by J. W. Vohs
The deer was something completely different from the young hunter he’d killed earlier, and the flesh-eater had been quite different from the humans Luke had killed in combat. Nevertheless, he knew that he’d taken the life of a creature that wanted to live, and in this case, had done nothing to deserve its ultimate fate. Now sadness washed away the burst of adrenaline-fueled joy that had fueled him just seconds before, and he felt a profound sense of loss as he slowly extended his hand to touch the pelt of the dead animal.
The doe was beautiful, even in death, and Luke couldn’t help but feel as if he’d taken something special from the world. At the same time, he knew that this was part of what he’d been born to do: hunt and kill. Flesh-eaters died by his hand so they couldn’t harm him or his loved ones, or any other humans struggling to survive in this new world. The deer died so that he, Luke, could grow stronger. This was natural; even if it might have been possible before he was bitten, Luke no longer had the option of becoming a vegetarian. No, for his continued existence, animals would have to die to sustain him. He could let others kill so that he might live, or he could obtain protein through his own efforts. The latter option seemed to be the most honorable way to procure the meat he needed in order for his own life to continue.
Natural and necessary as the killing was, Luke still felt as if he should do something before he picked up the carcass beneath his hand. A thought formed in his mind, and haltingly, he gave voice to the thought. He whispered, “This was your fate, and mine. I will not waste you.”
He tried to think of something more to say in honor of the life he’d taken, but finally he had to settle for the words that most closely described how he felt. “Thank you.”
Stanley Rickers sat cleaning his gear, swaying slightly with the motion of the train as the battered troops continued their slow, sad journey back to Vicksburg. The young warrior had just pulled a whetstone from his pack, eyeing the battle damage on the edges of his weapons as he sat by his dying friend. Hiram had been fading in and out of consciousness for over an hour, and his shallow breathing had become ragged and labored. Stanley knew the rattle of impending death; he pulled his .22 and chambered a round.
This wasn’t the first time Stanley had been forced to take this sort of action, but it never got any easier. He placed his free hand on his friend’s forehead and closed his eyes, remembering some of the many things they’d done together since the Utah contingent had arrived late in the summer to help with the harvest. Stanley almost smiled as he thought about the battle in the state park near the Castle, the first big fight he’d ever seen the Utah soldiers engaged in. Hiram and his troops fought well that day against a massive horde that outnumbered the humans at least ten to one, maybe twice that. The Hoosiers learned that the Westerners didn’t budge when under pressure, and they were lethal warriors, as efficient in their killing of infected as the experienced Indiana troops were. Jack’s soldiers had been fighting for months, but it wasn’t until that day that Stanley actually thought that they had a chance at long term survival. Hiram had come east for corn, but he had brought hope along with him.
Stanley sighed and raised his eyes to look out of the tiny window in the compartment. He knew that Hiram was a Christian, and he fervently hoped that God was out there waiting somewhere to receive another brave soul. Stanley struggled with his own faith, the collapse of the world, and the death of billions of people, didn’t help him believe in the existence of some sort of benevolent creator. Still, he muttered a prayer for his friend before lifting the barrel of the gun to Hiram’s temple. Stanley looked at the stricken warrior one last time, and was shocked to see that his eyes were open and focused.
Hiram blinked several times, struggling to breath, then managed to whisper, “I saw angels, and my father.”
Stanley just nodded as Hiram drew a last painful breath. “I still see them . . .”
Stanley didn’t trust himself to look around, but suddenly felt certain that he was in the presence of something sacred. For a moment everything seemed so still and quiet that he wondered if he was possibly dreaming. Then, he looked down at Hiram and remembered that this was all too real. His friend’s pain was over: the Utah general now stared at eternity.
Stanley reached down and reverently closed the dead man’s eyes, then quickly put three bullets into Hiram’s skull. The tiny rounds left no mess, too small to create exit wounds. But the lead ensured that the general was truly gone, and gave Stanley peace of mind as he covered the corpse and called for a body bag.
