Alone: A collection of Short Stories

by Sallis, Tracy C

  Alone

  Short Stories

  By Tracy C Sallis

  All profits from sales of this book

  will be donated to Candlelighters

  http://www.candlelighters.org.uk

  in memory of

  Brooke Wilson

  A very special little girl who, although

  she lost her battle to leukemia at just 3 years

  of age, taught us the true meaning of

  bravery and determination.

  You're an inspiration angel.

  I would like to thank some people for making this book happen.

  This wouldn't have been possible without the help and love of a few special people.

  Rob – Who put up with everything and still managed to say “get on with it” when needed.

  Kayleigh – My biggest fan. Keep writing princess, you'll do it too.

  Chris – A big influence on my confidence. Thank you for being you, even when we're mad at each other.

  Lee – Your support has been amazing. Thankyou for being there no matter what mood I woke up in.

  And not forgetting Carla, Brock, Boo, Sarah and the rest of the “get off facebook and write” crew.

  I love you all, and thank you so much.

  Alone - Short Stories

  THE HUNTER5

  ANGEL WHARF14

  NOW OR NEVA21

  THE HUNTER

  THE HUNTER

  The attack was over in seconds. Aeva had barely lowered herself into a squat in the undergrowth when she heard the shuffling nearby. She held her trusty, sharp blade in her right hand, keeping her wrist poised and ready to react the moment that it was needed. She shifted position slightly, twisting to her left and leaning back into the gnarled old tree trunk behind her.

  The sound grew closer, stopping suddenly a few feet away. Aeva didn’t think, spotting her chance and taking a single deep breath she twisted her body in a single practised, smooth movement. Her arm extended, she slammed the blade into the soil as her back scraped across the bark of the trunk. The movement and power of her action was automatic, just as it always was, and she knew instantly by the force she encountered against her hand, that she had made her target.

  The creature hadn’t had time to react or make a sound before its life ended. Aeva lifted its lifeless body from the ground. A rat; she stared at the dirty, rough fur in disgust, pulling her blade from the corpse and wiping the blood on her leg. She wished there was more to hunt. Rat meat was full of gristle, and tasted like old boot. One rat barely fed two people, not like a nice deer.

  She knew that she was wishing for the impossible. There had been hardly anything in the forests or fields since the great storms. Game was hard to find. Mostly she found rats, or the occasional rabbit. Anything substantial had already been hunted to extinction.

  The storms had polluted the rivers; destroying the fish population. Anything that was left was inedible at best and in most cases poisonous. Only a few creatures had survived the terrible rain and wind that had ravaged the planet. Only a lucky few humans had managed to hide from the years of ferocious lightning storms and the deeply cold winters. That was years ago, but even now it was hard to survive without a good harvest from anything that did manage to grow and the occasional successful hunt.

  Aeva packed her catch into her net bag with the other two skinny, ragged specimens that she had managed to find. It had been a good day compared to her most recent trips. For months she had barely managed a catch a day. Three would feed at least a few children. She slipped her bag onto her back and smiled. She may even be rewarded with some meat herself.

  ----------

  The sun was going down, and she knew better than to be outside of the safe confines of the village walls once it got dark. Aeva slipped her knife into the leather strap on her leg, easily reachable if she needed it, and turned to head back.

  The stories had been drummed into her since she was a child herself. Of the rogues and monsters that roamed outside in the night. Of creatures and people who fed on any villager who dared to stray from the light, and of the bodies of those who had tried to fight them. The stories said that the rogues were inhuman and deadly. She had never seen any herself, nor would she really want to. She much preferred the safety of the firelight and her friends.

  Out of habit, Aeva hadn’t travelled far to hunt. She knew the dangers of going too far from the village and not being able to get back in time for the gates to close. The villagers and guards would not allow the gates to be open as the night began to reveal it's shadows. It would be too easy for a rogue to slip in under their cover.

  Even with the short distance, the walk was slow over the uneven ground. Her boots were worn and softening on the soles, letting every stone and rock in the soil make themselves known to her sore, blistered feet. Aeva ignored the pain, used to it after hunting for the past two years. Besides, she reminded herself, she was lucky to have boots at all.

  Leather was hard to get, and took some serious trading to get enough for boots. She was blessed with hardy clothing of wool pants and a warm jacket that were tough and hard wearing. The material was a dull brown which afforded her some camouflage when it was needed; essential for hunting in the dusty, dead landscape. Her long brown hair was pulled back and tied into a messy ponytail with a piece of old fabric that she had scavenged from some scraps in the storage huts.

  Most were not so lucky. Many of the villagers wore simple cotton pants and shirts which were torn and stained from years of wear. As a hunter, and a supplier of food for the villagers, Aeva was rewarded with the tools and clothing that she needed. Sometimes she felt guilty, until she reminded herself of the dangers of her trade and that her safety was important to them all.

