by DC Little
The rumors. Orion froze as pieces fell in place. The rumors that spread like wildfire on the streets must be true.
Completely absorbed with the new revelation, Orion, arms laden, stumbled toward the fire pit that already held a layer of fresh snow. His foot hit something solid, launching him forward. He pulled the branches close to him, protecting them from the wet snow, landing on his shoulder and rolling back up to his knees.
He looked back at the solid form he tripped over. “Sorry, man. I didn’t see you.”
The lump didn’t move, didn’t utter a sound, didn’t show any sign that Orion had given him a blow that would leave bruised ribs. Terror clutched his heart, and his insides went as cold as his outside. Scrambling back to the dead fire, he laid his parcel in the pit. With several glances back at the still motionless form, he built the fire, starting with the pile of lichen, the small sticks broken off the bigger branches, and layering until the fire would feed itself...once it was lit.
His hands shook as he pulled his flint from his pocket. The shaking made it difficult to achieve a good strike. The prickling sensation intensified as he glanced furtively back toward what he suspected was a body that had moved its last. Squeezing his fingers together and closing his eyes, he sucked in a deep breath and blew it out slowly. Twice more, and finally his hands remained steady enough so the sparks flew off with enough ferocity that a small flame licked at the edge of the lichen.
Dropping to the snow, he bent his face close to the stacked fire, blowing gently, steadily, urging the flames to spread and grow. He sat back, letting his head drop as the fire burst into the first layer of twigs with a crackling sound that gave more hope than warmth.
Only then did he turn back toward the unmoving lump under the snow. He knew what he would find when he pulled back the blanket, he just didn’t know who. Fervently glancing around at the other forms, he wished he didn’t have to be the one that discovered the first death. Then a cold thought settled like an arctic chill within him...would he find all the lumps stiff and silent?
With his heart in his throat, he realized he needed to know, now. The other men he didn’t know as well as Mulroney, but Mulroney’s age was against the man. As much as the guy was a pain in his butt, he didn’t want to find him under that frozen blanket. The need to know drove him on, fear curling hungry fingers around him. He would never survive out here alone.
Squatting at the edge of the lump, he blew out a frosty breath and threw back the blanket as quickly as ripping off a bandage over a half-healed wound. The frozen face, eyes peacefully closed as if he only slept, belonged to one of the younger men, Mills.
Orion pulled off his threadbare glove and reached a hesitant hand toward the kid’s neck. The guy didn’t even look eighteen and seemed even younger in the state of frozen sleep. The cold skin felt odd, soft yet firm, under his fingertips. One thing was for certain, no blood pumped through Mill’s veins.
Orion bent his head. Death happened too often in his life, but it never became easier. With a slow and respectful motion, he pulled the blanket back over the kid’s face, pushed up to a stand, and trudged to the next motionless form.
There were seven of them total. Not an attack party, but a scouting party. The Old Man didn’t send them to claim war on Chantry’s group, but infiltrate it, disguised as friendlies. Then, when Orion had his chance, vengeance was his, and the intel he brought back would be the Old Man’s.
Now, with who knows how many of them even alive, it would be a mission of retreat. The Old Man had no sense. Unless this was his way of getting rid of his greatest disappointment once and for all…. The idea chilled Orion to the core, leaving nothing warm any longer. Had this been the real strategy? To let Orion disappear, to no longer burden him with the reminder of how he failed the Old Man?
He yanked off the next blanket, reaching for a pulse before even checking for signs of breathing. Nothing. Another man gone in sleep. Fear pulsed in his head, pushing him on to the next form without even covering Field’s face.
Orion whipped the blanket off the next lump, sending snow scattering into the breeze.
“What in tarnation!” The gruff voice of Mulroney had never been a more pleasing sound.
Orion wanted to hug him, but the scowl that covered the older man’s face and the death that lived in his eyes had him freezing in place. Slowly, he held the blanket out as a peace offering.
