The Nameless Survivor (Valkyrie) (6 page)

             
Using a rag from my pocket I compressed my lips and tongue, trying to stop the bleeding. It will defiantly be awhile before I'm accustomed to my new injury and rid myself of this lisp. I am not sure what has become of the tip, either it dropped below the ridge, or maybe I even swallowed it. I cannot be sure, however the ache in my gullet had eased since then.

             
Under my breath I grumbled and berated myself about how this hunt was not going as planned. I've had harrowing ventures before, but now I have someone else to think about. However, it may be because of her that I find myself making so many mistakes. I discovered long ago that women tend to bring out the stupidity in men, and our stupidity runs deep.

             
As I built up the determination to move on, I stood up towards the edge of the cliff and gazed over its jagged face to relocate the putrid death-path. My eyes grew wide and fearful, and once again my body began to shudder. Not far below, in a small clearing at the base of the cliff stood the grotesque herd of slugs.

             
“How did they not hear me?” I thought.

             
Kneeling down, I leaned over the edge to get a better look. Only twelve, huddled together, swaying harmoniously in the morning breeze. I was thankful that there were so few, and assume that the rest were separated during the wolves’ assault, and probably not too far off. But, this dozen was my main concern, I'd deal with the rest another day.

             
The slugs were as thin as the girl back in my cabin with their ribs protruding beneath their blackened skin. The hair on their heads had mostly fallen away, leaving random clumps of scraggly strands. Fresh gashes on their calves resembled an ominous dog-bite and slowly oozed with viscous black blood.

             
Quietly I studied my surroundings, attempting to plot a safe and effective way to execute the group. One arrow per slug was my first instinct, however I would find myself to be arrow-less. I dare not reuse them, as for it would be impossible to properly disinfect the blades. It would be my undoing if I were to nick myself or infect any game I may take down. And the pistol would most certainly draw in the rest of them, and I was in no condition to fight an army of the dead.

             
I had to think, I had to devise a solution, the faster I take them out the sooner I can continue my hunt. So I leaned back against the boulder to rest and rack my brain. A flutter of butterflies over-turned my stomach as the boulder gradually rocked backwards, pivoting scantly on the edge. The feeling of falling over with it caused me to reach out a brace myself, however the large stone had only shifted slightly. It was enough though, to give me exactly what I needed.

             
“What luck!”

             
With great excitement, I quickly turned and leaned myself over the edge and peered back down at my long forsaken ancestors. I needed to catch their attention, to draw them closer to the face of the stone wall. With a crack in my throat, I hollered down at the brood below.

             
“HEY, DEAD-HEADS, UP HERE!”

             
Like a shot of adrenaline to the heart, their eyes widened and instantly they came alive with such hate and gluttony. Their shrieks from hell echoed up the jagged rocks, stiffly raising the hairs upon my neck. In unison, they heaved forward to the edge of the cliff-face, and their putrid hands clawed at the stone as the flesh from their fingertips flaked away like dry, overcooked fish.

             
It was almost laughable, their failed attempts to scale the icy-stone wall, however I have come to find that the dead can be unpredictable. Climbing, especially when hungry, is not completely out of their realm of capabilities. But, I was confident this cliff would be too much for them, or at least hopeful

             
Their moans continued to levitate up the cliff-side, sending a series of shuttering-chills down my spine. With determination, I positioned myself back out in front of the boulder and braced my feet upon it. With every bit of strength I could muster I pushed, grunting loudly with exertion.

             
The boulder swayed freely towards the edge, but again it wasn't enough, so I eased up my legs and allowed it to pitch back towards me. Once again I pushed, with even more vigor this time, and this time it tilted a bit further but. But, as before, it came to an abrupt stop.

             
With a deep and hearty breath, I managed one last heave. The boulder leaned closer to the edge and stopped, hovering for what seemed like an eternity. Time seemed to slow, the wails of the dead grew deeper and drawn out, and my breathing echoed in my ears. The adrenaline pumped wildly through my system, and my high peaked as the boulder finally careened off the edge. Instantly the massive stone dropped out of sight.

             
Scrambling over to the edge I watched as the boulder crashed down against the side of the cliff, breaking loose multiple jagged rocks and sending them plummeting below. The mass of falling ice, dirt, and stone pummeled into the herd like a holy freight-train sent from above. Cracking skulls and bone reverberated across the cliff face as their blackened blood splattered across the pristine mountain snow. A perfect massacre, just like ancient-man taking down a menacing mammoth.

             
“FUCK YEAH!” I crowed in excitement.

             
The boulder quickly tumbled down to a halt, resting over the remains of a few of the infected. A total of eight flesh-eating-corpses, devastated with a swift and powerful preemptive strike. Only four slugs remained, which they continued to mindlessly and shoddily claw their way up the cliff.

             
Using my bow, I poised the arrow tip down towards the leading Slug, a middle-aged woman I had assumed. Her matted hair, blackened skin, and multiple lacerations across her body made it almost hard to tell. Her gray and empty eyes stared up into mine as I pulled the bow-string back. Sweltering needles shot through my shoulder, and it took everything in me to hold back the tears.

             
The arrow sliced through the cold mountain air and imbedded straight down through her skull with a dull thunk. She dropped to the ground almost instantly, and her legs and arms twitching violently in the snow. And like the snow-angels I use to create as a child, she made her own, grisly and blood stained, snow-demon.

             
Moments later the other three were laid to rest right alongside her. Perfect shots, straight through the mouth, instant kills. My masterpiece was complete, a mosaic of carnage, still-life upon natures canvas. Art-Necro, which shall never be unveiled or admired.

