Tainted

by T J Christian

  “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  Chris can’t help but snicker, but he feels a sharp pain in his stomach and stifles the laughter before it can come. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

  Chris forces himself up. He has to finish wrapping the dried meat in strips of plastic to help preserve it as long as possible. Once done, he places the packaged meat into sealable containers his dad had acquired long ago. When he finishes, he stretches back out on his bed and falls into a deep sleep.

  * * *

  Something wakes him sometime during the early hours of morning. He turns over to see Remy is gone. He quietly gets to his feet and tiptoes to the door. Above, the moon is half-full, but in this absolute darkness, it’s more than sufficient to cast a silky glow across Homestead. As his eyes adjust, he catches sight of Remy’s ghostly figure walking down the path toward the Guardians.

  Where’s she going? Their makeshift outhouse is on the other side of the hut, so she’s not going there. He lets her get a few more paces down the trail, then follows quietly behind. Up ahead, the Guardians begin groaning and snapping their teeth at Remy’s approach. Chris uses the noise to help cover his own and steps up the pace.

  She stops just inside the line of trees and begins turning slowly, scanning the edge of the forest.

  Chris takes a sudden step back. From Remy’s right, a man steps out into the clearing. Chris, thinking she’s about to be attacked by one of the Tainted, is about to call out a warning, but Remy stops him from speaking.

  She catches sight of the man and runs toward him.

  His arms stretch toward her and enfold around her as she enters his personal space. Her head turns upward and their lips meet.

  * * *

  Back in the hut, confused and worried, Chris lies awake. It’s all beginning to make sense now. The lean winter supply of food. Before Remy, no more than a couple of days would pass without having some sort of animal fall into his traps and snares. This year had been different, however. He blamed it on having an extra mouth to feed, but now that he thinks back over the last few months, it had been more than that—someone has been stealing his food and leaving just enough for him and Remy to get by.

  The man has to be Austin! Remy’s male companion from Carson’s Crossing.

  He isn’t sure how much time elapses, but Remy finally sneaks back into the hut. Even in the dark, Chris is afraid his breathing will give away the fact that he is awake, so he rolls over as she enters. Faking drowsiness, he asks, “Hey, what’cha doing?” Then he yawns with an over-exaggerated flair, hoping she doesn’t see through his deception.

  She answers immediately, “Had to take a piss.” She passes by, settles down onto her pallet, and turns her back to him. He can’t help but notice the unmistakable smell of sex—it permeates the room and, surprisingly, Chris begins to feel a stirring in his groin. What would she do if he crawled toward her and tried to have his way with her now? Would she let him, even though some other man’s juices are swimming within her?

  He turns away, willing himself to stop thinking about her. Again, he’s confused—how can a woman have such power over him? It’s obvious she and Austin are working against him—will probably kill him once their objectives are accomplished.

  What are their objectives? If they were in Carson’s Crossing for all those years, eating canned food and whatever else had already been packaged and waiting for them to consume, then he could see how his survival skills would be something to desire. But why go about it in this way? Why the deception? Why not just ask?

  In the hearth, a hot coal pops and a tiny flame dances into existence—giving off just enough light so Chris can see his machete leaning a few feet away against the wall. He has lots of questions and no answers, and as he watches the firelight dance on the silvery blade’s surface, he’s afraid this whole ordeal might come to a violent end before any answers are revealed.

  * * *

  Chris pauses before leaving Homestead. He stands a few feet behind the Guardians, staring at the ground with curious intent. Beneath his feet, he can feel a slight vibration. He kneels down and places his palm to the dirt. There’s no mistaking it, a slight tremor radiates from the ground below. He takes a few steps back toward the trail leading to the hut and repeats the process by placing his hand to the ground.

  No vibration. He moves to the fence and kneels. None here either. He shuffles back until he can feel it again and changes direction. Crawling on hands and knees, he crawls north—the vibration is still there. He stops just shy of the northern cliff face. The tremor in the ground feels slightly more pronounced here. He crawls forward and peers over the edge of the cliff and down to the river below.

  In all the years he’s been here, the murky waters hit the cliff and divert east, around the peninsula, before turning south again. He remembers the wad of leaves his father threw in, watching them swirl and remarking that the river current is eating away at the cliff.

  What he sees now frightens him. The river is not diverting as it used to do. The current is flowing straight through.

  Chris pushes away in a panic and runs to the southern cliff. Just as before, the vibrations are here, and when he leans over to look at the river, his heart begins to flutter in his chest. A pressurized funnel of water geysers horizontally from a gaping hole just below the river’s surface—the river’s cut a cave through the peninsula.

  And it’s only a matter of time before the ground above it collapses, isolating Homestead from the forest.

  * * *

  He hears a noise behind him and spins around.

  “What are you doing?” Remy asks, stepping off the path and walking toward him.

  Thinking fast, Chris spouts out the first thing that comes to mind. “Taking a leak.”

  Her eyes slide up and down his body, taking in the machete in the scabbard at his waist and the bow slung over his shoulder.

  “Are you going hunting?”

  He nods.

  “But we have plenty of food.”

