Deadfall

by L. Douglas Hogan

  “Andy? What are you doing out here?”

  “I heard something.”

  The woman heard it, too. She played it off. “What did you hear?”

  “It sounded like my dad screaming,” he said to her. “I’d like to go see him now. My mom’s been sick, too.”

  “Not yet, Andy. We have to wait until curfew has been lifted.”

  “How long’s that?”

  “About another hour.”

  “How can you tell the time without a clock?”

  “We use the sun.”

  “How do you do that?”

  The woman extended her hand toward the horizon and closed one eye. “We hold our hand out like this and touch our pinky to the horizon. Each finger equals fifteen minutes.”

  “How do you know where the time starts?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Andy grew frustrated that he wasn’t being understood. “Nothing. Never mind.”

  The woman frowned at Andy and said, “You need to get back into your tent until eight o’clock. When you hear the whistle, that means you can come out.”

  Andy unzipped his tent. Satisfied that the kid was doing what he was told, the patrol walked away.

  Andy looked behind him and saw a clearing to the north where there was no patrol. He ran for about a quarter mile and saw that the trail came to a fork. Unsure which trail to take, he turned left. When he was completely comfortable knowing no one was pursuing him, he slowed to catch his breath.

  That was when the smell hit his nose. It was the awful putrid odor of a dead carcass. He knew the smell from his days on the Homestead. This was like the smell of a dead farm animal, only a little different. More pungent. He used his hands to cover his nose and kept walking down the trail.

  The trail did a switchback, turning him sharply to the right. As soon as he made the turn, he looked up ahead and was startled at first, then after taking a closer look, he saw a dreadful sight. A scarecrow.

  “A scarecrow?”

  Andy looked around. Whether from fear or curiosity, he needed to know what that scarecrow signified. There was no corn. No grains. Nothing to protect.

  Andy crept closer. It was old and tattered. The face looked terrifying. It was textured like a grain bag and the arms outstretched across the trail. An old tree made up the body of the figure. A hat sat on its head, stitched deeply into the brow of the skeletal-looking mask. Viney plants grew out of the arms to hold its arms out. A protective guardian of something. But what? It sat right smack-dab in the middle of the trail and stared a hole into Andy’s soul. Choosing against turning around, Andy walked around the obstacle and picked the trail back up on the other side.

  “A sound.”

  Andy heard something up ahead. He ducked away off the trail and did his best to look around and scope out his environment. That was when he saw the cages.

  “Cages?”

  He only saw the tops of them. They were up ahead a little more. Just on top of the hill. Andy walked on the balls of his feet to stifle the sounds of his steps and got close enough to get a better look at the barred enclosures. There were men in those cages! Four in all. Two tied to the back and one on either side facing inward. One of them he recognized. It was Pete. He was gagged with a dirty-looking cloth that wrapped around to the back of the base of his skull. His hands were bound above his head to the ceiling of the makeshift jail. Andy looked closely at the other two but didn’t recognize them. He hugged the tree that he was using for cover and tried to make eye contact with Pete.

  Andy remembered seeing Pete when they entered the Community, but he and Chris had been separated later that night, to where Andy thought was their own camping space.

  Pete had barely slept that night. When he and Chris were separated from the rest of the group, Curtis led them to this place. He wasn’t sure what had happened. The last thing Pete could recall from last night was being hit on the head. He blacked out and awakened to his current situation. There was no sign of Curtis, but he knew exactly what had happened to Chris.

  Andy slightly moved where he was hiding, and it was that movement that caught Pete’s attention.

  Andy watched as Pete’s eyes widened. He was trying to say something to Andy, but all Andy could see was Pete’s head shaking no, as if he wanted Andy nowhere near him.

  The other men in the cage with Pete turned their heads toward Andy. The other men began looking to the north. Andy turned to see what they were looking at. He saw a man with a bloody hacksaw walking south toward their position. The man was still far enough away that he couldn’t see Andy, but Andy wasn’t going to get caught.

