by Asher Ellis
“Seymour and his clan are the sole reason that reports of fungal infection have dropped to basically zero. As long as they are allowed to hunt, tourists will believe the disease had gone completely extinct. So after talking over the best steak I’ve ever tasted, Seymour and I came to an agreement. He and his family would do their part, and I would do mine.”
“Yours?” Jake still didn’t believe the old man, but he couldn’t help but take the bait.
“As I’m sure you can imagine, I couldn’t have every hiker and camper disappearing—it would bring far too much negative attention to our town. And what would that solve? So I started handing out my provisions at the ranger station where every visitor has to check in. As you’ve seen with your own eyes, people will accept anything if it’s free. So as long as they took a complimentary stick of jerky or one of our other meat products, I knew they’d be safe for the duration of their visit. And if a vegetarian comes our way, all it takes is, ‘Oh please, try our jerky substitute.’ Turns out soy strips soaked overnight in blood work just as well.
“But every once in a while, we get a stubborn son of a bitch, or a poacher or trespasser who doesn’t check in, and that’s when the Cedar family takes over. Or I suppose I should say, when a very unfortunate bear attack could happen.”
Phil winked again but Jake ignored it.
“Listen, man, I won’t pretend to know what’s going on inside your head, but I’m sure you still got enough of your wits left to realize the holes in your story,” Jake said. “So let’s take a minute and think about it: if human blood or flesh was the only sure way to avoid catching that damn fungus, we would’ve had to ingest some ourselves every time before heading out into the woods. I mean, come on, we’re out there just about every single day. And I don’t know about you, but I know my breakfast has been eggs and toast every single day since I started working for the forestry department. Not a finger or an eyeball anywhere on my plate. So, how do you explain that?”
“Well,” Phil said, turning the rifle over in his lap “allow me to answer that question by asking you another: besides a hearty breakfast, what else do you consume to start each day?”
The answer Phil was fishing for was obvious enough. “You’re talking about the coffee.”
The older ranger nodded. “Exactly. I’ve been brewing up a fresh pot every morning and offering you a cup since your first day. I doubt you’ve ever thought twice about the cup I put in your hand, but for as often as we’re in the woods, constant inoculations are necessary so the immunity doesn’t wear off. Lucky for both of us, I’ve never seen you turn down my special roast.”
Before Jake could offer anything in reply, Phil was unbuttoning the cuffs of his uniform sleeves and rolling them up.
Jake’s mouth hung open as he stared at Phil’s forearms. The aged flesh of his underarms were completely covered in old scars, countless nicks where a straight razor had drawn blood from the tender skin. It was if someone had tried to trace constellations between his freckles and liver spots, leaving his arms looking like a game of tic-tac-toe.
“Holy fuck. Phil…” Jake’s statement came out as a whisper.
Phil rolled his sleeves back down. “It’s not as bad as it looks. It doesn’t hurt, but it does leave me looking like a piece of sharpening leather. But nothing comes without sacrifice. These scars mark my commitment and devotion to my home. I wear them with pride.”
Jake fought back the urge to gag, an unexpected sour taste overtaking his tongue. Phil’s self-inflicted mutilation had catapulted this situation into a realm where Jake was an outsider, utterly unprepared how to handle the world around him. He was becoming aware that the room was spinning and picking up speed.
I’ve been drinking his blood. All these years, I’ve been drinking his blood.
“So now here we are.” Phil stood up, stretching his neck and producing a pair of loud cracks. “And now you know the truth. So what next? That’s the question, isn’t it?”
He looked down at Jake as if he actually expected an answer.
“Well, Phil, if I didn’t know you any better, I’d say you were going to kill me now to keep your secret safe.”
The old man smirked, but it was a tired expression, as if pulling his lips up half an inch left him utterly exhausted. “But you know me better, Jake. I would never harm you. You’re the closest friend I have left in the world.”
Despite everything that was happening and everything he’d just learned, Jake found himself touched by the sincerity of his words.