“They’re dead,” Orion said, knowing an apology should have been the first thing out of his mouth, but the horror made the bile rise in his throat and the words tumbled out.
“Who’s dead?” Mulroney grumbled, his body creaking and snapping as he pushed himself to a stand. He yanked the blanket from Orion and draped it over his head and around his shoulders.
“Mills and Fields, and…” He gulped. “I don’t know who else.”
Mulroney ranted something about pansies, but as he pulled back the blanket of the next man, revealing Henderson’s frozen face, the older man’s head dropped. His ranting turned to self-condemnations, grumbling about how they should have made a shelter.
Three dead...only four of them left, if the others survived. The next blanket Mulroney threw back revealed narrowed and accusing eyes. Big Al’s mouth and body remained motionless, but his eyes said enough as they narrowed further.
“Get up and get moving before you freeze to death, too!” Mulroney roared as if the whole situation was the big man’s fault.
Big Al did as he was told, his lips thinning as his hard gaze fell on Orion. The last form shuddered as the snow avalanched off the blanket.
“W...w...we g...getting...up n...now?” Sanders said, his jaw chattering like a jackrabbit’s hind leg.
“Yes!” Mulroney bellowed. “Get up. Get moving.” He turned away from them, mumbling about only four left as he ducked under a snow-laden tree.
A moment later the older man came out with an armload of wood, building the fire up to a great blaze. “Get over here and warm your hands and feet.”
They spent the next twenty minutes warming at the fire before Mulroney made the order to glean anything valuable from the motionless men. Orion paled. He knew the coalition’s way. Meyers always had them scour bodies, both foes and friends alike, for anything useful. Supplies were few, but that didn’t help the nausea that bubbled up as Orion knelt over Mills’ body.
The boy had little: a roughly made knife, edged from scrap metal, a half chewed-on piece of jerky, and an old coin worn smooth from rubbing. Silently, he apologized to Mills before dusting the snow off his frozen face and replacing the blanket.
Orion held out his hand to Mulroney, the few items laid out on his palm, a sad show of existence for the kid.
“Keep it,” Mulroney grunted, then turned back toward Mills. “Take the clothes and the blanket, too.”
The blood drained from Orion’s head. He felt the prickles of shock weighing on him. “I’m not taking the kid’s clothes.”
“They aren’t doing him any good now, are they?” Mulroney stuck a finger into Orion’s chest. “They can mean the difference of life or death for you. Take them. That’s an order!”
Orion stood stock still as he battled the rage inside him. The disrespect of defiling the bodies warred with the fact that he knew Mulroney stated the truth. Horror shot through him until his gurgling stomach finally won out, and he left its contents behind a tree.
Orion pushed the memory of stripping the clothes from Mills’ frozen body into the far recesses of his mind. He had stuffed the few items the kid had into his bag and tugged the clothes on over his own. Every time he caught a whiff of Mills’ scent on the clothes he now wore, bile rose again, and he shoved the memories back with a vengeance. It wasn’t the worst thing he had been ordered to do, but the wrongness of it wouldn’t leave him alone.
They had been walking for an hour, their feet sinking a good foot into snow with each step. The going was slow, and Orion’s toes stung with cold. He saw it as a good sign that they had feeling...any feeli
ng was better than none.
The storm raged on, blurring Mulroney’s form in front of him for several seconds at a time. He turned back to make sure Sanders and Big Al followed, but they had disappeared as well. He pushed forth, trying to call out to Mulroney to wait. They needed to stay together. Fear gnawed at his stomach, urging him to follow the black shape that moved in and out of vision in front of him.
“Mulroney!” His voice croaked. The name whipped from his mouth, being slung into the blizzard, getting nowhere near its target.
A loud creaking groan sounded, his steps faltering in fear and shock. He had heard stories of monsters that lived in the wintery forests, monsters that preferred humans as meals more than company. The stories always made him laugh, at least once he became old enough to know better. Right now, though, the stories seemed as real as Meyers sending them on a death mission.
