The mist is unrelenting though, and soon dead Viet Cong bodies and what you can only assume to be dead French soldiers attack as well. You pull out your pistol and bayonet and fight them in close quarters. Just as you've run out of ammo, the field around you is covered with the bodies of dead soldiers.
  
  Just one remains. The Green Beret, walking towards you has a rusty bayonet of his own. He moves with surprising speed, lunging at you with his bayonet, but you dash to the slide and slash at his abdomen. Unfazed, he stabs at you thrice in quick succession, but you dodge one and let the other bounce off your flak jacket. You feint with your knife but then pistol-whip him in the face. As he's dazed, you follow up by plowing him onto the ground and slitting his throat. Exhausted and wounded, you collapse onto the ground.
  
  One more figure walks up to you. You struggle to get up, but the whole night of fighting renders you unable. The figure walks closer. You're horrified to see Bronski, transformed like the rest of the dead. He stares at you with orange eyes, cold and inhuman.
  
  "You were sick, weren't you? That's why you ran away from me, into the jungle. You were still trying to save me." You wait for a response, but he's silent. You open yourself up for attack, but he doesn't move.
  
  "No Johnny, I can't kill you. The jungle has proved to be your true home. You may not be dead, but you are still one of us."
  
  Bronski walks away, disappearing with the mist along with the bodies of the dead soldiers. You are left in the field, weapons and shell casings scattered all over. Slowly, you find the strength to get up and patch up your injuries. As you search the equipment the soldiers the left behind, you find an old backpack radio. You briefly consider calling for evacuation but decide against it. Bronski was right- you belong here. You sling a rifle over your shoulder and walk into the jungle thick, searching for another fight.