allendalepharm Page 501
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"Bullshitting?"
The curator didn't say much, but instead pushed the items on the table in front of the night watchman.
"You've seen these documents too?"
The night watchman's eyes widened instantly. He had seen this document before, but he had never dared to go in and retrieve it.
After taking a sip of tea, the curator said calmly.
"Let's do some research. If we really can't get rid of him, we might as well try a different approach."
Chapter 358 Survival in the Wilderness
He had been walking for several hours, and according to his rough estimate, he should be almost out of the wilderness.
Just then, a soft sob broke the silence of the wilderness.
Martin crouched down alertly, his posture extremely professional, and then quietly approached the source of the crying.
In the bushes, a little girl in a white dress was squatting there, staring at Martin, her small body trembling, repeatedly telling him to go back.
Why do you want me to go back?
The little girl's appearance was too abrupt; her almost transparent white skin looked particularly eerie in the twilight.
Martin stopped in his tracks. He knew that no child would appear in such a remote and dangerous wilderness for no reason.
"Are you lost? Where are your family?" Martin tried to ask in the calmest voice possible.
However, the little girl did not answer his question. She simply looked up at Martin with her big, teary eyes and cried even harder.
“Go back, you have to go back. You can’t leave right now.” Her voice seemed to carry an ominous premonition.
This strengthened Martin's resolve; he knew that any unusual occurrence in the wilderness could be a carefully laid trap.
Moreover, since he left the funeral home, his intuition told him that he was in unprecedented danger.
“No, I have to leave here.” Martin’s voice was firm and indifferent.
He bypassed the little girl, quickened his pace, and silently prayed that as long as he kept moving forward, he could escape this demonic obstacle.
But just as he was about to walk out of the bushes, a sharp scream pierced the night sky. The little girl's voice was no longer crying, but filled with panic and anger.
"You ignored my warning! You'll regret it!"
The screams echoed in his ears, and Martin felt a chill run down his spine, as if an invisible hand was trying to pull him back to the little girl who was crouching and crying. He quickened his pace, almost running.
Just when he thought he could finally get rid of this strange phenomenon, a strange and unpredictable aura suddenly condensed in the air in front of him.
Compared to the innocent crying just now, it sounded heavier and deeper.
Martin stopped and stared ahead, where something seemed to be waiting for him. The ominous aura intensified his unease and sense of threat.
He was a veteran of countless battles, and every mission he undertook as a special forces soldier involved a brush with death.
However, this tension was unlike any I had ever felt before, whether it was from vigilance, tracking, or a sneak attack.
This fear stemming from nature and the unknown was a constant warning from his intuition, telling him that he should not underestimate the unknown existence before him.
Looking back, the location of the funeral home seemed to be faintly visible in front of him.
"Do you want me to go back?"
Just as he was hesitating, a thunderbolt struck him on the head, and the torrential rain poured down on him before he could react.
"Shet!"
This area is already downhill, and the heavy rain made the already difficult road even muddier.
"no!"
Wiping the dirty rainwater off his face, Martin made a quick decision.
"We can't continue on our way; we need to find a place to take shelter from the rain."
The rain was too heavy, and with the cold weather, if it continued to pour, the person would definitely suffer from hypothermia.
Fortunately, he soon discovered a small cave on a small earthen slope.
Or rather, it's not exactly small.
There's about three or four square meters inside, enough for Martin to take a quick nap.
'Wipe, rub, rub!'
As expected of a professional, he quickly lit some dry grass in the cave with a flint and steel.
There were also many durable and heat-resistant branches nearby, so they shouldn't have much trouble surviving this rain.
"What a generous gift of crabs! This weather is even more fickle than my grandma's!"
After lighting the fire, Martin quickly took off his clothes to warm himself up, while doing push-ups to keep his body temperature from dropping.
After all that was done, the rain outside showed no sign of stopping; in fact, it got even heavier.
If it were an ordinary person, they would probably regret leaving the funeral home.
But Martin remained steadfast in his resolve, and the harsher the external conditions became, the more he felt he had chosen the right path.
"This is all just a test from God, Martin. You know it's nothing. Hang in there."
The main theme is a tough guy!
I have to say, watching Martin play can be a real treat sometimes.
He skillfully picked up a branch and deftly skewered steamed buns and chicken legs, roasting them over the fire.
For a moment, it really felt like survival in the wilderness.
Outside, a fierce storm raged, but inside the cave, it was warm and cozy, filled with the delicious aroma of meat.
Martin didn't start enjoying the meal until the chicken legs were sizzling and dripping with oil.
"We set off around 6 a.m., and it should be around 10 a.m. now. The rain should gradually lessen or even stop within two to three hours."
"In conclusion, should I be able to rest for a while and take a nap?"
Although I feel a bit careless when I sleep now, I can't get anything done if I don't sleep, right?
It's too windy and rainy outside to go out, so I might as well take a nap and recover my strength.
"Ah, so comfortable!"
Lying on the soft hay, feeling the gentle warmth of the flames, Martin half-closed his eyes and couldn't help but recall his glorious days of training in the wild.
Just then, he felt a cool breeze enter from the cave entrance, accompanied by a faint rustling sound like paper rubbing together, a stark contrast to the fierce wind and rain.
Martin felt a sudden sharp pain in his consciousness, and only when the sound became clearer did he dazedly look towards the cave entrance.
"Go back." A faint voice, almost drowned out by the wind and rain, quietly reached his ears.
Martin snapped back to reality, the weariness in his eyes vanishing instantly. He stared intently at the cave entrance, but saw no one.
"Who?" he growled, his large, gleaming eyes revealing the wariness and resolve of a warrior.
As if sensing his inner tension, the flames suddenly leaped up, illuminating the entire cave.
But apart from him, there was nothing else in the cave.
Even though the thunder outside the cave sounded like the angry roar of the gods, the silence inside was like a high wall, isolating Martin's inner voice, leaving only his lonely breathing and tense heartbeat.
Suddenly, a wet note dripped from the ceiling and landed directly on Martin's lap, who was sitting cross-legged.
This was unexpected for Martin. His first reaction was to quickly retreat, his hand instinctively reaching for his waist, trying to draw the axe for defense.
However, when his hand touched the note, Martin realized it was an ordinary piece of paper, with even wet ink on it, the writing blurred by the rain.
He looked closely and could only make out a few words: "Help me send it back."
Chapter 359 Alive
The strange note, along with a sudden chill in the air, gave him a sense of foreboding.
How could a note fall into a cave where there shouldn't be any wind?
Who would leave him with such a vague message?
Could it be.
As if he had thought of something, Martin looked around and asked the air.
"Excuse me, is there anyone?"
He had reason to suspect that the note was deliberately given to him by an unseen entity.
"Was that the little girl from earlier? Was it you?"
Unfortunately, despite asking many times, there was no response from the cave.
Martin's nature told him that a soldier's instinct is to face danger rather than avoid it. He bent down, picked up the note, and examined it carefully.
The paper was covered in ink stains, as if someone had written it hastily and forcefully, or perhaps it was the result of years of friction that made the words difficult to distinguish from their original form.
He tried to make rubbings of the writing on the paper to see if he could make out more information, but the rain had diluted it considerably.