[b]16 November 2021 
Day 3, dawn:[/b]

[color=red]Harry Timms[/color] had taken the 3rd watch, from 2am to 6am; the 1st watch had begun with the setting of the sun at 6pm, followed by the 2nd watch at 10pm.  He was surprised to find [color=red]Shari Sampson[/color] sitting at the fire when he returned from the perimeter, cooking the last of the sausages and some roots someone had dug up for the off-coming watchers.  They had a chat about her son, [color=red]Cliff[/color], specifically about how brave he'd been to step up the day before.

"I don't like that he knows how to handle a firearm so well without my knowledge," she said in barely above a whisper; most of the camp was still asleep.  "But maybe we'll need him to have that skill."  After a moment of silence between them, she asked in even a softer voice, "Are we really in the past?  Can that be possible?"

They chatted about what they'd seen thus far, with the conversation ended by Harry: "I think that regardless of how surreal and impossible it seems, we have to assume it's a real possibility."

Over the next hour, as the sun broke over the hills to the east and bathed the camp in red, orange, and then yellow, the rest of the camp came alive.  The very last of the food was distributed to the children first, then the adults.  There were half a dozen diabetics with concerns over blood sugar levels; they were the first to eat, and even then it wasn't enough.

A hunting party was put together, primarily made up of those who'd gone searching for Harold the day before.  And, because there was still concern for the cat-killed man, the party headed east again.  They knew where to look for Harold now, of course, though it was uncertain how much of the man they would find once they got there.

The hunting party took its time, walking as quietly as it was slowly.  There was plenty of small game sighted along the way, and Cliff Sampson again brought up the topic of snares.  It was decided that the group would in fact set game catching traps, but because of the presence of the big cat to the east of the crash site it was determined that perhaps the snares should be set elsewhere.

They group came upon the clearing that had been the furthest extent of their walk the day before.  At the edge of the woods on the far side of the open space, the crash survivors saw something they hadn't expected: a multitude of animals waiting for their turn at the [i]feeding trough[/i] that once was Harold.  Three canines were currently sinking their teeth into what remained of the young man, but just yards away were smaller mammalian scavengers, vultures, crows, and other birds.
 
[color=red]Harvey Kingston[/color] whispered to the others, "Maybe we should just ... you know ... forget about this and pay homage to Harold back at--"

[i]CRACK![/I]

Everyone in the hunting parting flinched at the sound of the pistol shot, even the young man who'd pulled the trigger.  As he stood and strode forward, Cliff looked to the corpse so horribly disfigured, now more easily seen with the scattering of the scavengers.  He said over his shoulder to the others, "I'm not leaving Harold here to become bug food."

Over the next few seconds, [color=red]Diego Garcia[/color], [color=red]Willy Washington[/color], and [color=red]Javier Flores[/color] each stood and followed after the young man.  They arrived at Harold's body, finding very little of him recognizable anymore: his upper body had been thoroughly ripped to shreds, with most of the fleshy parts missing and even some of the bones pulled away or missing.  Only Harold's lower half was still mostly intact, though both of his feet had been chewed off at the ankles.

The group had brought garbage bags with them, and now they [i]bagged[/i] Harold up for removal and burial.  They were ready to head back to the camp when the sound of nearing movement put the group on edge.  Suddenly a deer burst from the undergrowth, frightened and likely running from a pursuing predator.  It was seemingly unaware of the humans gathered near the woods edge as it ran directly at them.  Without hesitation, [color=red]Javier Flores[/color] lifted his pistol, aimed, and pulled the trigger.  The bullet entered the deer's chest dead center, penetrating the rib cage and ripping the animal's heart into several pieces.  It fell forward at speed, crashing to and rolling up the ground.

The others stared at Diego in surprise, to which he only shrugged and said, "Venison anyone?"

They field dressed the deer, saving all the internal organs save the entrails in another of their plastic garbage bags.  They ran a pole between its legs and hauled it away to the camp where it was skinned, cleaned further, and put over the fire. 

Harold was buried with the other dead, with whispers circulating the story of how little there was left of him to inter.

The rest of the day was spent building more defenses, pillaging through the checked bags for useful items, and -- for Cliff and some volunteers -- making snares to be distributed about the grass, shrub patches, and forest in every direction but east.