The Nameless Survivor (Valkyrie) (5 page)

              A pink hue scarcely broke over the horizon when I opened my eyes from another dream infested night. The vibrant sky foreshadowed that warm weather was again on its way, which would make for a perfect day to hunt. Quickly I came to the decision that I would allow the girl to rest for the day. This made it the first time that I have left her alone since her liberation from the mountains icy prison.

             
After stretching my tense muscles for a moment, I stood at the foot of the bed, staring in awe at the sleeping girl before me. Such a tenacious and adept survivor, yet with so much purity as she slept with her thumb gently nestled within her mouth like a toddler. Still, I worry, she has yet to mutter a single word and it has been days. If only she would tell me her name, just enough to ease my concern for her, and to finally hear a voice other than my own.

             
Delicately I pulled the covers back over her shoulders and gave a soft, comforting kiss on her forehead. She smiled slightly but did not wake, only snuggled deeper into her blanket. So I turned away to begin prepping for the days hunt, we could not wait any longer. The pains within our bellies began resurfacing as soon as the last drop of squirrel broth was gone.

             
Optimistic that the warm weather would make hunting easier, my pessimistic side created a deeper fear. The warm weather would soon awaken the wandering slugs that currently roam my hunting grounds. The past four months of hard winter has caused them to be significantly hungry, more than usual. I hoped that they had moved further north, maybe even crossing the Canadian border, but deep down I knew the truth. They would have to be dealt with, and soon, a task that would become most disagreeable.

             
I gathered only the essentials; my knife, forty-five revolver, and bow with a dozen arrows. In my haversack I packed an assortment of other items such as fishing line and hooks, stale crackers and an old first-aid kit. Almost everything needed if I were to be stranded on my mountain for the night.

             
As I opened the door, the girl stirred cozily from beneath the fur covers, mumbling inaudibly in her sleep. For a moment I stood motionless, holding my breath, hoping for just one word. But nothing, gracefully she turned herself over as a petite and single snore escaped her nose. Thus, in disappointment, I quietly stepped out and latched the door behind me.

             
The frigid morning air caught me off guard as it filled my lungs, instantly chilling them and provoking me to gasp. I could already feel the skin on my face tauten and could see the tip of my nose promptly flush with red. Yet, the icy pins and needles that bombarded my body were as invigorating as a cold brook swim on a hot day.

             
With my snowshoes abandoned, I had only my thick and heavy boots to trek through the deep snow, which definitely slowed me down. Yet, with my bow in hand and ready for anything, I confidently made my way through the thickets and slowly up the mountainside. My eyes darted between every boulder and brush, hoping to glimpse the hind end of a deer, yet heedful of the obscured dead.

             
My legs were still weak from our treacherous ordeal a few days prior, but nonetheless I pushed on and with purpose. The air was crisp with the sure scent of spring, and every breath that escaped my lips was like faint smoke billowing out. Chipmunks and squirrels jumped from tree to tree with such grace and agility, and occasionally they tossed down twigs and acorns as a warning. They were a good sign that I'd soon find food, but these critters would simply be a waste of an arrow, I needed bigger game.

             
The strain in my legs was persistent, making the first twenty minutes of hiking feel like hours. Every muscle and joint ached and burned, as my bones themselves felt like brittle glass that was imminent of shattering. After years of living in this manner I would surmise that my legs would be much stronger, but maybe I am just getting too old for this shit.

             
After a while, the forest opened up into small clearing, an almost perfect circle shrouded by dense alpine. Amazement washed over me at the surreal visage that had been previously masked before now. Although I'm acquainted with almost every nook and cranny of my mountain, until now I have never before stumbled through this area.

             
The sun cast its rays over the horizon and showered the area with a spectacle of light. A shimmering and heavenly rift trapped within a vale. And the snow and ice sparkled and danced about the area like something out of a mystical fairy-tale.

             
However, this fairyland had been recently stripped of its purity. At the far end of the clearing lay a path of necrotic, blood-soaked snow that trailed off back into the forest. In fact, the entire area was covered with tracks, but not just those of slugs. Dog-like prints too - Wolves. Before me was the remnants of their unfortunate fate. Scarier still, there were no carcasses and obviously the infected do not carry food with them.

             
Deciding to rest a moment, I sat down on a rock near the middle of the clearing and lit an old cigarette from my coat. The carton I stowed away long ago has lasted quite well, a smoke here and there, maybe a pack every few moons. Marlboro menthol, not the best tasting habit, but in those cold morning hikes it definitely hits the spot.              

             
Sitting quietly, I puffed on the stick and listened intently to my surroundings. Listening for anything, the sound of a deer tromping through the landscape, or the sounds of the dead shuffling towards me, and hopefully not the fast dash of a pack of Zombie Wolves. Outrunning a wretch is hard enough, however an undead wolf? It would be of no use.

             
Over the years I have come across a few infected animals, and unlike infected humans, they do not become sluggish in the bitter cold of winter. They are highly agile and aggressive, and no longer fear man. In some ways, I would rather deal with slugs, then the horrific infections of Mother Nature.

             
The few undead animals I've encountered before; bears, bobcats, and even an opossum all struck fear into my heart. But as of yet, I have come across no wolves, and I pray that I never will. Wolves never use to be a worry in these parts, but now a fiercer predator wanders their hunting grounds. And they are being pushed and scattered further into uncharted terrain.

             
When I finished my smoke I flicked it into the snow and watched as the cherry quickly sputtered out. The sun had completely cleared the horizon and it was now time to move on. Slowly and quietly I headed into the same direction of the blood trail.

