Withered + Sere (Immemorial Year Book 1) (4 page)

“We should go back.” He picked up the rifle again. He hated the weight of it.

The dog turned to look at him.
The deer.

Cavalo looked into the trees. “Close?”

You’ve seen the blood trail. Blood, blood, blood. It’s grown bigger. It’s dying.

“Or it’s already dead.”

Can’t leave it.

“Yeah.”

Yes. Yes.

Cavalo listened to the forest around him. He could only hear the scream of birds. He warred with himself, but only for a moment. “You stay by me, then. No leading. We walk together.”

Bad Dog pressed his head against the man’s legs.
Go. Go. Let’s go.

They gave the netting and trip wire a wide berth, always keeping it in their line of sight. Once around the tree, Bad Dog picked up the blood trail again. Cavalo glanced back at the trip wire, briefly considering finding some way to trigger it. He decided against it, unsure if it would set off some kind of alarm. They would just have to avoid it on their way back.

MINUTES LATER
they stepped into a clearing, and their hunt came to an end.

Ahead lay a thicket, the bushes a vibrant green, a defiant contrast in the middle of the dead woods. Blood splashed onto the leaves, wet and dark. In the distance, above the call of the birds, Cavalo heard the rumble of thunder.

Bad Dog stood in front of the bushes, spun once, and yipped.
Here!
he said, pointing his nose into the bushes.
Here! Here!

The man stood next to his friend and parted the thicket in front of him. Inside, in a nest of sorts, lay the doe, not yet dead. Her one visible eye was wide and black, dilated in fear. She took in a shuddering breath through her split snout and let it out, her tongue poking out from between her teeth. The arrow jutted up from her neck. The sickly fifth leg did not move. Bad Dog growled, his nose flaring.

“No,” Cavalo said.

It would just take a second. Teeth in neck. Bite.

“No.”

Hungry.

“I know. But look. She’s already leaving.”

And she was. As man and dog looked on, the doe took in another harsh breath. Held it. Then it rattled out. Her chest did not rise again.

Cavalo was already calculating. They were half a mile from the freeway, maybe three-quarters. The doe was fat, maybe two hundred pounds. He could harvest her here, but it was getting dark and they were on the other side of the woods. Even if they weren’t found, it’d be harder to spot the traps at night. He had a lantern, but it would be a beacon in the dark, attracting attention they didn’t need.

He could carry her, but that would slow them down significantly and would run the risk of spoiling the meat before he could take it. He would need to camp tonight either way, as home was still a good five miles off.

“Better there than here,” he said.

Bad Dog barked quietly.
Yes. Let’s leave. Now.

He fixed the rifle back to its strap and bent over. He pulled the arrow from the neck of the deer. Blood flowed. He took his canteen and spilled some water onto the ground. Bad Dog bit at the water, and the man poured it onto his face. Bad Dog laughed and danced, happy to drink. Cavalo sprinkled the arrow with water and rubbed it clean, then stored the arrow back in the quiver.

He mixed the water into the dirt until it was mud and covered the hole in the doe’s neck, staunching the blood flow. He rubbed his hands off on his rough tunic and took off his pack, leaving the bow and rifle. Bad Dog came to his side immediately, and Cavalo set the pack to the dog’s back, connecting the straps underneath his belly. Bad Dog licked his face and chuffed his pleasure as Cavalo tickled his sides.

“Good?” he asked when finished.

Bad Dog moved around experimentally.
Yes. Yes. Good. Time to go home.

“Yeah. Home.” The man turned to the deer.

“Daddy,” a voice said from behind him.

Cavalo closed his eyes. He hadn’t noticed how the birds had gone silent. He hadn’t felt the breeze on the back of his neck. Hadn’t realized any of this until the voice spoke. The soft voice. The young voice.

Cavalo opened his eyes. The dog stood next to him, staring up at him, head cocked.
What?
he asked.
What is it?

“Daddy,” the child said again.

“It’s not real,” the man named Cavalo said to the trees. “It’s not real.”

“What’s not real, Daddy?”

“You.”

Bad Dog:
Hurry. Hurry.

“Hi, Daddy! Hi! Hi!”

