by Nunn, Alexis
“Fel, I think it’s best if maybe you killed me. We can’t feed both of us. I could… I could last as food for a good few days… Feliks… I think it’s best is maybe you killed me. We can’t feed both of us….” I rambled softly.
The knife was slapped out of my hand and I was tugged into his chest. My face burrowed into his baggy grey sweater.
“Lene, don’t ever think I’d be better off without you. I could never kill you. We could never kill each other. You know that. I love you too much for that!” He tried not to cry, “It’s going to be better someday. I’ll make sure of it.”
I do not remember most of my following catatonic state. When I came back around it must have been near the end of November. It was a miracle that Feliks had survived by himself, let alone care for me as well. Feliks had shown his true maturity during those days. When I asked, he refused to tell me how he managed to keep us both alive. My brother proved he could do great things, something I could never have guessed from him. Occasionally at night, I would wake up to him protectively watching me closely, almost lacking trust in his eyes. It used to bother me wondering what I may have done during those days but I found an odd closure in not knowing.
The first day of December was the most hopeful day we had seen in months. While foraging, I spotted a small cabin on the side of a snow covered hill. The place was not much, but it beat the hell out of sleeping in a ravine for one more day. Feliks took our tent inside the small little cabin and set it up in the single room. There were holes in the ceiling and the walls wobbled at contact. I knew it was not a secure place to live in, but the temptation was too much. Ravine or dingy cabin. The choice was obvious. The cabinets revealed to be treasure chests. Feliks found cans of food inside, mostly peaches and pears. One drawer revealed two thick wool sweaters. The others had knives and a pair of scissors, even a flint stone.
Feliks was quick to snatch up the scissors. He quickly finger-brushed out his hair before cutting it off at a comfortable length. His idea of a hair style was long fluffy hair that came almost to his shoulders. The hair around the sides of his face got trimmed to about chin length. It was all parted down the middle, just slightly to his right. Next he cut his ever-growing beard and mustache as close to his face as he could, leaving about an inch.
My hair on the other hand was a different story. I used a fork to comb it out before hacking away at the brown mess. My hair grew slowly and stuck out on the right side from sleeping on it so much. I chopped my short hair as close as I could in the back before I feared I might hit skin. The sides were a bit longer and the crown and bangs were the longest. It was asymmetrical, but I could pull it off. Feliks could not stand the jagged and loose strands (especially in the back), so he evened it out for me. It felt like civilization.
Life at the cabin was heavenly up until the beginning of winter. The winds had picked up to dangerous speeds and snow began to come down heavily during the night. One fateful night, Feliks and I jumped awake as a tree came down on our cabin. It was unsalvageable. We took what we could of the food and utensils before taking off again.
That next day was when we found our hill. The next day my story began.
ONE
The sun drifted by and wandered behind the darkening clouds. Feliks and I sat together under a thick blanket beneath a dead tree whose outreaching withered limbs clawed towards the horizon like elderly arms guarding us from above. All around us, small snowflakes drifted down. Feliks's greyish blue eyes were a pale contrast to the falling crystals, but his tired skin was a near-perfect match. His hair intermixed into mine, the ash brown of mine blended with his medium brown. I laid closer to him, feeling safe from the snow. Those guarding claws crisscrossed into a shielding canopy that blocked the snow from tumbling down onto us. I personally thanked nature for this small, convenient shelter. It may not have been much but it worked. It did not hold a candle to the cabin that now rested as a pile of insect infested timber. My legs were shivering but my neck was sweating. Too many heavy top layers, not enough on my legs. Feliks seemed unaffected by the cold. I mused that his warm heart was enough of a furnace for him.
He looked around, then gazed over at me, “No wind. We could maybe make a fire? Do you think you could go fetch some wood or maybe even find food? I can make a spot.”
I nodded, considering the idea that moving around might warm up my legs. Of course, so would a fire, “I think that’s a good idea. We should get one started before the winds come. Then we are out of luck.”
