by Hawk, J. K.
Within the Tome
We setup a campsite atop a small knoll just across the brook before the boy returned from his stroll through the forest. Cautiously I kept my pistol nearby, just in case the boy decided to try and recapture me. My intention was not to shoot him, which would be both foolhardy and unjust. Instead my one and only round would be used as a scare tactic, and I hoped it would never come to that.
It was just after dark when the boy returned, I had just lit a small fire for Steph and me to keep warm. His reaction to my escape was both primal and immature. He spotted our campsite immediately, and without warning began an assault full of rage and hatred. Sticks, rocks, bones and other odds and ends were hurled towards me, most of them landing very accurately around me, and purposely missing Steph. His strength is most definitely enhanced considering he was chucking everything with ease more than one hundred yards. But, it was his cryptic threats and insults which baffled me more.
“ Ael ill yo!” “O’yay Maevil!” “No Ecom Aole!” “Is Ael’s om!” As his tongue spit fire and hate, and Steph jotted down every word as she could understand, I guarded myself from the occasional rock. My hope was to unlock the code to his language, to find out where it was derived from, and how this was passed onto him by his father. After a while the boy lost steam in his throaty assault and he retreated back into the cabin, soon after a candle that flickered from within was blown out.
From what little light I had, I studied his language scrawled down upon Steph’s notepad, and one word began to stand out. One word that was the most common in all of his insults, Ael. Its meaning intrigued me, and could be the clue I needed to decipher his dialect. As my eyelids became heavy, I slid beneath my makeshift lean-to and cuddled up with Steph, slowly closing my eyes for the night, curious of what dawn would bring.
When I awoke at the first gleam of morning light, I was startled to find that the boy was standing at the brooks edge, staring at me like a hungered beast. My heart raced, I was still unsure of the depth of his infection, and feared a ravenous assault would be very near. But it never came, the boy slew no more threats my way, and within moments he sauntered off into the forest with a makeshift bow and a single arrow. As my nerves settled, I stoked the fire, breathing life back into those embers before placing a can of beans that I had snagged from the cabin into the coals for my much needed breakfast. As I waited, I let Steph sleep and skimmed over the new journal, looking for answers, hoping to discover the whereabouts of the survivor himself. But there was very little to go on.
Most of the pages described the journey from Fort Rockland back to this cabin, a long yet mostly uneventful trip. A lot of the man’s energy was used to raid grocery stores, doctors’ offices, and daycares in search of formula for his young child. I estimate there was about a two month period where he became a recluse, hiding from the wrath of winter in an old school house. It was throughout this section of his records that he noticed changes in his son.
‘ Abel will not eat, and I fear that he may starve before winters end. He cries uncontrollably, alerting the dead who claw continuously at the boarded up windows and doors, snarling throughout the night. His skin is so pale, like that of the freshly turned, and his eyes no longer shine with innocence, but are now dull and almost empty.’
Abel. At last I had a name for the boy, the first born of Adam and Eve, which was eerily fitting. Many times in his first journal the survivor referred to himself and Mia as Adam and Eve, and in the light of this discovery that is how the survivor shall be known. Although I was ecstatic with this mundane information, as I read further on I found that Adam’s concerns with Abel’s health were most warranted.
‘ The temperature has risen, and the dead have wandered off, as have we. We still have much ground to cover, but at least Abel is now eating like a hungry little pig. Although his eyes are now grey, he responds to me much like any other child would. He smiles, coos and of course cries. The infection that courses in his blood appears to be contained to just minor symptoms, and it does not deter my affection for him. My biggest fear right now is in my own anemia, the loss of blood pains me to no end, but my growing boy needs to eat.’
In his infant’s refusal to e at, Adam found the one source of nutrition that eased the boys hunger, a concoction of formula and his own blood. Ghastly and in my eyes unacceptable. Even though this is his son, and to lose a child is unbearable, but to feed Valkyrie is a crime in on itself. She may not be able to take over the boy entirely, but she is still within him, and with him the spread will continue. However, what came next in the journal intrigued me even more, a side-effect of the infection that gave Adam and edge on survival.