  He stood up and started backing out of his hiding spot. As he picked up speed, he tripped and fell over something wet and chunky. He landed on his back and collected himself. He sat up. Looking to see what tripped him, he saw his legs were sprawled over several human body parts, most of which were stripped to the bone, except the hands and feet. He studied the gory sight and saw a human head that was facing away from him. He reached out and grabbed the long hair and pulled it toward him. When he released it, gravity did its work and the head toppled over, coming to rest against his leg. It was Chris, Pete’s passenger.

  Andy sat motionless. The man that he’d seen with the hacksaw walked to the prison box and unwrapped the cordage that bound the door shut. Andy stood up from his position and started to walk toward Pete.

  Pete slowly and carefully shook his head no again. The last thing Pete wanted to do was to make Andy’s presence known to the butcher.

  The butcher looked around at the four men and grabbed Pete by the jaw with a large dominant right hand. He twisted and turned Pete’s head, as if to inspect his physical hygiene. The butcher had a large fillet knife sheathed on the back of his belt. When he was done inspecting Pete, the man grabbed him by the hair with his left hand and pulled Pete’s head back. He reached back with his right hand and unsnapped the blade. He wasted no time slicing Pete’s neck open. The cut was smooth, deep, and fast.

  The other men began to scream, but it didn’t faze the butcher. He waited for Pete’s body to stop twitching; then he cut the ropes that held him upright. The killer dragged Pete’s body out of the cage and dropped it. He refastened the cordage and grabbed the hacksaw that was leaning against the cage. He sheathed his knife, then grabbed Pete’s pant leg and dragged him northward.

  Andy saw the whole thing and watched silently as the butcher’s knife fell from his belt. The butcher didn’t notice. He was too busy pulling the carcass to the block.

  Pete’s body dragged over the knife. Despite Pete’s appeals to stay away, Andy saw an opportunity. He ran in a low profile from his hiding spot and made his approach to the caged men. They all saw him grab the knife from the ground and run away into the woods.

  A quarter mile south

  The whistle sounded and kids started springing from their tents. The patrol woman who had spoken with Andy earlier was now standing outside his tent. She crouched down to look inside, only to find the tent was empty. She stood up, looked around, and called another adult over. They exchanged some whispers; then one of them left and headed south down the trail.

  Marcus sat at a picnic table on the edge of the bald. Several people he didn’t know sat to his left and his right. Now that it was daylight, he noticed that the people of the Community were especially pale and gaunt-looking. A smoker was set up in the corner, and a man stood behind it attentively working.

  Marcus couldn’t get it out of his head that his best friend was still grieving the loss of his wife. He felt helpless. Even if he could be of assistance, Darrick wanted him nowhere near him. Marcus’s only option was to let him mourn alone and to make himself available for him when the time came.

  Marcus looked over his shoulder. Darrick was on his knees. Tonya lay on the ground in front of him.

  He hasn’t budged, he thought.

  Marcus looked forward and to his right. The company he was now keeping was less than desirable.

>   A woman walked up and set several used bottles of water in front of him and the strangers who sat at the table in front of him and to his right. Another woman came and set porcelain plates down in front of each of them.

  Porcelain plates? he thought. It’s been a while.

  The man working the smoker brought a cutlet of meat and set a piece upon each person’s plate.

  The lady who had placed the plates returned and gave them each a steak knife and a fork.

  Marcus grabbed the utensils and drew his elbows up and stuck his fork into the meat and prepared to slice into it. He was interrupted by the person across from when he coughed to catch Marcus’s attention.

  Marcus looked at him.

  The man shook his head.

  Marcus laid his utensils down.

  The people bowed their heads.

  In unison, they prayed these words:

  “Mother Earth, Great Spirit of Plenty,

  “We thank you for your bounty, and the seeds of the earth.

  “We return our thanks to you; to the streams, the mountains, and the land; for the herbs, the meat, the fruits, and the water.