He smiled kindly at me, “True. I’ll put up the tent while you are gone too, okay?”
I smiled back, standing up on stiff legs. I turned to face the dead tree, placing my hand inside a hollow crevice. We had stashed my knife and a few utensils inside. I removed my knife and straightened out my blue sweater. Feliks frowned just slightly, his eyes hovered on the weapon.
“Come right back, okay? Be safe,” He blinked and stood up. Something in his voice was unsettling, but I knew where the tone had come from.
“I’ll be fine, don’t worry,” I promised. I knew he still didn’t trust me. I would not even trust me; well, I actually I did not. I hugged him tightly, his nose grazing barely above my shoulder.
I could hear him softly murmur to himself as I walked down the hill. I shook my head when I was out of the view. Feliks at times could be too wary over me. He was that kind of brother to me, the guardian that tried to seem like he was in the background, not in control. I loved him nonetheless. We only had each other at this point.
The forest surrounding us seemed sinister with trees like tall beasts that drooled icicles. Keep walking, Darylene, keep walking.
Altogether, I might have spent about seven minutes before fear spiked through me. Where was I? Ten minutes passed and I was already in a state of mid-panic. I might be attacked! I might be lost and then starve alone. I can’t live alone. A dry log caught my attention. I inspected it closer: perfect kindle. My foot stomped through a patch of thin wood, splitting it into more manageable pieces. I pondered how much I might be able to carry at once while a scream pierced into my concentration. A scream? Who could be screaming from the distance I had… came from?
Oh no, God please no.
I abandoned the log, sprinting as fast as I could back to camp. Adrenaline pulsed in my cold veins, carrying me faster than thought possible. I saw the hill come into my line of sight. The tent wasn’t up, but the canvas was strewn across the snow. The surrounding, once-tranquil frost was upset, looking like something dragged another thing around. I was terrified to get any closer. Whatever caused the scene most definitely still roamed around here. It could even be up on that hill waiting for me to take another step before it pounced. I’d be easy lunch. Feliks is up there Darylene! Get to him! He might be hurt.
My heart kicked inside my chest. Feliks. I ran onto the hill, the smell of blood and lingering sulfur wafting into my sinuses. I gagged, crying out desperately, “Feliks?”
I gripped onto my knife, tears etching down on my face. My eyes caressed over the scene. Blood was mixed into the white. Bits of skin and fur were left in chunks in the blood. The dark blackened ooze that was distinctive of a werebie's change was mixed in with it all. I saw the fabric of Feliks's sweater torn into shreds beside the lone tree. He’s gone? Feliks…. The side of the hill I had not seen yet was a pure red slate of crimson mush. Sickness splashed around in my stomach and a strange battle between anger and sorrow fought to be dominant inside my mind. My knees met the cold ground and I sobbed. My knuckles turned white from where I gripped the knife so tightly. I backed up into the tree, my head tilted back to the snow-crying clouds.
“Feliks,” I clenched my eyes shut; I didn’t want to see anymore! I didn’t want to open my eyes and see the world again without him. My knife etched into my hand. My tears were freezing my face, “Why? Why Feliks?” Why’d you have to die? My voice wavered, “I promised I’d come back. I promised I’d be okay. But you aren’t. You aren’t okay.”
I could
not hear the soft crunch of paws sinking into the snow. Though maybe I had, and simply blocked out the sound. I was ready to die. The sound inched closer until I opened my eyes to see sunken grey-blue ones meet mine. In front of me was a shorter-than-average German shepherd. The dog lacked the midsection of fur in his tail and two deep gashes smiled underneath his left eye. Blood covered his left side. His position was less than a yard away, and still approaching. I shook from fear, instinctively backing as close as I could get into the tree. A werebie was in front of me.
I was going to be killed by what killed Feliks. How fitting.
He lifted his muzzle and tilted it to the side, an arm’s length away. A puff of breath left his nose. Confusion settled in. It wasn’t attacking. It wasn’t rotting. His eyes were clear and he seemed more afraid of me than I of him.
