by Hawk, J. K.
“So what, now that we can see them, we just kill them all?” Steph protested again.
“And strengthen the herd.” I answered. “It is necessary barbarism, without it, we will see the likes of Nero, Ivan the Terrible and even Hitler rise again.” Slowly I gazed over everyone. Sweet flowers are slow and weeds make haste.”
“Shakespeare.” Garrison noted.
“Not a bookworm?” I questioned, and he just answered with a smirk.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Stetson spoke up.
“It means that for mankind to become more, we must first weed out the ravages of the squalid.” Steph interjected.
“Egghead gibberish.” He stammered.
I threw Steph a quick wink, which she responded with a shy grin, everything was now clear for her.
“So,” I turned back to Mills, “Why did he call himself The Hawk?”
“It was his name.” He answered. “Gene R Hawk, we found some old paperwork inside his home before we left. Apparently, back in the day, he was some sort of computer geek. He still held onto a collection of old computer monitors, the screens painted blue, except for white print, dates along with random names on each. One of them even read Sandra Hawk” He smirked.
“The blue screen of death.” I added.
“Cathartic, wouldn’t you agree?”
We said no more, instead Mill’s threw a few more logs onto the fire before taking his position as lookout, and the rest of us settled down for the night. But none of us really slept, the sounds of the forest at night only awakened fear in us. Raiders, Necrotics and even the possibility of Prowlers could be lurking in the darkness. That sleepless night would only make way for a long and grueling journey to follow.
Detention
Dawn, a dense and humid fog blanketed the forest landscape, as an eerie silence pulls at the strings of our fears. With each step we pushed forward, up and over the empty ski-trails of Moose Back Mountain and downward, towards Rangeley. Two grunts in the front, two in the back, with Steph and me at the center. We crossed many brooks, traversed steep slopes, and navigated treacherous ledges, and it felt as if we have been at it for days. In an attempt to hasten our mission, I propositioned Garrison to forgo Rangeley and push for our objective. My suggestion was met with harsh criticism and detailed rebuttals, all of which proves that my status was mere patriotism, and not true authority. Not anymore.
The fog lifted by midday, and the hot early summer sun bared down on all of us. I myself was soaked in profuse sweat, but the soldiers showed no sign of exertion or fatigue, even under all their gear and constrictive clothing. True men of strength, men of honor, and it is their patriotism towards humanity that protects us. If only everyone had their fortitude. In time though, with the current Evolutionary Cleansing, all may obtain it.
“Let’s hold up here for a while.” Garrison suggested just as we crossed another cold and rocky brook. Steph and I instantly dropped to the forest floor, worn and exhausted. But still, the soldiers showed no fatigue, and instead broke out their MRE’s and began to feast on the nitrate infused bounty.
“Are you okay, Mr. President?” Steph asked as I struggled to catch my breath.
“Please,” I huffed, “Patrick.”
“I’m sorry, Patrick.”
“I’m fine. I’m just not use to hiking, my muscles are weak, perks of being labrat for so many years.” I answered.
“You might qualify for workman’s comp benefits.” Garrison chuckled.
“Does this mission provide hazard pay?” I jested back.
Before he responded he stood from his crouch position, dropping his foil-sealed food pack and readied his weapon. His left hand shot up into the air, signaling everyone to be quiet, and aside from our breathing, silence descended once again upon the forest. There wasn’t the slightest peep of a bird, nor the rapid chitter of a chipmunk. There was nothing to justify his concern, and yet his concern was justified.
My heavy panting ceased as I too scoured the landscape with my eyes, trying to pick out anything that was not brown or green, but the natural camouflage was all to effective. I could hear the rush of a waterfall not far off, but it too was obscured within the dense weald. Steph’s heart pounded in anticipation as she inched closer to my side, seeking comfort and protection. I wish I had both to offer, but I was just as scared and uneasy as she was, and with a trembling hand I reached around and held her close.