  “You direct good things to us, the stewards of your body.”

  Marcus couldn’t help but open his eyes and peek around. He held his peace and played along. When the prayer had come to an end, the people grabbed their utensils and dug in, acting like nothing that just happened was different in any way.

  Marcus gripped his fork and picked up where he’d left off. The meat was tough and dark colored. He hesitated, wondering what the meat once belonged to.

  “Excuse me, sir,” he said, catching the attention of the man to his right.

  “Yes?”

  “What is this?”

  “It’s black bear.”

  “Black bear?”

  “Yeah.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking, where are the hunters? Everybody I see here is unarmed except for those men in the trees.”

  Marcus’s inquiry was interrupted by a familiar voice. “Is there a problem here?” It was JoAnn and she was standing directly behind him.

  Marcus pulled his legs out from beneath the table and spun around. “Problem? No problems here. I’m just asking the man a question.”

  “Maybe I can be of assistance.”

  “Sure,” Marcus said, looking to Darrick for backup in case something got out of hand. These people are weird was all he could think. Darrick was oblivious. Off in his own little world. Marcus toned it down, deciding it wasn’t a good time to start an uprising. “I was asking the gentleman where the hunters are? I look around here, and nobody’s armed. I’m just curious. That’s all.”

  “What’s your name, again?” JoAnn asked him.

  “Marcus.”

  “Marcus, have you ever heard the phrase never look a gift horse in the mouth?”

  “I have.”

  “This meal was provided to you, free of charge, and we find it to be an insult when you question the manner in which it was provided.”

  JoAnn could see that her words upset Marcus. His jaw was grinding and it was made evident by the contracting jaw muscles that bulked up his temples with each bite.

  Marcus looked into the trees. His object? To check on the security situation. Three gunmen, each ready to fire on Marcus.

  “I’d like to bury my wife now,” Darrick said, drawing JoAnn’s attention away from the rude man.

  Marcus pushed the plate away and stood up. “I’ll help you, brother.”

  Darrick nodded in agreement.

  Marcus put his arms around Darrick. It was his attempt to finally be able to comfort his friend.

  JoAnn stood there and made the men walk around her. She looked back into the woods at a man standing there, seemingly doing nothing more than observing the area. The man made eye contact with JoAnne. She motioned him over with her head. The man approached her.

  “Yes?”

  “Lead them to the hallows. Don’t let them out of your sight.”

  “No problem.”

  Darrick and Marcus picked up Tonya’s body. The man led them away into the woods. Eventually they came to a side trail that wasn’t well worn. It led down to an eerie-looking opening with dozens of graves. Some fresh; others, not so much. Four shovels leaned against a haunted-looking tree. Its branches were twisted and unnatural in appearance.

  Darrick and Marcus each grabbed a shovel. Darrick stood there, shovel in hand, but couldn’t bring himself to break the earth. Marcus knew it. He broke the ground and started the process. Instead of breaking ground, Darrick broke his silence.

  “I don’t want to bury her here, Guy. I-I can’t do it.”

  “Mitchell, we can’t carry her out, either. What do you recommend?”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why can’t we carry her out?”

  “And bury her where?”

  “Mitchell, we’re miles from your home. No – we don’t even have a home. So where do we put her to rest?”

  “I-I don’t know what to say.”

  “Let’s make a pyre and commit her back to the earth that way.”

  “No,” the escort said, rudely interrupting from his standing space on the trail, where he watched and listened from a distance. “All fires must be authorized by the Elders Seven.”

  “I don’t know what that means,” Marcus said. An obvious frustration filled his vocal tones.

  Darrick was beside himself. He stared the man down.

  Mildly intimidated, the escort said, “The Elders Seven discuss all major events before they’re permitted. There must be solidarity.”

  “Major events?” Marcus barked. “It’s a pyre! A fire for the dead. We’re going to bury his dead wife by fire, man! Where’s your soul?”

