Authors: Christopher Cox
Woken by an uncomfortable cold, we packed and got an early start. The fire had gone out in the night, and was still smoking lazily from charred wood. Past habits compelled me to use the small camp shovel to suffocate the embers.
Today’s pace was slower. Our tender feet were throbbing with new blisters from yesterday, and our calves were sore; we moved on, however, driven by our innate need to survive. As we passed into a large clearing, I saw that its serene beauty stood in stark contrast to the woods on the other side, where the path continued. Merely looking at the other side brought an unnamable sensation of dread that sat heavy in the pit of my stomach. A weathered, hand-drawn sign had been nailed to a lonely tree:
‘Don’t leave the path’
Its simplicity was terrifying, and my mind took the inevitable journey to wonder what would happen if we did.
What
, I wondered,
was off the path?
The tree line was thick and continued far into either direction, and there was no telling how far was safe to go around. Similarly, returning the way we came seemed, at best, fruitless if not dangerous. It occurred to me we were best to follow the sign’s advice. Madi timidly agreed.
We tracked through the narrow path. It appeared to be largely unused, evidenced by the struggling plants, choked off from the sunlight by the thick unforgiving canopy. This, incidentally, cast the shadows in an ominous shade on the wood’s floor, unlike the lively dancing shadows from the other side. We quickened our pace and Madi walked closer to me, eager to come out on the other end of the path as soon as possible. Neither of us spoke as we pressed on, deeper into the thick wood.
Madi stopped and motioned me close. “Do you hear anything?” She whispered.
I strained to listen. “No, I don’t hear anything.” I whispered back.
“Me neither. Nothing,” she replied.
I realized then what she was saying. The silence was disturbing; No birds calling, no soft footsteps of animals in the woods, even the air seemed still. We walked on, each of us fighting the urge to simply run.
Madi ran then, but not down the path; instead she bolted to the edge of the path and dropped to a crouch. She swung the pack to her feet and began hastily tearing through its contents. After the momentary shock wore off, I ran to her and kneeled by her side, straining to see what it was that caused her to bolt.
“Madi, what are you doing?” I hissed.
She didn’t respond.
“Madi!” I spoke, louder.
She didn’t look up and continued to dig through her pack. “Mom… Jake…” was all she offered in explanation.
“What?” I asked, puzzled and terrified.
She rose, bringing her binoculars to her eyes and desperately scanning the woods.
I rose to a crouch rested my hand on her shoulder. “Madi-”
“There!” She interrupted. My eyes shot to where she pointed, where I could see a figure just disappear behind a thick brush.
I stood fully. “What the f-”
Before I could finish, Madi tore into the brush in pursuit of the figure, calling after it. I dropped my pack hard to the ground and ran after her. I tried to catch her, but her delicate feet were more confident of the uneven terrain.
She began to call out, “Mommy!” as she ran; I hadn’t held out hope, but the bizarre situation made it seem somehow possible. I considered that we lived in a world in which the dead were walking- anything was possible.
She stopped suddenly, allowing me to catch up to her and gain a firm grasp on her arm. Before I could pull her back to the path, I saw why she had stopped. Unaware of our presence, a creature, once a woman, shuffled past close to where we hid. Her face was badly torn, with bone and teeth showing through her cheeks. In her arms was a young child that was still, with the characteristically emotionless undead gaze.
“Dad, it’s Mom and Jake! Do you see them?”
It wasn’t them. Close, though; it was remarkable coincidence in their age and type of clothing, but I knew that it wasn’t them.
“Madi, honey, that’s not them- I’m sorry, but it’s not. Let’s get back to the road.” I pulled her arm. She pulled back.
“Dad, it
is
them. Look! Can’t you see that?”
I knew that it wasn’t them. I suspected that she knew it, too. But I also suspected that she needed it to be them, whether living or undead, for her chance to say goodbye.
I breathed deep and lied again. “You’re right, Madi. It’s them, you’re right- I couldn’t see it at first. We found them.”
