by Ryan Casey
And then being forced to turn back.
Being forced to turn away.
He hadn’t seen Calvin since.
He steadied his focus on the deer. Gritted his teeth. He was shaking a little now. Shaking, as the memories returned to him in full flow. He always had violent reactions to the flashbacks. It reminded him of his PTSD he’d suffered for years from the horrors of war—the reactions he still suffered with, from time to time, and probably always would do. It was the same. The feeling like you were right back there. And not just visually, either—an actual feeling that you were there. Like waking up from a nightmare and still being convinced there’s some hidden evil lurking in your room.
He went to tighten his finger on the trigger when he heard something over to the right.
Voices.
He lowered the rifle. Instinctively. His heart started pounding. Because voices meant people. And people could mean Calvin.
Not for definite.
But they could mean Calvin.
They could.
He looked at the deer. Looked at it, still eating away. It didn’t seem to have noticed him or the voices, which was strange.
He had a choice to make. He could stay focused. After all, the voices were unlikely to be anything to do with Calvin.
Or he could investigate those voices.
Because there was a chance.
And as long as there was a chance, he would take it every day.
He wasn’t going to stop until he’d hunted Calvin down. Until he’d killed him.
Nothing was going to get in his way.
So he took a right turn and headed through the bushes towards the voices.
The closer he got to those voices, the more his curiosity started to grow. The more he started to wonder. Because it sounded something like Calvin. It sounded… a little like he remembered him. Maybe not exactly. But that didn’t matter. He could’ve changed. His voice could be a little different.
It was a possibility.
Right?
He kept on going. And when he got to the edge of the woods, he stopped.
Because he saw movement.
He saw that short black hair.
He saw that tall, slender physique.
He saw him from the back, and he was convinced.
It was Calvin.
He went to lift the rifle. Heart racing. Finger on the trigger. He’d shoot his legs. He’d shoot his legs then he’d go over there and he’d make sure Calvin knew who was killing him. He’d make sure he knew exactly who was taking his life.
He’d make him look him in the eye and feel fear.
Because that’s what he needed.
Revenge.
He needed it more than…
Calvin turned around, and Mike realised something.
The narrow face.
The scarred cheek.
It wasn’t Calvin.
He lowered the rifle. Shuffled out of the way before the man could see him. Headed back towards where that deer had been.
When he got there, the deer was gone.
He’d lost a meal. Many meals.
And he’d lost it all because of that spark inside him.
That desire inside him.
That need inside him.
He lowered the rifle, looked over his shoulder.
Then he turned around and headed off out of the woods, back towards camp.
It was going to be a long day.
Chapter Three
Mike didn’t tell anyone about what happened with the deer.
He didn’t have to for eyebrows to start raising.
It was late afternoon. It’d been another scorching day. He was back at camp now. They were having some of the remains of the squirrels they’d caught a few days ago. Interesting capture method, actually. They’d fished for them. Put a few berries and nuts on the end of a fishing hook. Thrown it into the middle of a squirrel-heavy area. When a squirrel bites, reel them in and then give them a swift whack over the head to kill them instantly.
Harsh. And something that would have his wife turning in her grave, that was for sure. But this was a new world now. This was survival.
After they’d caught the squirrels, it was a simple case of skinning them, gutting them, then drying them in the sun. And with a few little tweaks, you had yourself a nice jerky. Bingo.
Just don’t try it at home.
But despite all their efforts, nature could always take a hold. It hadn’t been an entirely successful effort. The flies were already getting to it. Besides, when compared with the potential luxury of deer, it didn’t really compare.
Mike looked around at his surroundings. Their camp was small. It consisted of a few vans, all of which they’d taken the time to clear out and use strictly as sleeping areas. They weren’t averse to heading into the towns and the cities these days. The shelter of a house was obviously way more attractive and alluring, even if they always had that mustiness to them that spoke of a life lived there before.
But it paid to be in the countryside. It paid to be near the woods. That’s where the animals were.
And there was another reason, too.
Another thing keeping him here.
“We’re going to seriously have to think about moving on,” Alison said.
When she spoke the words, it was as if she was reading Mike’s mind. He felt his stomach sink, right away. Because he wasn’t ready to leave here yet. He wasn’t ready to move on yet. “What we have here’s good.”
“It’s not good,” Alison said, shaking her head. She was sitting alone. Gina, Ian, and Kelsie were somewhere doing their own thing. Even Arya was elsewhere, which made Mike feel totally alone here. He liked to pretend that Arya was sticking up for him when he was outvoted. Even if the mere thought that she might be was illogical.
And Alison on her own… well, she was a tough one to deal with. Always had been. And it’d got her far, so he couldn’t take that away from her.
“We’ve been here for a month now,” Alison said. “The banks of the river are receding. We need to move somewhere there’s a ready supply of water. A better one, anyway.”
“At least there’s animals here.”
“Animals? Apart from the odd squirrel we can hardly pretend we’ve been successful on that front lately.”
“There’s not just squirrels.”
