A week had passed since the market and Sarge was back to himself again. The dog trotted ahead of Plissken through the thick ferns and Snake ambled after in no particular hurry. He never knew why but at least once a year he found himself back in South Dakota. There was a draw here that called to him and he couldn't resist.

Plissken imagined it was a yearning for his old life where things would be happy like his dreams. Sometimes he even went as far as musing, maybe he would return and things would be normal and how they should be. That wouldn't happen either. At least the water was clean here. For some reason the Dakotas had never been gas bombed. Not enough people or industry probably.

Snake shrugged and bent down to get a drink from the creek. The water was so cold his hands chilled as soon as he dipped them in. It was invigorating and rather pleasant to drink water that wasn't piss warm. Standing again he surveyed the woods before changing directions. Snake headed south. He hadn't been back to Deadwood since he buried Taylor despite being in the state on and off. He wanted to see his parents and friends, talk to them. He realized they were dead and probably long decayed. This wasn't insanity. It was an attempt to keep him from going that way.

Snake crossed the creek and started walking. He didn't need a compass or map. He knew the Dakotas. They were in his blood like war and hate. He was born here and Plissken figured no matter how long you lived that was something you never lost connection with. Deadwood was a few days travel but he had supplies and there seemed to be deer in the area. It was enough to survive and that was good enough for Snake.