Kevin had been sitting at the bar, quietly drinking. The biggest of sore thumbs, sticking out. A black kid in a white hoody in a club full of white goths in black leather. Anton had approached him, naturally intrigued and struck up some light conversation. They had shared numbers and social media handles and began heading out to more gigs and within a month Kevin had found himself a new best friend. A month after that he had invited Anton out to middle of nowhere to join his annual camping trip.
They'd left Bilbo to his own devices and went exploring. Though Anton had shut down the use of the actual term exploring, saying it was childish. What they were doing was manifesting destiny instead. They trekked out, through the centre of the valley floor, crossing over the river via a scattered selection of rocks that made up its shallows and on towards the base of the mountain to their right, though neither of them knew if it was Alan or Allan. The trees converged back on them, swallowing them into the heavy woods once again and as they drew upon the cliff face proper they heard a voice.
Anton had turned to Kevin, holding a finger up to his lips as he dropped down to squat behind a tree, his leather pants squeaking, threatening to give them away. They crept forward, ducking from rock to bush.
The voice grew louder and then they saw the owner; Standing atop a boulder was a bald guy in a black tank top. His arms were as thick as the trees that surrounded them and he was practising karate moves. At first the pair were slightly awe struck, the stranger certainly looked the part but then they heard what he was saying. With each position he struck he'd call out the name of a “chi power move” that Kevin recognised from the popular Anime “The Wyvern's Yarbles”. He and Bilbo would watch it when they got high. Kevin quickly whispered this little fact to Anton and the pair had to stifle their laughter.
Huge dweeb or not, the wannabe action movie star was still likely to kick both of their asses if he caught them. Luckily, he had also set up a camera and was far too concerned with checking himself out in the reversed view-finder of the device to notice his spectators.
Anton gestured for them to retreat. They slipped away unnoticed and circled around the Seagal wannabe, finding his ludicrously decadent camping setup. He was riding a high end SUV with an extended flatbed that housed a veritable mountains worth of supplies. His tent was almost as big as Kevin's apartment and contained within was a portable television, stereo and gaming rig as well as a high-end hammock.
They crept through the camp, checking out the ridiculous set up when Anton stopped, a mischievous grin plastered on his face as he explained his plan to Kevin...
They ran then. Sprinting back to familiar ground, following the overgrown pathways they had taken. Crossing through a clearing to throw off any attempt at tracing them.
'I still can't believe you just took it,' Kevin said, holding in a laugh.
'Do ast thou will, my man. It's like, the first rule,' Anton replied. 'Satanism 101'.
Anton held his stolen wares up. A bright red fuel canister, full and unopened.
'Why that though? Why not the Playstation?'
'He had five of these. I doubt he'll even notice.'
'Do ast thout will,' Kevin repeated. 'So cool.'
'So what should we do with it? I was thinking we burn a giant inverted cross into a field. See if we can find it on Google maps...'
A weird thought popped into Kevin's head after hearing the coolest guy he knew talking about committing grand arson with stolen fuel... just how well did he actually know Anton? He was very cool and fun and a big hit with the chicks. His real name was also Dustin. But was a Satanist really the kind of person to bring along on a camping trip? And why did Anton want to come anyway?
'Actually the Google satellite wouldn't be able to tell if the cross was inverted or not, would it? We'd be better off burning a pentagram instead.'
'Yeah,' Kevin said, his voice flattening somewhat. 'Can I ask you a question?'
'Shoot.'
'Why did you come along on this trip? I know we're best friends and all, but still... you'll be stuck out here in the woods with a bunch of people you don't even know. We go camping every year, but from the fact you're wearing leather pants I'm guessing you don't do this often.'
'Hey, I like meeting new people. I like doing new things. I've never camped before, but I've been to enough festivals to get the gist of it. Just drink enough so that you don't mind sleeping on the floor or shitting in the woods, y'know? Now how about letting me ask you something. You sure your friends are cool with me being here?'
'Yeah. Why?'
'Just don't want to intrude on your little club, y'know.'
Kevin laughed as they continued their homeward journey, 'We're not a club. We're just a bunch of people who like to hang out and-'
'Like the way a club hangs out?' Anton cut in.
'No. We just barely see each other these days. We were all real close. Real tight knit back in college. I guess everyone in the A/V class was. There was only “Asshole Andy” who didn't end up hanging out. Some people left though...' Kevin grinned as he prepared not to laugh when he said the next part. 'Jimmy quit. Jody got married...'
'FUCK YOU!' Anton cried out, his words echoing across the open ground, 'You do NOT quote that son of a bitch in my presence. I'd rather you read scripture than quote he who shall not be named.'
Kevin laughed even though he could tell Anton was genuinely a little bit pissed at him. Anton's triggers were all music related and Kevin already knew which buttons to press for a reaction. The biggest, reddest and most worn was the one labelled “Bryan Adams”.
'Are you bullshitting now just for an excuse to sing “Summer” at me?' He shuddered at the word.