Mike stopped himself. He didn’t want to go into what happened with the deer. He didn’t want to elaborate. He was already in Alison’s bad books, it seemed. He didn’t want to dig himself an even deeper hole. He’d been there. Knew how damned tough it was to climb his way out.
“Whatever,” Alison said. “I think there’s something else holding you back here. And I think you know exactly what it is.”
Mike turned away. He rubbed his hands against his legs. He could feel himself growing more uncertain, more unsure. He didn’t like to go into what Alison was getting at. Mostly because it stirred up too many uncomfortable emotions within. Emotions that he hadn’t yet explored. Emotions he wasn’t ready to allow to rear their head, not just yet.
“We stay here because there’s nowhere better right now—”
“We’re staying here because you still have this ill-formed belief that Calvin might be around here somewhere. You have this myth in the forefront of your imagination that you’re close to him. And you need to wake up, Mike. You need to look at yourself. You need to see what believing in this myth is doing to you. Before it tears us all apart.”
Mike heard Alison’s words loud and clear. And he sympathised. Really, he did. Because he knew she had a point. There was nothing holding this group here that they couldn’t find elsewhere. They could certainly improve on their current conditions, their current situation. That went without saying.
But she was right when she said that Calvin was holding Mike here. She was right when she said he felt like he was close.
“It’s not like it’s unfounded,” Mike said, scratching his arms. “I—”
“I know what you claim you saw. I know you claim you saw him in the distance when you were out there one day. But even if you did—and let’s make the far-fetched assumption it really was him. There’s nothing to say he’s still around here. There’s nothing to say he hasn’t moved on. Just face it, Mike. Calvin’s gone. It sucks, but he’s gone. And there’s nothing you can do about that. There’s nothing… there’s nothing you can do to bring back Holly. I’m sorry.”
Mike heard her name, and it made his skin crawl. He cleared his throat, turned around. He didn’t want to go into what’d happened to Holly. That was still very much his problem to deal with; his problem to manage.
“I’d love to know what Ian thinks about all this, too.”
“Ian’s struggling just as much as you are,” Alison said. “Maybe not as vengeful, but sure. He’s broken. He’s never going to be the same again. But that’s why we’re here. That’s the responsibility I’ve taken on. The responsibility Gina’s taken on. But just never forget. Kelsie. She needs you. She needs us all. But mostly… mostly you, Mike. Because for whatever reason, you’re the one she’s bonded with most. You’re the one she looks up to more than anyone. And one day… one day her medical supplies are going to run out. One day, she’s going to be on her own without a thing to help her. Unless we do something. Unless… unless we try to find something. Somewhere.”
Mike shook his head. Because he felt bad, in all truth. He felt bad for Alison. Her belief in these safe places, these end goals, they were harming her.
Because they’d found safe places. They’d settled down in safe places. And in the end… in the end they hadn’t gained anything from them.
They’d just ended up suffering even more for losing that glimmer of hope.
“There is nothing out there for us,” Mike said. “It’s just… it’s just cycles, now. That’s the only way it can go.”
“But the helicopters could—”
“The helicopters are gone. And wherever they are going… that place will fall, too. Because there’s no putting things back in the box anymore. Not now we’ve had a taste of how things can be. Not now we’ve seen just how little the glue of order holds us together.”
“So what? We just give up?”
“We don’t give up. But I want you to know something. I can’t let Calvin go. I can’t… I can’t live while he’s still breathing. Not after what he did. And if it hurts me and it hurts others then… well. I just have to do it, Alison. I just have to find him.”
Alison looked into Mike’s eyes, and she shook her head. “Then—then you should know something,” she said. “If that’s what you really believe. If that’s what you’re willing to go to.”
Mike frowned. “What?”
Alison looked away. Then she took in a deep, sharp breath, then turned back around. “I—I killed Calvin, Mike. I killed him. He’s already gone.”
Chapter Four
Mike sat beside Kelsie, and he tried to get what Alison had told him out of his mind.
But it wasn’t proving easy.
It was late. The sun had finally set. But it was warm enough outside to sleep with one of the van doors open.
Sure, it was a little risky, especially if anybody passed by. But they’d been living here for a month now, and they’d barely bumped into anyone.
Besides. Mike was finally starting to believe that the bad were dying out at an even more rapid rate than the good.
It was the small comforts that counted in life.
He thought about what Alison had said. What Alison had told him. Calvin. She’d told him she’d killed him. She’d run into him one day in the woods. That she didn’t want to say anything because she felt like it would break him; like he’d be annoyed.
He wasn’t sure how much truth there was in it. How much to believe her. He just wasn’t sure about anything.
Truth be told, he wouldn’t believe a thing until he saw the body himself.
“Will you tell me a story tonight, Uncle Mike?”
When Mike heard Kelsie’s voice, he felt like his heart was melting. He looked down at her as she lay there. She didn’t sleep alone, like the others. They took turns staying in here with her. Tonight was Mike’s turn.
