The icy wind bit as Andrew's arms, and he found no respite in the grey of day. The air sung, yet there was no choir. He breathed harshly through his nose, his head hunched forward and arms crossed. He didn't dare look anywhere but forward, for he had nowhere else to go. He continued for about a quarter mile, and had no trouble.

A howl came from the east. It was close. There was no doubt, he broke into a dead sprint, and nearly tripped as he pulled his weapon from his concealed holster. He kept it in his hand as he ran. He peeked over his shoulder, and there it was. A dog, yet at the same time not. Andrew didn't care enough to find out exactly what it was. It was gaining on him, quickly. He looked at his own gun as he ran, almost unsure of how to use it. Sure, he knew all of the basics of firing a gun, but he had never actually shot anything, let alone shoot at a moving target. He turned his head again, to see where the "dog" was. Too late. The dog was right on his tail, and Andrew was out of time. He pulled the gun, aimed, and pulled the trigger. One thing was clear: he had missed completely. But the "dog" was dead, bleeding all over the grass. Andrew looked around frantically, seeing nothing. "All of my luck just ran out." he thought. With that, he broke into a dead sprint, quickly and sporadically changing his direction every few moments at odd intervals.

He was nearing the village, and he wouldn't stop until he made it there. A hundred questions ran through his mind at once. None of which could be answered. Who shot the dog? Why didn't he come out? Or she? Why did this person save him, a total stranger? Why did the dog attack him? Had it been a military person? Another S.T.A.L.K.E.R.? He couldn't get the questions out of his mind. The day became a blur after that, and he didn't remember making it into town. He just knew he'd made it.

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