by Reece Hinze
Suddenly, a commotion sounded in a group of bushes on the edge of the grove. A doe, identical in his mind’s eye to the one he killed all those years ago, appeared around a bush and scanned her surroundings. Satisfied no predators were near, she sauntered into the clearing. Her head was down, feasting on acorns, as Paul brought the rifle to his shoulder. He lined up the shot and took a deep breath. His finger gently rested on the trigger as he put the cross of the scope over her heart.
Just as he compressed the trigger, a snap and whoosh of air flew over his head. A dark aluminum arrow with red fledging cut through the doe, piercing her heart. Paul fell on his rear and whipped his head around to see his father Tim, standing in an archer’s wide stance, with his compound bow in hand.
Paul turned again and saw the deer in its death troughs. They ended almost as soon as they began. A quick, merciful kill.
“The sick could hear that rifle from miles away, son. You want them swarming these woods and killing all of our prey?” Tim said, walking towards his son.
“I just thought I…”
“No son, you didn’t think. You could have killed all the game in these woods with one shot.” Tim was angry and even in the dying light of the day, the red was evident in his cheeks. He walked towards his son and offered his hand.
“Sorry Dad,” Paul said, grabbing his father’s hand. Paul was a massive man, hardened by life and by what he had seen and done but in these woods, he was a boy again, afraid of disappointing his father.
Tim nodded but said nothing and walked towards the doe. Nerves fired in its twitching limbs.
“A clean kill Dad,” Paul said.
Tim said nothing, instead rolling the doe on her side and unscrewing the broad-head that impaled her heart. Once the arrowhead was detached, he pulled the arrow out, re-screwed it to the arrow and attached it to the quiver on his bow.
“Find us a stout pole,” Tim said, uncoiling a rope from his back pocket.
After Paul returned with an oak branch, Tim lashed the doe’s feet to the wood and took a knee. He removed his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow with his fishing shirt sleeve. He paused and sighed.
“I’m glad your back son,” he said, looking at the ground. Paul watched as his father searched for the right words to articulate his thoughts. He opened his mouth and closed it again. Finally, he just looked into his son’s eyes and said, “Let’s get back to the house.”
So the two men grabbed the pole and the corpse of the doe hung limply between them. It swung slowly as they started down the path. The sun finished its decent into the horizon by the time they left the oak grove. The foliage grew thick and the creatures of the night sang their songs. The woods in the dark was unknown territory for Paul and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He felt as if they were being watched.
“I guess you didn’t bring a flashlight huh?” Tim led the way and asked the question with his back to Paul.
“I didn’t think I would be out this long,” Paul said.
The two men walked on in silence. Scores of cicadas and crickets sang to their arrival. An owl hooted in the distance. Just as their boots clicked on the dried clay of the ancient river bed, something scrambled in the bushes to the right of the trail.
“What the hell was that?” Paul said, aiming his rifle in the direction. Tim was jerked backwards by the force of his son stopping and nearly dropped the deer. He turned back and even though it was near pitch black, Paul’s mind’s eye imagined the irritated expression on his father’s face.
“It was probably just a rabbit or something Paul, now come on,” he said.
“How do you know? It could be one of them.”
“It’s not son, now let’s go,” Tim replied.
“How do you know Dad? Have you even seen one of those people?”
Tim paused for what seemed like a long time, staring through the darkness at the outline of his son’s body. “Yes I have,” he said with a flat even tone. “Your brother Luke killed a woman who attacked me, saving my life.” He let the words soak in. “It’s not an infected person now let’s…”
“There it is again,” Paul said.
There was a rustling in the bushes and this time it was much closer. Both men strained their senses, trying to discover the culprit of the noise. Suddenly, a dark blur rushed from the woods directly at them. Paul barely made out the tiny form of a spotted fawn. It was being chased by something much bigger. The fawn ran between Paul’s legs and tripped him up before he could see what it was. He dropped his rifle and his end of pole and fell hard on his side. Tim called out surprised with the extra weight of the deer. He staggered, trying to support the weight but slipped on the clay and tumbled backwards.