Eventually the silence broke, a mysterious and hair raising click. At first I thought it may be a woodpecker hammering away upon a dead log, but this was too sporadic yet oddly methodical. Three rapid ticks off in the distance towards the south, then five ticks with a slight pause between each from the north. Soon more sources reached our ears, two towards the east and one more to the west. The ticks repeated several times, jumping from one direction to the next, becoming increasingly louder with each interval.
The other soldiers armed themselves and created a sort of phalanx around Steph and me, guarding us from all sides. None of us knew what this was, but my first assumption was a strategic raider attack. It is not uncommon for hunters to use random natural sounds to communicate with each other, and this feeling of prey vs. predator haunted us as we waited.
As fast as they came, the disconcerting ticks ceased, and once again all was silent. None of us moved, none of us dared to breath. The silence invoked more fear then that abnormal sound, that abrupt end to the noise could only precede the attack - The calm before the storm. The soldiers understood this and they readied their weapons, scanning the forest intently for a target. Then, out of the emptiness came a loud and high-pitch shriek, and just as I had predicted the attack commenced. A dark figure dropped from a large oak above us, like a ghost, only the blurring trail of its silhouette.
Mills’s weapon was flung from his iron grip, as a shadow figure forcefully grasped hold of the bewildered soldier’s neck, and in an instant leaped back into the dense forest, carrying the Chief like a tattered rag doll. They were out of sight, shrouded by thickets, before anyone could respond. But respond they did, with random and viscous gunfire as the squad unleashed their wrath in all directions. Steph and I covered our ears and kept our heads down as blast after blast rocked the mountainsides, and it was at that moment that I knew we had been discovered. Not by raiders, not by the dead. But something… else.
Another shadowy figure emerged from the alders in a hazy flash, knocking away both Stetson and Garrison’s weapons before disappearing back into the overgrowth. Before the men could retrieve them, another figuredashed by, knocking Tellar’s gunaway and with precision, shredded his throat with a swift and lethal bite. Warm thick blood spurted about, a crimson mist kissing our faces like an unforeseen summer drizzle. Garrison turned to assist his comrade, but it was too late, Tellar was gone and four lightless forms emerged before us.
It was as if the sun faded just for them, or more scientifically, they absorbed the rays like a sponge, giving them the complete essence of a shadow. They were however, physical forms, and as our eyes focused on their supernatural features it was apparent that these were remnants of the Infected. Contagious creatures, their former human selves unrecognizable aside from their bipedal stature. Disease saturated blackened scar tissue, and dark bottomless voids for eyes.
Their composure, however, was unlike anything we had seen before. They stood, lanky and inquisitive, cocking their heads as they sized us up. And then the clicks, ticks and clucks, primitive yet all too identifiable forms of communication. They were speaking to each other, unlikely in the extent that the living communicates, but more of a savage and instinctual wolf pack. As with many times over the years, Valkyrie was highly underestimated. Prowlers – I believed, or more like wishfully thought, were less prevalent than the all too common Necrotics. I was misled, and this confirmation of their borderless reign only reassures that the scales have ultimately tipped.
But why did they not pursue the attack?
We were unarmed and vulnerable, an
easy target, an easy feast. And as we watched each other, contemplating the next move, Tellar rose to his feet, eyes cloudy and adrift, with a humid hiss escaping his mouth. He was the personification we have all come to expect from this infection, unlike that of the Prowlers before us. Why he did not portray the same traits as them? Why the virus resigned to a more limited form may never be known. Maybe it just took time for full assimilation. If that was the case, how long before every Necrotic transforms into this. I dismissed these questions, this was no time for the scientific method - we had larger concerns before us.
Garrison did not hesitate to pull a knife from his belt and plunge it deep into the skull of his once loyal soldier, sending him off to become one with nature’s never-ending compost. What I assume was the lead Prowler, the Alpha, shrieked in agitation by the assault as the lieutenant turned towards it and lunged with fueled rage. Garrison was met by a vicious and unexpected head-butt and he tumbled back onto the ground as the other Prowler’s shrieked in excitement.