             
The trail ascended the mountain side for a ways and as I followed it the blood-stains became thicker and fresher. The snow had yet to absorb and dilute the contagious fluid - I was getting close. And in return, anxiety built up from within, the one thing that plagues me every time I encounter the damned.

             
Their trail of blood followed below a steep rocky ridge, a better vantage point for me, of which I struggled to shuffle up onto. The cliff ascended up about fifty feet, but still within sight of the blood-path below. Beneath a swath of trees the ledge jutted, and carefully I navigated its slick slope.

             
Regrettably, just as I reached the peak, my footing gave way to a patch of slushy snow and ice. Slamming down hard onto my side, the wind knocked out of me, and I began to slide. I wanted to scream, and would of if I hadn't been gasping for air while trying to grab hold of something, anything.

             
My fingers clawed into the ice coated rocks and the sensation of needles instantly shot up into my hands as a couple of nails snapped like a dry twig on the forest floor. It was like a slow motion scene of a dramatic movie as I watched a trail of blood, just a couple thin streaks, extend from my finger-tips and back up the rise.

             
At last my left hand firmly grabbed hold of an old exposed root, just as my legs swung off the edge. I came to a painful and sharp halt, as my body dangled feebly over the brim. A thunderous pop resonated in my shoulder just as my lungs were finally able to fill. I released a small yelp, and pain shot down my arm like a rocket.

             
Biting my lips hard I could taste the irony blood wash over my tongue as I reopened my barely healed wounds. Only this time they bled profusely and it took a moment to realize that I had bit the tip of my tongue clean off. Breathing heavily though my nose, I tried like hell not to yell again, fearing I may alert the nearby herd.

             
The pain continued to shoot like a gun up and down my arm, weakening my steadfast grip on the root. Lunging up with my other arm I reached to get a better hold onto the root as I tried to swing my legs back onto the ledge. It took a few agonizingly failed attempts before my feet finally landed and I slowly and painfully pulled the rest of my bruised body to safety.

             
Silently I laid there, catching my breath, forcefully clenching my teeth while trying to take the pain. My mind raced with thoughts that I actually may die out here today, leaving that girl alone to fend for herself once again. It took a few minutes of berating myself before I regained self-control and sat up along the ledge, contemplating my next move.

             
Should I continue on? Or Should I return to the cabin in demoralizing defeat? Questions without answers, a mere throw of the dice. For a moment, I felt my eyes well up in humiliation, but swiftly I buried those emotions.

             
No, there was no giving up, I would not surrender to a little pain. “Man Up!” As my father would say. Yet up until now I have never had the opportunity to pop my own shoulder back into place. Once as a teenager I had it done by my doctor, which reliving that agony was not part of my agenda today.

             
“How hard could it be?” I thought as I stood up and leaned my back against the large oak that had just saved my life. It's massive trunk just slightly leaning out over the brim of the cliff. As if frozen in time just before the moment it toppled over the edge. Yet its roots were large and strong, gripping the cracks that splintered throughout the hard mountain stone.

             
“Man Up,” Is what the man said, so I took a few good deep breaths as I twisted my arm outwards, and the pain intensified to no end. I clamped my teeth together and on to one last. Deep breath, before I lunged my shoulder hard into the side of the tree. The pop seemed to resonate loudly from my shoulder, and my bones reverberated within my skin.

             
This time there was no holding back, my scream echoed throughout the forest, and uselessly I covered my mouth in an attempt to muffle it. Relief coursed down my arm like the effects of a morphine drip. I shuddered with both pain and pleasure before falling to my knees, exhausted and demoralized.

             
Taking a moment, I hunched over with my head resting in the snow, the icy wetness felt soothing and refreshing on my forehead. Sitting still, breathing heavily, and apprehensively listening. The slugs had to of heard me, but to my relief there was nothing; no howls, no snarls, no moans. Nothing, and it sounded beautiful.

             
After a few moments of regaining myself, I mended my fingers with some old gauze and medical tape to stop the bleeding. Then, as not to repeat my mistake, I carefully made my way back up the ridge. This time I reached the top without incident and sat down on a boulder that rested at the edge of an opposing cliff face.

             
My shoulder still throbbed and ached as my lips and tongue stung with persistence, but it was nothing I couldn't handle. I chuckled to myself knowing that it may prove difficult now to use the bow that lay to my feet. Luckily it did not go over the edge when I slipped. Even luckier was that I did not go over, falling to the forest floor with only the crack of my neck as the final noise to echo in my ears.

             
An uncontrollable spasm quaked through my muscles, and my hand shook violently as I pulled the pipe from my coat and packed it with a small bud from my survival kit. Just a few puffs I thought as I struck a match against the rock and let the fire ignite the dry grass. The bud lit up like a Christmas tree and I inhaled its sweet smoke. Why anyone would make such an amazing gift from God illegal is a mystery to me, at least those days of tyranny are now over.

             
The shakes subsided and the ache vanished almost instantly, and I sighed with relief while placing the pipe back into my pocket. Fumbling through the old first aid kit I pulled out a dirty and stained ace-bandage. Painfully I shed the warmth of my coat, and icy breeze washed over me, chilling the sweat that beaded on my skin.

             
In an instant I began to shiver. It was crucial that I moved fast, hypothermia would have surely killed me out there. Wrapping up my shoulder tightly and securing the bandage I quickly pulled my coat back over my shoulders. Thankfully it was still warm, so I snuggled myself down into its depths for a moment and relaxed.