Bad Dog bumped his head into the man’s hand. The pack on his back jingled softly.
Come on. Come on. Deer. Come on.

But Cavalo was only a man and did only what a man could do.

He turned.

Near a tree on the other side of the clearing stood a boy. A dark-haired boy. With bronze skin. Dusky eyes. He smiled and showed his crooked front teeth. It was sweet. Endearing.

“Jamie,” Cavalo breathed to what wasn’t there. His knees almost gave out.

Bad Dog, agitated:
Hey! You! MasterBossLord. Get the deer!

The boy waggled his fingers at the man. “Hi!”

Cavalo took a step toward the boy on the other side of the clearing in the other side of the woods. He knew it wasn’t real. He
knew
. But it didn’t stop him from wanting. It didn’t stop him from hoping. From taking that first step away. He
knew
it was all in his mind.

But he also knew it wasn’t.

Bad Dog growled and grabbed the man’s hand with his teeth, tugging gently, trying to pull Cavalo back. The man was not deterred, and as he took another step, the boy in the woods laughed, turned, and ran away. “Chase me, Daddy!” he called over his shoulder, giggling and raising his little fists over his head. “Chase me!”

“Jamie!” the man called and ran after the boy.

He could hear Bad Dog barking behind him, a confused sound, tinged with warning. He ignored his friend and listened to the trees around him. The birds were silent, and he could hear his blood roaring. His skin vibrated. He told himself he was tired. That he was seeing things. That he was running further into danger.
Stop
, he told himself.
Stop. Now. It’s not real. It’s not real.

A small part of him, a desperate part, whispered back,
Yes, but what if it is?

The child laughed again, farther away.

Cavalo ran through the trees, branches slapping his face. It stung, but he was beyond the pain. Beyond himself. Beyond this forest, this ravaged country, this impossible time years after the world had ended, when humanity had been snuffed out like a candle in the dark, leaving only wisps of smoke and ash. He ran because he could
hear
his son ahead of him, running with his little legs through the trees saying
daddy, daddy, daddy
, and wasn’t it almost too much? Wasn’t it just overwhelming?

It was.

And it felt real.

As Cavalo ran, he didn’t see the other trip wire ahead of him. Didn’t see the stone weight on the far side of the tree. Didn’t see the net along the forest floor. He only had eyes for his son, wild eyes that were blown out and leaking.

His right foot caught the trip wire and it snapped against his ankle, burning into the skin. The weight dropped. The net rose. It caught his foot between the netting, and Cavalo’s world spun upside down. He swung right with a grunt, his head rapping against the tree. He saw stars, so many stars, and they were bright and loud and calling like the birds, like Bad Dog barking in the distance, like his son Jamie singing
daddy, daddy, daddy
.

HE AWOKE
later at dusk. He opened his eyes and squinted against the low light. The sky above was an angry gray, and he saw a flash of lightning off somewhere to the north. His head was ringing. His face felt wet.

He heard a whine and turned his head. Bad Dog lay next to him, his head on the man’s stomach, tail thumping. The dog rose to his feet, turning to lick Cavalo on the face.
You need to get up
, Cavalo heard him say.
Get up, get up, get up!

Cavalo grunted and put his fingers into the fur on the dog’s neck. He squeezed gently to let the dog know he was okay. Bad Dog shuffled back and sat on his hindquarters, waiting for the man to rise.

Cavalo looked above him and saw the net swinging in the breeze. He felt the burn on his ankle and knew he must have fallen from the net after striking his head against the tree. He was lucky he hadn’t broken his neck in the fall, though he was sore everywhere. He touched the wetness on his forehead and hissed at the pain. A cut there, a bad one by the feel of it. It would scar, even if he got it closed. He didn’t much care one way or another, but the cut was still leaking blood and his face felt caked with it.

Bad Dog whined again.
Okay? You okay, MasterBossLord? Up. Up!

“I know,” Cavalo said, pushing himself up off the ground. His body pulled in places, felt stiff in others. His back popped as he stood upright. His vision swam for a brief moment, and his stomach turned. It passed after a time.

“It wasn’t real,” he muttered to himself. “He wasn’t there. He couldn’t be.”