  ----------

  The gates were open as she neared the village. Aeva knew immediately that something was wrong. It wasn’t unheard of for the guards to leave the gates open during the day. They did so to welcome the travelling traders that moved from village to village bringing tools and other goods to offer in return for anything that the elders could spare. But now the sky was darkening, the gates should have been closed. Aeva had expected to have to ring the bell and wait to be allowed inside. She didn’t expect to see the entry wide open for anybody to enter.

  “Eamott.” She called out loudly and paused, waiting to hear her favourite guard call back.

  There was no reply, and her heart began to pound loudly in her chest as she pulled her blade from its strap and dropped her bag behind some boxes beside the guards hut. Her instincts told her to be prepared and move carefully as she entered the compound. She forced her feet forward, trying to keep her movements as silent as possible.

  There was nobody around. No hustle of people preparing the evening meal, no fires lit in preparation for the cold of the night that was quickly drawing in and nobody chattering or singing as there usually would be as the hunters returned home. The silence was unnerving as she slipped into the space between the guard huts and into the main circle.

  That is where she found Eamott, who had cheerily wished her luck just a few hours before. His body was now lifeless, bent backwards almost double over a stack of firewood. His eyes were open in frozen terror, his silent lips separated as though screaming silently.

  Aeva gasped, a tear springing to her eye. Eamott was as close to family as she had ever remembered. She reached a hand to his face, pushing his eyes closed with a gentle brush. He was gone; his clothes tattered and stained with his own blood that was flowing from his neck. It looked as thoug
h his throat had been ripped out by an animal, leaving damaged muscle and tendon on display. Her stomach turned, forcing her to turn away.

  Bodies were littered around the compound, each one with identical wounds. Each one discarded like chicken bones at a feast. Everybody that she had once loved, from children to elders, all destroyed by whatever or whoever had been here. Bodies were thrown across tables and on the ground, their bones twisted at awkward, broken angles. Pools of fresh blood stained the straw and sawdust on the ground. It was sprayed up the walls of the surrounding huts.

  Death had been here. Aeva’s senses where taken over by the smell, the sights and the unnatural silence that hung in the air. Her village had been cursed with its presence and now she was alone with it. She was alone in the world.

  She shielded her eyes and used her inner compass to guide herself to her own hut, trying to find a place away from the mangled corpses of her loved ones. She felt sick to the stomach and needed to stop and think. She needed a plan, and she knew that she needed one quickly.

  ----------

  It was clear that whatever had done this was from the outside. A rogue, she was sure. There was no way to know how it had gained entry, but she knew that the village was no longer safe. The sky was almost dark and she knew that she shouldn’t stay here. The rogue might return. She needed to be far from this place before that happened if she wanted a chance of surviving, and a chance of finding whatever animal had committed this vile act.

  She hoped that her skills as a hunter would help her to gain a place within another village for a while. Maybe they would take pity on her if she could get there safely. Travel was a risk that Aeva knew that she would have to take if she wanted to get to somewhere safe where she could make her plans.

  She pulled a weathered bag from the cupboard beside her bed. She had found it on a hunt once, she assumed lost by a travelling trader. It had been filled with tools and other shiny objects that she hadn’t recognised. There were shiny intricate objects that shone in the sunlight. Aeva had wished to keep them, but the village laws forced her to hand the objects to the elders to be traded for food and other items. Anything that would benefit the village as a whole.

  The bag, however, she had been allowed to keep. She had treasured it since that day. She had only taken it from its storage to feel the hard, worn leather and hard metal loops and clips. Smyth, the oldest man in the village, had told her that it was from before the wars. It was called a satchel. Aeva didn’t care for its name, only for the strange roughness of its edges and for the interesting patterns of its stitching.

  Now, she filled it with her scarce belongings. Her spare blade and some nuts and berries, along with her sleeping clothes and some old rags that she hoped would be useful. She then slipped out of her hut and ran, ignoring the bodies, into the elders hut where she began tearing open the box of trade-able objects and loading a few items into the front pocket of the bag.

  Some of the sparkling objects caught her eye and she held one up. It had chain, similar to the ones that held the pans aloft above the fire, and yet so much smaller and shinier. The chain led to a small yellowed metal piece that held a hard rock the colour of blood. It was both beautiful and ugly at the same time. Aeva turned it over in her hand, unsure of what it could have been, before pushing it deep into her pocket. Maybe it would make a good trade for a place within another village and safety. She could only hope.

  She added some kindling and flint to her bag, remembering that she might need to make fire in the outside. The nights were cold, and the fire doubled as a warning to stray creatures. She had learned survival as a child, but this was the first time that she had really needed the skills.

