STOP. If you haven’t read part one yet, go do it right now.
Inside was the biggest mouse I had ever seen. Now I’m not talking about a rat. I’ve seen rats. They have the pointy ears, mean snarls, shifty eyes, and are often seen wearing red robes and surrounded by four teenage turtles. This was a mouse, with soft round ears, cute little hands, and adorable beady eyes. It was a foot long, not from nose to tail, but from nose to its little mousy O-ring. It was bigger than a Tiajiuana bag of sins. This wasn’t a little field mouse, it was the Satanic incarnation of Mickey, complete with those stupid red shorts and high-pitched laugh.
And it was being a jerk.
I heard my TL whisper, “Dude, seriously, what is it?!”
I gasped back, “It’s…it’s a mouse!”
“It’s a giant mouse!!”
“Well shut it up!!!”
How does one silence the most beloved children’s icon of all time, especially when it looks as if it was a Satan spawned mix between a cartoon character and a starving pit bull? It looked at me. I looked at him. He seemed to know what would happen if we were compromised, and in my starved state of delirium, I heard him say, “HaHAH! HEY THERE, MOUSEKETEER!!!”
I drew my knife.
At this point, both of my teammates were staring at me. This was, apparently, something that they had to see.
It’s hard to describe the Matrix-level of Kung fu that transpired, but it was a battle on the same level as Waterloo or the duel between Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr. I stabbed, he dodged. I lunged, he evaded. My knife got stuck in the plastic of the cooler, and he would run around in circles squeaking like a frantic devil chew toy. Finally, I connected. I thrust so hard that the blade went through its mousy body and out the bottom of the cooler. He decided that that was the time to make even more noise, and turned into the vermin version of a banshee as he struggled at the end of my Vlad Dracul death trap. Do you know what a mouse sounds like when it’s impaled? I do.
There was nothing else to do but pull out my knife and continue my frenzied attack until the infernal rodent had stopped its glorious death song. Finally, I stood over my slain enemy with a wild look in my eyes and blood dripping from my blade. I heard noises in front of me, and when I looked up, I saw both of my teammates.
On the ground.
Shaking in laughter.
As quickly and silently as I could, I wiped off my knife and replaced the cooler. I had just gotten back into position, when the instructor came up the stairs with his AK-47.
Now I’m not joking at all when I tell you that, between the time I killed my enemy and the time the instructor came into the hide, an owl came in, snatched up the mouse, and flew out the window. No lie, it actually happened.
The moral of the story?
Always have a smile on your lips and a decent lie in your mind when facing a hostile instructor who inquires why your hands are soaked in blood, but there is no body.
Also, when you haven’t eaten in days, have a way to cook wild animals that you just killed.