The Alpha lurched forward, standing over the fallen soldier, ready to feast. A thick and viscous drool seeped from its mouth as it breathed heavily, and gracefully it crouched down towards the helpless man. For a moment, our mission appeared to be at an end, we were weaponless and cornered, and there was no hope. But, like the calling of our guardian angel, an acute whistle emerged from the sundry canopy as a makeshift arrow plunged into the Alpha’s head with a muddled thunk, and the beast toppled down atop of Garrison. The other three released a blood curdling shrill, and just as they positioned themselves for a massacre, a trio of arrows whistled through the dense forest, one imbedding into each of the brittle skulls as their lifeless corpses crashed to the ground.
“You no move!” A young voice called out from the bushes.
Garrison maneuvered out from under the lifeless assailant as Steph and I slowly rose to our feet, hands above our heads like lawless hoodlums at the tail end of a shenanigan filled night. The men, or shall I say boys, stepped out from the bush with crude crossbows loaded and in hand. The oldest two were maybe fifteen or sixteen years of age, and the youngest a mere eight, if that. And yet the features upon each of their faces told a tale that is both aged and full of strife.
“You enter our homeland in error, why you come?” The tallest of the three barked, his long blond hair slicked back from its own, unwashed greasiness.
“We are a security force with the GFS,” Garrison called back, “We are on an important mission...”
“You have no mission here, Urich shall punish for your trespass.” Another hooted.
“You are confused, boy,” Garrison scorned, “This is the New England Territory, under the authority of the GFS and administered by President Anthony Mason!”
“Maybe this is not a good time for border ratification.” I whispered over to the Lieutenant.
“You go before Urich, you be judged.” The blond spoke loudly.
Garrison shot me an annoyed glare while whispering, “Urich?”
“My name is Patrick, what is yours?” I gently asked the boy in charge, ignoring the lieutenant’s question.
“Eeamon, you walk now!” He cried back at me.
“Eeamon, it is imperative…” I was cutoff, met by the stone blade of an arrow directed at my head.
The youngest of the three immediately moved off into the forest as the other two secured the soldiers weapons and herded us along. We had no choice, at least at the moment, to follow their orders. It seemed unconventional at best to not argue our way out of this, but for the security of the mission, we had to be diplomatic. Especially with a socially detached group like this. I hope that this, Urich, is more mature, and willing to reason.
“Why do they speak like that?” Steph whispered to me as we hiked further down the mountain.
“They are Children of The Fall.” I answered. “They’ve never known the old world, have had little education, no civilized guidance.”
“Which means they have had no parental discipline either.” Stetson mention.
“Yes, we will need to play this carefully. Hopefully this Urich is more level-headed.” I said.
“NO TALK, WALK!” The blond cried out again.
Silently we trekked forward, leaving the slopes of the mountain as we pushed towards the quiet town of Rangeley. The sun was slowly fading into the horizon behind us as dank cold air pushed down upon us. In the distance we could see random shimmers of light between the trees and the echo of a chilling chant drifted aimlessly through the forest canopy.
“Bye Bye sunlight, go away evil night!”
Over and over the crowd jeered, and slowly our guards too began to chime in. The forest rang loud with the infantile rhyme as what sounded like thousands followed the chorus. But as we broke through the trees we found the once bustling ski town had been encompassed with impaled Necrotic’s, torches adorned every building, and the streets were filled with childhood toys. The crowd beyond was far smaller than the deception in their voices, no more than thirty or fifty for sure.
Gradually the chants faded with a last glimpse of light as the sun completely disappeared behind Rangeley Lake to the west, and we entered Main Street to meet a rowdy and unfledged bunch. It was a village of children, most in their late teens, maybe even their early twenties. But more concerning were the youngest of them, from babies to preteens, with no true adults in sight. The construct of the community sent shivers down my spine, and once again I hoped that somewhere, in one of these buildings, and adult with control over them awaited our introductions.