“Dad!” Paul called, but his father was already rolling head over heels down the dried creek bed. A crash of bushes and a shout of pain ended Tim’s fall. And then there was silence.
“Dad!” Paul called again but received no answer. The cracked moonlight shown through the trees at the bottom of the old creek. Paul rushed as fast as he dared across the treacherous clay.
“Here,” Tim said. Paul saw him off to the side of the creek in dark patch of bushes.
“Shit Dad,” Paul said as he kneeled over him. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Tim gasped. “My shoulder. And my back.”
Paul probed his father’s body with his hands in the darkness. He patted his stomach and arms and paused as he reached his right shoulder. A thick, sticky piece of wood protruded wildly a few inches below his collar bone.
“Shit Dad,” Paul repeated.
“I’m alright, I’m alright, just help me get up,” Tim said.
Paul grabbed hold of his Dad’s arm but stopped because his Dad screamed out in pain.
“My back,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Shit, shit, shit,” Paul said, looking around as if the answer were somewhere in the darkness. He was answered by another shuffling in a bush nearby, this one much louder than before.
Somewhere in the distance, a long shrill scream echoed through the forest.
“What was that?” Paul asked mostly to himself. Paul glanced towards his father and saw his grimace of pain through the moonlight. He grabbed for his rifle but remembered he left it at the top of the creek bed with the slain doe.
The rustling in the bushes grew louder. It was headed right for them.
“Don’t make a sound Dad,” Paul whispered. He searched the ground all around for a rock big enough to use as a weapon. All around him, just like the fires near the burning highway, the moonlight cast strange shadows throughout the dark woods. If this was the end, this time he would go out like a champ.
He looked down and suddenly saw Danielle looking up at him with dead eyes. She reached out, pleading, begging for his help. Paul closed his eyes. When he opened them, she was gone.
But then the rustling was right behind him.
Twigs snapped.
His heart beat ferociously. He dared not move or even breathe. Behind him, the footsteps came closer. He had an overwhelming urge to run but he wouldn’t leave his father as he left Danielle. He would rather die.
Crunch.
Crunch.
The dried oak leaves signaled the approach of the unknown. Paul’s hand wrapped around a rock large enough and he turned. In front of him, not more than a few feet away, was a huge man, as fat as he was tall, wearing stained overalls without either shirt or shoes. To Paul, he seemed more a bear then a man with thick matted hair on his chest and arms. Dried blood coated his thick beard twisting it into strange angles. The moonlight reflected harshly off of his blood drenched red eyes and snarling teeth.
Paul lunged at the large man but the man saw Paul and at the last second, blocked the stone, sending it tumbling harmlessly into the darkness. Paul reacted fast, his muscles trained by years of brawling, and landed a massive left into the man’s stomach. He expected his infected opponent to double over from the blow but instead the man looked at him with an
expression of curious surprise which all of the sudden turned to a screaming, bellowing anger. Paul slammed a huge uppercut into the man’s jaw and blood sprayed into the moonlight but the big man just bellowed and grasped Paul in a terrible hug. He screamed as he squeezed and Paul couldn’t breathe. He felt the black of the night grow darker and darker until a stone smacked the back of the man’s meaty head.
“Come get me,” Tim said as strongly as he could. He lay on his back, unmoving except the arm that threw the stone.
The big man, distracted by Tim, stretched his arms wide and roared like a bear. Paul fell to the ground sucking for precious air as the man charged his father. He only got a few steps before Paul lunged out with all his strength. He grabbed the bottom of the man’s filthy overalls and pulled. Dried leaves splashed in every direction as the infected man’s great mass pounded into the earth. He looked up, his blood drenched eyes focused on Tim. The big man started to rise but Paul dove onto his back and squeezed his muscled arm in a chokehold under the big man’s filthy beard.