'No.' Kevin said, before carrying on, 'I mean, yes? I mean... we were all a gang and people sometimes fall away, don't they? People do quit. People do get married and some people... I guess some people just move on. It's not like this is a screening process, but I bet when we leave here in a few days you'll have five new best friends. Well, we already chill with Bilbo a fair bit already... the math isn't important. The point is, come next year when we do this again we won't even have to think twice about you coming along, because you won't be an outsider next time. You'll just be an old friend.'
Kevin smiled and Anton followed suit. Kevin noticed it was a genuine one too, the one Anton had when he let his guard down where he showed off too much gum.
They walked on as the sun continued to dip and an echoing wail rang out across the valley. It was rich with fury and loss. Their faces dropped as they looked around at each other, then over their shoulder.
'Oh shit! He must have seen the missing fuel!' Kevin whispered.
Anton laughed and took off! Bounding into the tree line, back towards the camp.
The sun continued to slip away and darkness proceeded to take hold.
4.
'Lone survivor. Checking in. Log... 345. The time is... unimportant. Location... undisclosed. All you need to know is I'm seven clicks deep behind enemy lines and I have just one objective... survive!'
“The Edge”, as he liked to be called, gestured towards the camera hard with his thumbs as he finished his introduction, thinking how badass it looked. He'd finished his katas and had slipped into his ghillie suit. A heavy duty uniform and hood combo camouflaged with realistic looking moss, and leaves used to blend into the local flora. Now he was ready to start filming proper.
His spiel may have looked good under different circumstances. But the camera was framed wrong and had slipped a little after he had balanced it on a fallen tree. As it was now, the lens was only recording a pair of legs at a forty-five degree angle. He found if he had the viewfinder facing him he always ended up looking at himself, instead of the lens and that wouldn't do, not when he was shooting his first (and final) takes.
The Edge approached the camera and snatched it up, spinning it dramatically to face him as he began to stride through the woods, his voice drowning out the ambient noise; the sounds of his feet tramping through
the fallen leaves and twigs, but also the faint footfalls of someone else too.
'Your number one objective when thrust into a survival situation is to survive!' he continued. 'To do this you need two things. Number one, water. Number two, food. And... number three. Your wits and cunning! In the following video series I will teach you how to do this... and more! You will bend nature to your will. You will break pain and fear over your knee. Using only what the land offers you and using only what you TAKE from the land... you will live... ON THE EDGE!'
The Edge had got caught up on his introduction and hadn't noticed exactly where he was going until he realised that, like a homing pigeon, he had instinctively walked right up to his SUV. The flatbed was full of water tanks, fuel and boxes of rations and cookies. All of which he'd just filmed, when he was meant to be out here with nothing.
'Aw FUCK!' he screamed. 'GOD DAMN IT! That was fucking perfect too! One take! Ruined.'
He snapped the viewfinder wing shut and stormed towards his truck. He opened the passenger side door and sat half in the truck. He reached behind him and into one of his many boxes of rations and grabbed a pack of Oreos and a bottle of chocolate milk. His rage subsided slightly as he devoured the cookies.
He smiled. He was going to be a star. Just as soon as he got all the footage required for the YouTube channel. There were so many fakes and phonies out there, filming guides and making mud huts in their mom's back yards. Not Dennis McDonnell though. Not The Edge. Because that's where he lived, and that's what he was going to show the world. He balanced on the very edge of what was acceptable, and he was the real deal... plus his mom died years ago. So her back yard was now his back yard. As was a considerable trust fund.
When the end came, be it nuclear war, viral outbreak, or via a horde of the undead, who was going to survive? He was. Him and anyone else who was smart enough and tough enough to learn how to survive out here.
The Edge hurled the chocolate milk bottle into the woods. He was here to live off the land, sure. But he would simply live off the land where he hadn't littered. There was enough of it, after all.
Picking up another pack of Oreos he leapt from the car, slamming the door behind him. He ducked into his large tent and picked up his brand new carbon bladed machete from besides the TV.
'Back to it!' he grunted.
He trekked out, far in the opposite direction of his camp and further up the ravine in order to make sure nothing of his gear could be seen when he started recording again. People would call him a fake if they saw his car. They'd be wrong though, he was the real deal, obviously. Though they had some nerve, after all he was making these videos for the normal people. They were the one who needed all the help they could get. He was generous like that.
He clambered up a steep slope, hoisting himself up the rocky outcrops using exposed roots from the trees as makeshift grips. His personal trainer had worked out an exercise plan and expensive dietary timetable that left him rippling with muscles, hence him being able to climb so easily. What was fake about that? He had the car and the supplies just in case. That was all. The tent and TV was so he could unwind after a hard days work.
Back on solid ground he unsheathed the machete and plunged it into the soil at his feet. He'd just thought of an even better, even more badass start to his video.
Once again he set up the camera and began. This time the device recorded a poorly blocked Edge approaching the machete which he pulled from the ground like an Arthurian knight claiming Excalibur. He jabbed the hefty blade towards the lens and began his introduction again as, over his shoulder, a figure draped in shadows, watched on.
After finishing, Dennis picked up the camera and without checking the footage, he closed the viewscreen and pushed on, deeper into the woods. This was his first time in a valley. He'd been on extreme camping adventures before, but they were always sanctioned and on monitored reserves. This was what he really wanted though. Something true. Something real. Something all natural.
