by Chris Pike
I didn’t want to die. Not yet, not now.
I kicked to propel myself above the water line where I gasped a deep breath.
Tommy was walking towards me.
He stopped in mid-stride. “There you are.” His tone was scolding. “We’ve been looking all over for you.”
I continued to stare at him as he came closer to me. “What are you doing in there with your clothes on? Everybody is worried about you. Aren’t you going to say anything? And why the heck is your pistol way over there?”
I looked at him quizzically as he reached for me, offering me his hand, telling me to take it. Using what little strength I had, I muttered, “Get away. Get out of here. Run for your life.”
An expression of disbelief spread across his face. “What did you say?”
“Run...” I coughed out.
“Ella, what’s wrong?” His gaze went to the water. “Good God. You’re hurt. There’s blood all in the water. Give me your hand. I’ve got to get you back to the house.”
“Nooo.” I was having a difficult time forming words. My brain was clouded with thoughts and images. The necklace… so cold…the beast. I gasped a breath. Kyle. May. My parents…
Tommy jerked his head around, startled by a low growl coming from the woods. “Who’s there? Is that you, Kyle? If it is, that’s not funny.” He paused. “Stop joking around, I mean it.” He looked at me then back to the woods. “Ella, stay there. Don’t move. There’s something moving in the woods.”
The beast that knocked me into the water emerged from the thick woods and zeroed in on Tommy. With claws extended, its massive legs claimed the ground, and it opened its mouth, revealing long fangs meant for slashing.
A horrified expression washed over Tommy’s face. “Ella, don’t move,” he said without moving his lips. “I’m going to try to distract it so you can run.” He fumbled for his pistol. His hands were shaking so much he couldn’t remove it from the holster. He slowly backed up to put distance between himself and the beast.
“The treehouse!” I screamed. “Run to the treehouse!”
When he turned to run, the beast sprang up and leapt effortlessly, covering twenty feet in one glide. It pounced on Tommy, knocking him to the ground, pinning him with those massive paws. Tommy feebly reached around, clawing, reaching for its eyes.
I stumbled deeper into the water.
As if to toy with Tommy, the beast slapped him around, playing with him. When Tommy finally unholstered his pistol and brought it up, getting off a wild shot, the beast sliced off his arm with one swipe of its paw.
I flinched at the brutality.
Tommy’s pistol, still clenched in his severed hand, tumbled away, leaving a trail of blood. There was no way he or I could get to it. I needed a weapon. Where was my revolver? I scanned the ground, but it was nowhere in sight. What could I use? A stick, a rock? I found none, so I yelled and waved my arms to distract the animal.
Blood spurted out of what was left of Tommy’s arm, and he looked at it, puzzled. I don’t think his mind comprehended what had happened. He wiggled out from under the animal, crawled a few feet, then the beast pounced on him, smashing him into the ground.
Tommy was quickly tiring.
Then, as if the beast was tiring of the game, it released Tommy, letting him stumble a few more feet.
I yelled, “Ruuun!”
The beast gave me a look that sent a chill through me, as if telling me I was next. It sensed I was wounded.
It turned its attention to Tommy, and in one impressive movement, it reared its head back, opened its mouth, and slammed into Tommy’s neck, crunching through bone and knocking him to the ground.
Tommy’s entire body jerked once, and his right foot twitched spasmodically for a few seconds, then he moved no more. The beast put a paw on his prize then slowly licked Tommy’s bloodied stump and his neck where blood spurted out of the wounds.
I screamed loud and shrill, and the beast lifted its eyes at me, blinked once, as uninterested in me now as if I was a rock, a tree limb, nothing.
Rising off Tommy’s body, the beast thrust its head to the sky, opened its mouth, and roared to claim its kill. The fierceness of the sound echoed through my body and blasted into my head, chilling me more than the cold water encasing me.
The beast tore at Tommy’s corpse, tearing through flesh and fabric, blood oozing from its mouth and dripping to the ground.