The man screamed in anger and rose with Paul’s muscled bulk hanging off of his back. The man turned and rotated and struggled like a rodeo bull but Paul somehow held on, ever choking the life out of his infected opponent. The big man’s knees got wobbly and he staggered precariously towards the slick edge of the creek that Tim had fallen down moments earlier. Suddenly, Paul felt weightlessness as the bull he rode slipped on a loose rock. Paul lost his grip on the big man’s neck and rolled, end over end, down the creek. Rocks scraped and thorns cut as he tumbled. His decent was stopped by a stout oak trunk that slammed into his gut like a Muhammed Ali right. As the air evacuated Paul’s lungs, he saw the big man rolling like a rag doll through shadow and moonlight, directly at him. He tried to move away but there wasn’t time. The behemoth’s skull connected with Paul’s and his world went as black as the night around him.
It was already full on darkness. Luke aimed his old Dodge’s headlights at the pipe metal gate that separated the Slaughter Ranch from the outside world. Luke watched Wade’s stout figure cast a four hundred foot shadow over the field as he jogged to unhitch the gate.
Luke looked in his rearview mirror at the dusty suburban behind them. “What do think of these people?”
Mr. Clifford Worsby adjusted his black WWII Veteran cap and let a long puff of cigar smoke slowly roll out of the open window. “Don’t know yet,” he replied.
Luke’s brother gestured them through the opened gate and he rolled the old truck far enough to allow the Atwood suburban and waited while his brother locked the gate behind them.
“Need to watch ‘em for a while,” Clifford said as if to himself.
“Hmm,” Luke replied. He agreed.
They drove on in silence passing the slowly wafting alfalfa pasture, filled with lumps of rotting human carcasses, and rumbled over the second cattle guard and into the forest where the trees hung over the road like a living tunnel. Soon, the truck’s headlights brought the first of the twin barns into view. A large window was open wide in the second story hayloft where a pudgy round face topped with thick round glasses, gasped in surprise. John Campbell had worked for Luke at the Feed Store and earned a reliable reputation so tonight, even though some of the new comers had protested, he was on guard duty. Downs syndrome or not, he is twice the man you or I are, Luke had argued.
John pointed and shouted when the vehicles came into view. John disappeared from site and a moment later reappeared at the door to the barn with a Hispanic policeman leaning on a crutch alongside him.
“I’m starving,” Danny Ramirez greeted the approaching vehicle. He stared at the suburban rumbling behind Luke’s old truck. “Looks like you found something too.”
“Hell yeah we found something,” Wade said from the back of truck. “Get your hobbley ass over here and look at this.”
Danny peeked over the side of the truck bed and saw the mound of cans and other food. Richard leaned back on a pile of Ramen noodles, casually smoking one of Momma’s cigarettes. “Holy shit Wade,” he said. “That’s a good haul!”
“Woo weee,” John shouted when he saw the pile of food. He grinned ear to ear.
“Who’s in that suburban?” Danny asked but quickly turned his attention to several tiny figures coming out of the barn door. “Back inside kids! Back inside. If you’re good then I’ll bring y’all some snacks in a few minutes. Back inside!”
One of the two big barns had become the defacto bunk house for over four dozen children and the new adults. When Mrs. Campbell inadvertently ran over Danny Ramirez’s ankle in front of Luke’s feed store, she left him immobile so naturally, since he couldn’t go on food runs, he became a main protector of the kids. Wade saw the gorgeous Victoria Conroe peek her lovely head out of the barn door and smile. Luke turned away, his cheeks reddened.
“John, Danny, you guys stay safe and keep your eyes open,” Wade said. “You look lovely this evening Victoria,” he said, smiling at her. She waved as he drove away, one foot arched on piles of food like a conquering hero.
The two vehicles drove past the corral and up the hill to park in the gravel circle. The largest of the towering oaks grew in the middle of the circle, looming a hundred feet in the air and broke up the reflection of the moon into a hundred tiny moving white blotches.
