Blue released a strained, uncomfortable laugh at Lofgren's words. Yes, the man was right. Blue wouldn't have lasted long out there. Not by himself, anyway. The desire to get away was still there, still bubbling inside of his gut. He just needed something to give him an edge. Part of the thumbnail he was chewing on broke off in his mouth, causing him to balk in response. He spat the piece of nail into his hand and absentminded rubbed it off on his dirty jeans. Perhaps it was rude or improper, but Blue had more important things to focus on at the moment.<br/><br/>"Blue," he replied instantly, caught off guard by Lofgren's question. He immediately regretted giving Lofgren his real name. A feeling Blue was familiar with, but this time the circumstances were different. Somehow giving this stranger personal information about him seemed wrong, although he was unsure of how Lofgren could use that knowledge to his advantage.<br/><br/>Lofgren commanded Blue to stay and the young man nodded obediently in response. When the door to the shack shut, Blue rejoiced. His idiotic plan was somehow coming to fruition. He stood from the bed and rushed over to the rifle hanging on the wall, groaning slightly as he lifted his arm to take down the gun. Immediately Blue was hit with a layer of thick dust that coated the inside of his mouth and nostrils, causing a light coughing fit. "What the fuck?" he said, exasperated. Blue took a closer look at the rifle and felt his heart sink to his stomach. The rifle was, of course, extremely dusty, looking old and unused. The barrel was rusted over and even Blue, who was a gun novice at best thanks to the half-heard lessons from his hunting enthusiast father, could see<i>something</i>blocking the inside when he looked down. "This thing is fucking useless," he hissed, placing it up back on its display on the wall.<br/><br/>"There is no fucking way Lofgren shot that thing," he whispered to himself. That rifle needed cleaning and whatever was stuck inside needed to be removed before it could be properly fired. Whatever Lofgren had done to scare away that wolf did not involve that gun.<br/><br/>So if a gunshot didn't scare away the beast, what did?<br/><br/>Blue had to come up with a Plan B. Even using the rifle as some kind of bludgeoning weapon wasn't going to work with Blue's weak arm; he'd never be able to get the strength up to give the gun a good swing. But Lofgren was gone, at least for the moment. There had to be something else around here he could use. The place was small so if there was something beneficial it shouldn't take too long to find.<br/><br/>The small kitchenette-like area was just as dry as the rest of the place, with dishes in the sink that were covered in a thick layer of dust. It was beginning to seem like Lofgren didn't spend a lot of time here. Perhaps he had a more fitting home somewhere else? Someplace with electricity and water, maybe? If that was so, why did he bring Blue here? He began digging through the kitchen drawers, finding nothing of use but old utensils and various bits of junk. He sighed when he finally discovered a drawer containing a singular eight inch knife that looked like it was used for cutting through meat. The blade was old and dull, but it was something. Still could be used for stabbing, if it came to that. Blue grabbed the knife and made his way back to the front door. He found his torn and bloodied shirt resting on the table next to the bed and quickly slid it on. Turning toward the front door, Blue took a deep breath and opened it, looking out onto the dark green expanse.<br/><br/>The light was fading quickly, to Blue's utter dismay. He was hoping that he would have at least a few hours left before the sun disappeared behind the trees and gave way to the deep blackness of night. Judging by the position of the sun, however, it would only be about thirty minutes before sunset. Blue could get a few miles in, maybe, if he ran, but Blue wasn't much of a runner and he had been walking hours before the wolf attack. Who knew how far Lofgren had taken him into the preserve? Running at night wasn't so great of an option. It was too easy to get lost, made him too much a tasty bit of prey. "I'd have a better chance if I waited until morning," he said softly.<br/><br/>"No, no, I might not get another chance," he groaned, gripping the handle of the knife tightly as he took a few steps away from the shack. "I can't sit here and calculate this. Lofgren lied. I have to go."<br/><br/>Blue's legs shook as he began running away from the setting sun, back toward the vague direction of the campsites. He was tired and hungry, with nothing but an old knife and the clothes on his back, but he didn't trust Lofgren. There was something inherently off about the man, something dangerous and cold in his eyes. No matter how much he tried to convince himself that Lofgren's intentions were good, the odd behavior, the licking, the fake rescue story, all of it screamed WARNING. Blue had seen too many horror movies to think all of this was okay. He didn't want to end up some victim in a pit Lofgren dug out in the wilderness. Nor did he want Lofgren to make some kind of skin suit out of him. Or eat him? The thought made Blue gag but he didn't stop. He kept running.