I watched the beast dig its fangs into the limp corpse, stand, and trot away, carrying Tommy’s body like a lion would a freshly killed gazelle.
Was this happening? Was that really Tommy? I must be hallucinating.
I blinked my eyes and squinted through the low light.
I slapped my face to wake myself.
All I could think was that I needed to survive.
I shivered uncontrollably, and if I didn’t get out of the water, I’d die, and that thing, that animal would tear my body apart.
Mustering what little strength I had, I crawled out and onto land. I lay there exhausted, my face mashed into the grass, willing myself to move. I pushed myself up and took an unsteady step, then another and another, dragging my leg like a fifty-pound weight was tethered to it.
I picked up Tommy’s arm and pried his fingers away from the pistol. If the beast came back for me I would be able to protect myself.
I fell or maybe I didn’t, I don’t know, as I walked like a drunkard to the treehouse ten yards away. It might as well have been one hundred miles. It felt like a marathon.
Placing one foot in front of the other, I stumbled to the ladder, and mustering strength from deep within, I hoisted myself rung by rung to the safety of the treehouse, where I collapsed on the porch.
Getting an idea, I thought I could shoot a round to alert someone to my location. I swept the porch with my hands searching for Tommy’s pistol. Finding it, I fired several shots.
It was no use calling for help; my voice was too weak.
I rested on the hard boards for a few seconds, breathing hard and trying to get enough oxygen, and it was then my leg started throbbing from my thigh to my calf.
Although I was shivering uncontrollably, my leg was warm in places. I was too afraid to look at it so I concentrated on getting through the door.
I dragged myself in using my arms, then kicked the door shut, safe for the moment.
Lying there shivering in wet clothes, my mind was a muddle of discombobulated thoughts and images, recalling snippets of conversations and people who had come and gone in my life. I laughed at one point, and cried another. I was fatigued, more exhausted than I could have ever thought was possible. My eyelids were heavy and I fought to stay conscious, forcing myself to focus on the ceiling made from untreated wood. The pattern fascinated me, and I counted the smoothed ridges from one board to the next.
One, two, five, eight. I counted each line.
Three, seven…
I’m so tired.
I jerked awake from my own snoring.
Bored with the ceiling, I hummed a tune, or didn’t. I’m not sure.
I closed my eyes again, unable to fight blessed death and its temptation to be relieved of this pain. My parents waited for me, there in the expansive sky, in the heavens where the moon and the stars shined and twinkled their magic. I was ready to be reunited with them. I no longer cared about my body or who would find me or when, and I drifted into unconsciousness to a place where my senses couldn’t recognize reality.
A voice came and went, words muttered unintelligibly. Someone said my name and I opened my eyes to a blurry world of colors and shapes. Strong hands effortlessly lifted me from the hard floor onto a soft surface, as if gravity didn’t exist. At last, the angels had finally come for me.
I fell asleep again, then woke when my clothes were being tugged off, and it confused me because I didn’t know angels were required to dress me. Whoever or whatever it was, I didn’t fight it. I didn’t have the strength.
A blanket floated over me, then
another one.
I drifted back to the recesses of my mind where it was safe, where I was warm in my bed, snuggled under a fluffy comforter.
I heard my name again.
My right arm was being straightened, and a prick on my skin stung. Nobody told me there was pain in Heaven. I yelped in protest and tried to bend my arm, yet it wouldn’t move.
I shook my head to clear my blurry eyesight. A hazy form came and went, and during a moment of cognizance, I reached to push it away. It was the touch of a warm hand, strong, a man’s hand, yet gentle.
I thrashed and mumbled.
A bright light bounced from my left to my right, and I feebly put my hand up to shade my eyes from the blinding glare. Then glorious warmth flowed into my body, and finally I was at peace. Dying wasn’t so bad after all.
“Ella, you’re going to be okay.”
Huh? I thought I said. I opened my eyes.
“Ella, if you can hear me, you need to try to stay awake. This is Kyle. I’ve given you IV fluids I had in my medic kit. It should stabilize you. As soon as I can, I’ll go into town to get antibiotics for you at the hospital.”