He pulled out his Oreos.
The crackle of leaves and sticks had become an almost subconscious background noise, something the crinkling of the foil wrapping of the cookies broke with its entirely man-made and alien sound. He dropped the wrapper, finished off his snack and decided perhaps he should not stray too far from the truck as a nice chocolate milk and a few hours on Grand Theft Auto would really hit the spot.
The sound of him rampaging through nature continued, steady and even, matching his footfalls. Then came that foreign sound of foil again, as someone stepped on his discarded trash.
The Edge spun around, machete in hand, ready for anything and there, brazen as day was his stalker. They didn't even try to hide themselves as the looming shadows of the under-brush did that job for them, obscuring their face.
He'd been training his entire life for this, hadn't he? What was he waiting for? He rose his machete up behind him and extended his free arm, an authoritative stance. He just hoped his stalker could see how hard he was flexing through the heavy ghillie suit.
'State your business!' He tried to say in a tone that matched his stance. But his voice came out two octaves higher than intended. He cursed himself under his breath and shifted, spreading his arms to his sides, holding the heavy blade out, perpendicular to his body. He hoped this display of strength and the “come on then” stance would compensate for the weakness he had just shown.
The gesture was met by the stalker shifting too, they flicked their arm quickly. Back, then forth. It was joined by a whistling noise, a dull THUNK and a sudden jolt of pain in the bicep of the arm holding the machete.
Dennis screamed. His voice ringing out across the valley. Any thought of the persona of “The Edge” vanished when the long, slender knife had struck him, sinking deep into his arm. Hot blood began to ooze from the wound as the limb began to spasm. He dropped the machete, which landed blade-first into the ground, once again waiting to be retrieved by someone it deemed worthy.
It wasn't going to be Dennis though. He took off, screaming as he went. He glanced back, glad to see he'd put some fair distance between himself and the assailant who was casually walking after him. All those hours on the treadmill had been good for-
There was another whistle and another THUNK as agony shot up through his lower back. He staggered, tumbling to a squat, but did not fall. Running was no longer an option, so he turned to face his assailant and... nothing. The stalker had slipped into the foliage and vanished.
He stumbled backwards into the trunk of a tree, dislodging the blade in his back. The pain doubled and he howled as blood began to run down his buttocks and thighs. He tried to catch his breath and brought his free hand up to the knife lodged in his bicep. He knew he shouldn't remove the blade, but he wanted to be armed for when his attacker showed themselves again. It's what “The Edge” would have wanted.
He was still Dennis at heart though. He managed to yank the cold steel from his arm, but it reduced him to tears and his body began to go into shock. The knife slipped from his trembling fingers, and exhausted, he leant his head back against the tree.
Something flashed past his face.
In the split-second before his mind registered what it was, he thought it was another knife. Then his brain caught up and he realised it was a garrotte which promptly snapped tight around his throat.
Instantly he realised he didn't have enough air in his lungs as he tried, and failed, to draw breath. He whined through his nose as pressure began to build behind his eyes and the thick, gloved fingertips of his ghillie suit failed to find purchase on the taught strands of steel.
The pain vanished from both his back and his arm as he began to thrash, his whole body flailing frantically, trying to free itself. His face grew hot and turned blue. His eyes began to bulge from their sockets.
Flesh began to tear around his throat as he fought. The constant back and forth of his struggles were akin to a sawing motion, but he didn't register it, so great was his need for a lungful of air. Skin split, th
en his arteries followed as a waterfall of dull, oxygen deprived blood began to cascade from the freshly opened wound.
Still the garrotte held tight. Even when his kicks slowed and became post-mortem twitches. Only then did the stalker let Dennis drop.
As the body tumbled to the ground, the camera fell from the pocket that housed it. The view screen was cracked, but it was recording; switched on in the struggle.
It filmed the sunlight streaming through the leaves of the canopy above, then the light was obliterated as the shadow of the killer fell across the lens. They were backlit, indistinguishable, but perfectly framed. The figure contemplated the device for a moment before bringing a heel down upon it, smashing the equipment into the blood-slick ground.
5.
The sun nestled between the mountains as Donovan, Annie and Philly parked up besides Bilbo's Station Wagon and Kevin's out of place three door KIA.
Philly almost leapt out of the car, stretching and craning his neck after being cooped up for so long. His joints popped and clicked and it felt fantastic.
'What do we want to do first? Meet and greet or heavy hauling?' Donovan asked.
'I can smell Bilbo already,' Annie said. 'I'm going to say hello.'
She was right too. Philly sucked in a breath through his nose and where there should have been the fresh smell of the woods and grass and nature his senses were instead overwhelmed by the stink of marijuana. He had never understand the appeal of that stuff. He liked Bilbo, of course he did. EVERYONE liked Bilbo, but sometimes he wondered if the big guy's whole personality wasn't brought about by the weed he smoked. Regardless, he couldn't wait to see the big goon, Kevin too. The pair of them were the only other people he knew who could match him when it came to being giant geeks. He smiled. God, it'll be good to see everyone again. Especially Zoe.
Death Head Valley Page 3