He lay back against the padded floor—they’d cleared out the insides—by Kelsie’s side, and he stared up at the roof. “Not tonight, Kelsie.”
Kelsie let out an audible sigh. “But you always read a story. Is it because of the deer?”
Mike went to say something else, wanting sleep more than anything. But what Kelsie had said. What she’d said about the deer. “Wait. What do you mean?”
She looked around at Mike, little smile on her face. “I saw you. In the woods. I saw you with the gun. The deer. And then… and then I saw you walk away.”
Mike sighed and shook his head. “Kelsie, I told you about following me. It’s dangerous. You could’ve got caught in the crossfire.”
“I know,” Kelsie said, clearly not really understanding the magnitude of what Mike was implying. “But I get bored standing around, doing nothing. I want to get involved. I want to help.”
Mike felt sympathy for Kelsie. After all, she couldn’t be blamed for wanting something different to what she had. She didn’t have a normal childhood, that was for sure. Mike sensed she’d never had a normal childhood, not really. Especially not living with diabetes.
“We’ll find some jobs for you. Hunting. Trapping. Building. That sort of thing.”
“Promise?”
“I promise, as long as you stop following us when we’re out there doing dangerous things.”
Kelsie tilted her head like she was considering the offer Mike was making. “Deal.”
She held out a hand.
Mike went to shake it.
She pulled it back. “But.”
“But? I don’t think you’re in a position to be making demands, young lady.”
“But,” she repeated. “I’ll only shake if you tell me a story.”
Mike smiled. Sighed. And then, reluctantly, he took her hand and shook. “One story. A short one.”
“One about Holly,” she said.
Mike felt the atmosphere turning sour. He felt the sweat building at his pits almost instantly. He felt his chest growing tight, the walls seeming to close in around him.
He felt it all, and he knew he couldn’t continue.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’m not feeling so g—”
“I know you’re not. I know… I know it’s bad. It’s always sad. My mum. And then… and then my dad. But it helps to tell stories. Sometimes I tell stories that they’re still here. That they’re still okay.”
Mike heard Kelsie’s words, and he felt himself welling up. He still felt guilt. Guilt for what he’d done to Kelsie’s father. And he wondered whether her opinion of him would change when she grew up. He wondered whether her youthful naivety was really just that—youthful. And that she’d grow up to detest him for what he’d done.
But it almost hurt more that she idolised him. Because it felt like he didn’t deserve it. It felt like he was a fraud. Even though she knew the truth.
“I remember something,” Mike said. His words felt like they were coming from nowhere. “Something from when she was younger. About three, or four.”
“Tell me,” Kelsie said, shuffling in closer. “Tell me about her.”
Mike saw the memory in his mind. He saw it as clear as a video, and he couldn’t stop it replaying, not now it was here, not now it was present. “We were on the beach. On a beach in the south of Spain. Holly was… she was building sandcastles. There was another little girl building them too. She seemed like she was making much better ones than Holly. Bigger, grander. And Holly’s kept getting washed away in the tide.
“I could see her getting wound up. I could see her getting frustrated, more and more. And I could see her looking at this girl with such disdain.”
“Dis-drain?”
“Yeah. As in… Like she didn’t like her much. She w
as annoyed the girl’s sandcastles were holding but hers weren’t. Anyway. She… she waited for this girl to go off to her parents. She waited for her to turn around. And it was only when she had that Holly went over to that sandcastle. That she sliced the top of it off, carried it over to hers, trying to hold it together. Obviously, it didn’t. It just fell apart. And when it didn’t… she told this other girl—devastated, of course—that she could have it back if she wanted.”
Mike laughed. A few tears at the memory.
“But that’s what she was like. She was so focused. So determined. But at the same time, she wasn’t selfish. She thought about other people. Maybe she went off the path a little near the end, but that was always there. That sense of caring. It never went away.”
Mike went quiet, then. He realised he’d been going on a little. But when he looked over at Kelsie, he saw she looked captivated.
“Was that okay?”
Kelsie opened her mouth like she was going to ask something else.
And then she just smiled. “That’s fine,” she said. “Night, Uncle Mike. Love you.”
She turned around then. And it was a good job she did. Because Mike felt a lump in his throat when she said those words. He felt a lump in his throat when she told him she loved him.
When she’d looked at him with those eyes.
Because she reminded him of her.
She reminded him of Holly so, so much.
“Love you too,” he said.
He closed his eyes. Drifted to sleep.
And for the first night in a long, long time, the last person he thought of wasn’t Calvin.
Chapter Five
Calvin opened his eyes and felt a familiar sense of dread surge through his system.
It was the middle of the night. He could hear things outside. Movement. The wind. And as he lay there in this cabin, he felt himself on edge. Because there was something else.
A voice.
A voice bellowing out a guttural groan.
He went still. Totally still. Told himself it was just his imagination. He was still just dreaming. That’s all it was. That’s all it could be. Because he knew as many horrors as he’d been through, the supernatural wasn’t one of them. The supernatural wasn’t real.