And he knew this, but he could still hear
Daddy
and
hi!
whispering in his ears. He looked down to the ground. He saw the faint outline of where he’d crashed down from the net. He saw his footprints. He saw paw prints from Bad Dog, moving in a worrying circle. But that was all. No other footprints. None big.

None small.

You losing it?
Bad Dog asked him.

“No. Maybe. I don’t know.”

Think you’re losing it. MasterBossLord going crazy.

“Probably. If I am, you’re going with me.” He felt guilty over this, but it couldn’t be helped.

Bad Dog wagged his tail and bumped the man.
Yeah. Sure. We’ll go together.

“Yeah.” Cavalo looked around, getting his bearings. “We gotta get out of here.”

Find the deer?

The man thought for a moment. “Yeah. Think I can still carry it.”

Bad Dog looked at the man reproachfully.
We’ve come all this way, after all.

“I know. You don’t have to—”

Bad Dog’s hackles suddenly raised and his ears flattened as he lowered his head toward the ground, bowing his spine. His tail twitched angrily in the air. He growled toward the trees and the shadows.

Jamie’s
come back
, Cavalo thought.
He’s come back, and the dog can see him so that means he’s real. He’s real, oh my God, he’s
real
—

But then voices cut through the dark and the forest. Gruff voices. Adult voices. Here, in the other side of the woods. On the wrong side of the freeway. Lights flashed in the growing night, only yards away. Faintly, but growing louder, a man said, “Check the next.”

“To me,” Cavalo hissed at Bad Dog. The dog stopped his growls and followed the man as they turned from the net and the voices that approached.

Cavalo moved quickly and quietly, watching each step to make sure no other traps would be sprung, no branches on the ground stepped on and broken. The dog moved carefully behind, though the pack on his back jingled so that it sounded like shotgun blasts in the forest. The birds had resumed their cries (
had they ever really gone silent to begin with?
he wondered) and the forest felt
alive
even if it was half dead, and he expected at any moment for the trees to part and reveal man and dog to the group that was
right behind them
. Weren’t the voices louder? Had they heard? Were they chasing?

And didn’t Cavalo, for a brief moment, consider standing where he was and letting them find him? Didn’t he think about allowing himself to be overrun by those in the woods and have it all finally come to an end?

He did. He reached up and touched the scar on his temple. And kept moving.

The man and dog came to a familiar thicket, Cavalo’s head throbbing in time with his rapid heart. Knowing they only had moments (because the voices had gotten
louder
and they were
right there
), he made a decision he hoped he wouldn’t regret.

He turned swiftly and bent low, wrapping his arms under Bad Dog’s stomach, hoisting him against his chest. Bad Dog grunted in surprise—
Hey!
—but didn’t struggle against Cavalo’s grip. The man carried him into the large thicket. The doe lay where he’d left her, eyes black and wide, dried mud covering the hole from the arrow in her neck. He stumbled gracelessly, stepping on the back leg, hearing it break under his heel. He almost lost his balance and dropped his friend. A lesser animal might have struggled then, but Bad Dog did not move, and Cavalo regained his footing.

He hunched low, cradling Bad Dog to his chest, the pack digging into his neck, arms straining as he pushed past the deer, farther back into the thicket, tearing through green leaves and thorns. Cavalo looked over his shoulder and could barely see the doe through the dense shrubbery, four feet away. He lay them on their sides, turning Bad Dog over to pull him against his chest, the pack facing the doe. The dog’s snout pressed against his neck, and his tongue darted out briefly, licking the sweating skin, the drying blood.
We’re okay
, Bad Dog said.
Be a bush! We’re nothing but bushes and leaves and we’re okay!

“Down,” Cavalo whispered harshly, forgetting, not for the first time, that Bad Dog hadn’t actually spoken.

Be a bush
, the dog whispered back before he stilled completely at the command.

They waited.

The forest crackled around them.

A flash of lightning, far away. Thunder rumbled soon after.

The sky above, seen in slivers through the branches, the color of lead.

Bad Dog’s breath at his throat.

His own breath, low and ragged.

From outside the bushes, footsteps. Shuffling through forest floor.