Phil continued. “And that’s exactly why I’ve got you tied up. I don’t want you running off and getting yourself killed. You were dangerously close, too. If I hadn’t caught up to you, the Cedars would’ve punched your ticket for sure. You’ll be safe here until morning. Whoever’s working the early shift will get here and cut you loose, and then you can call in the cavalry.”
Jake blinked once. Twice. Three times. A part of him was still waiting for Phil to burst out laughing and reveal this all to be an elaborate prank. But the practical side of Jake’s mind, the larger part, knew that wasn’t going to happen.
“What about you, Phil?”
The older ranger shrugged. “What can I say, old friend? I’m tired. I’m just so goddamned tired. And I guess there comes a time in any man’s life when he just has to face the music. I can’t do this anymore, and I’ve been feeling that way for a long time. I think I was just waiting for the straw to break the camel’s back.”
He stood up again before Jake could reply, returning to the window with three long strides..
“I’m leaving the next move up to you,” Phil said, facing the glass. “It’s about time someone did the right thing, if such a thing even exists anymore.”
The unmistakable click of a cocked firearm alerted Jake. From behind Phil’s back, he could see the man holding the barrel of the rifle directly under his chin.
“Phil!”
Jake lurched forward, momentarily forgetting his tightly bound state. The chair wobbled, teetering to Jake’s right, giving him just enough time to take a single breath before crashing to the floor.
His head connected with solid wood, sending a painful jolt through his skull. Though his vision was blurred, he could see Phil slowly turning at the sound of the chair’s fall.
He returned his gaze to the window.
“Remember good ol’ Murray Dobson?”
Jake didn’t register that what Phil had said was a question until he added, “The man you shot?”
“Of course I do, Phil. He was going to kill you.”
Phil’s grip on the rifle’s stock tightened. “I was going to kill him. He was fighting for his life and would’ve gotten away if not for you. But you saved me.”
“Phil…”
Jake caught Phil’s glare in the reflection of the window, his eyes drowning in a sea of sadness and regret.
“Biggest mistake of your life, Jake.”
Phil pulled his shoulders back, his stance becoming one of honor and pride. The stance of a soldier. Of a patriot.
“Non sibi sed patriae.”
Jake’s ears rang from the deafening boom of the gun. He watched it all play out in slow motion. The rifle clattered to the floor along with Phil’s limp, now practically headless body. And then, Jake was left alone in utter silence, minus the ringing of his dying ear cells.
Gone was the chirping of nocturnal insects.
Gone was the thumping of bat wings on windows.
Gone was the breeze whistling through the trees.
His world had no sound. And all he could see was the river of blood flowing from the hole in Phil’s head.
The pool crept toward Jake’s face.
Chapter 21
The world did not return to Leigh in a slow, gentle manner. Reality didn’t bother to knock on the door of her consciousness, nor even turn its handle. Instead, it kicked the door open, charging across the threshold of her awareness like an army of stormtroopers. Or, in reality, it came
from a glass of water, thrown directly in her face. “Gah!” she shrieked as she was hit by the ice-cold liquid, stinging the wound on her right temple. After a few seconds of complete disorientation, the details of her condition and surroundings began to take form.
She was inside an old-fashioned log cabin, dimly lit by hanging lanterns. She couldn’t move, thanks to ropes that bound her to a chair. An all-too-familiar face smiled down at her, the now-empty glass of water in his hand.
“Rob?”
On the good days, he’d barely been her friend. Now, standing there with that eerie smile on his face, Leigh didn’t know what to call him. Or even what he’d been all along.
“Sorry about that,” he said, retrieving a bandana from his back pocket and using it to dab her damp forehead. “But it’s going to be sunrise soon and I couldn’t let you sleep all night.”
Leigh wrenched her face away from Rob’s touch. “What’s going on? What the hell are you doing?”
Rob shrugged. “I’m doing what I have to.”
Someone moaned weakly right behind Leigh’s head. Though the ropes wouldn’t let her twist around enough to see her fellow captive, Leigh could identify him from the groan alone. Sam was tied to another chair, his back against hers.
