HYBRID KILLERS

by Will Decker

  “I’ll never walk again,” was all that came to mind. “My God! What has happened to me?”

  Suddenly, I didn’t have the strength to support myself any longer, as my head began to swim and my arms to wobble. The next moment, I was flat on my back with no recollection of what had happened. I’d seen some disgusting things in my life, and my imagination could be very vivid at times; my nightmares of Amy’s death were proof of that. But the two grotesque objects at the end of my legs were more than just my imagination; they were a part of my body.

  Feeling sick to my stomach and on the verge of throwing up the delicious meal that Sandy had prepared for us, I suddenly heard her voice break through the haze surrounding my eyes, as she confidently stated, “They’re looking much better each day, John. You’ll have to be patient with them. I know it’s a shock for you right now, but believe me, despite as bad as they look, they are getting better every day. With your strength and determination, it’ll only be a matter of time before you’re up and walking again.”

  I had to believe that what she said was true. But also, the tone of her voice, and the way she said it, gave me comfort. Relaxing, I let her voice carry me away from the pain and agony, as she took the opportunity to cleanse and refresh the bandages, never stopping talking the whole time. She was a pillar of strength, just when I needed her to be one. There was a lot of toughness within this woman that saw herself as weak and fragile.

  After finishing with the bandages, she removed her pillow, lowering my feet back to the table. Looking at my sweat-covered face, she gently wiped a towel across my forehead, drying the beads with a tender touch. She spoke softly, her voice filled with kindness and understanding, “It will get better.”

  There was no doubt that she was referring to more than just my feet when she said that. She was referring to our lives and our future together. I wanted to be strong for her, I really did. But I was floundering. I wasn’t sure that I had the same inner strength and resolve that she did. She looked so small and petite, while I looked so tall and rangy, and yet, I knew who was leaning on whom for emotional support. She needed someone to lean on as much, if not more, than I did. I feared that I wasn’t strong enough to give her the support that she so desperately needed. I wanted to more than anything else to be the man she could put her faith in and lean on. But I just wasn’t sure that I had it in me.

  The sight of my feet had scared me deeper than I had anticipated. I expected a bad sight, but I wasn’t prepared for what I saw. Sandy was doing her best at trying to keep me from becoming depressed. She had only the best of intentions when she said that it was only a matter of time before I was up and walking again. But after seeing the condition that the frostbite had left my feet, I really doubted if I would ever walk again. For Sandy’s sake, I would try. And I would give it my damnedest effort. However, I didn’t believe for one minute that my best efforts would be enough to overcome the alien appendages that I had left for feet.

  I tried to convince myself that it could be worse. Without Sandy’s heroic efforts and determination, I might not have any feet to be worrying about. I may not even have my life. Thanks to Sandy, though, I did have feet, such as they were. And if I ever do walk again, it will also be with great thanks to Sandy.

  “Here,” she said, handing me a steaming cup of coffee, her high spirits not diminished in the least. “Careful, it might be a little on the hot side.”

  “Thanks,” I said weakly, extending both hands with which to grasp it, for fear that I might spill it on me if I tried to hold it one-handed.

  We drank in silence. Sandy was giving me space, respecting my silence, though not sharing in it. I, lying flat on my back with the pillow propping up my head just enough to drink coffee unassisted, while she sat in her usual place on the table top beside me. We had used these positions for drinking coffee, eating, and just plain talking; now I realized that I drew comfort from their familiarity. I suddenly wondered if that was why, I had the dreams of Amy for as long as I had, because of the comfort I drew from their familiarity. Did my conscious mind require that comforting familiarity over the nightmarish dread of the subconscious mind?

  When we finished our coffee Sandy took the cups and as she walked back to the basin beside the old cookstove said, “Tomorrow we’ll start on your rehab, so we should probably turn in early. We’ll both need to be refreshed and ready come morning.”

  “I’ll be ready,” I said earnestly and yet, with a tinge of sadness that the day and our time together, were over for the time being. Begrudgingly, I added, “Good night, Sandy.” When she didn’t say anything for a long moment, I felt I had to say more. I couldn’t let the day end like this. “And by the way, thank you.”

  “For what?” she asked, setting the empty coffee cups on the side board by the stove, and then turning the lantern down to barely a glow.

  “I knew before that it couldn’t have been easy for you taking care of me. But until I saw my feet for myself, I don’t think I fully realized exactly what you went through for me. You not only saw them, but also had to handle them when they were rotten and smelling; I can’t even begin to imagine what that must have been like for you. Thank you.”

  She was barely more than a shadow moving in the dusky light of the lantern, when her voice came to me, “Don’t worry about it, John. The worst is over and you’re getting better, that’s all that really matters now. Get some rest, honey. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  In my self-absorption, I had forgotten that she’d been sawing, splitting, and hauling firewood all day. She was probably on the verge of exhaustion, as she plopped down on the cot and pulled the blankets over her. If I could walk, I would go to her, and take her in my arms, and hold her the whole night through. I would comfort her, making her feel secure.

  But I can’t walk, and probably never will again. In fact, I don’t truly believe that I will ever walk again, at least, not without artificial help.

