by Hawk, J. K.
“On your knees!” The boy eventually muttered.
Slowly I turned towards him, confused and unsure if he was speaking to me, but the pistol aimed at my head made it very clear.
“Abel!” Steph cried. “What are you doing?”
Carefully I raised my hands before me, struggling to find the words, hoping this was just a temporary lapse of judgment in the boy. But, when he cranked back the hammer and tightened his aim, I knew that he was in full control of his actions. Contempt had overcome him, he was thirsty, thirsty for vengeance. My fears of Adam and his son’s private conversation was justified and anticipated, but still I was taken aback, bewildered and frightened.
“Abel, you don’t have to do this?” I pleaded.
“Knees!” He cried out, and I hesitantly complied.
“Killing him won’t bring your father back.” Steph shouted.
“I no kill him.” The boy said.
* * * * * Abel never came clean with purpose behind his actions, not once did he converse with me on any topic, but instead carried himself as a narcissistic slave driver. My first task was to spend the remainder of that day digging a shallow grave beneath a tall birch at the edge of the tree line before transferring what was left of Adam’s charred remains into it. Once he was buried I was escorted into the wood shed, hot and dirty, before Abel locked me inside to lay in my own stench throughout the night.
The days that followed was met with mostly silence, as well as oppressive and grueling labor. From fetching water, to chopping wood and of course long overdue cabin repairs. I was held captive by the innocent face of a tortured bloodline. Any defiance, or even signs of fatigue, was met with the painful sting of a dried alder-wood switch. Even worse was the blatant beatings I endured for simply mentioning Adam or Mia in any context.
Steph on the other hand was treated like a queen, aside from harsh criticism for trying to interfere with my enslavement, she was always treated with respect and given the freshest of food and cleanest water. She was also kept by his side at all times, and was even allowed to sleep inside with him. Abel had become quite fond of her, and a few times I caught him taking a peak whenever she changed clothes or used the outhouse. There is still so much human nature left within his infected body.
The boy who would never stray from his father’s set path, who would not dare cross his father’s wishes, was somehow led afield by misunderstanding. At least, that is was I presumed. Although Abel has regained much social etiquette, there is still an unpredictable feral quality within him. Only he, and maybe his late father, could understand the complex emotions guiding his actions.
By the sixth day of my enslavement I witnessed something both remarkable and fear inducing, something that enhanced my urge to obtain the boy’s blood, to find the cure. Even during all the abuse, my mission was always at the forefront of my thoughts. After a hard morning of re-shingling the roof I was met with a cup of dirty water and an offering of a fishing pole and a rusty can filled with earthworms. As I sucked down the contents of the cup, I stared at the boy, questioning him without saying a word.
“You fish.” He demanded. All I could do was nod, snatching up the bait and tackle I followed the boy down the old tote road and towards the river. Steph once again remained behind, the boy always kept us apart when possible. Exhausted, I marched with pride and looked forward to a nice smoky fish dinner, although dining on raw fish would be more likely. I just prayed that he did not intend to allow the fish to ferment and fester. Our palates are wildly varied, and his stomach was far more rugged than mine.
When we exited the thick forest and set foot onto the old and crumbling main road I found that the abandoned highway was now a putrid river of fear. Although sparse, the stretch was scattered with the Infected, stumbling and fumbling about aimlessly. I estimate a total of thirty, maybe as much as fifty, scattered up and down the pavement, and instantly they were aware of our presence. From either side they turned and lurched towards us, their snarls and hisses stifled the pounding in my chest.
However the boy had brass, walking amongst the dead like a ghost in their midst, and it was then that I realized that it was I who caught their attention, not us. The boy looked back at me, just as three of them lurched forward, ready to grab hold, and Abel lashed out in rage. His switch swung fast and hard, slicing a putrid sliver of flesh from the face of the closest Necrotic as he growled with the likeness of them.