I mumbled incoherently.
“It’s me, Kyle. I found you unconscious in the treehouse. You’ve been hurt somehow, and you have a long gash on your leg. I cleaned it and sutured it the best I could.”
I willed my eyes to focus on the face inches away staring at me. The face was familiar. I recalled him now. We’d been traveling on a train. “Oh, you’re Tommy’s brother. I thought you were an angel.”
“I’ve been called a lot of things,” he said, laughing, “but never an angel. You’re not dead yet, so stay with me.”
“I wish I was dead. I was ready to die.”
“No, you’re going to be okay.”
I turned on my side and my hand fell across the side of the bed. A wet nose nudged my fingers. “Ruger, is that you?”
“It is,” Kyle confirmed. “When I heard the gunshots, Ruger ran out of the house. We weren’t quite sure where you were, so on a whim, I handed Ruger one of your shirts and let him get a good sniff. I told him to find you, and he took off running. I followed him to the spring, and that’s when I remembered you said you were going to take a bath.”
I rubbed Ruger between the eyes and up along the flat part of his forehead. “You’re a good dog.”
“When we got here, Ruger started acting odd, growling, and the ruff on his back stood up. I told him to find you, and he went to the base of the treehouse then sat. He’s trained well. I used the pulley to bring him up here. I was afraid he’d run off.”
I took a handful of Ruger’s fur and massaged along his back, working my way up to his ears. “You understand, don’t you, boy?” He answered by licking my hand.
“Ella, how’d you hurt yourself?”
I sniffled, hiding my face, trying to not to cry. A welling of sorrow formed deep inside my soul, full of images I could never forget. The sounds of crunching bones. The severed arm, fingers still clutching the pistol. I let out a mournful sob of sorrow and death, and the tears flowed easily.
“Ella, what’s wrong?” Kyle asked gently. “I’m here for you. You’re going to be okay.” He placed a hand on my arm, rubbing it.
“I want to die.” I hiccupped. “I couldn’t help him.”
“Who couldn’t you help?”
“Tommy.”
“Tommy was here? That makes no sense, Ella. You’re the one who needed help, and he didn’t help you. He’s good for nothing, but I’ll set him straight once and for all. Tell me where he is.”
“We have to help him. I have to get up.” I pushed myself up with my good arm.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Kyle said, restraining me. “Stay here and I’ll go look for Tommy.”
“No! Don’t! It’s useless.” My head dropped back to the pillow.
“If he left you here bleeding, he should have at least gotten help for you. I’ll go find him.”
I squeezed Kyle’s arm hard. “He’s dead.”
Chapter 26
Kyle stood and palmed a hand over the top of his head. “What are you talking about? I saw Tommy less than an hour ago. Ella, you’re hallucinating again. You were mumbling all sorts of things.”
“Kyle,” I coughed out, “listen to me. Tommy is dead.”
“What do you mean?” Kyle gave me a pained expression.
“He was killed.”
“By who?”
I shook my head, recalling my uncle’s words. “Not by who, by what. By whatever did this to my leg.” I tossed the blanket off my legs, and for the first time I saw how badly my leg was damaged. The cut was from my upper thigh to the middle of my calf, just missing the tendons of my knee. The stitches Kyle used to patch me together were bloodied, reminding me of how a Thanksgiving turkey looked with thread holding its legs together. I flexed my toes and bent my knee, testing them to make sure I still had the use of my leg.
Kyle knelt by my side. “You’re telling me the same thing that nearly killed you, killed my brother?”
I nodded.
“What was it?”
“I’m not really sure. It must have been some type of wolf or a mutated one. It was huge, the size of a lion, with long fangs and claws.”
I gave Kyle a condensed version of what happened, from me taking a bath, to thinking Tommy had snuck up on me and pushed me back into the water. I told him about seeing the beast for the first time, and how it was looking at me like I was prey. I told him how Tommy had stumbled upon me, and how I tried to warn him, but I was in shock and couldn’t form my words right.