  I was suddenly thankful for my career as a writer, and that I could support her without needing the use of my feet. With newly found optimism toward the future, I determined that as soon as we took care of the situation at hand, I’d set a pen to paper, and turn out a best seller so that she’d never want for anything again. I will keep writing and making money so that she never realizes that without the use of my feet, I am anything less than a whole man.

  These thoughts, along with the memory of seeing my feet, kept me awake for many hours into the night. I had barely drifted off to sleep, when I heard Sandy feeding the old cookstove. She added a log and opened the flue to get the heat up so that she could fix coffee and breakfast. I lay with my eyes shut, hoping that she wouldn’t realize that she’d awakened me, as I listened to the comforting sounds of pots being gently placed on the stove and the stirring of eggs for omelets. Before long, the sound of potatoes frying in bacon grease, even though we didn’t have any bacon, was more than I could stand.

  “I’ll take a cup of that java when it’s ready,” I said cheerily. She smiled at me, and I knew the sun was shining.

  “It’ll just be a minute, love. Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” she gaily replied.

  “Only for you, my love,” I answered her jokingly. “Because only you, would I allow untwisting them.”

  “Ooh, aren’t we in a good mood this morning,” she cooed, as she brought me a steaming cup of coffee to the side of the bed, and then bent down and gave me a kiss before letting go of the cup. “We’ll see how long that mood lasts, once we get started on your rehab therapy.”

  “Nothing is going to dampen my spirits today!” I said exuberantly, watching her heap mounds of fried potatoes onto a plate, before draping the omelet over the top like an egg blanket.

  As she generously sprinkled salt over everything, I couldn’t help but notice the diminutive size of the omelets. It was just another reminder of how close to the edge we were living, and that edge was creeping closer every day. If Fred doesn’t show up on schedule, our options will become ve
ry limited.

  There was still one idea, however, that I hadn’t shared with Sandy. Mostly, I kept it to myself out of fear that she wouldn’t give it the consideration it warranted. And in truth, I wasn’t overly fond of it myself. But not for the same reasons that I suspected, she would disapprove. For her, it would be the part that called for me to stay behind, alone in the cabin with little or no supplies. For me, I didn’t like the idea that she would be skiing down the mountain alone. I couldn’t bring myself to grips with her having to face such an endeavor by herself.

  The rest of the idea was pretty simple and straightforward. Once she reached civilization, she’d send help back for me. Traveling alone, she’d make very good time, and help could return in the form of life flight. Within a couple of days, we could both be safely down off the mountain.

  Nevertheless, I didn’t doubt for a minute that Sandy would balk at the idea. She’ll insist on the two of us leaving together, or not at all. And although my feet are healing much faster than I could have hoped for, they aren’t healing fast enough to make hiking down the mountain a viable option. In fact, after seeing them, I didn’t honestly believe they would ever heal enough for me to attempt such a feat, ever!

  In my present condition, I’d be lucky if I made it ten feet beyond the door, before the newly forming scabs break, and I bleed to death. Even if we wrap them tight enough to stem the bleeding, I could never stand the extreme pain of walking on them for any distance, if at all. To attempt such a foolhardy feat, would only result in the loss of one or both of my feet from an inevitable gangrenous infection. Although Sandy’s heart is in the right place, and she’d never consider the idea of leaving me behind, there’s absolutely no way she’s going to carry me single-handedly down off this mountain. It was probably best if I kept this idea to myself, at least for now.

  My appetite was improving each day, and I wolfed into the omelet first, before quickly seeing off the heaping mound of fried potatoes. For the extra calories that our bodies could extract from it, she laid the grease on thick.

  “There are more potatoes in the pan yet, if you’re still hungry,” she volunteered, taking my empty plate and adding it to her own.

  “Let’s save them for later,” I suggested. “I’ve always liked fried potatoes cold, especially after the grease has hardened into a white gel, and you put an extra dash of salt on top.”

  “Sounds yummy,” she said sarcastically, adding another chunk of wood to the firebox. “Can I warm up your coffee?”

  “Please, anything to postpone the inevitable.”

  She brought the pot and warmed both of our cups. After returning it to the stove, she came and sat on the edge of the table, settling into her familiar place.

  “I’ve been thinking,” she started slowly, almost hesitantly. “If Fred doesn’t show up with supplies, we’ll have to decide what we’re going to do.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been thinking along the same lines. If he isn’t here on schedule, I don’t see much sense in waiting around to see if he’s going to show up late.”

  “I agree. If he isn’t on time, he probably isn’t coming.” She hesitated, almost reluctant to continue, “What are you suggesting?”

  The time had come for me to spill my thoughts to her and try to make her see the logic in them. I had hoped we would come up with something better, but we hadn’t.

  Taking a deep breath and preparing myself for her resistance, I said, “Well, as I see it, the only logical thing left to do if Fred doesn’t show up, will be for you to ski down the mountain on your own and get help.”

  “And leave you up here all alone! Without any food or supplies, not to mention, unable to get up and move about! No!” she said adamantly. “I will not leave you here to die! Don’t even consider that as an option.”

  While she was talking, she’d turned a bright red, and her breathing had grown quick and shallow.