‘We encountered a large herd today, somewhere between Solon and Highland, not much further from our waiting home. The brood had to be a few hundred strong, and we were caught in the midst of them with no escape in sight. Abel cried relentlessly, and every move I tried to make to maneuver around them resulted in even more unwanted noise. It would appear to be an unfortunate end to my son, before even had a chance to live.
However, amongst my own racket and his uncontrollable wails, the dead never showed interest in us. They wandered passed us, oblivious or uncaring, I cannot be sure. But I carried Abel on my shoulder I watched them move along, slowly but surely, southward towards Embdem. I couldn’t make sense of it, and by the decay of their corpses it would appear they had not fed in weeks. They were weak, starving, but unaffected by our presence.
As I gazed around at them, watching their every move, I stumbled into a tall lanky fellow, still dressed in overalls and a flannel shirt, and missing his left hand. The bones snapped cleanly away revealing a sharpened edge surrounded by putrid flesh. This individual did in fact notice us, as he stared back into my eyes and hissed at our obstruction. Then, his eyes turned towards Abel, and it gazed intently at the fussy boy for a moment. Slowly I pulled a knife from my belt, but surprisingly, the Necrotic let out another hiss at me before sauntering around us and moving on.
It was then that I realized Abel was what kept them at bay. The infection acted like bug repellent, masking us from their hungered eyes. My precious boy is a blessing, in more ways than one. And it is all the more important that he survives.’
As I turned to the next page I noticed that Abel had returned, dragging a deceased bear cub behind him for which he quickly strung up into a tree in preparation of butchering. It was then that the boy noticed the journal in my hands, and once again I was barraged with rocks and insults. This time, his aim and strength had improved, with each stone hitting me with dangerous force. Quickly I shielded myself with my pack as Steph awoke from her slumber and pleaded with him to stop.
“THAT’S ENOUGH!” She scolded.
“Stuid obbar! Iv ack ma papa ook! Ael o ike yo!”
As the last stone fell from the air, knocking my head back with a
loud thump, it became so clear. The boy was not speaking some foreign language, just as Steph said, he was speaking English. Or, what he could remember of the language. That one word, Ael, still stuck out like a sore thumb, and it made perfect sense. Ael was Abel, and within his chant was one word not construed by time, Papa. With that realization, the rest quickly fell into place.
“Stupid Robber! Give back my Papa’s book! Abel no likes you!”
* * * * * The feral child, Abel, has been on his own for some time now, and I fear the bones of his father, the survivor, lay unjustly nearby. It takes time for a child, or even a domesticated animal, to become feral. This animalistic reversion just does not happen overnight. But, based on the fact that the boy is still communicative gives some hope that he can be brought back from natures control, to rejoin society with even more tales of his historic father.
The boy had soon quit is temper-tantrum and resumed his task of cutting up his fresh kill, for which he also feasted upon at the same time. Meanwhile, I delved back into Adam’s journal, skipping to the last few entries in hopes that I may uncover what had happened to him. The very l
ast page, barely legible and dated a little over a year ago, gave some input into his disappearance, but left only more questions.
‘20th Day, 11th Thunder Moon, Abel and I crossed paths with the living yesterday. A small party, maybe a dozen men, well-armed men. Thankfully they did not see us, and we did not stick around for long. But the thought of them making camp on our mountain sends needles up my spine. I have an oath to follow, a promise to uphold, and I pray that Mia will be there to guide and protect me.
My boy will stay behind, for it is too big of a risk, and I have listed out some chores to keep him busy while I am gone. It still amazes me how smart and capable he is at this age, and it gives me comfort in knowing that he will always survive, he will always persevere, and any that cross him will witness his true fortitude. A remarkable child at best.
Those scraps of mankind, however, will never lay eyes upon this sacred gift. I will spill their blood and burn their bones to ash. I am definitely outnumbered, and by the looks of them, outgunned. However I have two advantages, the first is that they foolishly made camp on low ground, the sheer cliff that rises above them is where I will attack. And two, the three dusty grenades that lay below the floor boards should finish the job quickly.