“I’m sorry things turned out for you this way,” Rob said, leaning against a weathered kitchen table. “I’ve always liked you, Leigh.” He chortled to himself and shook his head. “Although you probably never knew that.”
As Rob spoke, Leigh’s disorientation only got worse.
“I don’t understand.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said. “You never had a clue because I gave you shit every chance I could. But you must believe me, it was all because I never wanted you to go on this trip. I thought if I treated you badly enough, you know, acted like a total asshole, you’d pass and I’d only have to deal with your dumbass friends.”
Leigh couldn’t tell whether the tears leaking from the corners of her eyes were from fear or anger. Probably both.
“Rob,” she said, her voice coming out a mere whisper. “Why are you doing this?”
He grabbed the edges of the kitchen table and hoisted himself up onto it. He swung his dangling feet back and forth like a little kid waiting for a puppet show to start.
“Well, you see, Leigh, this land has a rather colorful history that dates back many years. It all started…” Rob cocked his head, the corner of his mouth following suit. “Wait. You know what? I think my aunt Clementine could explain this better than me.” He turned. “Bugger?”
Leigh craned her neck to see a strange man in dirty overalls leaning against the wall. The brim of a brown baseball cap concealed his eyes. He was using a knife to pick out grime from under his fingernails. Leigh couldn’t believe he’d been standing there the entire time.
Rob hopped off the table. “Bugger!”
The man with the knife whipped his head up. “What?” he snapped through yellow teeth.
“Would you please go get my auntie?”
“Fuck you.” The man scowled and returned to the maintenance of his fingernails.
Rob sighed, obviously making a point to release the sound with as much melodrama as possible. He looked at Leigh. “My cousin’s a little upset because I had to kill his girlfriend.” The word girlfriend was accompanied by a quotation gesture.
Leigh flinched as Rob’s cousin slammed the knife into the wooden wall of the cabin, the impact of which caused the glass frame of a hung black-and-white photograph to fall to the floor and shatter.
“She was supposed to be mine,” he shouted. “All mine!”
Rob rolled his eyes. “Oh get real, Bugger. Like a woman that fine would ever look twice at a cretin like you. But me, on the other hand…” He turned to Leigh. “Did you that know Alex used me to cheat on Marshall? Sure, it was only one time, but she didn’t even make me put on a rubber. Shit, I’m surprised I didn’t knock the bitch up.” Rob shook his head. “No character. Not like you.”
Leigh looked away, her jaw trembling.
Bugger took a step forward. “Stop talking about her!”
“Or what?” Rob looked at his cousin, boredom and disinterest on his face.
Bugger snatched the handle of the knife, tearing it from the wooden wall. “Or I’ll kill you!”
Before Rob could make another snide remark, Bugger was charging him with the knife raised to his head. With more agility than he’d ever demonstrated before, Rob leaped over the kitchen table, putting the piece of furniture between himself and his relative. Whichever direction Bugger tried to dart, Rob easily sidestepped him.
“Come here, you little fucker!” Bugger screamed in frustration.
Rob laughed like an older brother tormenting his younger sibling. “You’re gonna have to catch me first. Come on, I thought you were hunter.”
Bugger let loose an animalistic howl and shoved the table forward. Its edge jammed into Rob’s stomach, pinning him against the wall. With the practiced skill of a veteran circus performer, Bugger flipped his knife into the air, caught the blade between his thumb and forefinger, and reared back to throw it straight at Rob’s head.
“Wait!” Rob yelled, but the knife was already on its course. Leigh pinched her eyes shut, knowing that there was nothing she could do to shield herself from the splash of blood coming her way.
She heard the knife make contact with a heavy thud.
Then…nothing. She opened her eyes.
Rob panted like a St. Bernard, his eyes wide. A mere centimeter from his left ear, driven into the wooden wall, was the knife, its blade embedded almost all the way to the hilt.