Luke arrived at the western gate, pulling the fresh carcass behind him with a length of wire threaded through cuts he’d made behind the knees of the back legs. The same guards who had earlier waved him through now allowed him to enter, one of them giving a low whistle in admiration of the deer.
“That outta be right tasty,” the young Tennessean declared. “Ain’t had no venison since the last huntin’ season before the outbreak.”
The second guard had stepped closer to view the doe. “Dang, you’re good with that bow to get a deer on the ground. You were on the ground, weren’t ya?”
Luke was briefly confused by the question before realizing that the guard must be thinking that he might have been in some sort of tree stand when he took the deer. Then, he made a mistake he’d only recognize later, when the mood in Vicksburg turned seemed to turn against him and his friends. “Yeah, I was on the ground, but I didn’t use the bow. I probably should have used it, but I was worried about losing an arrow, and I’ve never hunted deer before.”
The first guard looked confused. “How’d ya kill it then?”
Luke shrugged. “Hit it in the head with my axe.”
The youngster now appeared completely baffled. “What, you just walked right up to a deer and hit it with a war-axe?”
“No,” Luke explained. “I saw three deer head into a thicket, so I ran to the other side of the brush, in the direction they were headed. When this one stepped out into the open, I threw my axe and hit it just behind the ear; it dropped right there.”
The second guard had crouched down, examining the deep cut near the back of the deer’s skull. He looked up at Luke with a raised eyebrow. “Mister, I been huntin’ deer my whole life, and I ain’t never heard no story like that. But I don’t see no other wounds, so you must be tellin’ the truth.”
Luke was beginning to wonder why the two young men seemed so interested in how he’d taken the deer; after all, this was the first time he’d ever hunted the animals. He began to feel as if he should get back to Gracie, not exactly enjoying the way the guards were looking at him. He bent over to grab the wire he was dragging the carcass with, unaware of the small gap that appeared between his coat and glove. When he heard the younger guard gasp in astonishment, he followed the teen’s gaze to see that he’d accidently exposed the ugly pink scar covering his bite wound.
Quietly, and with more than a little awe tinged with fear, the kid stammered. “You’re Luke, the guy who was bitten after the battle.”
Both guards quickly took several steps back as their fingers fumbled for the trigger-guards on their rifles. Luke immediately stood back up, lifting his hands to show that he was no threat. As he did so, his left forearm brushed against his sunglasses and knocked them from his face. The nervous sentries froze when they saw hunter-eyes staring back at them, and Luke knew he needed to quickly calm the pair down.
“It’s all right, guys, the Utah soldiers figured out a way to make it through some bites; I’m sure you heard about it.”
When neither guard made any response, Luke carefully continued. “You cut the wound open and push as much blood out of it as you can. I still went into the fever and everything, but the only change that happened to me was these eyes.”
One of the sentries slowly began to lift his rifle.
“Whoa—I know I look weird, but we’re all hoping the eye-thing is temporary. You don’t seriously think I’m one of the infected, do you? Have you ever had a conversation with a flesh-
eater?”
The young guard leveled his weapon as he replied, “I really don’t know what ya are.”
“Listen to me,” Luke quietly declared, “if you keep pointing that gun at me, I will disarm you. Somebody could get hurt, maybe two somebodies.” He was only slightly bluffing. The two guards were barely a few meters away, and Luke was fairly certain he could still take them both, even though they had guns and he didn’t. The problem was that he didn’t want anyone to get hurt in this situation. He couldn’t blame the guards for doing their job, and if things got out of hand here, it would be difficult to convince people that he wasn’t a threat.
“Look,” Luke continued, “call Captain Harden and ask him to come down here and clear this all up. Can we do that?”
The older guard slowly nodded and reached for the small radio clipped to his belt, his eyes never leaving Luke as he made the call. A few tense minutes later, Harden arrived at the scene with Carlson at his side, both of the leaders quite surprised to see Luke at the gate with a deer carcass in hand.
Carlson was the first to speak, quietly but firmly addressing Captain Harden. “Tell your guards to back down.”
