The Nameless Survivor (Valkyrie) Read Online Free PDF Page B

a nutritional necessity.
                  Conveniently a smaller pot of water was already at a rolling boil on the stove, which I took advantage of by tossing the critter within. Allowing the squirrel to stew for a while would help in killing any parasites within while providing me time to tend to the girl. It was obvious that I was in for a long and filthy night.
                  When the pot had finally melted and began to boil, I carefully lugged it over to my bed, trying desperately not to spill the scalding hot liquid. Setting it down on the night-table, I turned to grab a rag hanging from the wall and tossed it into the water. Gently I began to slip the coat off the sleeping girl, slow as not to startle her, however she was still limp and lifeless.
                  She wore mostly rags beneath the coat, an old pair of worn out long-johns and an undersized Hannah-Montana t-shirt, which barely covered her belly-button. The only protection for her feet were bundles of old skivvies tied tightly around her ankles and nothing for gloves. How she could have survived alone in the middle of winter was a mystery to me, she was a perfect example of human adaptability.
                  I removed what was left of her clothing, revealing not much more than a frail skeleton. Her ribs almost tore through the skin, and even her breasts were barely developed, making her seem prepubescent. The site of her naked body sickened me, yet her malnutrition was hardly the worst of it.
                  With great care I began to rub her down with the rag, attempting to scrub away the dirt and blood that clung to her skin like viscid pine-pitch. As the gunk slowly faded I began to get a glimpse of what kind of life, or lack thereof, this girl had endured. My stomach churned in disgust.
                  Her frail body had been beaten, cut and scarred. Her life story scrawled upon her skin like an old tome. One particular laceration, now thick with scar tissue, stretched from her neck down over her left breast. A violent knife wound I assume, maybe only a couple years old. Her depressing figure angered me to no end, and I found it hard to bury those emotions, the years have obviously diminished my control of them.
                  When satisfied with the cleanliness of her front I carefully rolled her over and began to wash her back, only to find a road-map of lashes. These were not as old as some of the other scars, still bearing scabs which loosely hung from fresh scar tissue.
                  And, what should have been a cute and dimpled derriere was nothing more than a distasteful canvas of fading bruises. Even the smeared dirt and feces was unable to muddle the extent of her abuse. It was quite apparent that she had recently been in the presence of the living, true villains of the new-age. I found it unbearable to look at her, such disgust covering such beauty. There was no wonder why she feared me so.
                  How could someone, after everything that has happened, do this to an innocent girl?
                  My sympathy and anger turned to an almost uncontrollable rage. I wanted to hurt them, even kill them. Although I have no emotional bounds to this girl, my temper was still vigorously fueled by my hatred for them. Breathing deep and slow, I attempted to calm myself as I finished cleaning her up. By then, I had collected myself, and gently rolled her back over.
                  Carefully I lifted her head up and slid the pot of now brown water under it to begin washing the matted hair on top. No matter how hard I scrubbed there were just too many clumps to break free, caked with something thick and sticky. I grabbed some scissors and began to cut the knots free, attempting to even it out so not to ruin her beautiful golden locks.              
                  Sadly though, most of it had to