A/N: OLS is short for Outdoor Living Skills. I love the outdoors and camping so I figured I'd write a short story involving our favorite author.

Ch. 1

If there was anything at all that Mort wished he could remember, it would be the stuff he'd learned in boy scouts. Granted he'd only been in the program for a month before a few other boys had ganged up on him and beat him up, leaving him tied to a tree in his underwear. Still, he remembered learning some basic survival skills while on the camping trip. Something about making a fire, building a lean-to and making band aids out of fungus.

Just being able to effectively start a fire would've helped. It was getting dark, now, dark and cold, and Mort had no idea where he was. Sighing, he sat down near a tree, thinking back to what had occurred earlier in the day.

Flashback: Mort had been eating his typical breakfast of Doritos and Mountain Dew that morning, minding his own business. He had been exceptionally hungry for some reason, and was about to reach for a second bag of chips when something caught his eye. There was a shadow cast out from under the door.

"Who's there?" he asked, trying not to sound too nervous.

There was a laugh, and a familiar sounding voice spoke up.

"You know who it is. Come on, open the door."

"Fuck." Mort had hoped that those days with Shooter were behind him, now.

Without another word, Mort grabbed his sweater and made his way out the back door. He didn't want to get involved in this. If Shooter had come back, he knew that he had to get as far away from other people as possible. If someone were to come over… there's no telling what he might do.

Fast as he could, he took the path around the house into the woods. Maybe if he went for a hike his mind would re-sort itself. At the very least, he'd be away from society for a few hours.

Mort power walked through the trees, down a lesser known path. He'd been down it once or twice before and felt confident that he'd be able to find his way back.

This was around 10am.

He'd walked and walked and walked, further and further into the woods, not bothering to stop.

Now, he was regretting not marking a trail in some way. There was no way that he'd make it back home tonight, so he was stuck. Sighing, Mort considered where he should sleep. He could try to build a shelter out of sticks, but that'd take a while and it was getting dark fast. The other option was to make a bed out of leaves, to try to start a fire, and hope that it kept him warm for the night.

Deciding that the latter was the best idea, Mort began to pile sticks together. It'd rained recently, but he'd managed to find a few dry ones. He then took out his lighter, feeling thankful that at least he had that, and began to try to light the kindle wood. His first try failed. So did his second.

"Fuck. THINK," he told himself, looking the pile of wood over. He recalled the scout master putting the sticks in a teepee type formation, and decided to try it. The sparks began to catch this time, and he managed to build a small fire.

Next, he began to gather leaves, piling them about a foot away from the blaze. Hopefully there wouldn't be too many bugs. Once the sun rose, he could find his way back. He just had to get through the evening.

00

Mort spent the night shivering and unable to sleep. The fire had eventually gone out, leaving Mort cold and in the dark. Besides that, he felt like there were bugs crawling all over him, even though they weren't. And, to make matters worse, the nocturnal animals that lived in the woods had come out and were howling, tweeting, and scampering around.

When dawn finally came, Mort was exhausted. He wanted nothing more than to actually get some rest. It wasn't an option though. This was going to be his only shot at getting home.

Trying to retrace his steps, Mort began to walk back through the woods. About half an hour in, his stomach began to growl. It was then that he realized that he hadn't eaten in nearly twenty four hours, and the last thing that he had eaten had been a measly bag of chips.

'Come on, Mort. You'll be okay,' he told himself, continuing to push forward.

But, as time wore on, the hunger pangs became almost crippling. His stomach hurt very badly, and Mort was starting to get light headed. He hadn't made much progress as far as finding the path back home, either. So, he'd have to find food here. There had to be something he could eat, right?

After searching around for a few minutes, he came upon a bush that had several dark colored berries on it. They looked like black berries, or something related to that type of fruit. Mort picked a few and began to eat them. Probably not the best idea, but he really had no alternative. Just having something in his stomach made him feel better, and he continued to pick and eat for a while. Most of the berries were gone by the time he was done.

Now having more energy, Mort once again began his quest to get back home.

He walked for what felt like miles, on a trail that he thought was the correct one, to no avail. By noon he was still in the middle of nowhere.

Now, he was starting to get scared.

Then, to top things off, his vision started to blur. Colors started to change, too. A green tree began to look orange.

"Fuck," Mort whispered to himself, "I'm starting to hallucinate. Must've been those berries. Wait, why am I talking to myself?"

No one answered, of course.

Mort could feel his heart rate start to pick up. He had no idea what he was going to do now. He'd definitely be unable to find his way back.

"Just keep calm, Mort," he told himself. "Keep calm and you'll have a good trip." The last thing he needed right then was for the hallucinations to turn ugly.

Not knowing what else to do, he continued walking, staying on the trail as best he could.