Harden briefly hesitated before nodding at his men and motioning for them to return to their posts. He then turned his attention to Luke. “General Carlson here was just tellin’ me that you’d somehow survived the infection.”
Luke nodded before Harden continued. “I’m damn glad you made it, kid, I really am, but none of these people have ever seen somebody survive a bite-wound. Plus, your eyes are downright scary.”
Luke knew he probably looked as miserable as he felt at having caused such a ruckus. “I’m sorry, you guys, I just went for a walk and stumbled on some deer. My sunglasses fell off and the guards sort of freaked out—not that I blame them.”
Carlson decided to take over. “Captain Harden, let’s escort Luke back to his cabin and then spread the word that he’s alive and well, albeit with hunter-eyes.”
Harden wasn’t sure what to do. “My people aren’t going to like an infected person, or someone who looks like an infected person, inside our walls, even if it’s Luke.”
“I understand,” Carlson calmly replied as he made eye contact with Luke. “He’ll stay in his cabin, with some of my armed men outside, until everyone gets used to the reality that he has indeed survived.”
“All right,” Hardin slowly agreed as he shook his head. “I can’t promise that everyone will like it, but survivin’ a bite ain’t nothin’ short of a miracle. We’ve all heard stories, but this boy seems to be proof. That’s good news no matter what his eyes look like.”
Carlson stepped closer to Luke. “You should still be resting, son. Here, I’ll carry your weapons and Harden will help you drag the deer.”
Luke realized with a jolt of surprise that he was basically being made a prisoner, but he decided to play along until he could talk with Gracie and the others. “Sure, thanks for the help. By the way, either of you know how to skin a deer?”
The sun was setting over Vicksburg by the time Luke re-entered the cabin. At first he was surprised to find everyone still sleeping, but then he realized that his excursion, though filled with drama, had taken place in just a few hours. Gracie and the others hadn’t really slept for at least two days, during which time they’d fought the biggest battle of their lives and tried to keep him alive following his injury. He quietly walked over to where Gracie lay, covers pulled up to her chin, her dark hair splayed out over the white pillow case in a contrast of color that highlighted her beautiful face. Luke just watched for a minute or two, reminding himself that Gracie was now his wife. Finally, he knew that he had to wake her; he needed help preparing dinner for their guests, and he needed to explain how a fresh deer carcass ended up by the front stoop.
Luke leaned down and lightly kissed Gracie’s forehead. Without opening her eyes, she smiled and reached up to pull him in for a proper kiss. When her lips brushed his, she opened her eyes. “You’re freezing,” she said, the concern in her voice rising as she drew back and took a good look at her husband. “And you look a little flushed—do you feel alright?”
Luke maneuvered his way under the covers with Gracie and nuzzled her neck. “Other than feeling a little embarrassed, I’m fine.”
Gracie giggled, “Stop, you know that tickles—and we’re not alone in here.” She playfully placed a pillow between them. “Now just what do you have to be embarrassed about?”
“I really should have let you know before I left the cabin,” he began.
Gracie sat straight up. “You left the cabin? What time is it? How long were you gone?”
“Yes, probably six-ish or a little later, and a few hours.”
“A few hours?” Gracie was dumbfounded. “I can’t believe I didn’t even realize you were gone.” She gazed at her husband and narrowed her eyes. “So what happened?”
“I killed my first deer,” Luke answered cheerfully. “I hope you like venison.”
“I do. What else happened?”
“Well, I was trying to avoid people, so I bundled up and wore dark sunglasses just in case, well, you know . . .”
Gracie sighed. “You scared someone, didn’t you?”
“A couple guards at the western gate. It got pretty tense, but Carlson and Harden helped smooth it over.” Luke reached out and ruffled Gracie’s disheveled hair. “Speaking of Carlson, I was thinking we’d better start making that dinner you promised him.”
“Good thing you got that deer,” Gracie said as she climbed over Luke and off the bed. “We have enough steak left for our little dinner party if we have chicken too, but after that we’d have been out of red meat.” She walked over to where Zach and Maddy were sleeping with their heads on opposite sides of the couch. She clapped her hands and shook the back of the sofa. “Wake up, sleepy-heads—Luke slipped out, and none of us noticed.”