“NO!” He hissed. “NOT FOOD!” He stepped between the Dead and me, bumping his scrawny chest into their wastes, effectively pushing them back. The Dead appeared confused and almost saddened by the tease of fresh flesh, but they did not lash back. Astonished and unsure of what was transpiring, I watched as they snarled in discouragement, cocking their heads from side to side as they pondered the nuisance that blocked them from a feast. In the end, they backed away like a subordinate upon the command of his superior.
I was taken aback, unsure and leery of what I had just witnessed, I was stuck in a dumfounded stance. The boy gestured me to move on, but I couldn’t, I was in awe at the retreat of man’s greatest enemy. Even as they shuffled away, they stared back at me, watching an easy meal fade away before their eyes. How? Was my biggest question then, and the only answer that I had is that Necrotic’s do not feed upon each other. But the way they responded to Abel, the way they cowered, gave notion that they were selfaware. Possibly even holding some sort of primitive belief system. Or quite possibly, the boy’s intrusion simply masked my own presence. I did not dwell on it for very long, the boy lashed out with the switch, striking my thigh with an excruciating sting.
“MOVE!” He cried. And I did. Following him closely as we made our way down towards the river. It was the same stretch of the Dead-River, I presume, that Adam spoke of fishing many times in his first journal. The same stretch that Mia met that lone Necrotic, the same stretch that reunited them and their dearest friend Tugger. However, it was not the slow flowing bounty of water that he had describe, now it was nothing more than a drying trickle.
I assume that the damn up river a ways had been overcome with debris, or even blocked by beavers taking advantage of the manmade structure. Either way, I can only predict that the pressure of the lake itself would soon weaken it, buckling its supports and releasing nature’s true power much like that of Flagstaff. The flash flood that would follow would most surely devastate the riverbed, old cabins along it would wash away, and any survivors upon its banks, even those many miles downstream, would have little chance to escape.
But I pushed fear aside, putting my faith in the boy, and casted out a nice thick worm into the only deep hole in site. And like a boiling cauldron, the water came alive with trapped trout as they fought each other for the bait. Within seconds the worm was torn to mere bits, but in their frenzy, one managed to snag its tail upon my hook. Like a schoolboy catching his first fish, I reeled it in with excitement, only to be met with Abel’s scornful glare.
“MORE!”
* * * * *
“Can you control the Infected?” I asked Abel as I slowly rotating the stick in my hands and roasting the fish-guts at the end over a smoky and hot bed of coals. Steph was given the sweet flaky meat, as I was stuck with the all of the offal. The boy simply shook his head and remained focused on chewing up a whole trout, uncooked, with guts and bones like it was merely a candy-bar filled with a myriad of nuts, nougat and caramel. Yet the sounds of masticated flesh and the crunch of bone was most displeasing in my ears.
“They are afraid of me.” The boy finally answered. “They don’t feel fear.”
“They no show fear, yet feel it more than you do.”
“I don’t understand.” I answered back.
“What are you afraid of?” Abel inquired.
“Failure.” I finally muttered after a moment’s thought. “And Death.”
“Not really. Why would you say that?”
“Life fears death.” He said poetically. “And the dead fear the
living.”
“Fear the living?” I was befuddled, it was a plane of higher
intelligence I had never seen before, nor would expect from such a
young child. “How do you know this?”
The boy tossed all that remained of his fish, its head, back and
forth in his hands then looked up at me slightly annoyed. “Because they talk to me.”
Abel popped the head into his mouth and crunched down,
chewing slowly and thoroughly as to turn tissue and bone into a fine
mash before gulping the liquefied trout down his throat. I was
skeptical, and intrigued, although the signs were all about, I had
never before seen the clues. From the virus cells faint yet patterned luminescent, to its precision, and ultimately the mannerisms performed by Prowler’s themselves, it was all there. I had always classified it as a sentient being, but never had I expected such and
advanced intelligence.