  “I know you’re not in agreement with the idea, I’m not crazy about it either. But I honestly can’t think of another alternative,” I pleaded. “It’s foolish for both of us to remain here when one of us has at least a small chance of saving both of us.”

  “I have a better plan,” she said suddenly, almost too calmly for her agitated state. When she hesitated, I knew she was still feverishly working out the details of it in her mind. “What if,” she started, while walking over to the skis and taking one down from the wall. “What if I use these to make a sled that I can pull behind me, while wearing the snow shoes?” She grew more excited by the moment as the details gelled within her mind. “We’ll tie you on the sled, along with any supplies that we have left.”

  “I don’t know,” I said hesitantly. But she brusquely cut me off with her enthusiasm.

  “A sled with skis as runners would be a cinch to pull down this mountain! Plus,” she hesitated again, as she looked back at me on the table, making sure she had my full attention. Smiling, she jubilantly added, “We stay together.”

  Turning, she placed the ski back on the wall with its mate, while I thought to myself that she did indeed have a good idea. Although I especially liked the last part about us staying together, I did have my reservations about her being able to pull a sled laden with the combined weight of any supplies that we had left along with me. It would be a large burden on her petite frame. Yet, there could be no mistaking that her spirit was definitely up to the challenge.

  “I can keep my eyes open to the surrounding countryside for signs of danger, so all you have to worry about is the immediate trail ahead,” I added, growing fonder of the idea by the minute.

  Realizing that I liked and approved of her idea, her optimism quickly grew, barely keeping pace with her enthusiasm. “We can also take blankets and anything else that might come in handy for providing us with shelter from the cold at night.”

  “Whoa. Wait a minute, missy,” I said suddenly, concerned that she was losing her perspective on reality. “You’re a human being. Yes, you’re beautiful, charming, and a very sexually attractive female. But you’re still just a human being, not a pack animal. We’re going to need to keep this homemade sled as light as possible. Just because we’re going ‘down the mountain’, doesn’t mean our journey will be all downhill. There will be many places where we’ll have to negotiate long, uphill ascents, as well. After several miles of dragging my dead weight, those inclines are going to feel like individual mountains. I don’t mean to rain on your parade, because I think you have one hell of a good idea, but let’s not get carried away here, either.”

  “No,” she said solemnly, slightly subdued. “You’re absolutely right. It won’t do either of us any good if I wear out and can’t pull the sled simply because we packed more than we absolutely needed for the journey.”

  “Good. You just keep that in mind when you decide what to pack.”

  After setting our empty cups on the drain board next to the stove, she turned to face me, a mischievous glint burning brightly in her eyes. It did me good to see her enthusiasm return. “I’ll get started on the sled later, after we stretch your muscles.”

  Moving toward the table with an exaggerated swagger, her demeanor relayed a sense of impending pain, and she was looking forward to delivering it. Yet, there was a kindness behind her motivation; she would never intentionally inflict pain for the sheer pleasure of it. She was only doing what she felt needed doing.

  Pulling my legs up, and then pushing them back down before repeating the entire procedure, she made me realize that I had many muscles that hadn’t been asked to move for way too long. Slowly, the tension faded from my shoulders and upper neck. She worked with deliberate determination, massaging and stretching everything from my head to my feet, always being careful not to accidentally strike the bandaged areas. By the time she’d finished with me, I could sit up on the table without assistance from her. My skin also looked more vibrant, because of the invigorated blood flow.

  It was only the first of what would become innumerous hours of rehabilitation, and al
though I still didn’t have much control of my legs, I had regained control of my personal body functions; I wasn’t wetting myself any longer. It didn’t matter that it was completely beyond my control; it’s still embarrassing when you have to be cleaned up like an infant. Sandy was very sensitive to my feelings in this regard, however, and except for when she needed to check on me, she never mentioned it. Nevertheless, when she did have to attend to my needs, she politely adopted a professional attitude, one that didn’t make me feel disparaged in the least.

  By the time Sandy finished with me, I was sweating hard, and yet, I felt better than I had in weeks. While I continued moving and flexing the individual muscles that she’d awakened, Sandy laid the skis on the floor and considered the construction of the sled. It was a complex matter that couldn’t be taken lightly. While the sled had to be stout enough to carry me, along with all the necessary supplies for the journey, it was imperative for Sandy’s sake that it remain as light as possible. It would also be required to withstand the rigors of a very rough terrain.

  She suddenly looked over at the table, then back down at the skis, before asking, “John, what do you think of using the table top for the base of the sled?”

  “Too heavy.”

  Irritated by my flat dismissal, she heatedly asked, “And what would you suggest?”

  “The cot.”

  “Yeah, right. In case you haven’t noticed, the cot’s nothing more than a flimsy aluminum frame with a piece of canvas stretched over it.”

  “Exactly. It’s light. It sits up above the snow in case the skis break through the surface, and I think you’ll find it fairly easy to work with,” I smugly replied. Instead of shooting it down without consideration, she turned her attention to it. On a serious note, I added, “It won’t take much engineering to fasten the skis to the aluminum cross braces, but there is one drawback that might prove to be a problem when we hit rough terrain.”