If all goes well, I should be home by breakfast.’
* * * * * The scraps of mankind that he mentions I assume were raiders, maybe even the very ones who took Eeamon’s life, we may never be sure. If that be the case, then his vow was never completed, but did he die at their hands or did something else happen to him. That too, may never be known. Yet, his disappearance seems to be more of a blessing, for me that is. By his own handwriting it would appear that anyone, infected or not, was systematically put down. I, more than any other, would be unable to talk him out of it either.
I assume that Adam had never told Abel about his mission, being that I am still alive that is. Or, it could be that he sees me as something more than a rabid-man, like food for instance. The questions just keep piling up, and I hope that the answers are in the boy’s blood, if I can ever obtain a sample. Tomorrow perhaps, maybe then I can gain some trust with him, maybe even get some food. We are desperately running low.
Rancid Punishment
The sun hadn’t even approached the mountain crest, and Abel had already ventured off into the dark forest with a chicken dangling from his hands. I assume he uses these animals in traps, for bear, or maybe even coyote, I can’t be too sure. But, as daylight grew, and I was positive the boy was out of earshot, I let Steph sleep and ventured back into the yard. My initial intention was food, we had choked down the last bits of our only MRE last night and my stomach still grumbled with pain.
The bear cub that hung in the tree had been picked through already, and what meat remained now radiated with a pungent stench that churned my empty stomach even more. I considered one of the remaining chickens, or even a rabbit roasted over the fire, however the boy would see that they were missing, and I already have seen how he feels about thieves. Another violent confrontation with him would not end well for me, he has made it clear that I have overstayed my welcome.
The goat behind the cabin should provide some nice warm milk, I thought, and approached it with care. She was not skittish at all, and even nibbled on my coat as I stroked her matted white fur. Her udder was firm and brimming with creamy sustenance. The fact that I had no cup or bucket in site did not deter my empty stomach. Not squeamish in the least I scooted under the goat and like a helpless juvenile I suckled one of her teats, allowing the fatty fluid to flow down my throat with ease.
Aside from the musty taste of dirt and feces that caked her flesh, the milk itself was rich and nutty, and quickly eased the pain in my stomach. However I was unable to completely fill the void in my gut for the doe became agitated at my invasive behavior, and before I could pull away, I received a hard kick to the forehead which put haste in my retreat. Rubbing the stinging welt, I patted the goat on her side and headed into the cabin to look for more to eat.
Immediately I scrounged through the cupboards finding mostly an assortment of pots and pans with a thick layer of dust. Apparently cooking is not a part of Abel’s survival skills for that nothing had been touched in quite a while. In fact within one cabinet, to my surprise, I found a healthy supply of canned goods and immediately grabbed a can of green-beans and corned beef. The condition of their contents put fear into my gut, but in the fashion of the Great Adam, I would not refuse such sustenance.
Before making my way out of the cabin and back to my campsite I searched the floor of the one room domicile, looking, hoping, to find that secret compartment that Mia was once tucked away within. It didn’t take long either, only two feet from the edge of Old Tugger’s blood stain I found one board jutting a half inch up from all the others, and quickly I pulled it away. For a moment, the hunger in my stomach faded as my eyes grew wide with delight.
The hold was overflowing with an arsenal that would put those raiders to shame. An assortment of assault rifles, shotguns, grenades, pistols and even a mysterious, long cylindrical device. After closer examination I assumed it was some sort of rocket launcher, and buried underneath everything I found but one rocket. Wherever Adam acquired such a collection may always be a mystery, but it did provide me with comfort that I no longer had to rely on my one round any longer. With that, I traded out the thirtyeight special for a big and shiny Desert-Eagle and snatched up a few boxes of rounds before replacing the floor board and exiting the cabin.
A painful blindness instantly overcame me as I stepped outside, but it was not the transition from the darkness within to the bright morning sun. Falling back onto my ass like a sack of rocks, I struggled to regain my vision and coherence as the egg on my head doubled in size and a shockwave of needles echoed in my skull. Squinting up into the sunlight I could see a figure before me, just the black silhouette of a young boy holding a large makeshift club.