“How?” I eventually asked. “Snarling and growling?” “Words have no meaning. They speak to me from here.” He
said while pointing to his head. And it all made sense, some form of
telepathy, primitive but unusually unique. Just like some animals
can communicate with each other through an unseen force,
transferred through instinctual body languages, or be it pheromones,
it is all the same. All creatures are naturally connected to their own,
and in some cases to other species. Valkyrie always seemed so alien
to all other life on earth, but now is appears it may be all too similar. “What do they say?”
“Fear and want. Mostly hunger, and sometimes…” He paused
a moment, trying to find the word. “Cursy, no, corst… cur…” “Curiosity?”
“Yes.” He said, grabbing another fish, only this time he began
with the head.
Silently I stared into the fire, absorbing this inside look of the
very thing I knew better than anyone else. A whole other world was
unfolding before me, and unknowingly afraid of how it would all
come in the end. However, I would never fully understand all of her
secrets, that is, not until I was able to dig deeper. I needed the boy’s
blood, I needed another look at this unique strain, another chance to fully understand the significance and connections between our two worlds. Or should I say, our world?
* * * * * Ten days in and it was becoming easier for Abel to open up to me, and thankfully show a little mercy. But, still my days are long and rough, the temperatures has continued to skyrocket with no rain in sight. The forest has become dangerously dry and the insect population as congregated around us for their only source of water. Mosquitoes and Mooseflies added an irritating sting to my daily chores, and yet they do not seem to bother with or even notice the boy. But of course, Abel has made sure to collect some natural bug repellent for Steph, wild citronella, which occasionally she would throw me a few bunched up leaves when he was not looking. But it didn’t seem to help me any.
The transmission of the virus via insects has been a concern for many years, however according to my research it only occurs in rare cases, and even then the infection is sometimes too weak to take hold. Worrying about it would be a waste of time, I have other matters to take care of, most importantly was ending Abel’s tyranny. It was more important that I reach him, to convince him that I needed to finish my research, and return to the GFS.
“Why do you disobey your father?” I f inally asked as he watched me stacking wood. But he did not answer, nor did he look at me. “I know this is not what he asked of you. He knew how important it was that I complete my mission.” Still no response. I thought carefully as I carried log after log over to the wood-pile, how could I persuade him to speak, to confide in me.
“Would you still like me to read your father’s journal to you?” I asked, and his eyes lit up in excitement as he nodded impatiently.
Dropping the handful of logs I entered the cabin and pulled the deteriorating journal from my pack. The pelt cover still stained with brown splotches, blood Mia’s blood. Slowly I brushed my hand over it, praying that story-time would open up his barriers and let me in. My intention was to play on the boys love and infatuation for the mother he has never known.
Stepping out of the cabin I found the boy already seated upon the ground, legs crossed, and his chin resting in one hand. Steph sat next to him, smiling at me in confidence of my actions. It was just like the children of the GFS when many times before I read this same book to them. Selected entries of course, some of his tales are just too much, they need not be reminded of the current state of the world. They live it every day.
Slowly I flipped through the aged and brittle pages, searching for a story about his mother, something that would hopefully entice his compassionate side. Something that would be both exciting and would give him some insight into the mysterious life of his parents, both of whom were taken from him too soon. And as I skimmed the aged pages the boy rocked back and forth in unadulterated anticipation.
* * * * *
“10th Day, 5th Planting Moon; In the hopes of giving Mia a little taste of beauty which these mountains are abundantly lavished with, I have decided that we would take a trip up to Grand Falls. Of course, these falls are nothing in comparison to that of Niagara, but spectacular none the less. Seeing nature’s raw power should be both surreal and inspiring for her ever expanding mind. Of course, the view is more for this precious girl, for me, there is an ulterior motive.