  Marcus and Darrick both stared the pale gaunt-looking male down.

  The escort gripped his rifle ever tighter.

  “How long will it take to get authorization to build a pyre? An hour? A day? A week?” Darrick forcefully petitioned. He was at his wits’ end. Marcus knew it, too.

  Marcus turned his face away from their escort. Darrick did the same. They each gave their backs to him while Marcus proceeded to whisper, “Dude, we’re prisoners. You realize that, right?”

  “I’ve been a little out of it, in case you haven’t noticed – and by the way, you were the one who wanted us to trust.”

  “Fine! I dropped the ball. Things are different than I thought. Everything here is controlled. We’re being controlled. Tell me how we’re safe, again?”

  “I’m not saying you’re wrong. We both dropped the ball. I’ve just been preoccupied.”

  “Follow my lead, brother. We gotta get out of this situation.”

  Darrick nodded in agreement. He understood perfectly that he was not in the right state of mind to make certain high-profile decisions. He relinquished the moment to his best friend, Marcus.

  No sooner than Darrick resigned to Marcus’s will, they heard a grunt behind them, followed by a thud. They turned around to see the man fighting with Andy. The escort had dropped his rifle and was trying to grab the lad with one hand while reaching to his back side with the other. They ran to Andy’s aid.

  Darrick saw a blade stabbed deep into the man’s back. Andy was kicking and punching the man when Marcus shoulder-charged the man to the ground. He toppled a few feet to the other side of Andy and tried to regain his footing.

  Marcus picked up the rifle but knew using it would be a bad idea in the dead silence. Preferring not to raise any alarm with their incident, he turned the barrel end around and swung it at the man like a baseball bat. The heavy wooden buttstock made for a lot of impact. The man fell back to the ground as Darrick mounted him from behind and pulled the knife out of his back, only to stab him with it again and again. The man didn’t seem killable. He fought Darrick with all his might and eventually bucked him from his back. Marcus swung the rifle back down upon the man’s head as hard as he could. The old wooden b
uttstock buried deep into the man’s skull. His feet twitched then became motionless.

  “Where have you been?” Darrick asked his son, shifting his position to conceal Tonya’s body. Darrick wasn’t ready to tell Andy. Given the recent incident, it was going to be hard to hide.

  “There’s a place up that way, behind the trees, by an old scarecrow. They killed Pete.”

  Darrick wanted to address the Pete issue, but they were in a world of problems. Unarmed with nothing but a knife and a single rifle, they had to do something with Tonya’s body, address the killing of Pete, collect Carissa and Tommie, and leave the mountain. To make matters worse, he had no idea where Tommie even was.

  Andy saw his mother’s legs on the ground not far behind his dad. “Did you have to kill Mom, too?”

  The question all but killed Darrick. His legs gave out under the stress and he fell to his knees.

  Andy walked past him to find his mother dead on the ground. He heard his dad weeping behind him as he quietly studied his mother’s face. He felt nothing but emptiness inside.

  Marcus saw everything. Compassion stirred within him for Darrick and Andy. Marcus felt the loss, too. He’d once loved Tonya, but that was a long, long time ago. He walked past Darrick and placed his hand upon his shoulder, pausing only long enough to show his best friend that he was there to support him. He moved on to where Andy was standing and stood beside him. “You know what?”

  “What?” Andy answered with a soft voice.

  “Your dad didn’t have to kill your mom. She went quietly in the night. She died in her sleep. I hear that’s the best way to go. And she was in her happy place – right next to your dad.”

  “That’s not a happy place,” Andy said, recoiling at the thought of it. “We need to bury Mom.”

  “Your dad wants to build a pyre.”

  “What’s a pyre?”

  “It’s a tall bed made of wood. Back in the olden days, warriors would have a burial by fire. That was how they committed the bodies of their loved ones back to the earth.”

  “We need to bury her,” he insisted. “If we don’t bury her, we won’t have a place to visit.”