A crack that blasted as loud as the one time he heard Meyers’ high-powered rifle fire sounded above his head. The snow fell into his eyes as he looked up into what looked like a monstrous arm coming for him. Running as fast as he could muster in the knee deep snow, he scrambled out of the way, his feet sinking and tripping him. His bag flung side to side, throwing him off, so he shrugged out of it, tossing it in front of him.
Even as agile as he was, he was still hit from behind. The impact sent him face first into the snow. Luckily, his training had him rolling and curling into a ball, so the blow only glanced off his head. He didn’t have time to count himself lucky before something pierced his thigh, crushing his leg.
A scream escaped, his head thrown back in the worst pain he had ever experienced. He saw his death then, knowing for a fact that whatever fell on him had broken his leg and more, and it would leave him out here alone to freeze under...he looked around to see what had pinned him...under a tree.
Delirium hit him in a wave of manic laughter. No cannibalistic monster, just a monster of a tree. The mad fit of giggles left him hiccupping and realizing that his fate hadn’t changed with the form of the attack.
No one had come running at the sound of his scream. No one knew he needed help. He would still die alone.
CHAPTER FIVE
>>>—MERCY—<<<
Sleep didn’t come easily with a blizzard blowing while alone in a hastily made shelter. Mercy curled up under her bear fur, grateful for the warmth it provided. The small fire at the edge of her shelter occasionally hissed when snowflakes blew into it.
As dawn back-lit the heavy, dark storm clouds, Mercy peered over her sputtering fire. The land which had once been a myriad of colors in different shades of brown, grey, and green, had turned to a pure white. Sure, here and there she could see a tree trunk, but even those stood muted against the sheets of snow whirling around her world.
One member of Zion, Carly, had saved a special treasure from the World Before. She kept it wrapped in cotton cloth, a treasure in itself. The keepsake showed a scene of a small town with houses and roads, something that enthralled Mercy, and a tree decorated with bits of color, all encased in a globe of glass.
Glass was rare in Zion. Laurie had a few precious glass bottles left for her herbal concoctions, and a couple of older adults wore glasses over their eyes to help them see far away. One piece of glass in Pastor Rob’s spectacles had a crack through the center, but he said that they were better than nothing.
Mercy shook her head, finding the path her mind followed amusing. Who knew where she would end up? Her tongue stuck out the corner of her mouth as she attempted to remember how she had gotten to the glasses. Oh...the snow globe, as Carly called it. She would shake it up, letting all these white magical particles obscure the scene below, then hold it reverently as they watched the pretend snow cover the town.
Mercy shivered and pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. The World Before called to her, full of happy memories that made the older adults’ eyes glaze over with longing. If it had been so wonderful, why did her dad fight so hard to keep them out of those towns? Surely, it couldn’t be as bad there as he believed.
The need to move made her legs twitch, but where could she go in this storm? Without known landmarks to follow, she could lose her way completely and end up having to dig out a snow cave and burrow herself in until it passed.
The rectangular homes in the snow globe scene looked so spacious. They could have whole community gatherings in a single home. Part of her longed for Zion. Today most people would bring mending, arrows, or other busy work into the hub while being entertained by the Storyteller, Scott. He was even better than Pastor Rob. His face would light up in animation as he retold times from the past. She loved the stories. Even though her body would squirm for exercise, the tales Scott told sucked her in, as if she lived in them.
With a groan, she covered her head with the fur, wishing she could listen to one of those stories now. This amount of snow was a huge inconvenience. She thought about the bears huddled up in their dens, cozy, warm in their winter fur and hibernating. Maybe she should try to get more sleep.
After another hour of attempting to sleep, she squirmed for a whole other reason. How did bears last so long without relieving themselves? Her bladder screamed, threatening to burst from the pressure if she didn’t crawl out of her haven to take care of it. She groaned, inwardly calling Darius some choice words as she slipped out of the fur, careful not to let any snow fall within its warmth, not a simple task in the small shelter she had made.
