Leon turned around and went down the trail again, this time making a right when he came to the fork in the path, and passing by the spot where the old truck had been parked. There was a small shack just off the trail. Looks too small to be a home. What's it for? He looked inside. Judging by the lack of furniture and abundance of boxes, he guessed that shacks like these were used for storage.
Further down the trail was something that appeared to be a signpost. It was a big wooden stick planted in the ground, with two smaller sticks in a crisscross pattern attached to it by rope. Despite its simplicity, it carried a sense of foreboding with it. When Leon drew closer, he saw that there were human skulls hanging from the sticks, and noticed that dry blood caked the structure. Looks a lot like a warning sign to me. I have a very bad feeling about this...as if I didn't already.
Suddenly, Leon heard an inhuman, animalistic sound. He raised his handgun and pointed it around, its red laser sight flickering around the area, but there was no threat to be seen. Leon heard the sound again. When he listened to it, he realized that it didn't sound menacing at all. Rather, like a plea for help.
Leon stepped past the crude signpost, and saw a dog, whimpering. It let out soft cries and looked sadly at Leon. It didn't take him long at all to realize that this dog was wounded – a patch of its fur was blood red. It had stepped into a bear trap that camouflaged with the dead leaves in such a way that even Leon didn't notice it at first. It would really suck to be caught in one of those things. I wouldn't want to be in his situation, so I guess I'll help him. Kneeling down, Leon grabbed the clamps of the trap and pulled them apart, allowing the dog to slowly limp out of it. As soon as it was out, Leon let go of the trap.
The dog limped for a short distance, shook itself as if it were wet, let out a bark, and then ran off, faster than Leon thought a wounded dog would have been able to. Well, I guess I've done my good deed for the day. Leon thought humorously.
The wind picked up, and Leon heard something flapping. The sound was coming from rags attacked to another signpost down the trail a short ways – this one also crude, but not as sinister as the last. An arrow–shaped piece of wood was attached to it, pointing down the trail. Underneath that was another piece of wood, this one with the word "Pueblo" etched into it. Pueblo? If I'm right, that means 'Village' in Spanish. Let's hope that the people there are a bit more friendly than the ones I've met so far.
Leon continued down the path, and soon noticed something out of the corner of his eye – there seemed to be a tiny red light on a tree, flashing on and off slowly. When Leon looked closer, he saw that the light was coming from a small yellow device attached to the tree. There was a string coming out of it, leading to another yellow device on another tree. Nice trap. Explosives, tripwire, didn't expect to see that in a rural area. These guys must really hate having visitors. Two other trees were rigged with a tripwire, too, but between the two traps was a safe path.
As Leon began walking, he wondered why the safest path would be right down the middle. Isn't that the best place to lay a...
...Trap!
Leon leapt back seconds before stepping into a bear trap laid between the second and third trees. So the real trap was between the others. Nice touch, but this is really starting to tick me off.
Suddenly, a booming, raspy voice bellowed out something in Spanish. Leon looked up to see an old man with a pitchfork standing further down the trail.
Throwing a hissy fit because I didn't fall into your trap? Leon thought inwardly. The man began charging at him, pitchfork raised menacingly in the air. These people...all they think about is killing! They won't even give me a chance to speak. Sorry it has to come to this, old man, but I need to protect myself. A shot between the eyes later, the man with the pitchfork was only a memory.
Leon pursued his only option – going further down the trail. It wasn't long before he came across another small shack. He stepped inside. It was the same as the other. Shelves, boxes, cobwebs, dust...
...And a woman impaled by a pitchfork!
Leon took a step back after seeing the disturbing sight. The woman was actually suspended a few inches up off of the ground and pinned against the wall by the pitchfork. That's just disgusting...But, if there is anything to be learned from this, it's that there is no sex discrimination in this place. All the more reason to find Ashley, and fast.
Leon left the cabin. It was only seconds before the sound of Spanish screams filled the air again. With quick reflexes as always, Leon's handgun was soon pointing directly at the source of the sound – two men, one with a pickaxe, one with an axe.
A moment later, there were two less bullets in Leon's handgun, and two more men dead. I didn't even hesitate that time. Leon wasn't happy about his growing desensitization to their deaths, but had no time to mourn. The trail ended there, stopping at a bridge. It looked like it would collapse if a feather landed on it, but it was the only way to go, so Leon began to cross it.
"¡Un forastero!" Cried out a voice. Leon looked up to see three men up on a cliff. After a bit more shouting, they ran off. Forastero means 'stranger', and they didn't seem happy to see me. Do these people really hate strangers this much?
After Leon crossed the bridge, the trail began again. Another shack was on the trail. Hoping for any helpful clues, Leon stepped in, and promptly stepped back out when an axe was swung at him by yet another man shouting curses in Spanish. Leon took aim at him, but a single string of guilt was holding his finger back from pulling the trigger. So many dead already. Does this really need to go on?
"Listen to me. Just put the weapon down. I'll let you make the decision. You can die, or you can live."
The man swung his axe at Leon. The axe swing did not cut Leon, but cut the string of guilt on his finger, ultimately sending a bullet into the man's head.
The man's eyes crossed, then rolled upwards, and he sank to his knees. With his dying breath, he sputtered a few words. "...Morir es vivir..." After this, he fell to the ground, silent.
"...What? 'Morir es vivir'? 'To die...is to live'?"
Is this their philosophy or something? I don't understand these people. Whatever. I'm not going to keep risking my life by giving them chances. If one of them comes at me with a weapon, I'm going to protect myself.
Leon looked down the trail again. This time, he could see where it ended. It seemed to stop at what looked like a big door. Leon couldn't just go around it, since there were rocks blocking the way on either side of the door. The only means of progressing was to go through it. Stepping closer, Leon could see that there was a sinister–looking emblem on the door. Its shape reminded him of an insect. Deciding that it wasn't worth his time to think about it, he pushed these thoughts out of his mind as he pushed the door open and went through.