Tears were welling in her eyes. I knew that she needed this. “We gotta give them a good funeral, Dad. They deserve better than this.” At least she was no longer holding out hope that they made it out alive.
“Yeah, they do.” I wasn’t comfortable risking my own life to bury a stranger, tragic as her death may be. If not for Madi, I wouldn’t have.
As the woman hobbled away, I saw a thick rope began to rise. It was tied securely to her waist, fixing her to a solid tree trunk. She reached the end and the rope pulled taut. Unthinkingly, she reversed her direction and began to walk the way she had come until she reached the end again and did the same.
“Stay here, Madi,” I said, stepping from the brush into a small, dry clearing. The sad creature’s posture changed noticeably when it saw me; even the child in her arms started to squirm frantically. Each, I could see, struggled to open their mouths, but I saw with revulsion that they had been sewn shut.
I turned to Madi and saw her watching, wide-eyed. “Turn around, Madi,” I said. She didn’t seem to hear. “Madi!” I shouted. She blinked heavily, shaking her head as she came out of her daze, and then buried her head in her hands.
The creature grew closer, curiously still clutching the child. I could see her teeth gnashing through the hole in either cheek as she vainly tried to open her mouth; a rag appeared to have been stuffed inside, and a corner of the cloth began to work into the hole. The child was doing the same, driven by some horrible instinct. I leveled my shot and waited before squeezing the trigger.
Crack!
My ears rang with the concussion. The creature’s head whipped to the side as the round grazed her skull, splitting her forehead with the fresh wound. The neck apparently broken, her head rested at a bizarre angle as she continued to close. She continued, slower but no less ferociously. I adjusted and fired again.
Crack!
Her head whipped backwards and folded over with a snap from her spine, resting behind her own shoulders. Her body fell sideways, rolled to the front and was still.
As I stood over the body, my ears ringing, I saw the undead child struggling to pull itself from under her weight. The empty eyes stared greedily as its hands tore at the dirt. This time, I couldn’t watch. I leveled the pistol and closed my eyes.
Crack!
When I opened my eyes, both bodies were still. The only sound was the unusually strong rustling of the wind in the upper trees, and the sound of the animals that I hadn’t heard before, frightened into action by the noise. I sympathized with their fears.
I walked to where Madi was kneeling and heard her muffled sobs. Tears ran from between her fingers and her shoulders heaved. I kneeled next to her, holding her close. Neither of us spoke until her sobs began to subside. She pulled at my shirt and wiped her eyes dry, then her nose, leaving a trail on the fabric. I smiled- her mother used to do the same thing.
“Is it done?” She asked.
“Yes, honey. It’s done,” I answered.
“Okay,” she answered, simply. I wasn’t sure how to read that.
“Let’s get the shovel, we’ll give them that funeral,” I suggested.
“Yeah, okay.”
We walked back to the path and reseated our packs, which we laid next to the same tree that the woman was tied to.
“Cut this rope here, I’ll start digging.” I couldn’t continue the sentence-
their graves
, I had left out. It seemed too final, somehow, to say the words. The emotion I felt surprised me, knowing as I did that this wasn’t my wife and child. Like Madi, I pretended it was.
Madi had the rope cut long before I finished the two shallow graves, one large, one small. I pulled the still form of the woman and, carefully, laid her in the grave. As I was doing this, Madi carefully, lovingly even, picked up the small child and laid it in the smaller grave. We stood for a moment, looking down at the scene that was oddly peaceful, despite the horrible wounds they had suffered.
“Say something, Daddy,” Madi begged.
I began to talk. I’ve never given a eulogy before, I didn’t even speak at my father’s funeral, but the words seemed to pour out easily this time. While I knew that I wasn’t speaking over my son and my wife, I took this as my opportunity to say goodbye to them, wherever they were. I talked about our life together, the love we shared, the dreams we held to. I told them, sincerely, that they’d always be with us in our hearts, and that I would always take care of her daughter, his sister. Madi chimed in, promising the same of me.