The cedar branches on the ceiling of the shelter brushed against her head while she crawled on hands and knees like a baby toward the fire and the entrance. A quick glance at her pile of sticks caused more inward groaning. She would not only need to relieve herself but collect dry wood as well.
From the safety of her shelter, she eyed the closest location that would serve both purposes. She had chosen her placement well. The grove of trees protected the ground from the brunt of the storm. The snow that covered the pine needle floor looked shallow compared to what must be going on two feet out from the safety of the trees. This first storm of the season sure hit with a vengeance. Another burst of wind-whipped snow smacked her in the face before the gale died down. She took the moment to scramble out of her shelter to the semi-protected haven below the branches of the grove of cedars now heavy with snow.
The dusting didn’t even reach her ankles, and she easily took care of her needs. For a moment, she fretted about breaking off the dead branches around the tree. The loud crack normally would echo, alerting all to her presence. The wind howled, the eerie sound sending chills down her spine. She quickly went to work. No one would be out in this storm...not if they wanted to survive, at least.
The thought of someone out in this storm made her shiver all the harder. What if Tucker had followed her? It wouldn’t be the first time he had done so, the overprotective brat. She shook her head. He didn’t act like he had the intention of following her. When she left, he had a look of resignation, like he had when she had been required to go on her first solo hunt.
Mercy could still taste the excitement that filled her on that hunt. In fact, it filled her every time since. She preferred to hunt alone, for by herself she could take her time, connect with the creature first and honor it the way she wanted, without having to hear about it from others. The ego-filled guys would hoot and holler, gloating about their kill before even paying respect to the animal that had given them life. Her chest squeezed thinking about it. No, it was best for her to be alone.
Arms loaded, she trudged back to the shelter. If it wasn’t for the fire, a person could pass right by and not even see it, covered in snow in the grove of trees like it was. A tickle of pride filled her chest. Yet, as she stacked the firewood and reclined against the tree she had built her shelter against, loneliness filled her. Once again, she wondered which story the Storyteller was retelling now.
Mercy’s head lolled to the side while remembering some of her favorite tales. She allowed her eyes to close, having nothing better to do than sleep.
A dream swept her away, a dream that had her heart racing and every muscle taut with alertness.
In the dream, Tucker squatted beside her, eyes intense, hands moving in signals. The enemy lay just ahead.
Believing the scene was a reenactment of one of their countless drills, her dream-self wondered why fear overlaid her excitement. Holding her breath, she edged her hooded head from behind the cover of the tree. In the distance lay a camp, men sat around laughing, but not joyously...menacingly like Darius did when he teased her, except worse...much worse.
They were dirty. She could smell them from her position, and they ate from a cylinder object that looked like metal. The details drilled into her.
Pulling back into hiding, she squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t want to kill these men. The bile rose to her throat as her rational self knew she was dreaming. Why would she have to kill them? Then she heard it...no, not like a sound, she felt it. That pulsing, except it was no longer steady, but frantic. That’s why. She had to save him.
Her eyes flew open, her breath coming in gasps, her heart racing like she had just run through the canyon. Her tiny shelter surrounded her, but need filled her as images of the dream pushed her to move. The frantic pulsing still lived inside of her. She had to find its source...before it was too late.
Stuffing her gear into her pack, a sane thought filtered in, and she sat back on her haunches. What was she doing? It was only a dream. An intense and frightening nightmare, but a dream nonetheless. Yet, the quivering inside of her continued in frantic flutters that wouldn’t ease off. She glanced out into the world beyond her shelter, seeing the storm had died down to only a few soft snowflakes falling lazily to the pristine ground.
She shifted her weight, squatting uncomfortably while hunched over. Give it a minute. Just breathe. She closed her eyes, focused on breathing, but the intense urge only increased. Without another thought, she finished packing her bag, rolled the bear fur and tied it on, and scooped snow on top of her fire.