  She stepped out of the hut, closing the door behind her out of habit and respect. The sky was almost at its darkest, so she said a silent prayer for her fallen family and moved quickly to the gate, collecting her hunting bag as she passed.

  ----------

  “Going somewhere child?” The voice startled Aeva as she approached. She turned quickly to the sound, readying her blade to strike if needed.

  Before her stood a man, much like the men from the village and yet very different in the way that he wore himself. His hair was long and as dark as night itself, flowing freely around his shoulders and down over his dark, almost black jacket that appeared to be made of new leather. His eyes bore into her as he awaited an answer, but Aeva could do nothing but stare, opened mouthed in shock.

  “Do not be afraid.” The man’s voice came across the few metres between them in a whisper of sound. It was soft and soothing, easing into her mind. “Come to me child, I shall not harm you.”

  Aeva tried to pull herself back from his spell. She could feel her body betraying her and moving towards him, uncontrolled by her own mind.

  “Who are you?” She mustered, battling herself with every word. “What do you want with me?”

  The man laughed with a musical sound that reminded her of the bells at mealtime. “I simply want to speak with you child, I can see that you have had a scare.”

  Instinct pulled at her brain, which was thick with betrayal, she was no longer in control of her body, which was moving slowly towards him, but she still battled to keep her mind. Instinct was telling her that she was in danger, that this was the rogue that had killed her village. Her body was ignorant and determined to lead her to doom. She could feel his lies, and herself believing them.

  “Come child, come to me.” His voice was whispering, singing directly into her mind now.

  She felt her body moving, stopping only once she was within his reach. It was too late to run away. Her knife dropped from her hand; she could no longer attack him.

  “That's right, let me see you properly.”

  She tried to force herself from his bony, cold fingers as he took hold of her. She could no longer feel her muscles to command them. She was his, even if she didn’t want to be.

  Aeva didn’t feel any pain as he lowered his mouth to her neck. The only sense was of her pulse slowing and of her body hitting the ground at his feet. Then there was darkness, as her life slipped away from her. The only sound was his musical, bell like laugh as he walked away, leaving her body on the ground. Discarded like a chicken bone at a feast.

  ANGEL WHARF

  ANGEL WHARF

  The general store was unrecognisable from what it had once been. The large windows that

  once flooded sunlight onto the deep mahogany of the counter tops were broken and boarded over haphazardly. It was covered with anything that would be strong enough to keep out unwanted visitors, or to keep those who were wanted inside.

  Cheri had spent most of her life here. Either working, or picking through the shelves of produce which now stood almost empty. Everything stolen or looted, except for some stale crackers and the occasional packet of dried fruit. She had pondered the fruit on the first day that she had been alone, deciding eventually that nobody ever wanted them unless they got completely desperate. On her second day she had gotten desperate and torn open a packet. Pouring the wrinkled beads of sweetness into her mouth as fast as she could chew and swallow them. Nothing tasted bad when you hadn't eaten for days. Nothing tasted of anything at all when you had gotten so hungry that food barely brushed your tongue before you swallowed it.

  She wanted to leave, to go and find help. But she knew from what she had seen the last time she went outside that there was none to be found. The town was a shadow of its former self and mostly deserted. Damaged, and crumbling into ruins, caused by the rioting and panic that had erupted shortly after the event. The grass and plants on the town square were dead and brown with lack of water or care. Dust from the explosion had settled everywhere, gathered thick on every surface. Cheri's beloved Angel Wharf was gone.

  It had begun with the terrible
shaking. She had assumed that it was an earthquake until the loud explosion, and the rumble. Those still echoed in her mind as she hid behind the counter twisting a blanket around her legs for warmth. That sound, and the sight of the smoke rising from behind the hills outside of town.

  The screaming had never left her ears. The screaming of fear, and panic, and death. Cheri had heard it all. She had been too scared to try and help. Too scared to do anything.

  She had hidden in the store with Mr. Jenkins, her boss. Ex boss now she feared. He had barricaded them in with the help of John, his son. They had secured every window with wood that they had scavenged from the store-rooms, nailing them to the frames and trying to cover every possible entryway. Then they took shelter in the store and prepared to wait it out.

  There was no news for weeks. The only visitors were starving people, crazed with fear. They took what they could and left, relieved to have even found a small amount of food and another few days of survival.

  Supplies were running low after the fifth group. John left to find help or news, or anything at all. When he returned a day later he was no longer himself. He wasn't human in appearance or mind. His flesh was torn around his face and neck, revealing sinews of damaged muscle and jawbone. Dried blood was congealed around the wound. Fresh blood ran down his chin, covering the little skin that had remained. He was a creature, and he was hungry, tearing at the wooden barriers and growling in frustration for the scent of food inside. Mr. Jenkins didn't hesitate when he saw his son. There had been nothing that Cheri could do to stop him. Mr. Jenkins didn't want to be human either. He left her too.