When I finished, I was surprised to feel that tears were flowing freely down my cheeks, blurring my vision and falling to the ground. I wiped them clear and looked down at my daughter, who looked at me with her own tears leaving twin trails down her face. I kneeled, and we embraced, until the pain passed. In its place was a comforting sense that I believed to be ‘closure’.
Using the shovel, I replaced the dirt over the prone forms, and we lashed thick sticks together in an impromptu grave marker. This would be where they rested in peace.
I walked to my bag, eager to leave this place, when I heard Madi gasp. I turned and followed her wide-eyed gaze.
We hadn’t looked up.
I instinctively reached for Madi when I saw the horrors in the branches, but nothing fell and nothing attacked. There were, by my quick count, no less than half a dozen of the creatures nailed by their hands and feet in the heights of the trees as though crucified, each struggling to moan through the thick thread that held their jaws shut. For each one, a thick rope ran around the tree, tight under their armpits, locking them in place. They struggled with the restraints, as I knew they must have been ever since we came into this cursed clearing. The skin was starting to tear around the nails as they pulled without reaction.
The shock wore off after a moment and the cold clarity crept into my mind. The rustling that I heard earlier wasn’t the rustling of the trees in the wind, it was the crucified creatures. And the sound of the animals running from the shot…
“Dad, look at that!” Madi exclaimed. She started to point, but quickly realized it was unnecessary. In the surrounding trees, past and surrounding our present clearing, were dozens more that were similarly bound to those in the heights of the trees, or others that were tied like the woman that we had just buried. Some seemed aware of us and struggled mindlessly to free themselves, others seemed to not move at all. Around us were several creatures, all similarly forced into silence, struggling to walk past the ends of the thick ropes, like a vicious dog at the end of its leash. Some, those that hadn’t yet begun to rot, were missing clean strips of flesh- the wounds visible through torn clothes. The warning at the beginning of the path suddenly made perfect sense, in context. We had allowed ourselves the indulgence of tunnel vision- that was stupid.
I was entranced by the surreal scene, wondering if they should all be put out of their misery, although I didn’t want to waste the bullets to do so, and wouldn’t sacrifice the strength to bury them.
“Dad!” Madi’s voice, a muted, terrified whisper, broke my trance.
I turned, and found myself looking directly into the barrel of an obscenely large hunting rifle. Everything froze. Every event in my life burst before my eyes, the most intense being my memories and thoughts of my daughter, too young and too precious to be an orphan; that being the best case scenario at this point, I believed.
The barrel blurred as I focused on the man behind the weapon. He had kind and sad eyes, ironic given the situation, which shone starkly against the rich dark skin of a face that was fixed in a practiced scowl. He had a well-trimmed white beard, which hid some of his wrinkles, and wore a faded black rounded hat. My mind tumbled when I saw his clothing; a priest’s collar framed the wooden cross that hung from his neck.
“You shouldn’t be here,” He said, simply.
“Listen, I…” I stopped in mid-sentence and his eyes darted away with the distinctive click of a revolver being cocked. Simultaneously, slowly, we looked down at my daughter who held her revolver with a white-knuckled grip pointed directly at the man’s chest. My hand inched slowly towards my own weapon. There was a breathless tension as the moments passed as if hours.
The man was old, and the barrel of the rifle began to shake, and then waver with the weight. Sweat began to moisten his brow as he struggled to continue his end of the standoff. No one spoke, no one moved. Madi’s hands remained steady, her eyes fixed on the man. I had no doubt that she would kill him, if she had to.
With a sigh, the man lowered the rifle’s barrel to the ground, although Madi maintained her aim. His eyes flicked to me, then to Madi, then to her revolver. Quickly, I pulled my own gun from my coat and held it at waist level, reinforcing Madi’s silent warning. “Take what you want,” he said. “Please, just leave us alone.”