“Ael on eth yo!” He cried out, b ut the agony of his strike overcame my ability to decipher his words.
“Abel!” I gasped. “I’m a friend!” I cried for mercy.
“O end, yo evil.” And that I understood, ‘No friend, you evil” or ‘You’re the Devil’
“No Abel, I am just looking for food.”
I stated as my vision finally cleared and I rubbed the welt on my forehead. The boy cocked his head to the side to process my words, the curiosity in his ashen eyes gave me hope that he would not kill me. And he didn’t, at least not yet, instead he moseyed off to his rancid bear carcass. With a quick flick of his knife he sliced off a chunk of grayish-green meat as if it were butter, and returned before me, handing it out like some tyrannical dictator feeding rubbish to a peasant.
“Et!” He shouted while mimicking chewing with his mouth.
Hesitantly I reached up and grabbed the pasty lump of flesh, trying desperately no to breath in its rank aroma.
“Et!” He stammered again.
I could already feel my stomach seething in repulsion, ready to expel the meat even before it hit my tongue.
“Et! Ow!” he scowled in irritation.
And I did, choking it down like a savage animal, trying to ignore the sour and tainted meat, trying not to think of the bacteria that bastes it or even the parasites that live within the tissue. When the meat finally plopped down into my stomach, the muscles surrounding it tightened with excruciating pain, but I did not heave. Rather I stared back up at the boy, trying to smile with gratitude, but only providing a shimmer of discontent, and in return, the boy chuckled.
“Issyman, o ike?” But Imyself could onlychuckle at his cryptic insult. ‘Sissy Man no likes?’
His amusement soon faded back to irritation as he inaudibly scolded me and pointed with demand at my campsite. And so I complied, rubbing my forehead with one hand and clutching my stomach with the other, I shuffled back to my smoldering fire to find Steph just crawling out from under the lean-to. Quickly I stoked the embers and pried open the can of corned-beef, hoping to smoth
er the putrid meat with a hot meal and cook away the brewing cesspool within.
* * * * * By late afternoon the foul bear had created a septic sludge within my bowels, and the grumbling from within was surely heard back home. First came the tormenting cramps which double me over as I clutched my gut with all fingers dug in as if it would somehow ease the agony. Then suffocating retches as a mash of cured beef and rancid bear expelled from my gullet like a volcano, and before long the cramps intensified and my backside exploded with a ghastly stench as I soiled my only pair of denim pants.
The cold sweats were the least of my worries as fatigue overtook my muscles almost instantly. I was unable to pry myself off the ground, unable to add more wood to the fire, unable to change my sodden attire. Steph, bless her heart, took it all in stride. She selflessly fetched water to boil for me, helped change my clothes, and even held me as if to comfort my ailing body. But my dismay did not go unnoticed, and before long Abel approached my camp site with a cup of what appeared to be tea. Harshly I waived him off, in no mood for swamp-gut or whatever it is that he had brought me.
“Papa’s cipy, yo fee etter.” He mumbled, but I was too green to make sense of it.
The boy knelt down beside me and reached bare handed into the fire pit pulling out a red-hot ember like his skin were made of iron before plopping it into the cup which created a harsh sizzle. Casually he set the cup down and grabbed hold of my arms, forcefully pulling me up into a sitting position before kneeling back down.
“Rink!” He commanded as he held out the cup. Again, I waved it off. “Rink!” He hissed again, and I could see in his eyes that ‘no’ would not be accepted.
“Just drink it, Patrick.” Steph urged me.
Slowly I reached out and grabbed the cup, cradling it in my hands for warmth, and carefully inhaled the vapors. Booze was the strongest scent, definitely the base of this concoction, as well as a note of honey. But, there was another aroma that permeated the fumes, something strong yet not strong enough to overpower the alcohol. The specks of debris that swirled about the cup told me it was probably some sort of wild herb, as well as bits of charred wood from the cooling ember.