Bugger pointed a dirty fingernail at Rob’s face. “I’ve always been more of a trapper than a hunter. Best you not forget that.”
Rob’s features suddenly broke. “You crazy fuck!” The muscles in his biceps flexed as he shoved the table forward, but Bugger easily dodged it. “I’m going to beat the shit out of you.”
Bugger opened his mouth to retort, but a louder voice boomed over both of them.
“Robbie!”
Both Leigh and her two captors whipped their heads in the direction of the new voice. In the doorway leading to one of the cabin’s bedrooms, the oldest-looking woman Leigh had ever seen sat in a wheelchair that looked just as ancient. The giant man in the bear mask stood behind her.
Gray, glossy eyes behind round spectacles stared at Rob. “You watch that mouth of yours when you’re in my home. You hear me?”
As if he were a ten-year-old school boy being reprimanded by the headmaster, Rob answered feebly, “Yes, ma’am.”
The old woman nodded and turned her attention to Bugger. “And that goes for you, too. Both of you, stop this horseplay.”
Bugger raised his hands like an indignant child. “But Cousin Robbie killed my girl!”
With a shocking amount of strength, the woman slammed her fist down on the handle of the wheelchair, her huge, arthritic knuckles cracking like firecrackers. “Don’t you talk back to me!”
Like Rob, Bugger also lowered his eyes like a humiliated dog. “Sorry, Ma.”
With a wave of her hand, she gestured for the behemoth in the bear mask to push her chair forward into the room. The giant wheeled her past the two squabbling men, right in front of Leigh until they were looking at each other eye to eye.
“Now, what do we have here?”
Leigh could only stare into her glaucoma-ridden eyes for so long before turning away. Her eyes trailed down to her faded, dusty housedress, a ratty purple garment covered in large, gaudy flowers…at one time had it been pretty? Her gaze continued down to the old woman’s legs, wrapped in stockings with more holes than Swiss cheese, and finally landed on her heavy, jet-black boots. Leigh couldn’t help but notice the impeccable state of the boots’ shining leather, a startling contradiction to the musty condition of the rest of the old woman’s attire. Considering that she was wheelchair-bound however, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. According to that old song, boots are
made for walking—and that seemed to be out of the question here.
Rob stepped cautiously forward. “Sorry, Aunt Clemmy. These two were a little more trouble than the others.”
The old woman gripped the rusty wheels of her chair and pushed herself over to Sam, who was just now coming to. In her peripheral vision, Leigh could see Rob’s “aunt” reach out toward Sam’s face. The back of Sam’s head hit hers as the woman yanked his chin upward.
“I thought you said you were bringing me four. And who’s this?”
Sam swallowed hard, awakening to join the nightmarish party.
“Whaa—what’s going on?” he asked groggily to no one in particular.
Rob walked over behind his aunt. “He was hitchhiking. I figured you’d guys wouldn’t mind one more, with winter coming and all. Maybe you can pickle this one, or make some more jerky.”
Sam’s hair brushed the back of Leigh’s neck as he looked around the room. “Who the fuck are you people?”
A quick shriek shot from Leigh’s mouth at the crack of a loud slap behind her ears. It took her a moment to realize that the woman had smacked the side of Sam’s head.
“I don’t like that language in my home, you understand?”
She didn’t wait for Sam to respond.
“But I’ll still answer your question, seein’ as it’s the polite thing to do. We’re the Cedar family. My name is Clementine, and these are my children, Bugger and Grizzly. And it seems you’ve already met my nephew, Robbie.”
Although Rob had already referred to Bugger as his cousin and the old witch in the wheelchair as his aunt, Leigh had been too distracted to fully consider the implications of those words. But now hearing him be formally introduced, the ultimate horror of the reality hit her with unmerciful force.
She looked at Rob and could only mutter, “No…”
In return, Rob only shrugged, the same gesture he might’ve used if he’d stolen the front seat of a car after someone had already declared shotgun. “I’m afraid it’s true, Leigh. This here’s my fam’. And where I come from, family comes first.”