I trembled, quickly glancing around. My fingers quivered around the handle of the knife. It seemed to notice my terror and backed off. What the hell was it doing? Its mouth opened slightly. This was it, I’m dead. Good? I expected it to bark, bite, or snap at me, but instead it spoke.
“Lene?”
TWO
“Lene?”
I jumped back hitting my spine into the rough bark of the tree, my heart fluttering in my throat. My eyes ran back over him. How could he be my brother? My brother could not be a werebie! That means I’d have to kill him. Oh no, I’m going to have to kill him. I shook my head.
“That’s not possible! You…”
He got closer, crouching down on his haunches with his head still tilted to the side, ears perched up high on his head, “But I am. Lene, it’s me. I’m Feliks. Darylene, please believe me,” He huffed, sounding almost exactly like my brother. His voice was just about a half-step lower, scratchier. His ears dipped low and he bowed his head, pitifully scratching at the snow with his paw.
I shook my head, “No. No you aren’t,” I said quickly. This could not have been possible. Werebies couldn’t talk. What the hell was this? Okay, I’m dead. I died. This is hell.
He laid down, huffing once more. At that phrase, his eyes darted like he felt so ashamed and almost as if I smacked him. The werebie looked so sad. His eyes rolled around and he laid his ears flat. The werebie’s tail flicked around, awkwardly. He turned to watch it with a bizarre startled stare as he saw swing from side to side before turning back to me.
“So, ask me anything!” He showed his teeth in as close to a smile as a dog could get. His tongue lolled out and his ears stood back up. A spark came back to his eyes.
I blinked, settling down. I sat cross-legged in front of the dog, still holding the knife close to my chest. I could ask him anything. There wasn’t a point to it. I figured I should play along. If I angered the thing, it might attack me.
“What’s your name?” I asked with a cliché question.
“Seriously?” He blinked slowly, nodding his head forward, giving me a look. He acted just like Feliks, “Feliks. My name is Feliks.”
“That doesn’t prove anything!” I pointed out.
“What? Then why-” He started to bark back before I cut him off.
I rolled my own eyes, “I have said his name several times. You could’ve heard that and said that as an answer. Full name.”
“Feliks Stern.”
“I need a full name,” I criticized without hesitation.
“Oh come on! Why isn’t this good enough? It’s me, Lene!”
I sighed, feeling like I should let it go, but I wanted reassurance, “Can you please just answer my question?”
He propped himself up, his head level at my face. He muttered it at first, then restarted, “Feliks Kristoph Dalton Stern. You happy now? I hate my name. I hate saying it. Slay me before I have to say it again,” He dramatically threw himself into the snow, rolling over onto his back and flailing his paws. I laughed.
“You really are him. And your name isn't that bad. I know you don't actually hate it,” My voice started to drift into silence.
He stopped flopping around in the snow, “I said I was Feliks! How come you are so paranoid? Oh never mind,” He stopped himself, lowering his head, “I forgot. I am an undead dog now… I don’t get it either. But trust me, I won’t hurt you or anything.”
I swallowed, laying my trusted knife to my side. Tears escaped into my eyes and I started sobbing. Feliks jumped up and rushed to get close, realizing he couldn’t hug me. All he could do was rub his muzzle in my hair. I hugged around his bloody torso, crying and gagging at the same time. I let go of him so I could wipe my arm off. He licked my face. His saliva smelled like blood and rot. I would have thrown up if I had eaten anything that day. I swallowed the stomach acid back down, sniffling. Feliks walked away from me, letting me have space.
I watched him dig a hole before jumping in it. I was initially confused at what the hell he was doing until I figured it out. He saw how I was repulsed by the blood, so he rolled around in the clean snow. Feliks left a red spot afterwards, successfully washing most of the blood out. I saw slashes along his ribs, bits of pink and white showing out his matted brown fur. His injuries seemed serious, though they were no longer bleeding.