They both jumped up and looked around the room frantically. Luke couldn’t help but laugh when he saw the expressions on their faces.
Zach glared at Gracie. “I thought you said Luke was gone.”
Gracie smiled sweetly. “He was gone; he’s back now.”
“We figured it was about time to start dinner,” Luke interjected, “and since you two obviously don’t have a future in security, we thought we’d offer you a chance to practice your cooking skills.”
Maddy stretched and twisted until her back audibly cracked. “I’ll help cook if you tell me where you went.”
“I went to the woods off the west side of the bridge,” Luke replied. “And if you don’t believe me, you can ask the big doe outside that I brought back for future meals.”
Zach was impressed. “You got a deer?”
“Yeah, but I don’t know the first thing about how to butcher it. I have a feeling that killing it was the easy part.”
Zach slapped Luke on the back. “Good thing for you that I’m here; cleaning a deer isn’t my favorite job, but I’m not half bad. Did you hang it up outside?”
“That would have been smart,” Luke admitted. “I’ll go figure out how to get it off the ground, then after dinner you can show me how to properly process a deer.”
“You should hang it up tonight, but we can clean it tomorrow, when it’s daylight.” Zach looked from Gracie to Maddy. “Ladies, feel free to put me to work in the kitchen.”
By the time Luke was bundled up to venture outside again, Zach and Maddy were peeling potatoes, and Gracie was starting to fry chicken. “Don’t take too long,” Gracie called out over the sizzling poultry. “I’d feel better if you’d just take it easy for a while.”
When Luke stepped outside he was surprised to see two soldiers from the First Utah division standing guard near the door. The young men nodded to him respectfully, but Luke noticed that they both stared at him with curiosity mixed with a bit of fear. He sighed as he tried to prepare himself for a repeat of the drama at the gate, but the experienced westerners were a disciplined lot: they broke off their stare
s and turned their attention back to the street. Voices in the distance could be heard, chaotically rising and falling in a manner that indicated an argument was taking place. Luke looked out toward the disturbance, and saw that scores of people were slowly filing into the meeting house. He turned to one of the guards and asked, “What’s the big meeting about?”
The older of the two, a man wearing sergeant’s stripes and several scars on his tired face, cocked his head in puzzlement. “Why, you, sir . . . they’re meeting about you.”
The crowd in the large cabin where community meetings took place was standing room only, and a line of people waiting to enter stretched down the street outside. Captain Harden stood at the front of the huge room, with Stephen Carlson a few feet away. The two men waited patiently for the crowd to settle in and quiet down, then Harden addressed the group. “First of all, most of the rumors flying around the encampment over the past hour are just that: rumors. The truth is actually more unbelievable than the stories going around, because for the first time that I know of, somebody has survived a bite.”
If Harden had meant to calm the crowd with his admission, he had severely miscalculated the mood of the people crushed into the meeting house. Everyone started talking at once, and within a few seconds they were trying to shout over one another in a futile effort to be heard. Harden looked over at Carlson and frowned, and the leader from Utah shrugged and pointed at the revolver the captain wore on his hip. Harden shook his head in frustration, but he did pull the gun from its holster as the din from the crowd seemed to grow even louder. He carefully pointed his firearm at one of the heavy wooden beams supporting the ceiling before pulling the trigger. The roar of the .44 Magnum round discharging from the long-barreled revolver sounded like a cannon going off in the room, and the shocking explosion finally brought silence to the crowd.
Harden slowly returned the gun to its holster. “If anyone starts talking over me again, I’m going out the back door and the meeting is over. Now, here’s what I know about the situation: yes, Luke Seifert was bitten and has managed to survive. The only explanation we have for it is that Jack Smith and Carter Wilson were right there when it happened, and within seconds they’d lanced the wound and drained about two quarts of blood from it. Luke experienced the usual fever, but it broke this morning without killing him.”