It was a long journey, made all the more longer as we hauled a hefty wheel-barrel along with us, but not for our own supplies, which we carried upon our backs. But, for the possibility of recovering a propane generator from the river’s edge. Back in the day, these generators powered ear-shattering sirens in order to provide fair warning of violently rising water from the scheduled releases of Flagstaff dam. I just hoped the shed’s which sheltered them from the elements have held up to the tests of time.
It took us five and a half uneventful days of following the long and old King Bartlett Rd to reach the trail head to the falls. The road itself has held its own over the years and made traveling all the more easier. On the other hand, the narrow foot trail that led from the road to the falls proved to be our biggest obstacle. It seemed ever fifty or so yards we would come across a wash out or even a downed tree which blocked our path. What could have taken an hour or so to hike, became a six hour haul of strenuous labor. But, thankfully, we now sit at the river’s edge just above the falls, resting and waiting for night fall as we listen to the roar of the waters angst.
Dropping straight down fifty or so feet, and over one hundred feet across, it remains an awe inspiring glimpse at the full power of nature. As the sun drifts further down behind the tree line, its rays blaze through the billowing mists of the falling deluge creating a myriad of rainbows of all shapes and sizes. The most brilliant seemed to arch across the entire span of the river, and then there were the colorful rings that seemed to float in the midst of the charging waters, and others which resembled starburst, rising and falling with the crashing of the cooling mountain flow.
“Can we go swimming tomorrow?” Mia asked as I coaxed our fire to life.
“Maybe, below the falls that is, and a bit further downstream.” I answered with a wink.
“Why can’t we swim down there, it looks deep enough?” She pointed down into the basin of swirling blackened water beneath plumes of foam stained brown with river sludge.
“Too dangerous. The currents would easily pull you under and drag you towards the falls.” I cautioned. “But there is a calm eddy not far from here, it will be much safer.”
Mia went silent once again, her mind wandering, lost in the pounding of water to rock. One can almost hear Mother Nature’s heart beating from this location, majestic and calming, yet all too ominous. As she stared off into the wild,
I built the fire up some more and then built a make shift spit to roast a couple squirrels I had shot along the way. Although all seemed peaceful, I was still on edge, this was uncharted territory, a vacation spot from my childhood. I knew little of the dangers awaiting in these mountain ravines.
The thunder of the river, deafened any approach, from the Infected, or from the living. Bears and wolves potentially looking for an easy meal, or unthinkably a wandering pack of inhuman marauders, seeking only the thrill of pillaging, raping and the smell of bloodshed. I just hope that Nova’s keen senses are not hindered by the falls, she is our best early warning system, fierce and loyal, and when need be, deadly.
As night closes in, and the dusky sky fades to black, the view we have enjoy thus far is also fading away, as well as our vantage points of the surrounding areas. So after we eat, I will be shuffling Mia off to sleep as I build the fire up to give us as much light as possible. And then I shall settle down for a long, endless night of watchful safeguarding.
* * * * *
Dawn slowly closed in, and blackness gradually transitioned into gray, and the stars above that watched over us faded over a blanket of thick clouds. The temperature had fallen some during the night, and although it was still quite warm, the humidity had risen drastically. It was a foreshadowing of a long and wet day to come, which revealed itself just as the shadows of the forest around us diminished in the morning light, and a downpour drenched the landscape. Mia woke instantly.
The fire, although burning vigorously, did not last long in the deluge from above. So I coaxed Mia to get motivated, packing up our gear, and we headed down below the falls for some morning fishing. As we hiked the trail towards what remained of a man-made stone staircase, we took a moment along a small overlook almost adjacent to the falls themselves. The view from there was grander than that from our campsite, almost definitely the site that gave these falls its name. We could see the entire stretch of falls and even peer down to the bottom where it crashed and eroded the mountain stone. Also, it gave us a perfect view of the river upstream as it stretched through the tree lines and curved out of sight. It is there that I saw the silhouette of a couple wayward Dead, slowly making their way down the river’s edge.