  He drops his gaze to the ground, knowing this line of conversation was be coming. He tells her the lie he’s been developing since her late romp with Austin the night before.

  “Yes… for now. But in a few days, we’ll be needing more. I have to hunt to keep ahead.”

  He meets her eyes for the first time—and she looks away. His eyes widen in surprise. Always so vocal and strong of opinion, Remy can’t look at him. Is she ashamed of last night? Does she suspect that he knows what she did—and with whom she met?

  “I’ll be back later,” he says, opening the gate and passing between the two female Guardians. He doesn’t look back, but can feel her eyes boring holes into his back as he disappears into the forest.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chris takes off at a slow trot, following the same trail he’s followed for days on end and years on out. However, he only spends a few minutes on the trail. About halfway to the first trap, he veers off to the left and heads south for a few hundred yards. When he finds a relatively open path through the forest, he doubles back toward Homestead. If his calculations are correct, he should approach the river at just about the same spot as the tree that sheltered him from the mob of Tainted the day he met Remy.

  He’s fairly certain Austin isn’t making camp south of the trail. This is where the mob was that day. If the man’s survival skills are limited and he’s living off Chris’s traps, then there has to be a deep-seated fear within him in regards to this part of the forest. There’s always the chance Chris is wrong, but he doesn’t think so. He’s really surprised the man made it through the winter.

  Actually, he’s not surprised at all. Every single day Chris was out hunting, many times from dawn to dusk—created the perfect opportunity for Austin to visit Homestead. Thinking about it this way makes Chris shiver with rage. As he approaches the river, all he can think is: the man was more than likely screwing Remy on his own bed—in his own home.

  He burst through some underbrush and there�
��s the river, only a few feet away. He turns left and slinks toward the Picket Fence, wondering how long he’ll have to wait before Austin makes his appearance.

  He hugs the edge of the cliff and creeps forward. The underbrush is thick and the going is slow, but he’s able to find an adequate hiding place just back of the clearing surrounding the Picket Fence.

  Remy is there, standing on the forest side of the clearing, facing the Guardians. A flicker of light plays off something in her hand. The knives. Chris scoots just a little farther. What is she doing?

  Her hand rises to her ear, the blade pinched between her fingers. She lets the knife fly. It spins through the air and sinks to the hilt in the older Guardian’s chest—black ooze spurts from the wound and quickly drenches the ragged clothing between its deflated breasts. The Guardian (the creature, he corrects himself, I have to quit thinking of them as something they’re not) doesn’t grunt or scream—doesn’t acknowledge in any way the sharp intrusion into her chest.

  A twig snaps across the way, barely discernible to Chris’s ears, but it must have sounded like a gunshot to Remy. She jerks around to face the noise, arm cocked and the knife ready to fly. Austin steps out of the trees and Remy relaxes her arm.

  “Son-of-a-bitch,” she hisses. She closes the distance and punches him in the chest. “You scared the shit out of me.”

  Quick as a striking snake, his hand leaps toward her and grabs her by the neck. The knife falls from her hands as she grabs onto his wrist, clawing at him and gasping for him to let her go. He leans in close to her face but he doesn’t whisper or speak quietly, he screams at her. “Don’t ever hit me again.” Spittle flies from his mouth. Such a fiery rage fills his eyes that Chris almost believes he’s about to see flames leap from them and consume Remy where she stands. The sight of it causes Chris to retreat a few inches back into the brush.

  Remy tries to speak but the hand gripping her throat is too tight. She tries to speak again as her hands continue to claw at his wrist. Finally, he releases her and she crumples to the ground, fingers clutching at her throat as she gasps for breath.

  “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

  “Get up,” he says, leaning forward to flex his hand in front of her face. “I should just be done with you… you left me…”

  “I thought we were putting that behind us… starting fresh.”

  He shakes his head. “I dream about it. I relive it every time I see one of those fucking corpses.” He kneels, putting his face near hers. “I see it all over again when I look at you.”

  “How many times do I have to say I’m sorry? I panicked… all I could do was run.”

  Austin straightens. He shakes his head from side to side in obvious denial. “I’ll never be able to fully trust you, Remy. Never. Remember that.”

  “I’ve got it.”

  “Good. Now, what have you got for me?”

  She pauses, letting the silence stretch for a couple of heartbeats before saying, “He killed a deer… we have plenty of meat.”

  “Good,” he says. “Now, get up,” he repeats, kicking at her, but not connecting, only driving his boot into the ground a few inches from her knee. She scrambles up and stumbles away from him, toward the Guardians. As she reaches the female Guardian, she removes the knife from the Guardian’s chest. It snaps its rotting teeth and rotates its head in a vain attempt to bite her.

  She passes through the gate with Austin right on her heels.

  “Why can’t we go ahead and get rid of him?”

  Chris’s ears perk up.

  Remy whirls on him. “You know why, dammit. We’ll never survive without his knowledge.”

  Austin’s tone softens. “You don’t think you’ve learned enough…”

  “No, I don’t,” she says, cutting him off. She points a finger at his face, obviously already having forgotten his angry outburst toward her just a few moments ago. “It’s only because of him that either of us survived this winter.” She takes a step back and lowers her arm. “I have to learn how to use the bow and how to hunt.”