             
Cautiously I made my way back down the ledge and off towards the clearing. The sun shined down upon the bloody congregation with a serene glow, as if God was washing away all the evil with his divine powers. The sparkle of the ice and snow made it all the more surreal, as if their trapped souls were now being lifted with the sun's rays and up into the Lords grace.

             
However, a lone vessel continued to stir as it lay face down on the ground. Its decayed legs were pinned securely beneath the fallen boulder, and it reached out for me with a glimmer of innocence behind the fog in its eyes. He seemed to beg for my help, and for a moment sympathy plagued me, but just for a moment.

             
Kneeling down, just out of reach of its grasp, I gazed over at his face. This one was fairly fresh, maybe only infected for a month or so. It's skin, mostly gray with slight patches of frost-bite, yet he still held a tint of pink around the nose and ears. A young boy, maybe only ten years of age. For a moment I simply watched him, both in admiration and contempt for the evil that flowed within his veins.

             
“Rest.” I whispered.

             
Slowly I slid my knife out from its sheath and promptly plunged the blade through the back of his skull. In an instant he was stagnant. Still and lifeless, the way the dead should be. Just another heap of compost for nature’s consumption, a lost soul to feed the Devil's gluttony.

             
Rummaging through what was left of their pockets, routinely scavenged for anything of use. The middle-aged woman bared a silver locket, badly tarnished with age. Inside its corroded latch held a faded picture of two young children. Although I had little use for a locket, such trinkets were collected for trading purposes. I had a box back at the cabin full of such gadgets, awaiting the day for an opportunity to arise.

             
The other corpses yielded nothing, except for the young boy, he possessed a peculiar necklace. A string of teeth, but not human, too small. Maybe porcupine, or beaver by the look of the two elongated front teeth dangling from the middle, just barely separated by a single molar. The stained incisors were poorly inscribed by a small pocket knife or other some other blade. The left tooth had the letter T, and the letter M inscribed into the other. The molar in the middle was inscribed with what looked to be a plus sign. Such an unusual piece of jewelry, yet the girl may find some enjoyment in it, I had thought to myself.

             
My stomach ached and grumbled as I headed back down the mountain side, making way for more level ground, and eventually home. The trip became slow and slick as the sun was high now and had warmed up the mountain considerably. The snow was melting rapidly and small brooks had begun to form, zigzagging their way down the mountain like blood trickling down ones leg.

             
Moving skillfully through the forest I occasionally stopped to snack on some stale crackers and take time to rest and massage my throbbing shoulder. Aside from the ache I was content in knowing that a few more dead would no longer be a threat to us, yet in the back of my mind I knew that there may still be demonic wolves running amok. Quickly I dismissed the thought, they had probably moved on to better hunting grounds – I hoped.

             
The sun had begun to drift back down towards the horizon after a few more hours of trudging through the heavy melting snow. My optimism for today’s hunt, like the sun, was fading quickly. I had all but given up when something caught my eye. I stopped in my tracks and curiously peered through the trees.

             
Within a partially frozen, muddy marsh, a mere hundred yards away stood a lone doe. Her head down in the ice-cold muck, slurping up what water it could. Thankfully she had not yet noticed me, completely oblivious to my presence. She had let down her guard, not a common mistake for a deer, but one I did not hesitate to take advantage of.

             
My reflexes reacted without fail, letting loose a razor-sharp arrow into the wintery air. It whizzed through the trees fiercely before slicing deep into the unexpected doe's neck with a muddled “thwop”. The cervid bolted for cover, stumbling into a thicket of trees a few hundred yards away before toppling to the ground.

             
“It's about damn time!” I stammered, all the while displaying the biggest shit-eating grin.

             
Cautiously I approached the fallen ungulate, my trusty knife held firmly in hand. Kneeling down a few feet away I waited and watched as she took her last few breaths before falling still in the slushy snow. Her big brown doe-eyes burned into mine, and I could hear her asking, “Why?”

             
From the corner of one eye, a big round tear welled as her tongue slowly fell from her slightly agape mouth. She exhaled one last time, the humid vapor wafted slowly above her corpse like a ghost. She was gone, and so was the guilt that had momentarily grew within my heart. It was now time to eat.

             
The knife slid easily into her gut and up along the rib-cage like a razor blade through a block of cheese. A moist, rank smell caught me slightly off guard as her innards spilled out onto the snow covered ground with clouds of steam drifting up. Although I have gutted many animals in my time, the rank viscera has always disturbed me.

             
My stomach grumbled even louder as I began to think of fried steaks, or a seared chunk of liver and onions sautéed in bacon grease. Of course, bacon grease was not an abundant commodity these days, rendered wild-duck fat would have to do. Unfortunately there would be no onions either, just meat, but I was not complaining.

             
As I cut away the connective tissue from the valuable organs, separating it from the bloody mass of entrails, I randomly sliced off small chunks of liver and eagerly pop them into my mouth. Sweet, bitter, and oh so irony. One does not even need to chew, the chunks easily slid down my throat. It was good – very good.

             
I was in deep concentration as I skillfully worked the kill, but soon became distracted by a muffled noise resonating from a tangled mass of dry bushes. I paused and listened again while staring deep into the brush, squinting to get a better look in the fading light. There it was again, a small and feeble yelp, faint and definitely NOT human.

             
Ever so quietly and inch by inch I drew the forty-five from its holster, staring intently, trying to pinpoint the exact location of the sound. Another yip and then a quick shuffle and there it was, deep within the tangle of alders. A small dark figure inching itself forward then quickly back. My heart came to a sudden stop as the outline out its four stocky legs and erect pointed ears came into focus.