“Kyle, he tried to help me by distracting the beast so I could make an escape.”
“Tommy did that for you?”
“He did. He gave up his life to save me.”
Kyle hung his head, and kneaded his temples. After several long seconds he said, “I was ready to disown him as my brother. He’s dead? Are you sure?”
“I’m sorry, Kyle. He is.”
“Did he die quickly?”
“I don’t think he felt any pain. It was very quick. He was no match for the thing, and he had no chance.” I placed my hand on Kyle’s shoulder. “He saved me, Kyle. Your brother gave up his life so I could live. You need to be very proud of him for doing that.”
“Where is his body?”
“I’m not sure. The thing carried him away.”
“Which direction did it go?”
“It headed south into the woods. It disappeared like it was never there.”
Kyle stepped over to a table and turned on one of the lanterns. “I’ll go find it and hunt it down right now,” he said, retrieving his rifle he had leaned against a chair.
“Don’t! It’s already dark.”
“I’m not going to leave my brother in the woods.”
“Kyle, he’s gone,” I pleaded. “His soul is already with your parents. You can’t risk your life for someone who is already dead, even if it’s your only brother.”
“I can give him a proper burial.”
“There won’t…be much to bury.”
Kyle’s mouth hung open as he tried to digest what I had said. I hated to be brutal, but unless he fully understood the situation, he’d be the next victim.
“You’re right,” Kyle finally admitted. “It would be foolish of me to go out into the night with my guns blazing. I’ll stay here with you tonight.” Kyle checked the window locks, twisted them to make sure they were locked. He closed the blinds and wedged a chair under the doorknob to reinforce the door. “I’ll sit in this chair so I can stay awake. You need to try to sleep because your body needs to heal. The cut was clean, but you’ll need antibiotics. I’ll go into town and raid the pharmacy.”
“You won’t need to,” I said. “My dad had a friend in pharmaceutical sales who happened to be a prepper. He used to give my dad all sorts of freebies, so we should have antibiotics at the house.”
“Okay then. We’ll spend the night here, and first thing i
n the morning, I’ll get you to the house even if I have to carry you there myself.”
I smiled, but without much mirth.
Kyle checked my IV and straightened out the line which had become twisted.
“What did you give me?”
“Fluids to stabilize your blood pressure. I carry my medical supplies wherever I go. Good thing too, otherwise, you might not have made it.”
“Thank you for finding me.”
“You should thank Ruger. He was the one who led me to you. He’s a good dog, and is your dog now.”
I patted the bed to invite Ruger up. He tentatively placed a paw on the edge, glanced at the bed and the covers, then effortlessly jumped without putting any pressure on me or my wounded leg. He stepped over me and spun a couple of times before pillowing into the bed. He curled into a little ball, tucked his head down, and didn’t move after that. I supposed he sensed I was wounded, and in his own way, he was trying to comfort me.
During the night I slept fitfully, half afraid I wouldn’t wake up, and half afraid Kyle would fall asleep, and that beast would find a way to the treehouse to finish us off.
My dreams were jagged and bounced all over the place from childhood memories to my brush with death. I sweated, shivered, cried, and tossed and turned until finally it was morning.
I woke to find Kyle had dozed off sitting in the chair. “Kyle? Wake up. It’s morning.”
He jerked awake. “Are you okay?”
“I will be. Let’s get going.”
“Let me check your leg first.” He palpated my leg, and with a touch like a feather, ran his hands over it. He tenderly inspected the stitches, and lastly he placed both hands on each side of my wounded leg.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Trying to determine if there is an infection. Your leg would be getting hot if it was infected. Whatd’ya think I was doing?”
“I frankly didn’t know.”
Suddenly I became self-conscious and aware of how I must have looked. My hair was a tangled mess, my fingernails dirty, and my clothes torn and—
“Kyle, why are my clothes hanging on the table?”
“To dry.”
“How did they get there?”
