Zane sat at his post, high up in the trees. After being on watch so long his back was stiff and his legs had fallen asleep. His Fingers and arms though were warm and loose. They had to be. If something came p he would need to be ready to fire his bow. Nothing was worse for a Death Scout than having clumsy hands.

The forest stirred with the sounds of nocturnal life. Zane watched and listened for any changes in the night. It was getting closer to autumn and the leaves were just starting to turn. The tree Zane perched in only had a few spots of yellow amongst the green. It was near midnight and the end of Zane’s watch.

He strained his ears for the signal that his relief was on the way. No one was allowed to come within Zane’s field of vision and live. It was the job of a Death Scout to kill on sight. No one should be coming to or leaving the army camp except through the designated areas. If someone did come through Zane’s area they were and enemy and must be shot. The only one allowed to approach a Death Scout was their relief and they had to signal the one on duty first. The signal change every one to three days. If the wrong signal was given then that person was and enemy and must be shot. The rules were simple and Zane had always adhered to them. They had been beaten into him during training, follow the rules, and kill on sight. For a Death Scout everyone in sight was an enemy and must be shot.

A faint whistle reached his ears. Zane perked up. His lifelong friend, Ike, was scheduled to relieve him tonight. Zane and Ike had grown up in the same small village, dreaming of getting out together. When the army had passed through looking for recruits they had jumped at the opportunity. Training had been grueling but they had gotten through it together. When evaluations came around and they both passed the requirements to be Death Scouts the boys were elated.

A noise again reached Zane’s ears. He strained to make out the melody but it was still just too far off. Zane waited patiently for the melody to come again, all the while continuing to keep his hands warm. The whistle came again, louder. Zane could finally make out the melody. It was not the right signal.

Zane went completely still. He scanned the forest floor in the direction the sound had come from. A figure was walking slowly into Zane’s area. He raised his bow, drawing an arrow to his cheek. The figure whistled, again it was the wrong signal.

The figure had stopped and was turning in a circle as he walked forward, eyes searching out were Zane was located. The figure was just too far away for Zane to make out if it was Ike or not. His hands shook as he waited for the figure to come closer and turn toward him so he could get a better look. Zane knew it was wrong, knew it went against the rules, but he couldn’t just shoot. Not yet. Not when it could be Ike.

Finally the figure was facing in Zane’s direction. Eyes still intently looking. It was a male, tall and lanky. Golden hair was pulled back into a horsetail. He wore a Death Scout’s uniform, grey trousers with black boots and a black shirt. He also wore a cloak with different patches of various shades of gray and black. The different shades helped one blend into the shadows better than a solid color. Zane could just make out the insignia that was on the breast of the shirt. Though indistinct he knew it was the same yellow bow and arrow that was on his shirt. The man held his bow at the ready, arrow notched to fire at a moment’s notice. Ike whistled and once more and again gave the wrong signal.

Zane shock uncontrollably. He loosened the tension on his bow lest he accidently let the arrow fly. He felt dizzy and his breach came in short pants. The wrong signal had been given. Zane knew Ike had to die. By all accounts he should have died the moment Zane laid eyes on him, but he hadn’t. He knew it was going to be Ike, Anyone else and Zane would have already have shot them; any other Death Scout giving the wrong signal and Zane would have shot them, but this was Ike. Zane and Ike were closer to each other than they had been to their families. Closer to each other than they ever would be to the women they may someday marry.

Ike was still scanning the trees, still looking for him. He knew this was the area Zane would be in. Zane again looked down at Ike, noticing his bow that he had ready to fire. It was odd, they had changed shifts hundreds of times and never had Ike come up ready to let arrows fly. It bothered Zane, bothered him tremendously that Ike’s stance was so aggressive, that he had given the wrong signal.

Closing his eyes Zane took deep breaths in and out. One though kept racing through his mind: Must be shot. Must be shot. Must be shot.

Zane’s hands steadied and he opened his eyes. He raised he bow and pulled the arrow back to his cheek. He took aim but again hesitated and didn’t shoot as he should. The glint from Zane’s arrow head had alerted Ike for he stopped his turning to stand facing his perch.

“Must be shot” Zane said and let his arrow fly.