The remains of his clothes were scattered in bits around the bloodied side of the hill. I shakily rose to my feet and gathered up pieces I could grab without reaching into the blood. Feliks still romped around in the fresher snow, trying to bathe himself while I approached him.
“Hey, stop for a second,” I spoke up. He trotted to a stop and stood still, looking up at me. His poor, stubby legs were halfway down in the snow. I took long strips and wrapped them around his ribs. I patted at the cuts under his eye, him jerking away each time.
“I’m not saying that hurts or anything, but it tingles. I don’t feel pain right now. Watch,” He nipped a piece of skin away from his paw without flinching.
I wrung the fabric in the hands. I hoped he’d heal at least. I could’ve swore that werebies weren’t supposed to breathe. I thought of them as pure zombies but they were only infected animals. It was confusing. I postulated the possibility that he was breathing out of habit, not necessity. The idea just made me sick again; it reminded me that my brother was dead.
Dead was a strong term. He was no longer “alive”, but he surely wasn’t dead. I felt under his jaw, feeling several places along his throat. Then I held my hand under his chest. Heartbeat.
“You’re a mystery,” I commented.
“Every mystery has an answer,” He quipped back before his demeanor returned to his previous state with his tail between his legs, “Just the answer is hard to explain or discover sometimes.”
My lips were pulled to a hopeful half-smile. Then it hit me suddenly.
I couldn’t have him around. It was a liability. He could turn at any point. My brother could turn full-werebie and kill me that day even. I didn’t know what to do.
My head slipped forward and I descended onto the ground.
Feliks tapped me with his frozen nose, “Lene? You okay?” His voice expressed worry and curiosity in it. I shook my head. After a few minutes I finally answered him.
“No, I’m not. What if you turn?”
His ears lowered down, “Don’t say that. I’m not going to. I mean, look at me, really Lene. I’m all still me and all that. I’m just a dog-”
“Who says that’s permanent?” I yelled suddenly, “You don’t know any more than I do! You could kill me tonight! You could be like this for two days, four days, months, a year, and then change into a full werebie. I’m scared.”
I couldn’t look him in his eyes, so I stared at his velvety ears. I noticed how there was a nick missing from his left ear and there was a smaller one on the other. The attacker seemingly jumped him from the left side and just went to town tearing him to bits. I hated to wonder what his human body looked like before he turned. I’d continue wondering, but I was just distracting myself.
During my little mental tangent, I began to rock from left to right. There was a blank look in my eyes, making Felik
s jump around me wildly, nudging me desperately, “Let’s not do this again,” He whispered urgently to himself, “Darylene Olyver Stern, come on!” I snapped out of it.
Feliks immediately was relieved. He fell limp, leaning into me, “Don’t do that…”
I comforted him by petting his head, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”
I sincerely meant it. It was as if I was about to go catatonic on him once more. The first time was all it took for him to turn into a nervous time bomb over me. I nearly set him back off.
That night I stayed awake. Feliks sat next to my side, statuesque. If it wasn’t for the slight breeze that whipped the hair around on his shoulders, I would have talked myself into believing he was a statue. A statue was better than a reality. He occasionally glanced over at me, “Go to sleep.”
I shook my head each time.
He growled, looking away, “I’m not going to attack you. You keep annoying me and I might consider it!” I rubbed my arm.
I reluctantly laid on my side, wrapping our blanket tighter around me. I could wrap it as tightly as I could, but it wouldn’t ward off an attacking dog. It was impossible to sleep with the gruesome images of the Broadcast in my head. Each time it replayed, my mind input Feliks in her place. The simple idea of his body engulfed in pain, hunching over while fur grew all over made me feel suffocated. I'd never see my brother human again.
He calmly stayed by my side. To please him, I acted like it but I did not sleep that night.
THREE
After a few days, Feliks still remained the same. His injuries showed no change and he never moved completely into stage two. It was as if his transformation was in limbo between stage one and two. I had time alone while Feliks foraged for food to consider the reason behind it.