  He shakes his head in defiance. “I still say we can learn on our own.”

  “Do you want to gamble your life on that?” She steps forward, touches his arm. “This might be unconventional, but we need to learn all we can. It’s only by luck that we stumbled on him. If it weren’t for that, we’d already be dead.”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  She nods. Her voice lowers. It’s so quiet Chris has to strain to hear her. “Yes, as much as we don’t want to rely on him, for now… we need him.”

  Remy turns and walks away.

  After the trees lining the short path to Homestead swallow her from view, Austin remains standing in the clearing, head lowered to the ground. A curious look creases his brow.

  Chris’s eyes widen in shock. Austin stands in almost the same place where he had stood a little while ago—when he’d first felt the residual effects of the river shooting through the cave below.

  He feels it. Austin feels the vibrations in the ground. As if to confirm Chris’s thoughts, Austin kneels and places his huge hand flat against the ground. His head cocks to the side, as if listening. Then he stands and takes a few steps toward the southern cliff.

  Chris begins to whisper, “No, no, no…” He doesn’t know why, but much like the secrets within the river, this too is his secret—something he wants to keep to himself. If Austin discovers that Homestead’s days are limited, he might just convince Remy to get rid of him sooner rather than later.

  On several occasions since meeting Remy, Chris’s thoughts have turned to getting rid of her—of killing her. However, those thoughts are fleeting, derived from a moment of anger and frustration because of something she did or said. He is not angry now. Neither is he upset. He feels a certain detachment from the entire situation, and yet, he fears the only solution is murder.

  “Are you coming?” Remy is standing on the path, watching Austin with her hands on her hips. Austin hesitates. His eyes play over the ground and follow an invisible line to the southern cliff and the river beyond. Then he turns toward Remy and walks away.

  Chris lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. If Austin had looked to the other side of the fence, he might have seen Chris lying in the underbrush.

  He waits until they have been gone for several minutes before emerging from his hiding place. How long before the river slices through Homestead? The Guardians hiss and moan at his approach, but he’s not worried about either Remy or Austin hearing them. He leans against one of the pikes angled toward the forest and it shifts under his weight.

  What the…

  He rattles it harder and then pulls. It slides from the ground with ease even though the base of the pike is buried at least two feet into the ground.

  He moves down the fence line, touching each one. They too are loose. As he jerks the wood back and forth, the hole below makes a slushing, sucking sound as the round pole moves loosely within. Moisture… water.

  Chris has a sudden understanding as to how the cave formed below. The holes that hold the fence acted as a drain into the ground below, saturating the peninsula in a line from the north cliff to the southern. After years of saturation, it was only a matter of time before the river current’s pressure carved out the hole.

  He steps away from the fence, looking upon it with a sudden sense of revulsion. All these years, he thought it had been protecting him, when in actuality, it was destroying Homestead. Did you know about this, Dad?

  As usual, his dad’s voice is quiet.

  He turns to the main trail through the forest and begins walking. It’s time to see what he’s up against.

  * * *

  Austin’s trail is easy to follow: leaves pounded flat to the ground, twigs snapped and left dangling by a string of ropy wood. The path, while nowhere near as apparent as the one Chris takes each day to check the traps, leads northwest for about half an hour before turning north. An hour later,
the forest opens to a grassy valley with a winding creek bisecting it from west to east. On the other side of the creek, at the edge of the far tree line, is a squat, leaning, wood-framed house. Part of the roof on the left has collapsed, as if a huge hand descended from the clouds and smashed it like an insect.

  Chris slides down the creek, skips over the trickle of water, and then scrambles up the far wall. On closer inspection, the house is in far worse shape than it appeared from across the small clearing. What was probably once white plastic siding, now yellowed by time and sun, barely hangs against the outside walls. He knocks a fist against one of the thin panels – it’s brittle, but still pliable. It would be an easy, lightweight solution to the leaking roof of his hut back at Homestead.

  The front door gapes open and by all appearances, will never close again. The left side of the door has splintered, causing the seal above to slant at a downward angle. Inside and to the left, the room that opens up off the foyer is uninhabitable. Most of the roof lies in the room’s center, a mess of splintered wood and cracked shingles. To his right is a large living area. A thin mattress, stained with age and years of exposure, lies on the floor in front of a working fireplace. A thin curl of smoke reaches up, drawn out the chimney like ghosts escaping into the afterlife. A thick layer of tattered blankets lay strewn at the end of the mattress.

  Off the living area is an open kitchen that’s seen better days. Grimy pots and pans lay strewn about the floor and counters. Cabinet doors lay open too, the most hanging askew by a single hinge.

  He heads back to the living room and begins to kick his way through the trash on the floor. He lifts the mattress and checks underneath. Finding nothing there, he sits on the edge of the brick fireplace to think.

  No weapons. No food that he can see. The only thing Austin had going for him is fire, a roof over his head, and a relatively soft mattress and blankets. If there are any weapons, Austin is carrying them—and by what he saw, they couldn’t be any larger than knives… maybe knives just like the ones Remy has been practicing with when he’s gone.