There was no welcoming ceremony, no cheers of joy, no confetti in the streets. We were escorted directly into the basement an old Pub and Grill, arrogantly locked away for the night. Garrison immediately spent his time attempting to break free from our iron cell, and old walk-in cooler, which led to only anger and frustration. Steph and I settled down upon the cracked and stained floor, accepting the obvious, and trying to save our strength. Soon, the two soldiers followed our lead, and gave up on their rage driven futile efforts.
“This is a first.” Garrison finally spoke up after an hour of moping.
“At least by kids, anyway.” Stetson responded. “What is this anyway? A sick cult?”
“Hardly.” I answered. “It’s apparent they are the remnants of the former residents of this town.”
“How have they lasted so long on their own?” Garrison asked. “Theyhave no walls, they have no silences discipline, and theylight up the streets like an all you can eat buffet.”
“It’s their outer walls that keep them safe.” Steph mentioned.
“There were no walls.” Stetson stammered.
“But there was, we walked through them.” Iadded. “The impaled bodies of the Infected. Necrotic repellent if you will.”
“You’re saying they are scared of their own dead?” Garrison asked.
“Not at all.”
“It’s a cover scent.” Steph added. “Camouflage.”
“I though they hunted by sound?” Stetson asked.
“A hunter does not rely on one sense.” I added. “If that were the case, any little noise would draw them. When they decide to come in for the kill, it’s all about scent.”
“Decide?” Stetson barked. “Listen to yourself! They’re mindless monsters, they don’t think, and they do not make decisions!”
“And what about the Prowler’s?” I asked. “They had thought, they were decisive, they knew of self-preservation. That is why they disarmed you first.”
“We might have rushed this mission.” Garrison spoke up. “We should have brought more men.”
“I fear numbers would not have mattered much. We are alive only because they were curious, they hesitated, which gave time for our captors to sneak in and investigate the commotion.”
“There were a lot more of them than what we saw. Why didn’t they attack?They were all around us, I could hear them talking… Talking, for Christ sake!” Garrison roared.
“I assure you, it
was just the four of them.” I answered him back. “Ever hear of the Ghost Army?” I asked.
“World War Two?” Garrison questioned.
“Yes, among other tactics, U.S. Forces used Sonic Deception to create the illusion that a unit of two hundred soldiers appeared to be more like five thousand. It seems that Prowler’s have adapted a similar tactic.”
“Well that’s just fucking great!” Stetson protested. “So what do we do now?”
“We wait.” I answered. “And hope diplomacy will get us through.”
“And if it does?” Stetson asked. “We are down four men, which means the two of us now have to drag the silent princess and her fucking grandpa across this cursed landscape in hopes of finding something that most likely never existed!”
“Enough!” Barked Garrison. “You forget your place, private!”
“What are you going to do? Court Marshal me?” Stetson’s panic increased. “Go for it!” Garrison rose from the floor and leaned towards his subordinate, eyes burning into his.
“Remember Jackson?” Garrison growled and Stetson cowered back. “I ended his hysteria, and I don’t need a knife to end yours.” Garrison gave the soldier a quick and yet comforting slap across the cheek. “Pull yourself together, Private.”
The lieutenant returned to his corner as Stetson sank deeper into his own. Steph scooted herself up beside me, laying her head upon my shoulder. Garrison was cold and hard before, but now he invoked fear into her, and for some reason she found comfort with me. None of us said another word, and instead we waited in silence, waited for our day in a juvenile court.
Feign Social Order
A young dark haired girl fetched us by morning, adorn in a handcrafted outfit of mismatched fabric and animal fur and carrying a moose-maple spear that was twice as tall as her. She was maybe five years of age, without any of the innocence that should embellish such a young face. As we followed her out of the basement, two older boys followed close behind, aiming our own weapons as us. I could see it in all of our faces, the dumbfounded look of despair, the soldiers expecting the worst, and Steph and I hoping for the best.