A green clad figure lies belly down with legs spread. I don’t like it, but have to take the chance. Low to the ground I traverse the distance and then see round eyes turn toward me. Too round. All the signs are there. Pale face and a tongue darting swiftly in and out of the mouth, even without a word having been exchanged.

“Talk to me.”

“Contact. Fi.”1


“Three hundred meters.”

Both of us peek over the leaf-covered earthen rampart we’re hiding behind. Across a relatively open forest floor I can see a large stone wall, surely built by some rich man of sorts. The situation isn’t acute if the contact isn’t located closer. Both of us move our firearms a little.

“How many are you?”

“That…I am not allowed to say by my Lord.”[…]

Norway 2114 — Amerika