The sky became streaked with orange flames as it began to disappear behind the horizon. Erwin thought that he'd better make camp, no one was following him (at least not that he could tell) and he wasn't in any particular rush. He so wanted to get out of the Zone and with the artifact he had he wouldn't have to come back. «Ja» he thought to himself, «Get some sleep now then leave before dawn and I should be at the border of the zone before lunch!» He busied himself with making camp, he did it machine like, going through the same patterns as last time. He'd done this enough times to be able to complete the task without thinking, thus it didn't take long before the camp was ready for him to him to sleep.

It was always difficult to sleep in the Zone. One had to be careful that way, if one wasn't“ careful then one didn't live long. Erwin lived long in the Zone. How long? He didn't remember, wasn't important. Could have been six months, could have been six years. Time didn't matter to Erwin, he didn't live, he just survived. Day to day, hour to hour, moment to moment, life was a struggle in the Zone.

Something jabbed him while he was trying to get comfortable in his makeshift bed. Struggling in the darkness, he pulled out an old wallet, buried and long forgotten under his clothes. Intrigued, he sat up and began to look through it, the fire of his camp providing ample illumination in the stillness of the Zone.

Was it his? The picture in the drivers license looked familiar. he could be him. The face looked so happy. Oh he was twenty-seven. He'd forgotten. His curiosity still not satisfied, he searched further. Photographs, he had found photographs, of his family he presumed. There was one heavily creased and worn photograph that was prominent; it featured a stunningly beautiful woman and a small baby boy. The woman's name was Grete he remembered and the boy. Volker? Yes that was it, Volker. They were his wife and son. He remembered them now; he remembered her lips on his. remembered holding his boy in his arms. He missed them so much, longed to hold them in his arms, longed to feel their kisses, longed to be loved.

He awoke to the sound of a loud noise. It was his voice he realized, he'd been calling their names in his sleep. Why was it so dark? Where was his fire? He searched his pockets for the wallet, and found nothing. He was confused. He didn't know where he was. «The Zone, I'm in the Zone» he remembered now. There was no fire, there was no wallet, and there were no photographs. Well, there was.

He remembered huddling around the fire on his first night here, in the Zone, scared and alone in a terrifying nightmare. He was looking at a photograph. Tears marred the worn image. He remembered screams. He remembered blood, some, his own. He remembered fear. He had huddled there in front of the fire, in front of the fire where he burned all the things that could remind him of the past.

He'd almost died that night, the light and warmth of the fire had attracted . bad things. Things one did not want to meet in the Zone. So there he sat, a lifeless shadow of that boy who had huddled around the fire. He looked towards the horizon, «Tomorrow, I'll be returning to the world I had hid from!» For the first time since that night by the fire, tears ran down his face. He tired to wipe them from his face only to realize his gun was in his hand.

It felt so natural there. Few times had it left his hand since he entered the Zone. He looked down at his gun and felt an intense longing. He remembered, a day, a long time ago. He had woken up with and angel in his arms and a young boy snuggled up next to them. He'd been frightened in the night and had come to him for comfort, for protection from the dangers of the night. He remembered looking down on his family; he remembered the intense joy and love he had felt.

A single shot rang out in the morning of the Zone.