Anne burst from the house, flinging the screen door wide open. Wade hopped down from the truck and embraced his mother fiercely and as soon as Luke appeared from the truck cab, she embraced him as well.
“You boys worry me staying out so long,” she scolded gently.
“But we have to eat Mom,” Luke replied, taking her arm and leading her to their new guests. Luke walked towards the mechanic Bobby who tentatively stepped out of the driver side door.
“Mom, I want you to meet…”
“Oh, Lord have mercy!” The boisterous Momma interrupted him as she half stepped, half fell out of the passenger side door. Luke grimaced as she smoothed down a part of her bright muumuu that clung inside her massive underwear. “I have never seen such an adorable house.” Momma squashed a chirping June bug beneath her fuzzy house slipper as she approached Anne.
“My name is Anne Slaughter and you are most welcome to my home,” Anne said, offering her hand to the big woman but Momma waved her away as if she were silly and gave her a crushing bear hug.
“Oh it’s a lovely place, dear,” she said and turned back towards the vehicle. “Bobby, come say hi and bring the kids too.”
Bobby, clad in his greasy blue mechanic’s uniform, stepped forward and shook Anne’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said, looking everywhere but her eyes.
Anne smiled at him and then at the others, the fierce looking young men who had pointed their rifles at her sons no more than an hour ago. “These are my son’s Bobby Jr. and Hunter,” Bobby said, introducing them in turn. Anne smiled politely but her face froze as Bobby’s last son Jacob piled out of the passenger seat with his dogs in tow. Jacob stared at Anne with expressionless disconcert and she stared back, trying and failing to mask her horror.
“This is my son Jacob,” Bobby said. “Say hello, Jacob.” But he just stared as he did with Wade, emotionless.
Anne opened her mouth to speak.
“Luke,” Bridgett smiled excitedly from the doorway to the house. Luke smiled back, flabbergasted at the unexpected greeting. She jogged out towards him with her arms outstretched and her big Great Dane Sophie, freshly bandaged from her scrap with the infected, followed her loyally but Bridgett smile turned to horror because Jacob’s dog’s charged. One crashed into Anne, toppling her over, on the way to attack Sophie.
Teeth flashed, hair ripped from flesh, and blood splattered the ground as the great beasts met. Anne covered her head as the dogs fought on top of her. Wade, Luke, and Bobby all moved to pry the dogs apart but the remaining men in each faction pointed their guns at each other once again. Momma screamed, “Stop it, stop it!” But the dogs fought on.
A slow smile etched acros
s Jacob’s face.
Bridgett screamed.
Clifford pointed a boney finger at the strange boy. The barks, and growls, and yelps of the dogs were deafening and alarming. “You boy,” he boomed in a forceful tone. “Pry those dogs apart.”
The smile vanished from Jacob’s primitive face. He stared at the old black man as his dogs shredded poor Sophie.
“Now,” Clifford roared. His furious eyes bore into the strange teenager. Jacob spread his strong arms wide and emitted his guttural grunting noise. Instantly, the dogs ran back to him. The big white Pit Bull had a bleeding gash on its neck and a mangy terrier was limping but otherwise, Jacob’s pack was unharmed.
“Oh my God,” Bridgett screamed, running to her dog. The friendly Great Dane lay on its side, breathing shallow. She had a deep cut near an ear and several bleeding bites on her belly and throat. “Ohhh,” Bridgett said.
Wade stared daggers at the Atwoods. “What the fuck man? Richard, Clifford, will you please escort our guests to their sleeping quarters for the evening?” Luke helped his mother up off of the ground.
Richard hopped down from the back of the truck and walked directly up to Bobby’s sons Jr. and Hunter and smiled sardonically with rifle in hand. Mr. Worsby, a stone face worthy of any poker game, stared at Jacob who looked back blankly. Wade walked up to Jacob who was now flanked by Bobby and Momma. The big dogs growled but Wade’s anger was unfazed.
“She just lost her parents and everyone else she knows,” he said. His eyes narrowed. “That dog may be the only family she has left.”